Copyright 1991 by Bristol Chan Group, UK, uploaded with permission. May not be quoted for commercial purposes. Anyone wishing to quote for non-commercial purposes may seek permission from the editor: jmcg@biols.susx.ac.uk or Peter Howard, 22 Butts Rd., Chiseldon, Wilts., SN4 0NW, England, UK. Printed versions of past and future issues [which includes drawings, etc.] can be obtained for the sum of 2 pounds sterling each, including surface postage, anywhere in the world, from Peter Howard. NEW CH'AN FORUM No. 3 Summer 1991 Dharma Advisor The Venerable Chan Master Dr Sheng-yen Teacher Dr John Crook Editors Hilary Richards Ros Cuthbert Drawings Ros Cuthbert Raphael Bate ON THE WAY........ The Bristol Chan Group is now two years old, and perhaps, like a toddler, we are beginning to find our feet, with good times, bad times and the occasional tantrum! At a meeting in the spring of this year views were expressed about the function and running of our group. We recognize four functions of value to the group and these are:- The need for Practice The need for Outward Instruction The need for Inward Instruction The need for Togetherness We hope that this newsletter will help to affirm these aims. Each term we meet weekly to sit together and John runs a short series of talks. This term he is giving us three lectures on "Aspects of the Eightfold Path". We have run occasional day sittings and weekend retreats at the Mendip Painting Centre and continue to support the programme of retreats at the Maenllwyd in Mid-Wales. We publish some reports from these retreats in this newsletter and wish to express our thanks to the contributors. From time to time we have news from the Cardiff Group, run by Eddy Street and we are pleased to report that a new group has started in Brixham, South Devon, organised by Ken Robinson. We continue to maintain strong connections with the Centre in New York. We hope to be able to invite Richard Hunn from Lancaster to lead a weekend retreat for us in the Autumn. Further information about these is at the end of the newsletter. On the literary front "Catching A Feather On A Fan: A Zen Retreat with Chan Master Sheng-yen" by John Crook was published by Element Press in February this year. Also available from Element, is "Space in Mind: East-West Psychology and Contemporary Buddhism" edited by John Crook and David Fontana. It contains several chapters referring to Chan and Western Zen retreats as well as other methods of practice.Finally we are delighted to learn that Shifu plans to visit us again, probably over Easter 1992. We will keep everyone informed. HUMAN CONSCIOUSNESS IN THE CH'AN PERSPECTIVE Edited version of a lecture delivered by Master Sheng-yen at Brooklyn College on November 8, 1990. From Chan Newsletter No.84, March 1991, with permission. Buddhism generally divides human consciousness into False Mind and True Mind. False Mind, sometimes called the illusory mind, refers to the mental activity of ordinary sentient beings. This mind is filled with innumerable vexations that arise from a self centred view of the world. True Mind refers to the mind of wisdom, a mind free of vexation. Buddhism understands that False Mind includes all levels of human consciousness and activities associated with it. What distinguishes the True Mind? True Mind arises only when mental activity is free from self-centredness. At this point consciousness is no longer subjective and self-concerned. Only perfect, completely objective activity remains. The Chan Point of View Don't get the idea that Chan is something different from Buddhism. It is simply a part of Buddhism and its understanding and perspective fall within Buddhism's basic tenets. In Chan we speak of a Buddha Mind, which is the same as the True Mind referred to earlier, that is, the mind of wisdom. We also speak of the mind of sentient beings, which is the same as the False Mind of vexation. One important function of Chan is "to illuminate the mind and perceive Buddha nature." Why does the mind need illumination? It is because the mind of sentient beings is clouded in darkness, and this darkness must be lifted if you are to see the true nature of reality. The term "to illuminate the mind and perceive Buddha nature" means leaving the mind of vexation behind in order to attain such wisdom. The goal of Chan practice is no different than that of Buddhism. The goal is the same, but the words used are often different. Chan does not usually use terms such as "idea" or "discriminating consciousness." Chan simply uses the word "mind." Only those well versed in the tradition can read the writings of the Chan master and tell whether "mind" refers to the Buddha Mind or to that of an ordinary sentient being. Chan practice revolves around this idea of mind. For the beginning practitioner, the foundation of practice and the path of practice are none other than the mind of vexation - False Mind. But the goal of practice is the Buddha's wisdom, the True Mind. There are times when the word "consciousness", as understood in the West, can be used to represent the word "mind" as it is used in Chan. However, the word "consciousness" cannot cover all the meanings of "mind" used in the Chan tradition. In the West mental activities are researched, analyzed and recorded. But can the state of True Mind, the mind of wisdom, be considered a mental activity? If we attempt to use "consciousness" to explain True Mind, there will be confusion. It might be possible to say that the True Mind represents a kind of pure, undefiled mental activity whereas False Mind represents impure mental activity, but this would still be inaccurate. Chan simply uses mind and avoids confusion. This is because in Chan practice, we can see that both the Buddha Mind, and the sentient being mind are not separate from one another; we look upon the Buddha Mind as the goal of practice and the sentient being mind as the process of practice. When you first start to practice, it is likely that you will notice that your mind is not at ease, not calm and peaceful. You use a method to change that. Such a method of practice is called "calming the mind" or "stilling the mind." This process can also be thought of as "clarifying and settling the mind." One can use the analogy of a glass of muddy water that becomes clear once the water is still and the mud has sunk to the bottom. The Chan Approach to the Problems that Arise from Human Consciousness. What is a "beginners mind?" This is the mind of an ordinary sentient being who takes the first step in turning his or her mind toward illumination. He has a first glimpse of the meaning of Chan. This step is sometimes called "the initial generation of the Bodhi mind." What is Bodhi? Bodhi is a Sanskrit term which can be translated as awakening or realisation. The Chan approach toward resolving one's problems is quite different from the methods used in the West. In the West, a person's problems are the centrepiece of the analysis. They are analyzed, themes and motifs are suggested, and the patient is urged to recognise patterns that have developed from early childhood and break the hold they have on him. The approach of Chan is different. When a practitioner feels a need to deal with his own problems, he is urged to simply put them down and leave them behind. This does not mean that you should ignore what you do. It simply means that you should abandon the idea that what confronts you constitutes a "problem." You continue to deal with situations, but you no longer see them as problems. In this way the problems cease to exist. How do you go about putting aside your problems? The solution arises when you develop compassion for other human beings. When you see the vexation and suffering that torments others, you can try and help them resolve their problems and end their suffering. You forget your own problems. Where does compassion come from? Compassion comes from the Bodhi mind, the mind of realization. As you develop this mind, you begin to engage in activities that are no longer self- centred. You begin to deal with all problems in an objective way. Ironically, it is in this way that you will resolve your own problems. With this attitude, you clear away the mind of vexation and attain the mind of wisdom. Last week I travelled to the West Coast of the USA where I gave a talk in a hospital. The audience included psychiatrists and other neuro-scientists. At the end of my talk they asked me the following question: "You say that your methods are simpler than ours. How can that be?" I said, "When you deal with patients, you have to find out a great deal about their personal history. You must ask a great many questions. They often must come back again and again and this process can last for years. When I address someone's problems I don't spend too much time finding out about their background. I say one or two sentences, and that will begin to provide them with help." I added that among my students, or patients if you prefer, there are a number of psychologists and psychiatrists. Some come to me because they have developed problems after listening to so many of their patient's problems! Others come for no reason other than to learn the way of Chan practice so that they can help themselves or their patients. When one is first exposed to Chan, it may not be very easy to use Chan methods in conjunction with psychotherapy. The basic conceptions are quite different. Generally speaking, the Western approach is more analytical and the Chan approach is more immediate. It is also important to add that unless the Chan master is outstanding, it will be difficult for him to be effective in helping people. By contrast, some types of Western therapy can be learned in a reasonable amount of time, so that the therapist can provide his or her patients with some relief. But in the beginning, it is not easy to combine the two approaches. Let us now look at the Chan method and the way in which it can help people deal with psychological problems. Chan recognizes that suffering, vexation and confusion are created within the mind, not from some external, physical world. This is the state of consciousness that Chan methods address. Methods of cultivation fall into two general categories. The first is called, "contemplating the mind"; the second, "transcending one's thoughts". The methods in each category serve a special purpose. Which category is best depends on the person. And it may happen that one person can employ methods in both categories. The general procedure in contemplating the mind is this: you keep your attention on the present moment and focus on some external object, a feeling or part of the body, or simply a thought or an idea. If you are concentrating on a thought, this can me described as using a later thought to observe an earlier one. This method helps to overcome the mind's disorganization when your thoughts come and go in a disorderly and random manner. This method will help you stabilise your mind. Gradually thoughts will become simpler and less chaotic. There are many specific methods of contemplating the mind. For example, you can concentrate on the up and down movement of your lower abdomen while you breathe, or you can concentrate on the inhalation and exhalation of your breathing. Or, as mentioned earlier, you can watch your thoughts as they arise and disappear. Or you can try and keep your mind in a state free of thoughts. With this method, if any thoughts arise, you ignore them and try to bring your mind back to the thought- free-state. These methods may seem simple, but they are not easy to do. They take a lot of practice. We have an eight hour class at our Centre just to teach the very simple method of counting the breaths. This is because there are many subtle aspects to this method. Improperly understood and executed, the method will leave your mind running wild no matter how hard you try to contain it. Transcending your thoughts, the second category, is a method that consists of maintaining the attitude of non-involvement with yourself or others. The goal of this method is roughly described by a Chan phrase that translates as, "Be separate, or free, from the mind, from thoughts, and from consciousness." To be free from all of this is to be in a state of enlightenment. In such freedom of mind it might be said that we see the world. No matter what method you choose, you must remember that when we practice in the Chan tradition, we refrain from using words or speech. Why is this? It is because words represent ideas, concepts, mental descriptions. And it is only by leaving these behind that we begin to understand the True Mind. Two Chan maxims convey this idea. First, "Any thought is wrong." In other words whatever you are thinking is erroneous, no matter how clear or accurate you believe it to be. And second, "Whatever you say is wrong." No matter how well chosen or clearly spoken, your words rely on thoughts and ideas, and thus, they are fundamentally wrong. Nonetheless, you will notice that Chan masters talk a lot. They sometimes write a lot too. But the import of what we talk or write about is to convey that whatever you think or say is wrong. That is the content of all my talks. No words or description will suffice to describe a state of realization. Anyone who attempted to describe such a state would be considered by a Chan master to be a smart devil, not an awakened being. Therefore, many Chan masters use no words when they interact with their disciples. They use movements or gestures. Or sometimes when they do use words it is in an unconventional way. If a student asks a question about A, the master may give an answer that refers to B, something totally unrelated. These methods are designed to help students drop the habit of trying to reason themselves into True Mind. Reasoning will not free you from mind, thought, or consciousness. The story from the T'ang dynasty tells of a disciple who asked this question of his Dharma Master: "How can I calm my mind?" The master said, "I am too busy to talk to you right now. Why not consult your First Dharma Brother?" He did as he was told and asked the same question. The First Dharma Brother said, "I have a headache. I can't talk now. Why not talk to Second Dharma Brother?" But the Second Dharma Brother said, "I have a stomach ache, why don't you just go and talk to our Dharma Master?" So he went back to his master and complained, "Nobody told me anything. Nobody gave me any answers." But the master said to him reprovingly, "You really are a stupid fool. Everybody has been giving you the answer." Because of this, the disciple reached enlightenment. Does this make sense to you? If you have any questions, I'll just refer you to some professor here. Maybe he can tell you what you would like to know. SERMONS TO THE STONES AND TREES. John Crook. Zen talks come in different forms. There is the academic discourse full of history or philosophical analysis. There is the moral tale, the advocacy of a way of being or a meditational practice. And there is the "teisho", the spontaneous outpouring of a teacher's inspiration given in the moment for which it is called for. Each type of talk plays its role in the creation of understanding. The "teisho" is however the closest one can come to transmission. In its accurate reception, the essential insight may pass directly from mind to mind. No need for analysis or even thought. There is just the seeing what is meant.But again, maybe not. Even the speaker may not know what he means for sure. There is just the speaking. "Sometimes we raise the eyebrows of old Shakyamuni Buddha, sometimes we do not." Some years ago, James Crowden asked me to record some talks for a small meditation group he had established at Shaftesbury. In response to his request, I would take a tape recorder and go and meditate in the garden or on a hillside. When I felt ready I just began speaking. The result was a spoken meditation which could then be played subsequently to the group in their own meditation session. Since these talks were delivered out of doors in the presence of the natural world, I came to think of them as "Sermons to the stones and trees". On the original tapes there are background sounds of bird song, wind in a beach tree, running stream, also passing aircraft and distant sounds of agricultural machinery. Since some who have heard the tapes have found them to be useful, I will present slightly edited versions of some of them in New Chan Forum.It is a practice I intend to continue. " OPENING THE TREASURE HOUSE " "If you do these things for some time the treasure house will open naturally and you will enjoy it fully." These are the concluding words of a Soto Zen ritual. Remember: "The treasure house will open naturally." In meditation, it is not that one has to work desperately hard to get somewhere. The practice of meditation should be something like breathing, or walking, something natural. If there is too much strain, too much tension, meditation becomes egoistic. It becomes a form of desire, a form of need. That is why the basic element in the practice of meditation involves a deep relaxation; the use of the breath or of repeating a mantra - allowing the mind to cool down. These things, are not meditation in itself, they are preliminaries. They are the ways of bringing the mind to a quieter space in which meditation can happen of its own accord. When one sits down and faces the wall, the first thing to do is to check out where the mind is. Sometimes it is very quiet and you can just listen to the bird song, but more usually the mind is full of stray energy, darting this way and that. As one practitioner put it to me "The hunting dogs are out, restlessly searching, restlessly chasing." It's not always clear what they are hunting. The wants of the ego in its need for comfort, its need for security, its need for self- validation or validation by another all generate the chase. We want the support of credentials, the support that comes from others telling us that everything is alright. There is the endless need for a little bit of love. The restlessness of the free-running ego is like a car idling, continually turning out low-toned noise. This is the restlessness of the needy ego - the basic suffering. When you sit, the first thing to do is to find out where the mind is. Just to recognise it is the thing. Just to notice the irritation of the approaching aeroplane, this unwanted intrusion by some pilot in the sky. Just to recognise the way in which the mind is disturbed, thrown off centre. And in such recognition often comes a realisation. Simply knowing where the mind is will often do it. "Yes" you might say "Yes, that's where it is. That's what I'm on about." First thing then - check out where the mind is. The second thing to do is to open the mind to the universe. The universe is right in front of you. Just open yourself to the sounds in the room where you are sitting, to the white wall, to your own body, to the friends with whom you are meditating. All of that is the universe. What else could it be! All of it is here right now as one experience. Can you relate to it? Can you open the heart so that the experience of yourself as Just Being comes quietly upon you - no big deal? Dogen, the great Japanese teacher who brought Soto Zen from China to Japan, speaks of the three activities in Zazen: thinking; not thinking; and without either thinking or not thinking. When the mind begins to sit, it rehearses the past or perhaps the hopes for the future. It is a patterning of hopes and fears that constitutes thought. And when you say to yourself " Oh, I should be meditating, I should not be thinking, I should not be worrying or hassling." That is the rejection of thought, the endeavour not to think that sets up its own problem.The practice of just sitting requires the simple allowing of what is on top to bubble forth. When we sit down in meditation it is like taking the top off a bottle of beer, everything bubbles up and you need to note what the bubbles are saying. "Yes, that is that", "Yes, this is this. Yes that's so and so!" And then don't get stuck with it and work with it, let it drop! Let it go, and resume silence until something else comes up of its own accord. Not searching for it; not trying to work; so that if nothing particular comes up, you are just sitting. This practice is called "Without Thinking And Without Not Thinking!" It is just being, naturally. That is the natural way the unhassled mind works. Things crop up and things blow away. Sitting in zazen requires three rather old fashioned attitudes The attitude of faith, the attitude of will, and an attitude which allows one to let go of any particular need for success. Faith is derived from knowing people who have found meditation to be of value. Faith is derived from knowing something about scripture, and having trust in the meditation manuals; faith comes from your knowledge. When sitting facing the wall the mind may be hassling and troubled. At such times remember there have been times, and there will again be times, when the great peace appears. This faith allows one to have the willpower to sit. It is necessary to have the will to sit in order to counteract the sort of self-indulgence which says "Well, there's a nice television programme on, I'll watch that!" or, "I'll go for a walk in the bluebell wood, I can meditate another time". Will simply means a degree of confrontation with our comfort seeking self-indulgences. Faith and Will allow one to work without the driving force of great expectations. It is important to learn that meditation does indeed yield the treasure house; that it opens naturally. You need a reward; you need the benefit of direct knowledge. That is why at first, one should be very simple and "work" hard. You need to experience the Great Peace, because, once the great peace has been even momentarily touched upon, your faith is then confirmed and the point of exerting will- power becomes clear. I can tell you that when I first began training in meditation at Samye Ling Centre in Scotland, I was doing about five or six hour-long sessions in each day. And these were very agonizing, great mental struggles, a lot of physical discomfort. But it vanished with time. Some sessions were better then others. And then, on about the fifth day, I went for a walk. The wind was simply blowing though my head. The landscape began glowing as if made of green jade. These are mere words. Each of us has to try it out for ourself. It is important to know that the unborn mind is lying there within you. The hassling mind is simply the movement of waves on the surface of the ocean. When the waves fall still, and the wind drops, the sea becomes clear. The process of meditation is one of allowing the waves to become quiet. The treasure house opens upon deep stillness. In that stillness there is no longer a wanting. There is depth. Nirvana means "Blown out." The mind has blown out all its wants and petty cravings. There is a deep silence as of a moonlit night over a windless ocean. And as you sit there in that great night, the meaning of the opening treasure house arises within you, a peculiar joy begins to appear. And it is that joy which is the beginning of meditation. Homage to the Buddhas in all worlds. Homage to the Bodhisattvas in all worlds. Homage to the Scripture of Great Wisdom. OLD NO EYE My name is No-eye Hole in the skull Servant of silence Walking. Not I, this skull alone, moves across this dusty plain. Mountains rise, valleys, cool winds and waters fall. Hot rocks glow on the valley floor. Through this skull the world moves like rivers from the mountain snow water from high ice - nothing in the way. JHC, Zanskar 1986. RETREAT REPORTS: MAENLLWYD. 1) WHO IS DRAGGING THIS OLD CORPSE ALONG? Chan Retreat, May 1990 Several times during my retreat at Maenllwyd I was reminded of the many weeks I have spent alone walking in the High Pyrenees. The aching legs, back neck and shoulders; the relentlessness of the load on my back; the near exhaustion and mental stupor; the gratitude for occasional breaks with their slow recovery of the determination to go on no matter what. The recurrent question in my mind "Why on earth am I putting myself through such an ordeal?" I arrived very tired at the Maenllwyd because I had been travelling most of the night before. When asked about my reasons for coming I replied that I had come to find a place of stillness inside myself. I had been to two previous Western Zen Retreats over a five or six year period and so I had an idea of what to expect. They had both been important occasions. I was pleased to learn that I would be sleeping in the attic and doing a job which I had done before. I got up the next morning feeling tired and heavy. Most of the zazen sessions were a test of endurance and pain control, as they were to remain throughout the next two and a half days. By the evening of the first day I became worried about whether I could last out. I could hardly keep my eyes open and frequently nodded off. My mind was fixated on issues and problems I had brought with me. All attempts to apply the method - to watch for the end of my breathing - failed. During the evening feedback session people talked of having an excellent day, of moments of bliss, of meditative achievements. I was the only person to raise my hand when John asked if the day had been awful for anyone. I felt alienated and isolated. During this very gruelling first half of the retreat I was very conscious of existing on two levels; part of me felt very held and deeply meditative - very in touch with the tradition and structure of the retreat, the beauty of many of the words of both the Buddhist texts and John's teachings and the yet unseen but palpable beauty of the place. I was very aware of each person's presence and individuality and I felt an overall sense of wholeness and unity with all around me. Another part of me suffered extreme physical discomfort during the sittings. It struggled to keep awake, was overtaken by feelings of anger alternating with tearfulness, and counted off the moments so that zazens became unbearably long. Just to get to the end - to hear the taps on the fish! My whole body became bruised and sore. The turning point of the week came unexpectedly on day three. Some of the morning sessions had become a little more focused. I looked forward to my interview with John. I told him of my problems trying to apply the method, of my continuing physical discomfort, and of my feelings of existing on two levels. He suggested I use the koan "Who is dragging this old corpse along". There was something very special about my interview. I think it was a combination of its ceremony and John's understanding and affirmation of my experience. I was aware of the presence of something special and powerful. My three dokusans were very significant events. I returned to my wall and started to meditate. An RAF plane screamed across the house and the noise seemed to take me over. I became very angry and then my koan came into my mind. Somehow it brought together the two levels of being I had been feeling up to this point in the retreat. The koan struck a deep chord inside me. My feelings changed dramatically and I laughed and laughed as I did every time I thought of it throughout the rest of the day. My method began to work and several fascinating visualisations appeared in the space 'at the end of my breathing'. I saw a primeval landscape, vivid in its detail and familiarity. I felt I had been there many times before. I saw myself sitting on a rock at the centre of the landscape. Then in a later sitting a large red circle appeared and continued to do so each time I entered the space beyond my breathing. A sea change occurred in my meditation. Later several people commented on the change in my appearance that happened at this time - from looking washed out to looking radiant. The rest of the retreat became more comfortable and enjoyable. I enjoyed the daily routine and there were many memorable moments. I particularly remember the bubble exercise and being taken into the landscape with which I felt at one; the name burning ceremony which felt deliciously naughty - shades of Merlin and wild, craggy ravines. As I attempt to list these moments I realise that every single moment of the week was important and it seems almost invidious to single any out. The sittings put me in touch with how I fail to acknowledge, respect and give space to both my suffering and my happiness. I saw clearly the way in which I just hang on and grin and bear so many aspects of life and my negative karma. Every thought is a present moment and on many occasions it is as easy to be positive as it is to be negative. Every moment has in it the potential of a real rebirth. Each thought is a present moment which is NOW. I want to live this out more, but I do find it difficult. I was put in touch with my projections and negative judgements in a way that I have not previously experienced. The absence of verbal interaction threw my projections into such clear relief, I felt I could almost touch them! So many of my negative patterns and karma were so available to me. I am writing this report on the morning after the retreat and from this perspective it doesn't seem that I had any dramatic new experiences or insights. But so much of who I am was thrown into very sharp relief. The wall certainly did that! I feel full of content. I know the retreat has been very important and its effects will work through me over the coming weeks. 2) WESTERN ZEN RETREAT The silence becomes very palpable, solid. The quality of experience has been turned up. My koan becomes very distant. What first seemed like a fence, close and restricting, now, has moved to the horizon and eventually disappeared. Everything seems wrapped in a profound silence which becomes as interesting as the sounds from the distant hills. Things become soft, fine and gentle. They all happen spontaneously at the right time. Resting in the silence It's just perfect Just as it is, here and now. NOW I'M OUT EVERYTHING ELSE THE MORE IS! WHAT IS DEATH? Death is transition. The drop of a waterfall. I'm coming home.....everything speaks of settling in. Each stone of the barn wall is nestling in snug to the mortar -like everyone here on the third day of this retreat. During the work everything speaks of letting go and is perfect. The wood that I am sawing seems to be presenting truths about the process I am going through in meditation. The block of wood holds its form until the very last and then suddenly, spontaneously, falls away to the ground! I take the bucket to the tap to get water for the chemical loo. As the water pours into the bucket it all seems so meaningful and simple at the same time. A silver laughing stream from the tap to the bucket saying, "Let go, let go, let go." An image of an egg comes up in my minds eye. I am struck with the ease with which the yolk slips from the shell when cracked...plop! These images come spontaneously to my internal video screen and illustrate the transience of form and the dominance of space. On the fourth day I experience a power surge of energy. As I am sitting during the communication exercise I feel my belly getting full and then it becomes a boulder. A boulder in a mountain. With the solid stability of the mountain as my base. I feel free, light and playful in my upper body, incredibly powerful, capable of strong swift movement that can explode out of gentle quiet spaciousness and return in the blink of an eye. It is as though I am the power of the universe and the gentleness of the rising smoke of incense, both together at the same time. EVERYTHING IS PERFECT SOFT TENDER SWEET AS IT IS....AHHH 3) CH'AN RETREAT MAY 1990 My stay at Maenllwyd was a gift which I received with gratitude. It has given me deep insights which will always remain. I have sought the truth for many years, joining this group or that, always looking outside myself, out there, beyond. The concentrated watching, the allowing of my mind to express itself are things which I have avoided, the associated feelings being only partially felt and then successfully repressed with subsequent projection of anger and blame. At Maenllwyd I found my breath rising from and returning again into the space, the void, which paradoxically I know encompasses all. There was a clear perception of my ego, its deep-seated voice, domination and constant illusion, a becoming aware of its cleverness, the way it creeps in by the back door wearing many forms and guises. The resistance to vision like a brick wall. The silence, lowering of eyes and the constant attempt to be alert to all my thoughts, deeds and actions, together with the concentrated sitting in meditation allowed me to look and see and feel my own pain, sadness and hurt: to see my wheel of karma, allowing it to be, perceiving how I am encompassed in its constant turning. The washing of tea cloths in the stream, knowing the meaning of the words "letting go", "allowing" instead of "going out to do it". I would like to be there always. The fatigue was great but perhaps I needed it to break through my resistances. Every day, from the moment I awoke, I saw I was constantly reacting to stimuli outside me. The ease of the group members waiting for me on the hillside. The words of the talks in the early mornings and evenings as if they were spoken to me alone. I wanted to keep them all for ever. The sharpness of the bell seemed to fill and expand inside my head and I followed that sound as it fell to nothing and into stillness. In writing this, my resolve in my search for truth has been strengthened. 4) ON THE NATURALNESS OF HOW THINGS ARE. November 1989, Chan Centre, New York. This was my fourth retreat with Shifu but the first at the new premises in Corona Avenue. I was happy to find that the Chan hall now had a large and attractive Buddha image in it - so on arrival I went up to pay my respects and to look at the Buddha - and the Buddha looked at me! I had come to this retreat with a clear cut intention. I wanted to gain a better understanding of the meaning of the chinese word tsan. The word translates as 'investigate' 'enter' or 'go in to'. My question was about how to apply tsan in meditation. On the first day I was happy. I had rediscovered old friends and the atmosphere of the Chan Centre reminded me of past retreats. I felt optimistic though wary of such optimism. As I gazed into the Buddha's face it was as if a state of blissful harmony was transferred to me, for a sweet peacefulness filled my mind and seemed to permeate the room itself. On the second day the agonies began. Past karma, unhappy relationships, dissatisfaction and despair at self emerged one after the other to plague me. My body became stiff and my back began to ache. I detected more subtle motifs below those that moved on the surface. However hard I tried to dispel them in meditation, they permeated whole hours of sitting. Two devils in particular were having a field day. The first told me that my endless tendency to try to placate significant others could not be satisfied here. Yet, so engrained is this neurosis, that without feeling that I was pleasing somebody I could not feel pleased about myself! Here there were no others - unless it was Shifu, and to try and placate Shifu was obviously so totally absurd that I couldn't even begin; even though the feeling was sometimes there. Sitting before the wall there was only myself and I had to learn to create my own valued being. The second devil was a saboteur. In the middle of a peaceful kinhin a voice suddenly said, "You don't believe any of this". I was shocked by so traitorous a thought. It was as if my discomfort was taking revenge on the ego that forced it to endure the whole process by denying the very belief that led me to value the work. In seeking to apply tsan in the situation I was aided greatly by Shih- fu's choice of topic for the evening lectures. He spoke on Master Hsu Yun's instructions on how to practice Chan meditation. I found these talks highly instructive and inspiring. They also helped me to clarify my understanding of certain issues relating to my theme. I had previously discovered that it was sometimes possible to detach from a painful thought and to allow my awareness to expand and to embrace the experiential moment - to experience the nowness of the room directly, its sound and atmosphere, without the interpolating of thought or analysis. I began to practice this setting aside of a painful theme (once I had identified it) and to bring myself into the immediate presence of the room. It felt as if the monstrous pervasiveness of ego concern was withdrawing from the stage into its lair leaving it clear and unobstructed. There was just the room but how clean, clear, vivid and present it now seemed. A second before it had been like sitting with my head in a fog. This practice was assisted by the technique of looking into (tsan) the silence before and after a breath, or the silence created by a held breath, or the moment that precedes a repetition of a hua-tou phrase. The mental silence so created had a potential to move in one of two directions. Either it could open out into the room as above, or it could stabilise inwardly into a profound inner stillness with a trance like quality - a sort of samadhi. All of this was encouraging. It seemed as if I was in a sort of store house or cage filled with troublesome monkeys. If I asked the question "Who is troubling me now?" I could do two things. The first was to perceive and name the basic difficulty - the monkeys. The second was to look upon it from the standpoint of the cage itself. This is tantamount to moving the locus of awareness from among the agitating monkeys to the contextual space that surrounds them. The cage is not the monkey. The cage itself is uninvolved; however much noise the monkeys make the cage itself is not affected. Repeating this practise many times led to an expanding and relatively enduring stillness. When I looked at the Buddha now there was just a reflex of silence. On the morning of the fourth day I was deeply moved during the morning service. All the tragedy, tears and sorrow of the world seemed matched against the beauty of the passing scene of life. I wept quietly. Yet there also arose a deep inward feeling of bliss, quite physical in its manifestation. At interview I asked Shifu the meaning of this bliss within the perspective of Chan. He said that such a feeling arises from a gratitude which is in response to an insight into emptiness. Emptiness, gratitude and bliss are related and tend to arise one after the other in unpredictable sequences and with varying durations and intensities so long as the mind is focused. These comprise the invisible door out of the cage. Meditation during sitting was now settling down into a stillness that enveloped me. In this stillness the sounds outside seemed to be within me and time seemed a paradoxically continuous present. Even so, the awareness of myself as subject was always present, even if faintly, obscurely, somewhere far back. This "subtle ego" as commentator only occasionally seemed to move aside - and even to ask where it was clearly implied its presence. I seemed frozen into a sort of self - aware - samadhi. The morning prostrations focusing on repentance brought tears and relief, while the afternoon prostrations with awareness were followed by a sitting in which silence was a deep joy. On the last night I sat until midnight. In the stillness of the meditation hall questions from Shifu's talks slowly circled. "What was my original face before my parents were born?" "Before time what was I?" If there was no time before time then there was only space. But no - without time there would be no space. BLOCK. A spinning without an answer - wu is the inconceivable. Nothing ultimately can be said. When I went to bed I had a feeling of release. So - there is nothing more to be said or done. Just the great NO of Joshu. And this No seemed to be turning into my yes. Did I say "my" Yes? Talking with Shifu after the retreat clarified some questions further. I had long wondered about this curious fact - that experiences of transcendence occur not only in all major religions but also among nature mystics and poets - so what is special about a Zen enlightenment experience? If transcendence is a universal property of mind what distinguishes one way from another? What is the special insight of Zen that gives it a particular claim to truth? What indeed is truth apart from opinion? I had asked Shifu whether it could be said that Kensho resulted from training. If you say "Yes" then it is possible to say that Kensho is a goal of training. But if you say "No" then training cannot produce Kensho. Everybody knows that if you try and produce Kensho it cannot happen. Kensho, in D.T.Suzuki's phrase, occurs when there is no longer "the separateness implied by being conscious of Mu" (or me) - so any willed intention towards Kensho must contradict itself. The ego cannot experience Kensho for then it is not there; yet there is an experience - an experience without a subject. Perhaps all that intentional training can produce is the unification of the mind - a unification of the mind that is the field or potential within which Kensho can happen. It could be said to be given as a "grace". In response Shifu replied by saying that it was training in Dharma which facilitated Kensho in Chan. In other words a transcendant experience within the Dharma is rooted in the understanding of impermanence and it is this that gives Kensho its especial claim, in retrospect, to truth. It is therefore of the utmost importance for the Chan practitioner to train within a correct view of the Dharma. Correct understanding here means not only an intellectual appreciation of metaphysical propositions but an understanding of the very "bones and marrow" (Dogen) of existence through persistent zazen (tso-ch'an). It is a "heart" matter. Correct understanding is the perception that impermanence is nothing other than the interdependence of causes and conditions in an unending kaleidoscopic repatterning of "how things are". And this "how things are" is none other than suchness (tathata); the mind basis itself (tathatagarbha). At any moment this suchness is the unalloyed presence of that very moment itself yet, should the mind be split by any opposition between a desirable and an undesirable, a cloud of either grasping or rejection covers the moon. Any preferential tendency, any intentionality in time towards a goal that is not already within the presence of the moment creates an observer within the observed. When Dogen says that "training and enlightenment are inseparable", he means exactly this. If training is focused towards a state that has not yet arisen then the quest is faulty. When the very moment of training is perceived as none other than complete in itself then the opposition dissolves and the pristine presence emerges in clarity. Here the division between host and guest, between monkey and cage, is gone. There is only the mystery of there being absolutely nothing to do. This training is an ultimate training and, however severe it may be in its ruthless confrontation with the illusions of self, it nonetheless propels me through at least some of them and brings me face to face with the naturalness of how things are. I guess I'll be back. Extract from a letter received from Richard Hunn ....What really matters is the way we live outside retreat periods. I can quite understand why a Tibetan Lama in Wales decided to call his centre a "periphery", because people adopted a special outlook about being at his "place", instead of finding their own "centre" in the centreless-centre. Most of my Chan retreats have been spent in remote country locations, including living up a mountain for a year or so, 14 miles from the nearest small town. Back in the urban circus, I am left wondering at times if western people 'want' to take up Chan for the right reasons, or whether they are even prepared to pay the price required to get into it. As William Blake said, "What price wisdom? Can it be bought for the price of a song in the street? No - it must be purchased with all that a man hath". This "all a man hath" is how I understand the demands of Chan, not in the sense of mad exertion, but letting the enquiry take over, perhaps being prepared to give up all sorts of superfluous activities, which looks like madness to some people. Though the ancient masters used to say that "everyday mind is the way," I wonder if they meant what we would call the "everyday mind" these days, at all. If we take the frantic calculating mind for the "everyday mind", I am convinced otherwise, for they surely meant the "unaffected" (wu shih) mind which simply reflects what is going on, without thought for the morrow. Our modern mentality seems so far from that, that I don't see any easy answers and maybe we shouldn't expect them or promise them to anyone. There must be sacrifices to tread the path. I can see why Carl Jung sent his incurably neurotic patients off to grow carrots, raise hens and have babies, for we have lost touch with basic things, even in the worldly or phenomenal sense. Of course our Buddha nature, or self-nature is always there, but whether we get the chance to see it while chasing around, is another thing. Consequently I am a little reticent about 'adapting' Chan or Zen to modern needs, if it means trying to make the 'host' into the 'guest', or mistaking the 'seeming' for the 'real'. [END]