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	NEW
		
	CH'AN
	
	FORUM
	
	
	
	No.5 Autumn 1992
	
	Dharma Adviser

        The Venerable
        Chan Master
        Dr Sheng-yen
	
	Teacher
	Dr John Crook
	
	Editor 
	Hilary Richards
	
	Drawings
	Caroline Paine
	Ann Brown

  
GOING ON.......

This small journal of the Bristol Chan Group has reached its fifth 
number. Already we have established a certain genre which seems to 
generate interest. We will continue to present articles on aspects 
of Chan and teachings by Shifu and other modern masters and also 
scholarly essays on ancient examples. A main concern will be on the 
development of Lay Zen in this country. Lay Zen remains a matter for 
discussion and clarification. What is it? How should practitioners 
be? What is the relationship between contemporary life and the Chan 
tradition? How does the lay practitioner relate to monasticism? What 
are the roles of the genders in Zen?

This year has been important for the Maenllwyd. Shifu made his 
second visit to lead a very large and successful retreat which 
strained the facilities to their limits! In this issue John, as 
guestmaster, describes the work involved and his experiences in 
running the material side of the event. We have selected some of the 
more detailed reports of participants for edited and anonymous 
presentation. These reports reveal the varied and profound nature of 
personal experience on retreat and may act as encouragement for 
others to attend. We have also chosen to consider some aspects of 
the relation between Zen and Christianity. This theme has emerged 
for several visitors to the Maenllwyd and is an important topic. We 
would like to hear the views of our readers on this theme. Indeed we 
welcome text for possible inclusion on any of these and related 
subjects.

John has been exceptionally busy necessitating some changes in his 
retreat programme. He regrets any inconvenience or disappointment so 
caused. He completed an adventurous journey of some two thousand 
kilometres through Western Tibet making his pilgrimage to both Mount 
Kailash and Lake Manasarovar with Brian Beresford's party of five 
and five Tibetans from Lhasa. The group was horrified by the 
political conditions in Tibet but heart warmed by the extraordinary 
moral integrity of the Tibetan people and the slow re-appearance of 
beautiful monasteries, some in very remote places. John also 
attended and presented papers at a conference on "Buddhism and 
Modern Thought" at Emmanuel College, Cambridge and on "The Precepts 
in Modern Society" in Taiwan. He felt the academic quality of these 
meetings to be exceptionally high and a sign of the respect for 
Buddhist thought which is developing world wide. In Taiwan scholars 
from the Republic of China (Taiwan), Japan, Thailand, the USA, 
France and Great Britain had two days of intensive discussions and 
visited the site of Shifu's monastery of the future, a beautiful 
mountain not far from Taipai. John flew back to Hong Kong in typhoon 
winds so strong that the jumbo jet was thrown about like a ship as 
it came in to land. We are grateful that he has returned to Bristol.


LIFE IN A CH'AN MONASTERY

Lecture by Master Sheng-yen at the University of Toronto on October 
18th 1991. Edited text by permission from Chan Newsletter No.92, 
May 92

In ancient Chinese monasteries a practitioner's time was divided 
between meditation, attending Dharma talks and daily work. Morning 
and evening was spent in meditation, daytime was for working. We are 
somewhat ignorant of the daily schedule in early Chan monasteries 
before Master Pai-chang (720-814). But from the Sung Dynasty (960-
1279) onward, we know that there was chanting and reading of the 
sutras as well as meditation in the morning. Likewise in the evening 
there would be some chanting or reading before meditation.

In the Platform Sutra the Sixth Patriarch does not put a lot of 
emphasis on sitting, rather he emphasises practice in daily life. 
His disciple, Huai-jan (677-744), continued this tradition. But the 
Fourth and the Fifth Patriarchs, as well as Master Pai-chang in his 
Pure Rules, specifically mention sitting as an important method of 
practice. Thus sitting meditation became one of the major methods of 
practice in the Chan tradition.

Again, in the Pure Rules of Master Pai-chang there is no mention of 
a Buddha hall for performing prostrations, but a Dharma hall for 
listening to lectures is detailed. At that time chanting sutras and 
performing prostrations were considered less important than 
listening to the Dharma.

From records and stories we know that Huang-po (d.850), a disciple 
of Pai-chang, taught prostration. There is a gongan of an emperor 
in the T'ang Dynasty (618-906) who, before he became emperor, spent 
some time as a novice monk at Huang-po's Chan monastery. His 
curiosity about prostration when he encountered the Master 
performing this practice is duly recorded.

Once we reach the Sung Dynasty, there seems to have been both Buddha 
halls and Dharma halls. The Buddha hall was used for chanting sutras 
and liturgies both in the morning and the evening. Were Dharma talks 
given regularly? That does not seem to be the case. Within any given 
month, Dharma talks were scheduled rather infrequently. We don't 
know which days were specifically designated for them.

There was also an important practice called Universal Invitation. 
This was a time when everyone was invited to do work at the 
monasteries. This was sometimes called ch'u-p'o, literally "going to 
the mountains," but it did not necessarily entail field work. It 
might include various chores around the monastery. Under certain 
circumstance, attendance at Dharma talks might be excused. Universal 
Invitation was mandatory for monks and nuns.

Hua-tou's and gongans became the principal means of practice in the 
Sung Dynasty. However in the Yuan Dynasty (1264-1368) many 
practitioners adopted the method of reciting the Buddha's name. 
Since Chan was transmitted to Japan mainly during the Sung period, 
this method was not adopted by the Japanese. Often people do not 
realise the influence of Chinese Chan on the development of 
Japanese Zen.

Establishing a monastery was never easy. Land and buildings had to 
be donated by wealthy individuals or officials or the government 
itself. Typically, the monastery grounds would include a field 
cultivated by the monks. Some temples had fields quite far off which 
were donated by people who attended the temple but who lived some 
distance from it. These fields were often leased as there were not 
enough monks to work them.

Working the land was simple in the early monasteries. Later on, with 
the increase of donated land, leasing became common, and some monks 
took on bureaucratic functions and had to work in the temple office 
or see to the management of the land.

When I left home, the monastery in which I was a disciple owned much 
land, so I first learned to work in the fields, those near the 
monastery and those in the mountains. Since most of us who left home 
were quite young, we had to learn traditional tasks such as those 
learned by a young housewife. I had to make, mend and wash my own 
clothes. I had to learn to plant rice and vegetables, and I had to 
learn how to cook them. This is the way life is to this day in my 
own temple in Taiwan, which is called Nung Chan Ssu. "Nung" stands 
for agriculture. Thus it is a place where farming and Chan are 
practised together.

When a novice first enters my temple, he or she is first sent to the 
kitchen to learn to cook. We also ask a professional tailor to come 
and teach people how to sew. But most of my disciples know only how 
to mend; few can really make clothes. They don't really have the 
patience. However, everyone must learn how to shave his own head. 
Now we have razors. In the past we only had knives and we left lots 
of scars on our heads.

When I first left home, I was given no formal introduction to 
meditation or the practice of Chan. When I asked my Master if he 
would teach me how to practice, he would say, "Aren't you already 
practising? Isn't eating practice? Isn't sleeping practice, walking 
practice, working practice?" Once you leave home, you come to see 
that everything you do is practice.

Most people who begin practice have the idea that there is a 
specific mode of cultivation, a specific form, a specific method. 
Most people usually see a physical and a mental aspect to the 
practice, a need to train the body as well as the mind. But when I 
was a young monk, there was no such idea. People saw living as 
practice. They did not delve into the deep philosophy of teaching.

When I was first at the temple, we simply practised. We worked and 
prostrated. Every day we chanted and read sutras. We were not told 
their meaning. It didn't matter. We simply went through the process. 
We cut down on our attachment to the things around us, cut down on 
the things in our heads, cut down on our discriminations. This was a 
good method for us. However for modern lay people such training 
would be inadequate.

Many of my disciples have questioned these methods. With no emphasis 
on what they think practice is - meditation, prostrations, chanting 
- they feel that life in the monastery is not particularly different 
from their lives at home. What's the point? they say. At home we 
work, here we work. At home we cook, and we cook here too. Why did 
we bother to leave home? Where is the practice? What would you say 
to such disciples? Is life at home and life in the monastery the 
same?

We practise not for personal gain, but simply as a way of life. Once 
a practitioner has trained himself to the point where the mind is 
very stable and few discriminations arise, it is very important that 
he rely on the principles and concepts of Buddhadharma as his guide. 
Otherwise, practitioners might develop a nihilistic attitude and 
conclude that there is nothing in life worth doing. This is a 
mistake and very much misses the point of what practice is about. 
Relying on the principles and concepts of Buddhadharma, a 
practitioner will live his life in such a way that he is selfless, 
yet very much involved in the goings-on of the world. Such a person 
has a genuine concern for all living beings, and works in a diligent 
manner for the benefit of others.

You may recall the story in the Platform Sutra when the Sixth 
Patriarch, Hui-neng (638-713), met with the Fifth Patriarch, Hung-
jen (602-675). Hui-neng was sent to the kitchen to grind rice, and 
it was not until at least six months later that Hung-jen finally 
explained the Diamond Sutra to him.

Guided by the same principles, I continue to send novice monks to 
work in the fields or in the kitchen when they first leave home. At 
first there is really no opportunity to listen to Dharma talks. Many 
complain. Usually I tell them that if they want to learn, they must 
do what the Sixth Patriarch did - work in the fields and in the 
kitchen. To simply begin by listening to Dharma talks will make 
enlightenment that much more difficult to attain. Life in a Chan 
monastery brings the body and mind to a gentle and harmonious state. 
In this way you become receptive to the teachings of the 
Buddhadharma. Then you can genuinely practice Chan Dharma.

It has been a slow process establishing a good foundation for 
Buddhadharma in Taiwan. Buddhism there did not have the kind of 
historical base that it had on the mainland. It is only in the last 
forty years that we have had real progress. We still have much to 
do. However, we are working very hard to build a new monastic 
environment in Taiwan. We have close to 100 acres where we will 
build a complex inspired by the discipline and the way of life of 
the great monasteries of the T'ang Dynasty.

Of course I have benefitted greatly from the time I have spent in 
Chan monasteries, but this was not my exclusive practice. It is 
because I have continued to work diligently on my own that I have 
reached my present understanding. In fact, two recent Chan masters, 
Hsu-yun (1840-1953) and Lai-kuo (1881-1953), both attained 
enlightenment outside of the monastery, even though they had 
practised in the confines of Chan temples for many years.

Chan practice is a pursuit of personal wisdom. But how can you 
judge what wisdom is? Within, it manifests as freedom from vexation. 
Without, it manifests in the way we interact with what is around us. 
True wisdom is without discrimination and is always at one with the 
environment. It is in this external manifestation that you see that 
the practice is not simply the pursuit of personal spiritual 
gratification. If you are only interested in your own freedom from 
vexation and your own benefit, then you are not practising Chan. If 
you practice only for yourself, you may achieve some level of 
samadhi, a very concentrated mental state, but genuine Chan is 
always turned outward as well as inward.

Chan begins at the logical point of changing yourself. Once your 
mental state has calmed and changed, there is a natural tendency to 
help others. This will effect change in the world around us.
 

THE PAI CHU YI VERSE

In the fourth issue of New Chan Forum, Richard Hunn kindly 
permitted us to publish his translation of these verses. We are now 
able to produce them together with the commentary Richard has 
written about them.


	Pai Chu Yi's Linked Verse: Pa Chien Ch'i


Pai Chu Yi (722-846) is one of China's most famous poets and like 
his near contemporary - Wang Wei (701-761), Pai's name is often 
linked with Buddhism. Those of poetic turn of mind are often 
predisposed to dwell on the transience of life and in that sense, 
Buddhism and poetry were bound to become natural allies in China. 
Pai's interest for Buddhism initially seems to have been a rather 
dilettantish affair which fluctuated with his fortunes. In one of 
his earlier verses, Pai had said - "for easing the mind there's 
nothing like wine and Chan." However, the untimely death of his 
daughter and the onset of a drink related liver disease which 
permanently affected his eyesight, sadly gave him sober cause to 
reflect on the ephemeral nature of life.

A member of the Han Lin academy and a man of considerable scholarly 
accomplishments, Pai Chu Yi served in numerous official posts during 
the course of his lifetime, including several periods spent as 
district governor in various parts of China. This gave Pai ample 
opportunity to visit Buddhist monasteries and fraternize with the 
sangha, enjoying the pure atmosphere and tranquillity of the great 
mountain temples. Thus in the course of his career, Pai befriended 
several Buddhist monks - sometimes under humorous circumstances - 
such as his encounter with Tao Lin (Niao K'e 740-824), nick-named 
the 'bird nest monk' because of his habit of living in the clustered 
branches of a pine tree on the slopes of Mount Chin Wang. At the 
time of their meeting, Niao K'e ribbed Pai for his attachment to the 
ties of officialdom and rank.

When Pai noticed K'e's unusual haunt, the following dialogue took 
place:

Pai:	 "Isn't your dwelling rather dangerous, up in that tree?"

Niao K'e: "On the contrary, O Governor, your position is far more 
insecure!"

Pai:	"How's that? I am the district governor, which gives me 
jurisdiction over the whole area."

Niao K'e: "Well, while your mind chases after things with the 
ferocity of fire consuming fuel, how could that be anything but 
dangerous?"

Eventually, Pai's insight matured and in time, he turned his 
scholarly abilities to altruistic ends, helping to establish the 
libraries of several Buddhist temples, the most notable of these 
being the library at the Nan Chan Monastery in Sou Chou. Also, in 
an act of sublime generosity, Pai helped restore the Hsiang Shan 
monastery, putting up most of the money himself from a legacy 
inherited from a deceased friend.


Of Pai's numerous contacts with the Buddhist world, perhaps the two 
most influential figures were Tao Tsung, a poet monk he had met in 
the capital at Chang An, and Fa Ning, who became his mentor at the 
Sheng Shan monastery in Loyang. The following verse was written at 
Chang An.


				Idle musings

	At nights I spend most of my time in meditation,
	Stirred by the spirit of autumn, I recite Buddhist chants,
	Besides these two things - I am entirely at my leisure,
	And thus my mind abides in nothing else.


Without doubt the most 'technical' of his Buddhist inspired 
compositions, Pai's linked verse (Pa Chien Ch'i) was written after 
Fa Ning presented him with eight Chinese characters as a kind of 
'aide memoire' along with his teachings. In Fa Ning's estimation, 
the inner meaning of these eight characters best conveyed the 
essence of the Buddhist teaching. Fa Ning passed away in 803 and in 
the following year, Pai hit on the idea of using the eight 
characters as the basis for a linked verse to commemorate Fa Ning's 
teaching. Although Pai seems to have invested much interest in the 
teachings of Chan Buddhism, his linked verse contains a strong 
T'ien T'ai influence for as its title (Pa Chien Ch'i) suggests, it 
deals with the 'gradual' (chien) approach to enlightenment. It is 
quite likely that Fa Ning was an advocate of joint T'ien T'ai/Chan 
practice, for the T'ien T'ai and Chan schools were closely related 
in China. In fact, the Chuan Teng Lu - the first major Chan 
collection compiled by Tao yuan at the beginning of the Sung period 
(1004) - includes the records of T'ien T'ai masters alongside those 
of the Chan school. This may seem incompatible with the Chan 
school's emphasis on 'sudden awakening' (tun-wu) and its apparent 
rejection of 'gradualist' methods, but in practice, it is clear that 
the Chan school did recognize the value of 'gradual' methods. 
Conversely, while Pai's linked verse ostensibly deals with 'gradual' 
enlightenment, the T'ien T'ai school also recognized 'sudden' 
enlightenment and thus Pai's verse is of equal importance to Chan 
practitioners. This explains its presence in the Chuan Teng Lu.

Both schools were informed by the Madhyamika and Prajnaparamita 
doctrines, the chief difference being that the T'ien T'ai teaching 
is somewhat more discursive. However, when the T'ien T'ai Master 
Yung Chia called on the Sixth Patriarch at Ts'ao Chi, the Patriarch 
recognised his attainment and Yung Chia left after but one night's 
lodging, thereafter becoming known as the 'overnight enlightened 
one.' Pai Chu Yi's linked verse explicates the meaning of the T'ien 
T'ai school's 'triple insight,' that is - meditation upon (1) the 
insubstantiality of the phenomenal; (2) the underlying truth of 
emptiness; and (3) the 'mean' which is inclusive of both. Thus the 
T'ien T'ai school's understanding of the 'mean' is not a static 
point between the phenomenal and the noumenal but a dynamic insight 
in which both phenomenon and noumenon of form and emptiness are 
harmonised. The term 'combined triple insight' and the practice on 
which it is based - was also coined by Chan monks such as Fa Yung 
and Sen Hui and at the end of the day, so to speak, there is not so 
much to choose between T'ien T'ai and Chan methods. In short, it is 
only by 'looking into' the rise and fall of phenomenal illusions 
that one can perceive the real. Thus in the following verse, the 
terms 'truth' and 'falsehood' are used in a specifically Buddhist 
way - not as logical propositions or statements about something 'out 
there' but about the very manner of our perception - for it is that 
which changes in Buddhist meditation. As Aldous Huxley put it, once 
we "cleanse the doors of perception, we look upon a new heaven and a 
new earth." 



	Pai Chu Yi's Linked Verse: Pa Chien Ch'i


Kuan (Contemplation)

Contemplating by means of the mind's eye,
One looks into external forms;
From what do they spring?
And where do they return...?
Examine this point again and again.
Distinguish the difference between
Truth and falsehood.


Chueh (Awakening)

Although the true nature is always there,
It is concealed by falsehood.
Yet by discerning the difference between the two,
One can awaken to the 'mean'
And attain insight into true emptiness
Without abandoning this illusory existence.

 
Ting (Samadhi)

If one's view of the real never fades,
Then falsehood no longer arises.
And the source of the six sense roots
Becomes as clear and still as water.
Such, then, is dhyana-samadhi,
The means to escape samsara's hold.


Hui (Wisdom)

However, if samadhi alone is taught,
Then there will be attachment to it,
Thus saving-wisdom is required
For with wisdom - there are no impediments.
It is like holding a pearl in a bowl;
When the bowl is (held) still,
The pearl of wisdom shines.


Ming (Illumination)

When samadhi and prajna are harmonised,
There is illumination.
It shines upon the myriad phenomena,
Leaving nothing hidden or concealed.
Like a vast, round mirror,
Reflecting all dispassionately.


Tung (Penetration)

When wisdom leads to illumination,
There is no more confusion,
So illumination becomes all penetrating.
Pervading everywhere, without hindrance.
But 'who' is it that meets no hindrance,
Sovereign amid a myriad transformations?


Chi (Saving Living Beings)

Wisdom's penetrating power has no fixed form,
It is modified in response to momentary needs,
Yet such changes are themselves 'non-existent,'
They are but expedients to match an enquirer's views.
By means of this great compassion,
The myriad beings are ferried to salvation.


She (Abandonment)

When sentient beings are saved from their afflictions,
Great compassion is abandoned too;
Since the afflictions are not real,
Compassionate (deeds) are also illusory.
Thus out of all the sentient beings,
Not one, is truly liberated.


                            Trans. (c) Richard Hunn, 1991



	ZEN AND CHRISTIANITY
	

	The dialogue
	
	John Crook


Christianity lies at the root and heart of Western culture. Today 
intellectually rejected because of its failure to relate effectively 
with science, and sentimentalised by those who seek popularity 
within a world of adolescent values that last a lifetime, the 
traditional European religion none the less continues to stir the 
heart. Perhaps it is the story of Christ himself, rather than the 
abstractions of theology or the often hypocritical moralism, that 
touches us so. Every day we are hearing his story - in Tibet, in 
Bosnia, among the Kurds and Shiites of Iraq and in our own twentieth 
century well watered slums.

In a recent article for The Sharpham Miscellany I explored some 
themes that are in common between Buddhism and Christianity and also 
some differences.  The essential linkage lies in the common concern 
with compassion while the major differences lie in the psycho-
philosophical understanding of the place of the human being in the 
Universe. Christianity has focused particularly on the alleviation 
of poverty and plays an active role in politics in many countries. 
Buddhism focuses more on the alleviation of psychological misery 
among rich as well as poor and has so far played a relatively minor 
role in world politics, Tibet excluded.

Buddhism's strength lies in the fact that the profound philosophies 
of the Madhyamika and Cittamatra schools not only found a deep 
resonance within modern physics and philosophy but may come to 
occupy spaces in the intellectual world of the West where the 
meaning of being requires deeper attention. Here, in the vacuum of 
modern thought, Buddhism's critique of the self allows a 
reconstruction of values based upon a deconstructive approach 
resembling that of contemporary French philosophy in particular. In 
the world of alienation in which we find ourselves today, this 
provides hope where only regressive and fundamental religion seems 
to be strong. Furthermore, it is a message which the emerging 
underclass of modern society might well understand if and when it 
hears of it.

Yet the deep strength of Christianity lies today in obscure places 
where the "deep" religion of inner contemplation and quiet 
asceticism still sustains itself. A visit to the Franciscan friary 
at Batcombe in Dorset showed me a caring community with a profound 
spiritual life, practice and liturgical round. This deep 
Christianity is anchored in values that approach those of Buddhism 
closely. Emphasised here is the inner life of contemplation married 
in various ways to action. Teachers of the pseudo-Dionysian 
tradition, Meister Eckhart and the mystical writings of obscure 
saints and priests of the medieval times are important here. The 
Cloud of Unknowing by an unknown spiritual adviser to priests in 
14th century England is very close to Zen, as is the little book of 
the French monk Brother Lawrence on The Presence of God. What we 
have here is an apophatic approach to God; that is to say an 
approach that focuses on what God is not rather than what he may be 
asserted to be. Such a view leaves the essential mystery untouched 
by definitions and discriminative thought and allows a contemplative 
openness that only the spiritually adult can attain. It is in 
regions such as these that Buddhism and Christianity can enter a 
productive dialogue. This is no longer possible in those regions 
where pop Christianity and evangelism maintain their unthinking way.

In Buddhism there is no God. But then what thinking priest claims 
the existence of God as essential to Christianity these days? So is 
God a problem? The answer is only affirmative for Buddhists if by 
God, some fixed unmoveable permanent causative entity, a father 
figure projected into heaven, is proposed. This God is probably 
truly dead and gone but his shadows are everywhere. But if by God 
one means the deep mystery at the heart of the Cosmos about whom or 
which nothing can be asserted other than that the process is one of 
endless change, evolution and return, then the difference with 
Buddhism becomes minimal. Indeed this is also the reason why 
Buddhism can retain a good relationship with Hinduism but only a 
polite one with Islam. If Christianity ceases to be a fundamentalist 
religion of the Book and re-emerges with the humility of the Desert 
Fathers the dialogue with Buddhism can deepen.

But can one then relate to this God? Not as the spiritually 
adolescent might wish to do in a sentimental and emotional elation 
that can so easily mislead, but certainly so in contemplative 
thought and meditation. My own Christian heritage sometimes surfaces 
when within my sitting meditation in zazen the word GOD suddenly 
appears like a koan demanding resolution. Today this word has ceased 
to be a puzzle to me, nor any longer does my personal emergence from 
an adolescent Christianity produce twinges of guilt. Instead the 
word GOD has become a power word, a mantra that stands for the whole 
just as well as Buddha Mind, Tathata or any other term. It arises 
and passes away. It has become empty and therein lies its ancient 
power. I feel less at ease with Jesus the Christ. Who was he? What 
kind of a being was he? Why has the Church made such a mess of his 
message? For me the koan "Tell me what the cross is?" remains a live 
issue to which I must return. There is no way one can escape the 
deep roots of one's own culture. The way through is dialogue.

Many people, puzzled by the alienation and ennui of our times and by 
the rising wave of valueless materialism and criminal apathy without 
heart, have been looking into Buddhism because Christianity fails to 
be enough. Yet such people often retain deep Christian motifs in 
their psyche that cannot be denied. To work these through in 
dialogue is essential to our re-emerging spirituality.

Recently Hebe Welbourne, a child health doctor and wife of the late 
theologian Fred Welbourne (who I remember well from the days of the 
Bristol Encounter Centre) of Bristol University, became the 
"resident hermit" in an ancient house of prayer next door to the 
church of Westbury on Trym. Feeling the need to explore meditative 
approaches of our time she came to a Western Zen Retreat at 
Maenllwyd. Her report follows. It is clear to me that in such 
meetings lies the essence of the dialogue of which I speak. We have 
had many Quakers on retreats for they find Zen close in many ways to 
their silence in Church. I was once asked to lead a retreat for a 
Christian community but some unclear resistance developed and it 
never came to fruition. Today, I think that simply to offer an open 
door at the Maenllwyd is the way forward. Those Christians who have 
an affinity with contemplation are likely to find their way there 
and join this inner dialogue. Sometimes, as in the report "What's 
the trick?" (below), the Chan or Western Zen Retreat allows the 
resolution of a problem that many Christians experience due to the 
dilemmas of their own tradition in modern times. The door remains 
open to all. 


1 Buddhism and Christianity - bridging the gap. In: Sharpham
Miscellany; essays in spirituality and ecology. The Sharpham Trust.
Totnes. pp 57-70.

2 Two useful books on Zen and Christianity are William Johnstone's
Christian Zen (1971) Harper Colophon Books and Silent Music; the
science of meditation.(1974) Fontana/Collins.

For additional reading I recommend:

Allchin, A.M. 1983. Solitude and Communion: papers on the hermit
life. Fairacres Publication 66. SLG Press Oxford.

Caussade, J-P de. 1977. The Sacrament of the Present Moment. Fount
Paperbacks. Collins

Furlong, M. 1985 Merton; a biography. Darton, Longman and Todd. London.

Leigh-Fermor, P. 1982 A Time to Keep Silence. Penguin

Levi, P.1987 The Frontiers of Paradise: a study of monks and monasteries.
Collins Harvill

Sophrony, Archimandrite.1973. The Monk of Mount Athos. Mowbrays.
London and Oxford



	CHRIST AT THE MAENLLWYD

	Hebe Welbourne


A few years back, I was very busy and very tired. I was, in my odd 
moments dipping into an exciting book, God in Creation, by the 
German Theologian Jurgan Moltmann. I was working as a community 
child health doctor and nursing my husband who was completely 
disabled with Parkinson's /Altzheimer's diseases. I was crying out 
to God but there wasn't anyone out there, only my own projections. 
Then one day, as I was straightening my back after easing Fred into 
the bath, the world suddenly settled down. There wasn't anyone out 
there. There was me, the Environment, the Universe, Infinity, all 
interacting, dancing, resounding. All contained in God making 
himself. I don't have to worry about God any more, I just interact 
with whatever is there at each moment in time.

I'm still a Christian.  It's what I have been born into and I have 
no desire to change. I find my law, wisdom, symbols, tradition etc. 
within a Christian world view. My active spiritual inspiration is 
based on meditating the Bible in all its richness of myth, poetry 
and wonderful ambiguity. Not just memorizing like an instruction 
manual, but engaging, questioning, translating, visualizing, 
studying, ruminating. The image of the life, death and resurrection 
of Christ, God incarnate in Creation. It is then infinitely restful 
to let go all the images and, with Eckhart and other great Christian 
mystics, rest in the nothing - or in the unity of God, however you 
express it. You come back to needing the images. Like babies, we 
make "transitional objects" - a teddy bear or a comfort cloth - to 
represent the loved one for whom we yearn. Then we become 
disillusioned, and the search goes on, Christians and Buddhists 
together search for what is beyond all tradition. We make images of 
God/Buddha, Christ, the Church. We disagree about images, kill 
ourselves trying to get them "right" and finally become 
disillusioned. Yet the visible world of images is where we are. It 
is the body of Christ. As inseparable as my body is from my spirit. 
When I sit in silence, following my breath and repeating the name of 
Jesus (the Jesus prayer of Eastern Orthodox tradition) the spirit 
moves behind the stillness. I return to a transformed visible world 
with renewed power for compassion and creativity. Compassion and 
creativity are given and received by means of images, but the spirit 
moves behind them.

Another aspect of my experience in the bathroom was a realization of 
the solidarity with the environment. The environment where I am a 
unique species: if I am prevented from fulfilling my function, the 
whole environment suffers. On the other hand, my function is not 
individual, it is for the sake of the whole. Like a vine being 
pruned for the sake of the whole harvest - a meaning for the 
Christian image of sacrifice. The whole harvest is ultimately the 
fruition of the environment: God. The perfect community is utterly 
inclusive, non-competitive, shares everything, including praise and 
blame. We have images of such a community but its actuality is 
impossible: it is God. Solidarity with the environment/community 
involves yearning for peace and justice - "hungering for 
righteousness" as the Bible says. Compassion for the poor might lead 
me into political action or involvement in violent revolution. The 
images are divisive, but the reality is God, the perfect community 
which is found by involvement in the images. Profound contemplation 
leads into activity which can be profoundly subversive.

Then there is the experience of time. When my husband was left with 
a healthy body which was paralysed in muscles and mind, I found I 
was forgetting what sort of person he really was. I asked all his 
friends and family to send me reminiscences. Who was he, then? The 
baby his mother had nursed? The bright schoolboy? The young man 
before he met me? The lover? The honourary member of a Ugandan 
tribe? Father to our children? Teacher of hundreds of students? You 
don't necessarily get better as you get older; one stage must die 
before another is born. The fruition of the whole person is somehow 
outside of time. The quality of a life is not necessarily dependant 
on how long it lasts and, as people involved in hospice work know, 
the last few days may be full of promise. It is the same with our 
terminally sick planet where so many good people and things seem to 
be coming to an end: its fulfilment lies outside time, in the heart 
of God. We lose our anxiety as we receive as a gift each moment of 
time as it comes. As the kindly Jesuit pastor, Jean-Pierre de 
Caussade puts it, "God... the author and object of our faith... is 
like the right side of a tapestry being worked stitch by stitch on 
the wrong side".

In summer, 1991 I became "resident hermit" in a house of prayer. The 
house, situated next door to Westbury on Trym Parish Church, was 
bequeathed by its previous owner to be used as an ecumenical house 
of prayer. The idea of living in a house of prayer had been with me 
since the time as a child, I was taken to see the shrine of Julian 
of Norwich. My only obligation in this house is to be here, and to 
pray. I'm also responsible for making the peaceful atmosphere of the 
house available to groups or individuals who come to spend time 
there. It is available to all; Christians, all who seek the One True 
God, people of all ages. People come to meditate, pray, paint or 
partake in various "workshops". They also come to help me with the 
work of the house. There have been magic moments with children, 
still and silent for the life span of a birthday cake candle. The 
house with its various rooms and garden is full of symbolism and 
very quiet. I feel a bit like the one who was chosen to be in the 
centre of a round game. To be contemplative is not just to be 
private: it is to be a centre around which things happen.

In the coldest week of January, 1992, I was at a Western Zen Retreat 
at Maenllwyd. I don't think I've ever previously not taken my 
clothes off for a week. It was like being in a chrysalis. Mountains, 
sheep, buzzards and grouse, intense brightness alternating with 
mist, especially mist, are nature to me. I found my body 
accommodated itself unexpectedly well to everything and was at ease. 
At first I felt uncomfortable with the Buddhas. My Christian 
tradition forbids me from worshipping images. And, although John's 
images were all quite peaceful, they reminded me of others I had 
seen elsewhere which were really scary. I had some nightmares, which 
I needed to share with John. By the next day, I was prepared to be 
polite to the images out of respect to the tradition and to look for 
Christ in the Buddha. By "Looking for Christ", I don't mean looking 
for a particular conceptual image because you don't know who/what 
you are looking for. "Looking" implies the same "chicken and egg" 
koan, from whichever tradition you start. The Bible, particularly 
the Gospels, is rich in paradox and shadow imagery. This is not 
appreciated by ordinary Christians who retain a dualistic world 
view. It is refreshing to be with Buddhists who appreciate the 
potential depths of the Christian tradition. Helpful, also, to be 
involved with a discipline of meditation which is not often 
available within the Christian Church, certainly not in Bristol.

There was an encounter with Christ at Maenllwyd. Out there, by 
myself, singing in the mountains. And encountering others: sometimes 
just sitting and looking at each other peacefully, other times 
sharing a kind of death and resurrection experience. Hearing others 
murmur "Christ in me" or "Christ have mercy" or (to quote from an 
Alice Meynell poem) "He rose alone behind the stone". I returned to 
my house with much that is still working within me, looking forward 
to returning for another retreat next year.



THE CH'AN RETREAT WITH MASTER SHENG YEN, MAENLLWYD, APRIL 1992

In this edition of New Chan Forum we present several accounts of 
Shifu's visit to the Maenllwyd in the form of lightly edited 
reports from some participants. We continue to apply the rule of 
anonymity to these reports. We begin, however with John's own 
account of what it was like to be guestmaster to this event.


	A Guestmaster's View

The role of guestmaster at a Chan retreat entails the 
responsibility for ensuring the comfort of the participants and 
visiting Master, the availability of necessary supplies and the 
organisation of affairs to ensure the even flow of the retreat 
programme. Together with Chief Cook and the Retreat Disciplinarian 
the work of the Guestmaster maintains the background quality of a 
retreat.

When I undertook this task with Shifu, I knew that it would not be 
an easy one. I wanted to ensure that as many applicants as possible 
would be able to benefit from Shifu's presence in this country, his 
first visit since his 1989 introduction of orthodox Chan to Britain 
at the Maenllwyd. Some thirty-two participants were coming, 
stretching our accommodation and resources to the limits.

The weeks before the retreat saw a detailed checking of equipment, 
everything from knives and forks to mats, zafus from Throssel Hole, 
chairs for mealtimes and new floor coverings. There were shopping 
expeditions, letters sent and parcels received and a considerable 
financial outlay to bring the quantities up to the required level 
and on time for the retreat.

The tunnel through the wall connecting the new Chan Hall to the 
house had to be completed. I was anxious that we could all move 
easily between the two to avoid repeated taking on and off of shoes 
to cross the mud of the yard between events. Edward, the builder, 
pushed the hole through on time, but everything was covered with the 
fine dust from his hearty demolitions. I went up to Pant-y-dwr a 
couple of days early to find the job only just completed and spent 
hours cleaning as well as laying out the rooms.

This needed careful planning. A Chan retreat has a tight schedule 
and everything must flow together in sequence. For this to happen 
all blocks need eliminating, so I worked out a scheme to ensure the 
optimum flow of persons. From Chan hall to dining space and back 
again and from sleeping areas to exercise yard and so on. Also 
because of shortage of space, extra tables for meals had to be 
erected and laid just before each meal and this had to be organised 
carefully. Finally I visualised each day's proceedings and imagined 
the various hold ups that could occur. By arranging everything 
appropriately I thought the retreat would run easily in spite of the 
pressure of so many people. Only the event itself would prove me 
right or wrong.

When everyone arrived they gradually occupied their sleeping places. 
Some discrete arrangements had been called for, the elderly being 
placed near toilets and the ladies, being displaced from their usual 
bedroom, given one of the upper floors of the Chan hall. The 
"toughies" were allocated the large unheated barn across the yard 
where they could see clouds or stars floating past the holes in the 
roof. The "toughies" are a special breed of participant many of whom 
have been coming to the Maenllwyd since the days when such 
conditions were the accepted norm. Among them are long distance 
third world travellers, mountaineers, an ex-Antarctic surveyor and 
those who just like making conditions for themselves as challenging 
as possible. When Shifu saw my own tent forlornly withstanding a 
Welsh April shower he was seriously alarmed for my health. I told 
him I was off to Mount Kailas in a month and needed some training!

Everything seemed to be settling down nicely when Shifu upset it 
all! I had carefully spaced out the sitting spaces in the Chan hall 
by using the upper floors as well as the main room. All this had 
been agreed by postal discussion. Suddenly Shifu said "No, put 'em 
all together" or the Mandarin to that effect. Hurriedly I 
reorganised, reflecting on the beauties of the Zen discipline, until 
everyone was within millimetres of each other, gasping from 
compression and appearing to meditate. It was a hard first day but 
then Shifu relented and gradually we spaced out again up into the 
attics. I think the need for air flow did it.

Shifu himself arrived with a cold and I was greatly concerned 
about him because, after Taiwan, mid-Wales in April can be 
dangerously chilling. Guo Yen Hse was also worried about him and we 
spent some time eliminating drafts and checking the heating. The 
"air pollution" was worrying them both and I realised they were 
caught between the Atlantic freshness of the oceanic hill breezes 
and the stuffiness of paraffin stoves. My explanation that the air 
was probably the least polluted in Britain did not seem to convince 
them and I muttered on in my mind remembering the air conditions in 
New York and Taipai. Shifu began wearing a surgical mask but 
whether it was from fear of spreading his own cold, the germs of 
others or the air pollution I was unable to determine.

Unknown to retreatants things came to a crisis on the third day when 
Guo Yen Hse was seriously worried about Shifu's cold. Shifu said 
that since I could run retreats as well as he I had better take 
over. What sort of Zen joke was this, I asked myself. I assembled 
all four participant Western doctors and Shifu provided them with 
a detailed account of his symptoms. Nodding their heads wisely they 
tut-tuttingly remarked that antibiotics merely made things worse and 
that it was bound to pass. I prescribed heavy rest until the evening 
lecture. Shifu, fortified by this encounter, was indomitably back 
on form by late afternoon. Grinning, he told me he had taken some of 
his Chinese medicine. Certainly he never looked back, as all 
participants know.

One thing I never had to worry about was food. The cooks did marvels 
and Simon's oriental flair was being much appreciated. In spite of 
great difficulty, meals were faultlessly on time and the Zen of 
cookery much in evidence. Working with Guo Yen Hse was learningful. 
In spite of considerable pressure he was sustaining an ease of 
manner and a kind of light personal discipline that touched me 
deeply and gave me confidence. When he felt something needed 
correction he would take me aside gently and politely mention it. I 
usually managed to put it right. Likewise the strength of mind shown 
by Paul Kennedy, our interpreter, impressed me greatly. He was 
having problems sleeping and sitting but never once did this show in 
his excellent and often witty work for us.

Surprisingly, once the retreat got underway I lost my anxieties. The 
flow of events and the way in which, in spite of everything, the 
retreat fell together delighted me. I let the universe take over and 
applied my method. Some very good sittings followed and my mind 
calmed. Shifu's teachings were often inspiring and I delighted 
especially in the method of Direct Meditation. It came naturally to 
me as I love the contemplation of nature and it had clear affinity 
with Dzogchen teaching which I had received from some Tibetan 
teachers. When the retreat was well advanced Shifu called me to 
him. He was smiling. Good news, he said, one of the participants has 
attained kensho. I was delighted especially when I learned who it 
was. I had known this man, a doctor, for some years. He had come to 
many Western Zen Retreats previously. During his first retreats he 
had cried a great deal being blessed by this freedom to weep out his 
suffering. Then on one retreat, as we were chanting, he had suddenly 
gained a deep insight into the meaning of the Heart Sutra, an 
insight that left him weeping and laughing at the same time and at 
intervals thereafter. He had found the insight so beautiful and yet 
so ordinary that only so could he express it. Having had a 
comparable experience myself I felt I knew what was happening. On 
later retreats these experiences had recurred to him with an 
increasing clarity until in one interview he had given me so 
profound an insight into the sutra and its meaning that I felt sure 
he had "seen the nature". I shared this with him but felt I would 
like his experience to be validated by Shifu. I had not explicitly 
identified him to Shifu and awaited the result of his retreat this 
time with interest. His report is presented below.

Shifu told us he does not frequently validate such insights unless 
he is very sure. He feels that many transmissions given in Japan are 
rather trivial because of the pressure of the training system of 
young monks. He would prefer caution, since true "seeing the nature" 
is often preceded by emotional states that look like it and feel 
exceptional but lack the clarity of the real thing. He said that his 
recognition of this participant's attainment should remain 
confidential during the retreat. He was against public pronouncements
like school prize-givings. In any case, he told us, nothing has been
attained except an insight into the ground of one's own nature
that was already there. To make any kind of announcement would
merely block others, setting up targets, imaginings, envy and
making people strain for a goal for which they might not be ready. 
Furthermore, there is nothing for the person involved to be proud 
about. Yet he may make the mistake of becoming so and then seeking 
egoistically for more such proofs of his attainment. This would be a 
sad if understandable error.                                        
              
Insights such as this come about by the effects of good karma. I 
would almost use the term "grace" for it. There is nothing one can 
do to "attain" it except follow the method and train diligently. It 
may or may not arise, only doing so indeed when the desire for it 
and the implied self-cherishing entirely vanish. This is a natural 
event when certain conditions ripen. Because no-one can find it with 
a desiring ego, training in humility and patience is the only way. 
It is for this reason too that the goal of Shifu's retreats is not 
set on such a target. The goal is training in awareness, the 
realisation of one's own condition and how little one understands it 
or controls one's behaviour and inner experiences, repentance and 
the gaining of a Zen attitude through hearing the teachings and 
practising the methods.

All this meant that nothing was said in public. It was a private 
matter like the content of all interviews with the Master. The 
participant asked Shifu how he should speak of the occurrence. 
Describe what happened without evaluation, was the answer. Shifu 
has subsequently mentioned this event in his New York journal and I 
feel that it is now a good thing to tell of it here, for it is only 
during the retreat itself that such mentioning can most seriously 
mislead. To talk about it in the terms above is moreover important. 
Many people have serious miscomprehensions on this subject and give 
themselves a lot of trouble as a result. The competitive become more 
so, the jealous - mean, the depressed - mournful and the successful 
- arrogant. It is important to read the Masters on this subject. In 
many cases a great Master had only one or two such deep experiences 
in his whole life which was otherwise devoted to deep training in 
compassion towards others. Often the first experience is quite 
trivial and only after many years is deeper insight attained. Some 
great teachers never "see the nature" and yet make major 
contributions to human life. Others stand frequently within its 
transcending yet ordinary presence. The whole matter is part of the 
expression of the mystical capacity of the human mind which many 
Buddhists have also experienced with varying degrees of depth and 
frequency. Shifu says that the significance of the insight within 
Zen is the confirmation it brings of the accuracy of the teachings.

While writing this I wondered whether there was anything in the 
participant's report that might be a guide to others. Reading it 
carefully I note the following points. Firstly this participant was 
unusually focused and determined. He already knew what he was after 
but also that egoistic striving would be pointless. He therefore set 
himself to apply his method to the exclusion of everything else. 
Taking Shifu's teaching about self isolation very seriously he cut 
himself off from all concern with others. He showed a sort of 
ruthlessness with himself, discounting his physical pain. He 
resisted wandering thoughts and the temptation to allow 
reminiscences to flow through his head. The past was irrelevant, 
only the present counted. He saw that he had to penetrate beyond the 
aesthetics of beautiful experiences into their nature within his own 
mind. Finally he saw that his own mentality was a condition of 
limitation; it was universal and not personal mind that was flowing. 
In this identification he found truth.

I learnt many things during the retreat and these will doubtless 
find their way into later presentations to this journal. None the 
less when it came to my turn to speak on the last evening I felt I 
was a bit too enthusiastic about the material success of the event. 
In spite of being a trained public speaker I always find a 
terrifying shyness overcomes me at such times. I feel I can never 
assess such a rich experience so close to it - but then it is not 
really assessment that is being requested.

I was glad Philip was able to pass on his puppies and that no dogs 
had to die because of us. In London I was blessed by the company of 
Shifu, Guo Yen Hse and my old friend Yiu Yan Nang as we visited 
the British Museum and British Library to see the ancient paintings 
and manuscripts from Tung Huang in a private viewing. It was a 
privilege to look at them in such company.

At Bristol Parkway we nearly missed our train. A porter held a door 
open in time but we almost lost some luggage. It was still sitting 
on the platform. Remembering the consequent rush I had later asked 
Shifu how he had felt. He said he had looked at the luggage and, 
feeling the train move, had said to himself "Ah, there it goes!" 


RETREAT REPORTS:

1. Where's the trick?

I was fortunate to be able to collect Shifu, Guo Yen Hse and Paul 
Kennedy from the airport. We broke our journey to Wales in Bristol 
in order to see my family for lunch. As we were leaving and my wife 
was wishing us well for the retreat, Shifu said, in reference to 
the retreat, "It's a trick!"

"Yes," my wife replied, "But it's a very good one, and a very 
necessary one," looking pointedly in my direction.

This brief conversation between the two Masters made it clear which 
of the three of us was most likely to fall for the trick!

The Retreat.

This is the fourth Chan retreat (over three years) in which I have 
worked with the huatou "What is Mu?" Repeated failure creates 
powerful tensions in the ambitious and these have been a backdrop to 
these retreats.

For the first three days I worked steadily on attention to the 
breath, and whilst almost all of this was spent in a sleepy state 
the routine didn't feel too difficult. The Welsh hill farm 
environment was more challenging. I felt miserable and fatigued by 
the challenge of the cold wet windy weather, but this problem passed 
after two days. By the middle of day three (Easter Sunday) I felt 
steady enough to take up the huatou. Here a dilemma occurred. Four 
years before I had experienced what would conventionally be called a 
Christian conversion experience of great power. Being a Buddhist, 
raised in a Christian culture, this stirred up a lot of confusion. 
Considering my difficulties with Mu over the past three years it was 
tempting to work on "What is Christ?" and by-pass Mu altogether. 
After several hours of working with this question I experienced a 
rush of joy at the thought and feeling "Christ is in my heart", 
followed by the dilemma "but what about Mu?"

There was no getting away from it, Mu was pressing for an answer, 
and so the struggle began. Meditation in action became fairly stable 
and I was able, with very clear help on method in interviews, to 
contemplate the question steadily. All went well until the end of 
day four, when I began to fell restless and depressed. Earlier that 
day I had heard someone joyfully and loudly proclaiming their 
"experience" to Shifu. Of course, being quite experienced at this 
sort of thing, I took it calmly on the surface, but deep down the 
worm of anxiety, jealousy, disappointment and anger started to gnaw.

I went up the hill and sat under a tree and felt lonely. Then 
looking back down on the Maenllwyd, I suddenly felt angry. The whole 
thing is a charade, I thought. A quirky little group chasing shadows 
in an unreal world. This viewpoint gave me a surge of energy and I 
ran down the hill free of the weight that had been with me since I 
started to work on Mu four years ago. Nevertheless I kept to the 
method, but from a freer more rebellious standpoint. The doubt that 
had been forming over the last few years, which had led to 
practising less, wondering why I bother with Buddhism, wondering 
whether Christianity is my real path, had come right to the surface. 
As Shifu pointed out the next day, I was angry, because the work 
on Mu had not fulfilled my spiritual ambitions.

My approach to practice involves attempting to work steadily with 
the method until a significant difficulty arises and then finding a 
way of dealing with it, which may include attending directly to the 
feeling involved, or repentance, or some other creative way forward. 
When everything settles it is then usually possible to return to the 
method with a clear mind. On one of these occasions tears and 
repentance at my own hardness and impatience with my family became 
triggered by the thought "I've got Christ in my heart, but not 
love." This, as Shifu pointed out in a later interview, was "my 
problem". He told me "you have to learn to be compassionate to your 
family and friends."

That afternoon (day five) an old problem returned. Whatever I did 
with the practice, however much I tried to relax, each time I 
mentally asked "What is Mu?" a headache would come on. I felt 
blocked. I decided the only answer was to sit absolutely still and 
without thought to observe the physical feeling intently. Then it 
clicked: this wasn't a headache, it was RAGE and such suffering.

As a child I had an angry and sometimes violent father. I'd often 
felt rage at the way he treated us and at times had wanted to kill 
him. For the first time though it struck home how much more damage 
his anger had caused to him than to others and this recognition 
triggered overwhelming grief. Later I did prostrations of repentance 
for wanting to kill him. During this, it was as if Avalokiteshvara 
was present pouring forth compassion and kindness in the Chan hall, 
and for me a thirty year old grudge fell away.

Next morning (day six) the need for Mu fell away too. The question 
of which faith to follow had come up again and it became clear that 
the answer was up to me, assuming of course that the question was 
framed correctly. I became very clear about where I stood, the 
essence of which was an intelligible integration of aspects of the 
two religions in my life, with a viewpoint which would be more 
typical of Buddhist philosophy than orthodox Christianity. I was 
aware that the deeply engrained habit of grasping was going through 
its final contortions struggling to "get" enlightenment (surely I'd 
done enough now!) but the mind had reached the end of its subtle and 
disguised efforts to work out how to do it and had come to a 
depressed stop. For the first time very painful knees followed and 
then, with a rush of joy, the oneness of the two religions hit me 
with full force, and the story of a lifetime of religious searching, 
doubt, darkness, confusion and misguided ambition fell into place. 
In an interview that morning I was able to convey this with great 
happiness to Shifu. His response was that there is no 
contradiction and that you can use the Christian energy with the 
Buddhist method, which seemed to capture the essence of what I felt.

The work continued on into the day, but Mu didn't seem the relevant 
method now and I moved on to use silent illumination, the subject of 
the evening talks. It was a remarkably relaxed happy and productive 
day but in the early evening I became irritable. Something was wrong 
again, so I walked up the hill, a different way this time. The 
irritation was relieved when I recognised that my children need a 
father, my wife a husband and my friends a friend and it is my 
responsibility to fulfil these needs.

Later in the evening we had our group discussion and the energy of 
the group was palpable. That night I couldn't sleep for gratitude. 
In the discussion one person had reported an interview in which the 
distinction between emotion and feeling had been made, the former 
being egocentric (anger, sadness etc.) and the latter more universal 
(e.g compassion). Not being able to sleep and gratitude seemed an 
odd mixture so I assumed I was emoting the gratitude.

I was sleeping in an old barn, on a wet and windy night. I looked 
into the heart of this emotion of gratitude to see if it would 
settle. There was a gust of wind against the barn and at this point 
a shift of perspective occurred, and there was one not two. By this 
I mean the "I-it" perspective dropped for a while. It was still 
possible to think and the night with its sounds and darkness was 
refreshingly clear. It was just that there was no "me" aware of 
"it". The thinking process was very useful, because it was possible 
to understand what was happening and to realise in the experience 
that there is no ego to extinguish. This was not an emotional moment 
but deeply felt as a very welcome relief, a clarification and 
confirmation of Buddhist teaching. When the perspective of two 
returned restful sleep soon followed.

The day after the retreat, at home, it was my daughter's birthday 
and we all went to see "Hook". This is about a father who is tricked 
into discovering his true identity (Peter Pan), and in the process 
rediscovers his children, grows up and sets aside his preoccupation 
with his own success.

What a trick!


2. Raising the Doubt.

There is no beginning and no end to it, the Sesshin Soto Chan style 
began on my 49th birthday and ended on my 59th; ten years of 
ordinary living in one week. So much tension and pain has left my 
mind-body, and is still leaving me, falling away after another three 
days. There is much silent stillness now and longer periods of being 
without thinking, just not habitual and unnecessary stirring this 
mind-body anywhere near as much as before. I am far more supple and 
relaxed, together and potent now.

Years of grief and sadness, around me like a wet blanket, obscured 
my heart and courage. I became aware of this after the Master asked 
me why, after so many years of practice and working within four 
different traditions with many wonderful experiences, I wasn't 
confident. This was day four. I had felt sadness in the background 
of most of my life and this was expanded with grief more recently 
with the deaths of my mother, my Master Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh and 
my father, in a period of one and a half years. These three people I 
had built my life with, upon and around. After becoming aware of 
this deep grief around my heart, it began to move to allow a power, 
a glow, a fire of courage to emerge into this living experience. 
This was particularly mirrored by my two jobs of cleaning the wet 
shit from the thunderbox elsans and laying and preparing the fire 
for the evening teaching.

Day one was adjusting to a very different lifestyle, rising at 
4.00am from the hay barn bedroom after a cold night with little 
sleep; revealing, interesting and exciting. As we moved our sleepy 
bodies in the dark pre-morning, exercising with a gentle and direct 
Chinese monk Guo Yen Hse, my mind also stirred; after a couple more 
days I was able to watch this happen. My practice is the Soto 
Shiken-taza, "just sitting" method. Shifu encouraged us to sit 
comfortably and relax and use the method we were accustomed to. His 
method of teaching, that is responding to our real needs, was 
direct, simple and kind. I had arrived at the sesshin with a cold 
and Shifu asked me if I was OK sitting by the cold window, in a 
very ordinary and gentle way. The rule of silence let the practice 
deepen. Right from the beginning everybody seemed to do their best. 
This encouraged me to keep at it and on the afternoon of the second 
day, with Shifu sitting right behind me, the intense ongoing 
movie-dramas of my mind stopped. I felt a strong focused presence in 
the zendo and as time stopped too, I was sitting in eternity.

After the second night most of us seemed to sleep well and we 
acclimatised to a better degree to the schedule. The meditation was 
continuous for the six and a half days, with yoga stretching and 
massage and periods of fast and slow walking in between the sitting 
sessions. It soon became apparent that the tension and pain in my 
mind was becoming conscious, manifested with associated thoughts and 
feelings in my physical body. We all experienced and faced our pain 
and vexations that we had created in the past and by facing and 
repenting them we let them go. We made vows not to create more pain 
and vexations in ourselves and others and to undo and realise that 
which is still there for eternity. This we did each day in the 
morning and evening services. This is also called Taking the 
Precepts.

About half way through the retreat, after we had been watching our 
body-mind, I had become more aware of the source of my thinking. 
Shifu, our Master and guide through this strange terrain 
introduced us to the practice of direct contemplation. This is to 
look and/or listen directly, without thinking, to our surroundings 
and selves together. I found it had a profound effect on me and 
still does now, deepening my practice immeasurably, changing my 
life, bringing my ego-self-craving further towards its death, 
letting me be more still, silent and bright in this ongoing living 
flow; like the stream, it is changing, still, bright and empty with 
living power emanating from it. During a period of looking and 
listening directly and without thinking with a stream, out of its 
emptiness came the words "go home and teach." This became a natural 
koan, or question, for me and still is now. 

On the sixth day, during my third interview with the Master, after 
expressing that I was experiencing the oneness of everything, the 
bright shining emptiness of everything and the living power, joy and 
compassion in everything beyond words, he suggested that I needed to 
raise the doubt again and again. To do this I could use the koan 
"Why was I born?" I said that I knew why I was born - "to save all 
sentient beings", and he said this was true for  all Buddhists. I 
now continue with this koan. I thanked him for coming to be with us 
and he thanked me for coming too. Partly because it was the last 
day, I was able to relax further and experienced love rising up 
through my body and out to another, it was as though I was embracing 
everything and everything was embracing me - although this is a 
description of something beyond words.

From the beginning to the end of this sesshin I was given permission 
to "withdraw" and this was one of the gifts that I let myself 
receive. As well as obsessive and habitual thinking, deep feelings 
of anger, hatred, resentment, guilt, shame, fear, jealousy, desire, 
wonder, bliss and many others arose through this being - all fuel 
for the fire.

To the extent that I "go home", my true nature is born right now and 
its ordinary living response is the only true purpose in being here 
and is the teaching. As Shifu said to me - "it's enough" - there 
is nothing else to look or strive for. Thank you.


3. What can I say?

The retreat was an opportunity to practice. But it was also a rare 
event, for when does a Chan Master such as Master Sheng-yen ever 
come to a remote Welsh cottage to lead a retreat? Those of us who 
were able to participate were indeed fortunate.

Last December in New York, Shifu advised me to rest before my next 
retreat. Having suffered greatly in New York, I made sure I took his 
advice. I told myself not to resist - to relax and accept whatever 
happened, to treat everything lightly. With this approach I could 
lift myself more easily out of difficulties.

Now, after the event it seems that my experience of the retreat was 
that it was eventful but not memorable. Not that it was not 
momentous. It's just that there was a natural movement from one 
experience to another, from one moment to the next. I think my 
method, counting the breath, had a lot to do with this. I suffered 
the usual back pain, wandering thoughts and drowsiness, but also 
there were more times when the method just flowed without 
interruption. On this retreat I have really worked on the method and 
come to appreciate it and let it go.

The first day was a little uncomfortable and on the second I woke 
feeling disheartened. But, treat it lightly! And then Shifu's 
early morning comments were about confidence. Confidence in oneself, 
one's method, one's teacher. I had no more difficulty with lack of 
confidence.

There were some occasions - not just during sittings - when there 
was deep silence and watchfulness with very few wandering thoughts. 
And when there were difficulties I never had to sit with the same 
one for more than a couple of sessions. The energy felt easy, light. 
At first we were all crushed together - thirty one of us in quite a 
small zendo. I thought, "this is going to be interesting". One of my 
legs touched the leg of the man on my left, the other the toes of 
the woman on my right. But it didn't worry me. Later on, when 
several moved up to the mezzanines, the pressure was relieved. 
Sometimes in that zendo, the silence was incredible. At others, much 
shuffling. We were like a single organism. The closeness was also 
good during the circular walking. Shifu kept the circle tight and 
even. He was precise in everything. We were each at the end of our 
spoke in the wheel, just rotating in the field under the shifting 
sky.

Shifu taught us the method of direct contemplation which involves 
looking or listening (or both) but without one thought arising, so 
that the object of your attention is not even named. Once when Shih 
fu was talking about words, how they are not accurate, are not "it", 
he made it so clear why one should work to drop thought. As I 
understand it, thought is word based and so in dropping thought one 
gets behind (or ahead of) the descriptive, judging processes of the 
brain to where the experiencing actually is. He also said something 
memorable about past and future. Past and future should be dropped. 
But in dropping them one also drops the present. This is crucially 
different from my previous understanding of being "in the now". He 
took the analogy of a length of string. "Past and future are like a 
length of string. You can cut them to separate them - but then where 
is the present?" I found this quite a mind blowing idea!

I didn't get on too well with direct contemplation. Thoughts about 
what I was listening to (the murmuring stream) kept arising. A 
stream of water and a stream of thoughts! The mind such a slippery 
vehicle - like sticky slime. It was amusing, interesting and 
frustrating to witness once again the extent to which I am not in 
control! I found it better to contemplate something tiny, a minute 
stone or leaf. I also found that activities such as cutting a score 
of pieces of orange, or a piece of ginger into teeny weeny cubes in 
preparation for the evening's soup, led to such silence and focused 
attention.

On the evening of day three I was making slow prostrations in the 
zendo, not doing them very well. Suddenly I saw everything was 
different. I was looking at everything out of a completely silent 
space. So silent it seemed unreal. I was still aware of myself, and 
of the passing of time. But there was no thought pressing at 
consciousness. Such separateness as if I were inside a glass dome, 
with the outside world and also my thoughts the other side of the 
glass. This lasted perhaps fifteen minutes. The bell went for Shih 
fu's lecture. Later on Shifu said that this was a good experience, 
the beginning of universal mind. I should have asked him what that 
was!

The next day I experienced cathartic weeping. It seemed to have been 
triggered by a wandering thought involving a blind girl I once knew. 
Suddenly tears forced themselves out from between my closed eyelids. 
I wept and wept. Later Shifu talked about weeping. Several of us 
had experienced tears of sadness or of joy. Shifu said it was 
generally good to weep, as it was the ch'i rising which caused it. 
However one should beware of the "demon sadness".

That afternoon after the Maenllwyd cup of tea I noticed a gathering 
of energy around my method. The breathing was focusing the 
concentration more and more strongly. It seemed as if awareness was 
imploding into a tiny space. Then finally it expanded out and out. I 
was not aware of my body - only a space that could not be described 
as vast or small. Self reference, though, was still there. The 
mental space seemed like a void and yet it was incredibly energetic. 
Right out on the perimeters of awareness was all I knew of the 
universe including my own physical body. Then later, as I gazed on 
and on, something happened in the top of, or above my head. Red 
light suddenly began to pour down from a source I could not see. It 
was like fire, but cool, or rather had no temperature. Brilliant 
red, orange and sometimes peacock greens and blues. I was amazed and 
also highly amused. I wanted to laugh at it. How ridiculous!

I took this experience to Shifu. He said "but you did not drop 
yourself". No, I had not yet dropped self. He said it was expanded 
mind and the ch'i would give me energy to practice. I should 
continue to work on my method.

This retreat was a superb opportunity to work on my method and 
receive some good guidance. The experience with ch'i cured a 
backache I had been working with for two days and gave me energy for 
sitting. I now feel energised, healthy and happy. I feel completely 
myself. I also have a much clearer idea of what are the aims and 
methods of meditation, a deep respect for Shifu and the three 
jewels of wisdom, and renewed vigour to continue the practice and 
deepen compassion and effectiveness for others.                     
                   

4. Seeing the Nature.

It felt such a privilege to be attending the retreat with Shifu. I 
couldn't make the effort to go to New York, but he had come here! 
And yet a retreat is just a retreat. Really it was like a solitary 
retreat, as I just isolated myself from the environment and 
continued my practice.

I came to the retreat feeling that I wanted to be there, and John 
wanted me to be there in particular to confirm my experience in 
retreat at Maenllwyd two years ago. Whilst both John and I were both 
certain this experience had "seen the nature", he had modestly 
suggested that I should have this checked by Shifu. Also relating 
to this was another matter. I have never discussed my experiences 
with anyone other than John for fear of confusing and misleading 
others. Reading "Ox Herding at Morgan's Bay", it seemed to me that 
perhaps I had reached the fourth picture and should be helping guide 
others, but I did not want to claim this falsely. This seemed an 
opportunity to enquire into this, as I had been feeling increasingly 
frustrated by holding back.

During the last three days of my previous retreat I had had a lot of 
backache, and over the last year I have been trying to adjust my 
posture with only limited success. I was terrified that I was going 
to have a lot of backache again, and I did, right from the first 
day. During the second morning I had an out of body experience, as 
though I was leaving my body to avoid the pain. I felt to be 
hovering at head level between me and the person in front of me. But 
feeling the backache made me know that I was more in my body than 
his, and I returned.

During interview I asked Shifu about posture and backache. He just 
replied that it wasn't a problem. I felt stunned. Here was I 
suffering all this backache and pain, and this supposedly 
compassionate man just said that it didn't matter! And yet I knew 
that he was right - we all have to have pain sometimes, why not me 
as well, and he meant that it wasn't a problem for my practice, 
which is all that matters on retreat. In fact it was helpful for my 
practice, as I was using pain as the method, and having virtually no 
wandering thoughts. It also gave rise to some compassion for the 
pain of others - it is not only I who suffers.

That afternoon, after the walking meditation, I felt extremely 
focused and my mind was virtually empty as I drank my cup of tea. I 
went straight to the zendo and sat before anyone else. My eyes were 
so fixed on one spot on the wall that everything went black, except 
for the slight outline of the people in front of me - I had hardly 
noticed them arriving - probably just a physiological effect due to 
eye fixation. But there was virtually no vision or sound, perhaps a 
sort of samadhi, and then it suddenly ended on an out breath, and as 
I breathed out it was as though I had spread over the while world. 
From this position I knew that everything was in great harmony and 
peace, that good and evil were just points of view, but from the 
"total overview" there is no good or evil. People don't know this, 
and therefore they suffer, but my backache had now lessened as I 
opened myself up to others suffering, yet knowing that really there 
is no suffering. After this I still had some backache from time to 
time, but nothing like as bad as the first day and a half. With this 
I developed a strong feeling of respect for others, and a lessening 
of self importance, and this led to repentance for all the harm I 
have done in the past. A very humbling experience, and I felt very 
small, and more in touch with everything. You cannot enjoy the world 
if you don't let it in, and letting it in means letting it all in, 
suffering as well. To do that requires the possibility of accepting 
others suffering, and your own, but then you find that the suffering 
doesn't harm you!

I don't remember much of the third day. I remember Shifu talked 
about repentance, in tune with the way I had felt the day before, 
and I think this evoked a little more repentance and also some 
further understanding of giving.

On the fourth morning - early morning meditation - with an in breath 
the whole world flowed into me. During the morning service the Heart 
Sutra struck home - "no aging and death" - and past and future 
collapsed into NOW - all time and space were in me now, there is no 
time and space other than here and now. Returning to awareness of my 
surroundings there was chanting, and the beauty was so great that I 
collapsed into tears.

I have had many such experiences over the years, and have learned to 
just let them pass, and did not intend to mention them to Shifu. 
At interview he asked me about my experience two years ago. I could 
hardly remember any details to tell him. It had become something of 
an obstruction, trying to re-live it, and so I had put it out of my 
head so completely that I just couldn't remember anything 
worthwhile. Because of this he understandably would not confirm it. 
I wasn't sure whether this was a denial (meaning if it was genuine I 
couldn't forget) or just a lack of confirmation. He asked me if I 
had had any experiences on this retreat and I told him some of the 
above. He encouraged me by saying that I had good karmic roots, but 
I felt very despondent that I had let John down by not letting Shih 
fu confirm that John's judgement was correct, and that Shifu might 
therefore think that his judgement of John was incorrect.

I tried to remember some other details and did remember just a 
couple of points, but it seemed it may be even less convincing if I 
just presented a couple of unimportant details. Why couldn't I 
remember? Was I wrong? Was John wrong? If my experience was 
worthwhile why hadn't I changed enough for Shifu to see? 
Conversely any experience that doesn't have an effect on my life is 
nothing more than a daydream. Was there anything in Chan/Zen after 
all, or was it just a game? I felt that if I couldn't remember 
anything, all I could do was throw myself into the practice and see 
what happened, see if this was real.

That afternoon I had listened more carefully to the repeated 
instructions for the direct contemplation. Previously I had just 
gazed around the landscape without really fixing my eye. This time I 
lay down and stared at a stone on the stream bed. This didn't fix my 
gaze and it raised to see a patch of the spiky grass in the stream 
bed. I knew I shouldn't see it as grass, and I saw just shapes and 
patterns - the  vertical green, brown tipped grass, swaying in the 
breeze with sunlight on it and shadows of the stalks, also 
horizontal shadows from some bent leaves. An abstract moving grid 
pattern of colour, light and dark. I realised that whilst I was not 
seeing it as grass, I was making the pattern with my own perception. 
What I was seeing was not what was there, but my own thoughts 
reflected back at me as though there was a mirror, and all that I 
was seeing was my own thoughts reflected in the mirror. With that 
all thoughts stopped, the grass vanished and so did the mirror and 
everything. After some time a fly landed on the grass and broke the 
spell. But I knew that during that time there had been nothing 
there, including no me. The grass had been a gateway into emptiness 
- looking at the grass I had looked into emptiness:

	"To know all the Buddhas
	Of the past, present and future
	Perceive that Dharmadhatu nature
	Is all created by the mind."

The evening ceremony verse came to mind. I had created the grass 
with my mind. I looked around, but could not believe that I had also 
created the valleys and trees.

In the early morning meditation (fifth morning) the evening verse 
came again to me. It was not my mind but the mind. I could believe 
that the mind created valleys and trees and with that everything 
disappeared into emptiness - trees, valley, self, others, saving 
others, the mind/God itself - all was emptiness. Absolutely nothing 
remained. There was no fear of leaving sentient beings unsaved, 
there was no-one to save, and no-one to do any saving. No problem! 
It was like waking from a dream, it was so clear and real. There 
could be no doubt.

These were not overwhelming experiences but they corresponded with 
what I had found before. I felt that even though they were not big 
experiences, I should check them with Shifu. If they were not 
genuine then I should know that I was deceiving myself. But even so 
I felt that I was taking him only a tiny taste. I was surprised when 
he immediately accepted and confirmed them, based I think not only 
on the descriptions themselves, but also on the clarity which he 
said he observed in me, and on which he had commented previously.

With this all my doubts, anxieties about letting John down, the urge 
to try and achieve something, all settled and I became very calm. In 
the afternoon, again looking at a patch of grass near the stream. I 
lost all sense of scale. Whatever filled my awareness was the whole 
world, whether a fly,  a three inch patch of grass, a view of the 
whole valley, or a thought of the whole cosmos. Each of these in 
their turn was at that time everything that there was. In the 
evening I entered a deep stillness, especially during the evening 
lecture and the meditation after. At lights out I sat meditating a 
little longer. I was all but unaware of what must have been a 
considerable movement and commotion around me as people moved 
themselves, lights were put out, someone sat in front of me, but 
none of this affected me. I realised that this stillness/silence 
contains all space, all beings, all time, and that it is empty.

The following morning I realised that I was a little restless. 
During wood sawing I realised that I wanted to have more experiences 
of silence! The restlessness was the wanting. Realising that the 
wanting was an obstruction to what was wanted, I just dropped it. 
Suddenly there was only wood sawing, and that in itself was 
perfection, nothing else to want. When sawing, sawing is all and 
complete. The work period finished and I started walking around the 
yard. There was only walking, and that was wonderful. I was not 
there at all, there was just walking. No attachment to one state or 
the other. Just total acceptance, flowing.



	A THOUGHT



        What can we share? A thought -
        Dawn, rising forms;
        Tree trunks emerge from the mist.
        Frail cobwebs glisten in the still-red sun.



        Child's voices break the calm.
        "Quick to the swings!"
        Flung satchels on the ground.
        Brief freedom; thoughts of summer, sea and fun.
			


        Like mayfly, thoughts arise;
        Brief life; then gone.
        Footsteps resume their path.
        A string of thoughts, like pearls, their journey run.



                                              John Senior



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