Copyright 1993 by Bristol Chan Group, UK, 
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NEW

CH'AN

FORUM

No. 7 Spring 1993

 Dharma Adviser

 The Venerable
 Chan Master
 Dr. Sheng-Yen

 Teacher

 Dr. John Crook

 Editors

 Hilary Richards
 Peter Howard

 Drawings

 Ros Cuthbert

 
 Photographs

 John Crook

Price: UK Sterling 2.00




EVERYDAY MIND

In reply to a question "If every sentient being is innately a 
Buddha, how can they be ordinary?", Shifu used an 
analogy from the sutras, that of gold ore in a mine. Before 
it has been refined, it is still not in a form we would call 
gold, even though the essential content of gold is inside. 
All of us may have the gold content, but it has yet to be 
refined. What is vexation? Vexation is comparable to the 
stones and rocks mixed with the gold in the ore.

In this issue of New Chan Forum we have focused on 
aspects of Chan in the modern world and tried to address 
the problems of even glimpsing the gold when we are so 
surrounded by vexations. Through their honesty of 
expression our articles may act as signposts. We should 
like to thank our contributors.

The Bristol Chan Group is continuing to provide a 
meeting place for meditation, teaching and discussion. 
Last February, John Crook and Ros Cuthbert led a day 
workshop inspired by the teaching of the visionary painter 
Cecil Collins. We have printed some of the one-minute 
drawings in this edition. Ros is planning another 
workshop in the Summer.

In May we are pleased to welcome Martine Batchelor who 
will be leading a two day non-residential retreat for us. 
Details of this and retreats at Maenllwyd are on the last 
page.

This is the final issue for the present subscription to New 
Ch' an Forum. We hope you agree that our journal is 
something different and worthy of your continued support. 
We have plenty of interesting and important material to 
publish which is relevant to the practice of Buddhism in 
the West. However we need your practical support (in 
money) in order to be able to continue publishing New 
Chan Forum. Please complete the form enclosed with this 
issue and send it to us, together with your subscription, as 
soon as possible. We plan for our next three editions to be 
in Autumn 1993, Christmas 1993 and Spring 1994.


THE STATE OF THE NATION.
An editorial from the Chan Hall

I find it embarrassing to write to the above title for all of us 
could easily pontificate on what is wrong with the world. Yet 
present events can hardly pass without comment among those 
of us concerned with the quality of human life. As I write two 
ten year old boys are being held by police for the premeditated 
abduction and gruesome murder of a toddler. Of course. if 
these little boys are guilty they will bear the stigma for the rest 
of their lives. Yet we must ask if any ten year old should bear 
the whole responsibility for such a terrible crime. A ten year 
old child cannot do other than reflect the conditions in the 
society that has bred him or her. In this terrible killing we see 
our world reflected. As the angry and distressed crowds stand 
unaccustomedly in the churches how many are wondering 
about their own involvement in this crime, the gross social 
negligence that allowed it to happen?

This event is but the sharp point of a general malaise that has 
been the subject of much recent commentary. Ministers 
attempt to talk us out of it but a general despondency reflects 
the levels of unemployment. crime, rape, child abuse, social 
and marital discord, all running at high levels. It is no comfort 
to reflect that in this deep recession similar features are found 
throughout Europe with racism and ethnic cleansing as its 
worst manifestation. It is in this sort of situation that fascism 
gains its hold. Recent and justifiable complaints about the 
uselessness of our present politicians could lead into that sort 
of attempted answer.

The causes of our distress are undoubtedly many but a few 
features are clear enough. Our sense of national and regional 
identity expresses itself in loyalty and dedication to 
institutions. Recently most of those which have been 
historically most enduring have shown signs of failure. There 
is a general breakdown in community feeling correlating with 
the centralisation of power in Westminster and the under-
funding of distributed power outwards into newly structured 
systems of medical provision and education. The malaise in 
Universities is especially striking. But the loss of a sense of 
community is also related to the high mobility of the 
workforce, the urbanisation of dormitory villages, the collapse 
of farming communities and the ethos of economic 
individualism that allows the careless growth of an underclass 
of youngsters begging in the hearts of our cities. The 
Thatcherite failure to address social and psychological needs 
through favouring a focus on material economy and a 
competitive free for all is linked to the absence of a caring 
political philosophy and the collapse of socialist ideals.

What does this mean for those who subscribe to this journal? 
We need to ask ourselves what we really stand for. Do we 
attend Zen meditation groups simply to reduce our own 
anxieties, to find a togetherness with a few others who feel the 
same way, to seek some relief from our social distress? Have 
we any sense of community in what we are about? Do we care 
about the elderly in our own group or about the children of our 
younger members? Do we merely attend our meetings when 
the whim takes us or we have nothing better to do? Are we 
seriously committed to training or merely trying to comfort 
ourselves as we recline in our comfortable middle class 
armchairs in front of our imitation log fires?

These are matters we should seriously consider for we are 
citizens of our land and how we are is the state of our nation. 
In this issue of our journal Shifu warns us about the dangers 
of busying about do-gooding. He points to the need to work on 
our own personalities and their expression in the world. In the 
Dharma this need takes pride of place because everything else 
follows from it. Yet the forces that rule society are also to a 
degree independent of personal expression. Institutions, 
economies and social systems run in their own way and are 
only indirectly responsive to the personalities that are the cogs 
within their machines. We have to tap the sources of social 
power and expression as well as those of our personal 
morality. The difficulty in society arises as much from our 
institutions as it does from ourselves. It follows that all of us 
need to be politicians. to argue for the expression of our 
practice in society at large. This is not done by huge donations 
of money but rather through the spread of cells that activate at 
the personal level and so shift the quality of institutions from 
within. There is a role for the appropriately subversive in our 
national structure. Our job is to sustain a continuous critique. It 
will take the Tibetans a long time to regain control of their 
land. It will take us a long time to re-enchant our own.

John Crook


THE IMPORTANCE OF BUDDHADHARMA IN THE MODERN WORLD

Lecture by Master Sheng-yen on October 13, 1991. Reprinted with 
permission from Chan Newsletter 89, November 1991.


The world we live in has a genuine need for Buddhadharma. There
are many fine things in the modern world, but there is much that is 
less than desirable. The world is becoming smaller and more 
crowded and people are getting busier and busier.

As a child, I read a Chinese novel called "Journey to the West". It is 
the story of a monkey with mystical. supernormal powers who 
accompanies his master to India to seek special teaching from the 
Buddha. Despite the monkey's power, the journey is very difficult. 
The monkey could leap over 100,000 miles, but because his master 
lacked that power, the journey was arduous.

This would not be a problem today. They could both take a 
commercial flight - six hours from China to India. It's only about 16 
hours all the way to the United States.

We may feel that the world is getting smaller and smaller, but at the 
same time the distance between individuals seems to be getting 
greater and greater.

In ancient times - even when I was a child - people living in the 
country knew all of their neighbours for miles around. You would 
know most of the families in your neighbourhood. This is no longer 
true. You may know your next door neighbour by sight, but you may 
not know his or her name.

When people married in times past, they would rarely consider the 
option or even the possibility of divorce. But these days people often 
marry with an attitude of "What's the big deal? The worst that can 
happen is that we separate."

There was a time when people were not so busy, and they had more 
time to know themselves and understand what their lives were about. 
Sometimes we don't even know ourselves. Our own selves may seem 
unfamiliar. We may be confused by such questions as "What are you 
doing with your life?" or "Where do you think you are going and 
what will you be doing in the future?"

Things move very fast in the world today. So much seems to have 
happened in the three months that I have been gone from the Centre. 
I can hardly recall what the situation was like before I left. Even 
yesterday, Guo Yuan Shi had to remind me that I was scheduled to 
give today's talk. This just shows how busy I have been. At lunch, 
Ming Yee observed that if we didn't have a telephone and a fax 
machine, I would be able to get a little rest when I come to the States. 
But as it happens, no sooner do I arrive, then I find a fax and more 
responsibilities waiting for me. The same thing happens when I 
return to Taiwan. Whatever needs my attention follows me around. 
There is no place for me to run to. I imagine that many people find 
themselves in this situation.

Yesterday five people vacationing from Taiwan came to visit me. 
They stayed one night and they took a plane to Canada this morning. 
They will be back in Taiwan in two days. I asked them what they 
were doing on vacation. "Rest," they said.

One consequence of the advances in communication and 
transportation is that people continue to get busier and busier. In 
addition, I have to adjust from a time zone that's half way around the 
world. It can be quite tiring.

How can Buddhadharma help us in this busy world? What can it do 
for the distance between people and the alienation people feel within 
themselves?

Buddhadharma teaches that the world we live in is only a very small 
portion of the universe. It is like a grain of sand in the Ganges river 
or a grain of sand in countless Ganges rivers.

Even if we feel that the world is as small as an egg, we can take heart 
in the vastness of the universe. We may not be able to roam through 
it in its entirety at this point, but we need not have any sense of 
claustrophobia or oppression because the Earth feels small to us now.

With a method of practice, we can discover a great world inside of 
us, and that, like the world around us, is limitless. There is no 
measure of the space within and without.

Buddhadharma tells us that the unlimited living beings in our world 
and throughout the universe have suffered through rebirth upon 
rebirth in numberless worlds from beginningless time. Through 
countless lifetimes, each of these sentient beings has played the role 
of relative, friend, brother, sister, parent, child, etc. to each other.

All the matter in the universe at one time or another has been part of 
our bodies in previous lifetimes. That which comprised our bodies 
has become the matter which now fills the universe. It says in the 
sutras that the dust particles in 3,000 trichilicosms - an unimaginably 
enormous expanse of space - have combined to form the many 
bodies we have inhabited through time, and it is this enormity of 
matter which has been discarded with the disintegration of these 
bodies.

This will give you an idea of the intimate relationship you share with 
other living beings, animals, plants and even minerals. They all have 
been part of you. You are not a single isolated existence.

If we used the methods and concepts of Buddhadharma as a guide in 
daily life, not only will we feel the vastness of the universe, but we 
will also see our close connection to everything within it. The gulf 
between others and ourselves will be bridged.

I have spoken about how busy so many people are. What does this 
mean for a Buddhist practitioner? Should he be as busy as others? 
How should he perceive his life?

Let's look at Sakyamuni Buddha. He lived about 25 centuries ago in 
India at a time when many Indians lived relatively unhurried lives. 
There was a limit upon what had to be done and what could be done. 
But Sakyamuni Buddha was different. From childhood until his 
death - for 80 years - he led a very, very busy life. As a child, he was 
occupied with learning the worldly knowledge of his day; the arts, 
literature, philosophy, religion, martial arts, to name a few. 
Eventually he decided to renounce the world and leave home. But he 
was still quite busy learning how to practice. He practised very hard 
for six years using many different methods. Ultimately, he attained 
Buddhahood. But that doesn't mean he had nothing to do. No, he just 
got busier.

From the Tripitaka, the collection of the Dharma given us by the 
Buddha, especially the collections of Sutras and Vinaya, it is evident 
that Sakyamuni Buddha spent most of his life after his enlightenment 
travelling all over India, trying to help whomever he met. He had 
precious little time to rest. There was hardly a day when he had 
nothing to do.

Being busy in itself is not a problem. The Dalai Lama, a very 
important master, is very busy day in and day out attending to his 
people, trying to free his country, ministering his religion, and 
pursuing his own practice. He has been as busy as the Buddha was in 
his time. But this only shows that being busy is not a problem for a 
Buddhist practitioner. The busy life of a Buddhist, especially the 
busy life of Buddha, is quite different from the busy life of an 
ordinary person.

What is the difference between a Buddhist practitioner and an 
ordinary person? When ordinary people are busy, they have a 
purpose, and that purpose is their own benefit. They busily seek 
fame, wealth, position, and power. It is for this reason that their 
minds are always unsteady. They live in tension, apprehension, 
constantly trying to fulfil their desires.

A Buddhist practitioner, especially someone with some attainment, 
may be busy, but it will not be for his own sake, for his own fame or 
fortune, for his own power or position. He will not be concerned 
about winning or losing something. He will not live in tension, 
apprehension, or confusion.

There is nothing wrong with being busy, but if it makes you restless 
or unstable, you will be filled with vexations. Being busy simply 
means that you have many things to deal with, one after the other. If 
your mind is not concerned with getting or losing, then there will be 
no vexation. When dealing with many things leads to restlessness, 
instability, and tension, then that is vexation.

Two people I know who occupy very high cabinet posts in the 
government in Taiwan have two very different attitudes towards their 
positions. One is quite concerned about his career. He is in constant 
fear that he will lose his post as cabinet head. He also worries that 
even if he keeps his position there will be nowhere for him to 
advance. This attitude causes him to be tense and nervous, and 
consequently, apt to falter. As a result, he is often criticized and 
attacked.

The other person, whose position is equally high, has a completely 
different view of his role: "I only try to do my best," he says. "If the 
government thinks that I am doing well in this position, then I'll 
continue to work here. If the government wishes me to step down, 
then I'll gladly do it. I am concerned with what I do, not my 
position." He happens to be a Buddhist practitioner. In fact, he 
studies with me.

Here, then, are two people who share positions at the same high 
level, but whose perceptions of those positions are completely 
different.

Many people find the world to be a very difficult place in which to 
live. The quality of the air and the quality of our food leave much to 
be desired. Many people feel that we live in a garbage dump or a 
room slowly filling with poison gas. It is no wonder that there is 
great concern for the environment.

But this problem must be approached correctly. Recently in Taiwan 
there was an ironic turn of events involving some members of an 
environmental protection group. In their zeal to protect the water and 
air, some of the members ended up in releasing greater pollution into 
the environment. Their actions actually resulted in a number of 
deaths.

I gave a talk in Boston three years ago which happened to coincide 
with Earth Day. The Earth Day organizers and participants passed 
Out a great number of posters and fliers filled with advice on how to 
save the environment. All that paper wound up creating a huge 
mound of garbage. Were these people part of the solution or part of 
the problem?

Again, a couple of years ago, there were two opposing 
demonstrations in Central Park. One group was pro. the other anti, 
nuclear power. Which of these groups was right? Whatever the 
answer, it seemed that at least in that situation, both groups 
contributed more to the disharmony of the environment than to any 
real solution.

These difficulties arise from the way people respond to the problems 
in the world. People want things to change. But the question is who 
should do the changing?

From the Buddhist point of view, it is a mistake to simply turn your 
attention outward in order to speak of others' problems, the world's 
problems, problems of the environment. if the only thing that you 
can do is to criticize others and you only demand that others change, 
that will not solve anything.

What does Buddhadharma say on these issues? Buddhadharma 
counsels each of us to maintain purity of mind and heart. In other 
words, we must each try to have less greed, hatred, ignorance, 
arrogance, and doubt in our minds. This will naturally lead the world 
in a better direction. It will become a purer, healthier, and safer place 
in which to live.

How do we achieve this goal? We must depend on the teachings, 
concepts, and methods of practice of Buddhadharma. Only with 
these can we reach the goal of purity of mind. Only when the mind is 
pure can the external environment become pure. Only when you 
attain purity of mind can you see the purity of the external world. 
Without this inner peace and purity, the world will always be 
troubled by problems.

Few people are mindful of their own problems or their own 
inadequacies. Most of us fervently believe that the root of our 
problems lies in what others have done to us. Why, after all do we 
use the word "ordinary people?" Because such people have ordinary, 
common problems basic to human nature, such as greed, hatred, 
arrogance, and doubt.

Very few people reflect on the fact that they themselves are ordinary 
people with ordinary problems. It is because of their problems that 
they are so acutely aware of the problems of others. If I were a sage 
or a saint, however, I would not be troubled by faults and 
shortcomings of those around me. We see the faults in others 
principally because we are ordinary, vulnerable beings ourselves.

Buddhadharma does not aim to control or subdue others. It is the 
goal of Buddhadharma to help us understand and tolerate others even 
as we learn to master our own bodies and minds. This is what we call 
practice.

When we understand the problems of ordinary people, that, in 
Buddhadharma, is called compassion. We see that they have the 
weaknesses of ordinary people. It is only appropriate that ordinary 
people have ordinary problems. Mindful of this, our vexations will 
lessen. This will lead to tolerance and a muting of our criticism of 
such people. We will not harbour resentment or hatred toward them. 
At the same time, we will reflect on our own faults and try to 
improve ourselves.

As long as you have awareness on one side, it will affect both sides. 
What does this mean? Your understanding of your own ordinariness 
and faults will engender an understanding of others' ordinariness and 
their faults. You will be aware of where you are vulnerable to making 
mistakes and you will see where others are vulnerable, also. This will 
naturally bring about understanding and sympathy for the sufferings 
others undergo. This understanding will translate into a peaceful 
attitude towards yourself and therefore towards others.

Before lunch today, I encouraged those members who have been 
with the Centre for a long time to receive the Bodhisattva precepts. 
This involves vowing to observe and keep quite a number of rules. 
At lunch someone approached me and said, "Shifu, do you think 
that someone like me can take these Bodhisattva precepts?" I asked, 
"Why not?" He replied, "Because if I take the precepts, I'm sure to 
break them." I said, 'It's only by taking the precepts, that you will 
have precepts to break. If you didn't have them, you couldn't break 
them." Sakyamuni Buddha said that when you have precepts to 
break, that is the way of a Bodhisattva; when you have no precepts to 
break, that is the mark of an outer path - it should not be followed. 
The idea being this is that if you take no precepts, you may think that 
you can get away with anything without breaking any rules. But you 
may in fact be doing much that is bad and harmful, no matter what 
you think.

On the other hand, if you have made the effort to take precepts, 
perhaps you'll break a precept today, but you'll know it. You may 
break another precept tomorrow, but you'll know that, too. 
Eventually, this awareness will encourage you to break precepts less 
and less often. This process will help you to become a Bodhisattva.

Simply because ordinary sentient beings are ordinary, it is impossible 
for them to maintain the absolute purity of body, speech, and mind. 
After all, their bodies and their minds are not really under their 
control. In addition, they have any number of vexations, what we call 
karmic obstructions, that have been brought over to this lifetime from 
previous lifetimes. These bother and constrain us. It is difficult for an 
ordinary sentient being not to break a precept. But Buddhadharma 
lays down a clear path so that you will know which actions to engage 
in and which to refrain from. You establish these criteria for yourself 
and you vow to adhere to them. But it may happen that you will 
continue to break the precepts for a long, long time. In fact, a 
Bodhisattva continues to break precepts until the day he attains 
Buddhahood. An analogy often given is this: precepts are like a robe. 
When you break a precept, it is as if you made a hole in it. Now you 
have to mend it or patch it up. Later there will be more holes and 
more patches. But eventually you reach a point where the robe needs 
no patching. This is the process that you must go through. Without 
the precepts, it is as if you had no robe:
it is as if you were naked.

It is important for us to recognize that we are ordinary people, that 
we have weaknesses, that we have inadequacies, that we have 
vexations. Self-knowledge is the beginning of wisdom and it also 
leads to the growth of compassion for others. Compassion will 
eventually affect even the environment, leading to its improvement 
and purification.

How does this work? If we are somewhat less greedy, we will seek 
somewhat fewer material objects. What material objects we do have, 
we will use more economically and less wastefully. We will create 
less garbage and consequently, we will pollute the environment less. 
With more understanding and sympathy for others, there will be less 
conflict and more peace. This will certainly improve the world we 
live in. We will share more and thus put less strain on our resources. 
This, too, will enhance the environment. One more person practising 
Buddhadharma, then, is an incremental force for the peace, purity, 
and stability of the world. If we wish to stop the destruction of the 
world and to stem the tide of insanity that sometimes seems to he 
prevalent among so many of its people, then we should dedicate our 
efforts to the understanding and the practice of Buddhadharma.

Buddhadharma emphasizes working on one's own personality, on 
one's own mind. If we can establish wholesome personalities, 
maintain the purity of our minds, and influence each other in a 
benevolent way, then we will be able to establish a Pure Land in this 
world.

It is not an issue whether everybody in the world is converted to 
Buddhism. The important thing is to turn away from trying to subdue 
others and to help others see that they must work on their own minds. 
This is the emphasis of Buddhadharma.

Buddhadharma does not advise against a reasonable accumulation of 
material things. It is simply that we should not take this to extremes, 
nor should we squander our resources.

It would be wrong to conclude that Buddhists concentrate only on 
themselves to the exclusion of others. The idea is that we first work 
on our own minds. Then, once we have benefited, we try to help 
others benefit also.

For the last few years I have been helping to establish a major 
Buddhist complex in Taiwan. It will include an academy, library, 
practice halls, and will have a variety of facilities. It is called Dharma 
Drum Mountain. We are now planning its development. Two 
sentences summarize the goal of Dharma Drum Mountain, and show 
the responsibility Buddhism recognizes it has towards the modern 
world: "To raise the quality of all human beings" and "To establish a 
Pure Land on earth."

All of what I have said today is expressed by these two ideas. Are 
there any questions?


LEAVES DANCE IN THE EMPTY STREET

Towards answering the Koan "Existence is only now - What is it?" 
after a retreat at Maenllwyd.


I scratch at the dry earth
Searching for the bones of my ancestors.
Smooth stones come to life in my palm
Touching dim memories
Of an ancient tongue before I
Forsook my mother.

The blood river, the turbulent current
My rootless mind...
Where can I set my foot upon
The sliding stair?
Doubting judgement or return,
Leaves dance in the empty street.
What signs are left on the table
Outstripped of reason?

A broken wheel and handful of images
Gleaned from half-remembered dreams:
A dark haired woman (the Queen of Spades)
And a golden youth align
A measure of culture
Against the depth of shade.

Still the bull ensnares my thoughts
With raw instinctuality,
While the snake stands witness;
For the snake knows that
Now is but a hole in time
And the power of the moment
Is all there is.

Julia Lawless


This poem was previously published in "Central Poets". Arrival 
Press 1992.


METHODS OF PRACTICE IN THE CH'AN HALL
By Master Hsu Yun.

This is part two of a translation of a text by the great Chan master 
of the early part of this century', Hsu Yun (1839-1 959). It is 
reprinted by permission of the Institute of Chung Hwa Buddhist 
Culture, New York, from Chan Newsletter 87, August 1991. The 
first part appeared in New Chan Forum No.4. Spring 1992.


1.	Introduction:

Many people come to ask me for guidance. This makes me feel 
ashamed. Everyone works so hard - splitting firewood, hoeing the 
fields, carrying soil, moving bricks - and yet from morning to night 
not putting down the thought of practising the Path. Such 
determination for the Path is touching. I, Hsu-Yun, repent my 
inadequacy on the Path and my lack of virtue. I am unable to instruct 
you and can use only a few sayings from the ancients in response to 
your questions. There are four prerequisites concerning methods of 
practice:

(1) Deep faith in the law of cause and consequence;
(2) Strict observance of precepts;
(3) Immovable faith:
(4) Choosing a Dharma door method of practice.

2.	The Essentials of Chan Practice:

Our everyday activities are executed within the Path itself Is there 
anywhere that is not a place for practising the Path? A Chan Hall 
should not even be necessary. Furthermore, Chan practice is not just 
sitting meditation. The Chan Hall and Chan sitting meditation are 
for sentient beings with deep karmic obstructions and shallow 
wisdom.

When one sits in meditation, one must first know how to regulate the 
body and mind. If they are not well regulated, then a small harm will 
turn into an illness and a great harm will lead to demonic 
entanglements. This would be most pitiable. Walking and sitting 
meditation in the Chan Hall are for the regulation of body and mind. 
There are other ways to regulate the body and mind, but I will talk 
about these two fundamental methods.

When you sit in the lotus position, you should sit naturally straight. 
Do not push the waist forward purposely. Doing so will raise your 
inner heat, which later on could result in having sand in the comer of 
your eyes, bad breath, uneasy breathing, loss of appetite, and in the 
worst case, vomiting blood. If dullness or sleepiness occur, open 
your eyes wide, straighten your back and gently move your buttocks 
from side to side. Dullness will naturally vanish. If you practice with 
an anxious attitude, you will have a sense of annoyance. At that time 
you should put everything down, including your efforts to practice. 
Rest for a few minutes. Gradually, after you recuperate, continue to 
practice. If you don't do this, as time goes on you will develop a hot-
tempered character, or, in the worst case, you could go insane or fall 
into demonic entanglements.

There are many experiences you will encounter when sitting Chan, 
too many to speak of. However, if you do not attach to them, they 
will not interfere with you. This is why the proverb says: "See the 
extraordinary yet do not think of it as being extraordinary, and the 
extraordinary will retreat." If you encounter or perceive an unpleasant 
experience, take no notice of it and have no fear. If you experience 
something pleasant, take no notice of it and don't give rise to 
fondness. The "Surangama Sutra" says: "If one does not think he has 
attained a supramundane experience, then this is good. On the other 
hand, if one thinks he has attained something supramundane, then he 
will attract demons."

3. How to Start the Practice: Distinction between Host and Guest

How should one begin to practice? In the Surangama assembly, 
Kaundinya the Honoured One mentioned the two words "guest" and 
"dust". This is where beginners should begin their practice. He said, 
"A traveller who stops at an inn may stay overnight or get something 
to eat. When he is finished or rested, he packs and continues his 
journey, for he does not have time to stay longer. If he were the host, 
he would have no place to go. Thus I reason: he who does not stay is 
called a guest because not staying is the essence of being a guest. He 
who stays is called a host. Again, on a clear day, when the sun rises 
and the sunlight enters a dark room through an opening, one can see 
dust in empty space. The dust is moving but the space is still. That 
which is clear and still is called space; that which is moving is called 
dust because moving is the essence of being dust." Guest and dust 
refer to illusory thoughts, whereas host and space refer to self-nature. 
That the permanent host does not follow the guest in his comings and 
goings illustrates that permanent self-nature does not follow illusory 
thoughts in their fleeting rise and fall. Therefore it was said, "If one is 
unaffected by all things, then there will be no obstructions even when 
one is constantly surrounded by things." The moving dust does not 
block the clear, still empty space; illusory thoughts which rise and 
fall by themselves do not hinder the self-nature of Suchness. Thus it 
was said, "If my mind does not arise, all things are blameless." In 
such a state of mind, even the guest does not drift with illusory 
thoughts. If he understands space and dust, illusory thoughts will no 
longer be hindrances. It is said that when one recognizes an enemy, 
there will be no more enemy in your mind. if one can investigate and 
understand all this before starting to practice, it is unlikely that one 
will make serious mistakes.

4.	Hua-t'ou and Doubt:

The ancient patriarchs pointed directly at Mind. When one sees self-
nature, one attains Buddhahood. This was the case when 
Bodhidharma helped his disciple to calm his mind and when the 
Sixth Patriarch spoke only about seeing self-nature. All that was 
necessary was the direct understanding and acceptance of Mind and 
nothing else. There was no such thing as investigating hua-t'ou. More 
recent patriarchs, however, saw that practitioners could not throw 
themselves into practice with total dedication and could not 
instantaneously see their self-nature. Instead, these people played 
games and imitated words of wisdom, showing off other people's 
treasure and patriarchs were compelled to set up schools and devise 
specific ways to help practitioners, hence the method of investigating 
hua-t'ou.

There are many hua-t'ous, such as "All dharmas return to one, where 
does this one return to?" "What was my original face before I was 
born?" and so on. The most common one, however, is "Who is 
reciting the Buddha's name?".

What is meant by hua-t'ou? Hua means the spoken word; t'ou means 
the head or beginning, so hua-t'ou means that which is before the 
spoken word. For example, reciting Amitabha Buddha is a hua, and 
hua-t'ou is that which precedes one's reciting the Buddha's name. The 
hua-t'ou is that moment before the thought arises. Once the thought 
arises, it is already the tail of the hua. The moment before that 
thought has arisen is called non-arising. When one's mind is not 
distracted, is not dull, is not attached to quiescence, or has not fallen 
into a state of nothingness, it is called non-perishing. Singlemindedly 
and uninterruptedly, turning inward and illuminating the state of non-
arising and non-perishing is called investigating the hua-t'ou or taking 
care of the hua-t'ou.

To investigate the hua-t'ou, one must first generate doubt. Doubt is 
like a walking cane for the method of investigating hua-t'ou. What is 
meant by doubt? For example, one may ask, "Who is reciting the 
Buddha's name?" Everyone knows that it is he himself who is 
reciting the name, but is he using his mouth or mind? If it is his 
mouth, then after the person dies and the mouth still exists, how 
come the dead person is unable to recite Buddha's name? If it is the 
mind, then what is the mind like? It cannot be known. Thus there is 
something one does not understand, and this gives rise to a slight 
doubt regarding the question of "who".

This doubt should never be coarse. The finer it is the better one 
should singlemindedly watch and keep this doubt, and keep it going 
like a fine stream of water. Do not get distracted by any other 
thought. When the doubt is there, do not disturb it. When the doubt is 
no longer there, gently give rise to it again. Beginners will find that it 
is more effective to use this method when stationary rather than when 
moving; but you should not have a discriminating attitude. 
Regardless of whether your practice is effective or not or whether 
you are stationary or moving, just singlemindedly use the method 
and practice.

In the hua-t'ou, "Who is reciting the Buddha's name?" The emphasis 
should be on the word "who". The other words serve to provide a 
general idea, just like in asking, "Who is dressing?", "Who is 
eating?", "Who is moving their bowels?'', ''Who is urinating?'', ''Who 
is ignorantly fighting for an ego?'', ''Who is being aware?". 
Regardless of whether one is walking, standing, sitting or reclining, 
the word "who" is direct and immediate. Not having to rely on 
repetitive thinking, conjecture, or attention, it is easy to give rise to a 
sense of doubt.

Hence, hua-t'ou's involving the word "who" are wonderful methods 
for practising Chan. But the idea is not to repeat, "Who is reciting 
Buddha's name?" like one might repeat the Buddha's name itself; nor 
is it right to use reasoning to come up with an answer to the question, 
thinking that this is what is meant by having doubt. There are people 
who uninterruptedly repeat the phrase, "Who is reciting the Buddha's 
name?" They would accumulate more merit and virtue if they 
repeatedly recited Amitabha Buddha's name instead. There are others 
who let their minds wander, thinking that is the meaning of having 
doubt, and they end up more involved in illusory thoughts. This is 
like trying to ascend but descending instead. Be aware of this.

The doubt that is generated by a beginning practitioner tends to be 
coarse, intermittent and irregular. This does not truly qualify as a 
state of doubt. It can only be called thoughts. Gradually, after the 
wild thoughts settle and one has more control, the process can be 
called "ts'an" (ts'an means to investigate or look into). As one's 
cultivation gets smoother, the doubt naturally arises without one's 
actively inducing it to. At this point one is not aware of where one is 
sitting. One is not aware of the existence of a body or mind or 
environment. Only the doubt is there. This is a true state of doubt.

Realistically speaking, the initial stage cannot be considered 
cultivation. One is merely engaging in illusory thoughts. Only when 
true doubt arises by itself can it be called true cultivation. This 
moment is a crucial juncture, and it is easy for the practitioner to 
deviate from the right path:

(1) At this moment it is clear and pure and there is an unlimited sense 
of lightness and peace. However, if one fails to fully maintain one's 
awareness and illumination (awareness is wisdom, not delusion; 
illumination is samadhi, not disorder), one will fall into a light state 
of mental dullness. If there is an open-eyed person around, he will be 
able to tell right away that the practitioner is in this mental state and 
hit him with the incense stick, dispersing all clouds and fog. Many 
people become enlightened this way.

(2) At this moment it is clear and pure, empty and vacuous. If it isn't, 
then the doubt is lost. Then it is "no content", meaning one is not 
making an effort to practice any more. This is what is meant by "the 
cliff with dry wood" or "the rock soaking in cold water". In this 
situation the practitioner has to "bring up". "Bring up" means to 
develop awareness and illumination. It is different from earlier times 
when the doubt was coarse. Now it has to be fine - one thought, 
uninterrupted and extremely subtle. With utter clarity, it is 
illuminating and quiescent, unmoving yet fully aware. Like the 
smoke from a fire that is about to go out, it is a narrow stream 
without interruption. When one's practice reaches this point, it is 
necessary to have a diamond eye in the sense that one should not try 
to "bring up" any more. To "bring up" at this point would be like 
putting a head on top of one's head.

Once a monk, asked Chan master Chao-chou, "What should one do 
when not one thing comes?" Chao-chou replied, "Put it down". The 
monk, asked, "If not one thing comes, what does one put down?" 
Chao-chou replied, "If it cannot be put down, take it up". This 
dialogue refers precisely to this kind of situation. The true flavour of 
this state cannot be described. Like someone drinking water, only he 
knows how cool or warm it is. If a person reaches this state, he will 
naturally understand. If he is not at this state, no explanation will be 
adequate. To a sword master you should offer a sword; do not bother 
showing your poetry to someone who is not a poet.

5. Taking Care of Hua-t'ou and Turning Inward to Hear One's Self-Nature:

Someone might ask, "How is Bodhisattva Avalokitesvara's method 
of turning inward to hear self-nature considered investigating 
Chan?". I have previously explained that taking care of hua-t'ou is 
being, moment after moment, with only one thought, singlemindedly 
shining the light inward on "that which is not born and not 
destroyed". Inward illumination is reflection. Self-nature is that 
which is not born and not destroyed. When "hearing" and 
"illuminating" follow sound and form in the worldly stream, hearing 
does not go beyond sound and seeing does not go beyond form. 
However, when one turns inward and contemplates self-nature 
against the worldly steam, and does not pursue sound and form, then 
he becomes pure and transparent. At that time, "hearing" and 
"illuminating" are not two different things.

Thus we should know that taking care of the hua-t'ou and turning 
inward to hear self-nature does not mean using our eyes to see and 
our ears to hear. If we use our ears to hear or our eyes to see, then we 
are chasing sound and form. As a result we will be affected by them. 
This is called submission to the worldly stream. If one practices with 
one thought only, singlemindedly abiding in that which is not born 
and not destroyed, not chasing after sound and form, with no 
wandering thoughts, then one is going against the stream. This is also 
called taking care of the hua-t'ou or turning inward to hear one's self-
nature. This is not to say you should close your eyes tightly or cover 
your ears. Just do not generate a mind of seeking after sound and 
form.

6. Determined to Leave Samsara and Generating a Persevering Mind:

In Chan training the most important thing is to have an earnestness to 
leave birth and death and to generate a persevering mind. If there is 
no earnestness to leave birth and death, then one cannot generate the 
"great doubt" and practice will not be effective. if there is no 
perseverance in one's mind, the result will be laziness, like a man 
who practices for one day and rests for ten. The practice will be 
incomplete and fragmented. Just develop a persevering mind and 
when great doubt arises, vexations will come to an end by 
themselves. When the time comes, the melon will naturally depart 
from the vine.

I will tell you a story. During the Ch'ing dynasty in the year of K'eng 
Tse (1900) when the eight world powers sent their armies to Peking, 
the Emperor Kuang-hsu fled westward from Peking to Shen Hsi 
province. Everyday he walked tens of miles. For several days he had 
no food to eat. On the road, a peasant offered him sweet potato 
stems. After he had eaten them, he asked the peasant what they were 
because they tasted so good. Think about the Emperor's usual awe-
inspiring demeanour and his arrogance! How long do you think he 
could continue to maintain his imperial attitude after so long a 
journey on foot? Do you think he had ever gone hungry? Do you 
think he ever had to eat sweet potato stems? At that time he gave up 
all of his airs. After all, he had walked quite a distance and had eaten 
stems to keep from starving. Why was he able to put down 
everything at that time? Because the allied armies wanted his life and 
his only thought was to save himself But when peace prevailed and 
he returned to Peking, once again he became proud and arrogant. He 
didn't have to run any more. He no longer had to eat any food that 
might displease him. Why was he unable to put down everything at 
that time? Because the allied armies no longer wanted his life. If the 
Emperor always had an attitude of running for his life and if he could 
turn such an attitude toward the path of practice, there would be 
nothing he could not accomplish. It's a pity he did not have a 
persevering mind. When favourable circumstances returned, so did 
his former habits.

Fellow practitioners! Time is passing, never to return. It is constantly 
looking for our lives. It is more frightening than the allied armies. 
Time will never compromise or make peace with us. Let us generate 
a mind of perseverance immediately in order to escape from birth 
and death! Master Kao-fung (1238-1295) once said, "Concerning the 
practice, one should act like a stone dropping into the deepest part of 
the pool - ten thousand feet deep - continuously and persistently 
dropping without interruption toward the bottom. If one can practice 
like this without stopping, continuously for seven days, and still be 
unable to cut off one's wandering, illusory thoughts and vexations, I, 
Kao-fung, will have my tongue pulled out for cows to plough on 
forever". He continued by saying, "When one practices Chan, one 
should set out a certain time for success, like a man who has fallen 
into a pit a thousand feet deep. All his tens of thousands of thoughts 
are reduced to one - escape from the pit. If one can really practice 
from morning to dusk and from night to day without a second 
thought, and if he does not attain complete enlightenment within 
three, five or seven days, I shall be committing a great lie for which I 
shall have my tongue pulled out for cows to plough on forever". This 
old master had great compassion.



The Joy of the Lord is mine for the asking;
The Power of the Lord is given to me.
So personal growth will take no masking
and THEN and THEM become NOW and WE.

Don Ball
25.7.91


INTRODUCING TANTRA TO THE PATH
A new retreat for annual presentation at the Maenllwyd.

In this retreat we begin with methods common to Zen and to Tibetan 
Buddhism, calming the mind and gaining insight into its nature and 
then introduce further methods which are known as Tantra.

The purpose of doing this is to allow participants to become aware of 
the wide range of methods available in Mahayana Buddhism and to 
fulfil in part the Chan vow to "master limitless approaches to 
Dharma". Such a retreat is rare and participants are invited to make 
the most of the opportunity.

The main idea in Tantra is to transform the mind through directly 
envisaging the presence of the Buddha or Bodhisattva. The visualised 
being may then confer blessings, purification, peace of mind, power 
or stabilisation of insight depending upon the specific "sadhana" 
(ritual visualisation) performed.  The practitioner, after appropriate 
training and initiation, may also identify him or herself with the 
figure, thereby acquiring, for a brief time, the mind of a Buddha. 
Although this is merely an exercise, the lamas say that such practice 
gradually transforms the mind through repeated familiarisation with 
the psychological content of the image. It is of course essential that 
this content is truly apperceived, for without that the exercise is only 
fantasy. The only danger is that, instead of insight, illusions of power 
and ego enhancement may result. Tantric practice needs to be firmly 
anchored in the humility and compassion of the Bodhisattva vow.

A further Tantric practice is the visualisation of the chakras and 
energy channels of the body which, in Higher Yogic Tantra, is then 
combined with 'deity' visualisation as in the Six Yogas of Naropa.

The aim of Tantric practice is Mahamudra, a term equivalent in 
meaning to the 'mind of insight' in Zen. There is a "path of 
preparation", in which one purposefully applies the methods. There 
is also a "path of completion", which is the expression of insight 
once it is realised. Within the latter there is no intentionality since the 
"fox is already caught". The adept knows that the path of completion 
begins only after the ending of preparation. In each sitting session, 
preparation may lead into completion. However, for the beginner, the 
methods of preparation will not yet have yielded the essential insight. 
In the Nyingma practice of "Dzogschen" the practitioner is wholly 
within the path of  completion. Yet even here, a return to preparation 
is needed whenever insight is lost.

Zen, Mahamudra and Dzogschen each have a similar goal in mind. 
The richness of the range of methods available will not be found 
contradictory so long as a firm understanding of the basis is 
apprehended. This lies in the Prajnaparamita Sutras of the Buddha 
and teachings closely related to these.

On this retreat, which focuses on practice rather than philosophy, 
certain basic tantric methods will be taught, including some limited 
use of chakra visualisation and the practice of a Chenrezi 
(Avalokitesvara) sadhana. The way in which these can empower 
sitting meditation and quicken the deepening of insight is the focus 
of this retreat. Participants should be enabled to develop an effective 
practice to take home with them. Individual interviews, as in Western 
Zen Retreats, will monitor each individual's understanding and 
consider how far Tantric methods are useful for that person. Talks 
clarifying Tantra in relation to Zen will be given at intervals during 
the retreat. Depending on progress an initiation enabling participants 
to practice the Chenrezi Sadhana outside retreat may be given.

I hope that some of the mystification surrounding the subject of 
Tantra can be dispelled and the great value of its careful use under 
supervision be made apparent.

John Crook


RETREAT REPORTS


JOY AND SILENCE - CH'AN RETREAT, MAENLLWYD, APRIL 1991.

I have practised for quite a number of years, receiving help from 
various people in different traditions. My practice has tended to be 
erratic, never very strong or sustained - though I might sit every day. 
Sometimes it has just been half-hearted, but my main problem has 
been doubting the worth of the practice, and more importantly 
doubting my own ability to practice fully or make any real progress.

The doubts have been a long running theme that I have taken to 
retreats before. This time I sensed there might be a turning point; I 
even left a note saying as much. I had felt quite determined before 
previous sessions, which had proved to be quite punishing and 
physically painful and in the end not very productive. This time I 
wanted to practice as fully as I could, but I had also decided not to 
put myself through a lot of agony for no good reason. I thought 'If I 
can't continue sitting then I'll just lie on the floor and meditate'. I 
think this more relaxed, and slightly 'to hell with it' approach, was 
quite important. I wasn't quite so wound up at the beginning.

The schedule was difficult, but not impossible. I remembered from 
previous retreats that energy started to build after a day or so, and 
then it felt as if one was being helped. I never really doubted that I 
could get through it somehow or other (even if I had to break the 
schedule to do it), and I think this left me free to get on with the 
retreat. I also remembered how thinking about the pain I was in, or 
wondering if I was doing the right thing etc, had caused me a lot of 
grief in the past. Trying to 'figure it out' had been a disaster and had 
only prolonged periods of gloom and despondency, which otherwise 
could shift with extraordinary, even alarming, rapidity.

I settled in to the retreat fairly quickly, at least I don't remember any 
problems that I couldn't get through. I sat cross-legged and knelt 
alternately, so that I was never in pain to the point where I couldn't 
maintain some attention. Although there were plenty of wandering 
thoughts, I managed to maintain some concentration in spite of them. 
I had an image of the retreat as being a kind of train I had to board in 
the first day or two. If I just made a bit of effort and got started, got 
on the rails, then the retreat would start to carry me. The way to get 
started was not to think too much, rather than to make 'Herculean' 
efforts. In any case I didn't think I was capable of making Herculean 
efforts, so I had to find some other way.

The early morning talks were extraordinarily helpful and gave me 
tremendous confidence. From the very first I seemed to be able to 
put the 'thoughts for the day' into practice to some extent. Put all 
thoughts of your life aside - I wanted to and did. Let the universe do 
it - I felt that was just what I wanted to do. In the first few days the 
retreat acquired a momentum for me. This description makes it seem 
that progress was solid and continuous, with few distractions. 
However in the afternoons, as is usual with me, I was fighting sleep, 
my mind was wandering and concentration was difficult. However, I 
never completely lost my way, and the momentum built up in spite 
of these difficulties.

During the morning of the third day, I began to cry during one of the 
meditations. Eventually I went out, engulfed in waves of sobbing, 
coming fight from my guts. I don't recall very clearly what feelings 
accompanied this, or what provoked it. I remember saying 'all this 
effort' to myself feeling sad that we all had to make such efforts to... 
to be happy I suppose. When the sobbing stopped, it simply finished. 
The whole episode was very clean, feeling like a release of tension. It 
seemed to have no special meaning - but there may have been a shift 
to a less 'effortful' practice.

On the morning of the fourth day, John spoke of Shifu's method of 
dealing with thoughts. I think he talked about noticing similar 
thoughts with the same theme - rounding them up like sheep, and 
then letting them go. This struck me very much, and I really applied 
myself to it during the first meditations - though without much 
feeling of making a great effort. It was more that I really wanted to 
do it, felt it was all I wanted to do at that moment, so the effort, 
which must have been there, was natural. The image that came to me, 
was of putting thoughts in a boat, then just pushing them out to sea. 
Whatever came up, I noticed it, then pushed it away into ... whatever, 
away out to sea.

Suddenly a remarkable thing began to happen. The thoughts began to 
move away of their own accord. I no longer had to push. I just 
watched in amazement. A huge space began to open up, without any 
effort or intervention on my part. I remember that parts of myself not 
just my thoughts, began to ebb away. (I can think of no other way of 
describing his). I remember thinking or realising, that even a sense of 
time could just slip away into the sea. I felt a tremendous release, as 
if from some burden. I was flooded with an overwhelming feeling of 
gratitude, and began to cry gently. The memory of this time is rather 
blank, perhaps because the events and feelings were so unusual. I 
find it hard to say why I was so grateful. It was something to do with 
the fact that whatever was happening was not coming from me. It 
was a gift of immense worth, and also a confirmation that things 
could happen in meditation that really did produce massive change. I 
remember saying to myself 'I can't believe it. I got what I wanted', 
repeating this. The tears must have lasted for two hours. I was 
continually struck by the beauty around me and the kindness of 
everyone. The slightest thing would set me off again. At breakfast 
Evie, seeing that I was rather lost, poured me a cup of tea. This 
brought a flood of tears again.

The rest of the day passed easily as far as I remember. I was aware 
that the experience of the morning was not really complete, but 
wasn't really troubled by this. Towards the evening I was sitting quite 
purposefully, and pushing into the meditation, wanting to go further. 
The next morning, I eagerly awaited the talk, which had helped me so 
much on previous mornings, seeming to be exactly judged to give me 
what I needed. John talked about ordinary mind. The need to be 
ordinary at this point of the retreat, not to push for experiences and 
so on. I hated it! It was not what I wanted to hear The next two 
periods of meditation were full of furious thoughts. Looking back it 
must have been a kind of fury mixed with serenity, as I don't 
remember being swamped by it. I calmed down after a while and 
later, during the work period, began to feel that this was all a bit silly. 
I realised that I'd reacted that way, precisely because I'd begun to 
push too much, to push for 'an experience'. In fact the early morning 
talk had again had a precise, though salutary, effect.

The meditations settled then. Later in the morning we did an exercise 
in the field, after which John told us to sit for a period outside. I went 
up to the stream, as did many people, as the sound really echoes 
through me when the thoughts are quiet. I saw all the cars parked, 
which didn't seem an ideal place to sit, but I thought, well, this is the 
twentieth century, I'll sit by the cars. I only mention this rather daft 
conversation with myself, as looking back, it seems to me that I 
wasn't (for once) trying to set up any particularly perfect conditions. I 
felt quite content, found a pleasant place to sit and made myself 
comfortable.

I sat down, enjoying looking over the stream. I felt clear and happy. 
Thoughts continued to run through my mind, though without 
stopping - if that makes any sense. They were sometimes there, 
moving at speed, but disappeared equally fast and so did not seem to 
interfere with the meditation. It didn't seem to matter that my mind 
wasn't completely quiet. Then the character and quality of the 
meditation, and my experience, began to change - again without any 
effort or wish on my part. The world seemed brighter, illuminated is 
the only word; it was more than the freshness the scenery has after 
periods of meditation. The phrase 'Serene illumination' came into my 
mind - though I didn't know or even consider whether this was what 
was meant by it. At times I seemed to be locked into what was 
happening. This probably gives the wrong impression - locked onto 
is probably better, I was so close to my experience, that no thoughts 
could intrude. There was just a continuous experience. I remember 
the phrase 'one thought for a thousand years' suddenly made sense. 
These experiences must have lasted for most of the meditation 
period. When the bell rang, I shook my head, thinking 'marvellous'. 
Marvellous was the exact word; it was a marvel. Walking back up to 
the house I had a sense of passing through a door, and entering some 
different, lighter state of mind. This was quite undramatic, but 
seemed very important.

The interviews were very important for me in that John 
acknowledged, and so validated what I described. In the first one, he 
said at some point "you've certainly got some experience or you 
wouldn't be able to talk like that". This helped my confidence early 
on. The talks, particularly in the evening, also brought confirmation 
in that he described experiences, in a general way, that I had recently 
had. The gratitude I felt, and the shifting of self, carried a feeling of 
certainty. I didn't doubt, for once, that I was recounting something 
important that was a result or fruit of the retreat process. 
Nevertheless, I was very glad that John quizzed me about it, 
satisfying himself that I wasn't completely adrift. Also glad that he 
seemed pleased too - some return for his own work perhaps. More 
important though was a later interview, which I asked for after sitting 
on the bank. I almost 'didn't bother him', and just let it go. Looking 
back this seems extraordinary, and confirms my amazing capacity to 
doubt myself and my experiences. Still, I wouldn't have attached 
much importance to it if John hadn't again quizzed me about it rather 
carefully, to find out what I'd found, and by his manner shown that 
this was a more important step than I'd realized. I was touched and 
encouraged when he said that he would be disappointed if I did not 
feel more confident in my practice after what had happened. Looking 
back, I feel that whereas the gratitude was a beginning, the 
illumination was a move to a different quality of meditation 
altogether - in which the joy and the silence were brought together.



IN TOUCH WITH GENTLENESS
Western Zen Retreat Report, Maenllwyd, January 1993

I find I'm still struggling with my Koan. The retreat was a "great 
privilege". That is the expression I find myself using most when I'm 
trying to explain it for other people. The privilege lay in the 
opportunity to do such deep work and to be supported and feel quite 
safe and surrounded by calm and beauty while doing so. The greatest 
beauty for me lay in the lights, the assortment of candles, oil lamps 
and firelight.

I had been looking forward to the Retreat for weeks and weeks. It 
approached with growing significance at the time when I was aware 
that a cycle of some years' very great change, had been going on in 
my life. A cycle involving my parents' deaths, inheritance, home 
making and career suddenly brought to an end by marriage 
breakdown. This was followed by 4 years of recovery, finding a new 
home, working part-time and spending a lot of time on spiritual 
search - much of it with a new age slant. At the time of the WZR I 
am 42, a lot is behind me. I know I've been strong, I am fiercely 
independent but now I have started to wonder if I've been so fierce 
and so independent that I've painted myself into a corner. I'm also 
quite blank about where to go in my working life. I feel I'm 
approaching middle age and that this is a crunch time when I either 
shape a direction for myself or I blow it.

I was not aware I was bringing to the WZR a need to release pains 
from even further back than those of the past 7 years. This came to 
me right from the first evening, before the retreat had even begun, 
when I encountered people talking about Zanskar, where I had been 
10 years ago, and talking about it from a standpoint of Buddhism, 
not from mountaineering machismo. This made me realise that after 
10 years I would be able at last to re-read my diaries and letters from 
that time which had in many respects been very painful as well as 
beautiful. The visit had been followed by illness and my husband's 
refusal to tolerate Buddhism. Ten years ago I had put Buddhism 
away and never realised how much it really meant to me.

I didn't sleep very well at all during the retreat. However, I never 
found it difficult to get up at 5 am; there was no sneaking of an extra 
five minutes. Although getting up was not particularly enjoyable, 
once up, there were great compensations - seeing the state of the 
weather, the stars, tea. The first zazen of the morning remains one of 
the finest memories of the retreat.

What I gained overwhelmingly and with absolute clarity from the 
retreat, is the knowledge that Buddhism is important to me on a very 
deep level. Over and over again, I found it speaking to me with 
complete sense and utter clarity.

It makes sense to start the day in silence. Writing by candlelight 
while outside it is still dark. It's the best way to make the transition 
from night to day and sleep to waking.

I always found the morning chanting very beautiful.

The first day was very difficult. I experienced a lot of pain in the 
sitting, in my knees and lower back, and this continued throughout 
the week. The first day the strain of sitting also made my shoulders 
tense so that by evening I had a terrible headache from the tension 
spreading up my neck.

At first I felt very self-conscious in the silence, which it was easy for 
me to interpret as disapproval. I felt quite despairing by lunchtime. I 
was convinced I should have gone to sit in the same place I had sat in 
at breakfast time, and was sure everyone was annoyed with me for 
sitting somewhere else and causing them to be exposed to someone 
else's germs. The last session of zazen was so dreadful, all I could 
think of was the pain in my knees, back, shoulders, neck and head, 
taken all together they made me feel nearly sick. All I wanted was to 
get to bed.

[n one of his first talks, John had talked about letting "it" all come 
up, letting "it" through and out and then see what was there, let that 
come up and then see what else is there. I clung on to this idea. I had 
wanted so much to be here, in all the awfulness, a tiny flicker of 
curiosity and determination made me keep going.

Next morning, my head still ached. I felt deeply, deeply sorry for 
myself climbing the hill. At the bottom of the hill I went a way down 
the lane and had a pathetic little weep in the darkness. I can't 
remember now what was going through my head. I do however, 
remember clinging to the curiosity of wanting to see what was there.

By breakfast my headache had completely gone and I felt fine. 
Although I experienced plenty of emotional ups and downs the rest 
of the time, that particular quality of pathetic misery was gone for 
good.

It's hard now to separate events from each day. The offering 
meditation in the morning, after the humming, was one of the most 
powerfully moving experiences I have ever had. It felt as if my heart 
was opened up by the arm movements. I felt a real offering up and 
opening of myself. There was a strong element of grief that, so often, 
what I have offered has not been what was wanted or appreciated. 
Here was a profound and beautiful experience in making such a full 
and complete offering of myself.

The communication exercise was good throughout. Lovely to be like 
that with other people. The format was quite familiar to me from co-
counselling and other growth work, like the dream group I belong to. 
Despite making a genuine effort, I often felt I was dredging up stuff I 
already knew about. By the end of the week, the communication 
exercises had skimmed off a crust. The last morning I was aware of 
all sorts of new thoughts coming to me that I had never had before - 
new thoughts about my father and brother particularly. I felt as if I 
could easily have gone on for at least another week, mining into 
completely new depths.

The food was very good. The smells associated with the retreat are 
particularly memorable - wood smoke, incense and wonderful food 
wafting out of the kitchen while we waited. I found the peace of 
meditation made it easy for me to recognise what I really needed in 
the way of food, and not to pass my bowl for seconds just because 
the food had tasted so good and it would have been nice to eat more - 
this was a new experience for me. I know that I use food as an 
emotional crutch.

The evening exercises to music were a lot of fun. The first two very 
good and liberating. No way could I have done it without eyes 
closed. I remember in the second feeling very good about making a 
really loud noise. When we lay down I felt the snaky sinuous music 
working its way upwards from my lowest chakra and curving up and 
around each one like a snake of light. At about heart chakra level I 
thought - my goodness, this is the kundalini. (Since returning I have 
had a very vivid dream of following a huge black snake down and 
down through deep, bright water).

I don't remember at what point exactly, but I got back in touch with 
my own gentleness. About the time of my mother's final illness I 
remember discovering that if I clenched my fists very, very hard, I 
could get through the day and not break down. I seem to have 
become harder and more solitary since that time. To be aware of 
myself as a gentle being instead of a tough, independent, 
defensive/aggressive person was very, very special.

By the end I could have stayed in the routine of the WZR for days 
and days more. It was a very special experience. I still don't know 
who I am. What has been happening since I returned, seems to be a 
process of grounding who lam in who I have been. Not just re-
reading of joumals but coincidences - literally bumping into people I 
haven't seen in years and so resolving some unfinished business. 
What I am, I think, is a process of becoming, but seeing, too, how 
much I stay the same.



CLEARING UP A CHURCHYARD

Head down, back still: the tangle's endless.
Enough for now: for evening homing
To an empty house of recent grief
With a sky lowering, pewter-grey
Suddenly penetrated by sun
Gilding the church spire's cock
And a flight of white doves homing
Across the gathering storm.
Turning, I find the yard transformed
By low light touching stones among dark weeds
Inviting communion with ancestral dead.
No more the grey wait for life after death
At evening homing, but a sunshaft scene
Of death and resurrection mingled.



NATIVITY

As softly as putting a baby in bed
As a lion and a deer
As a unicorn approaching a lady
As watching for the Kingfisher
As the fall of a snowflake

As softly as breathing
Or the turn of the tide on a long beach
Or the line of a baby's eyelid
The border between waking and sleeping
Or the moment when music fades into silence.

As still as nothing at all I wait in the dark.


Hebe Welbourne

THE PRAJNAPARAMITA HEART 
SUTRA A BRIEF COMMENTARY

Edited and abbreviated text of a lecture on the Sutra given by John 
Crook to the Bristol Chan group on the evening of November 18th 
1992. This is the second part of a short series of talks. Beginning in 
our last issue the Sutra now continues:

Form is precisely emptiness
And emptiness precisely form.
So also are sensation, perception, volition and consciousness;
Sariputra. this voidness of all dharmas is not born, not destroyed,
Not impure, not pure, does not increase nor decrease.
In voidness there is no form
And no sensation, perception, volition or consciousness,
No eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, mind,
No sight, sound, smell, taste, touch, thought,
There is no realm of the eye
All the way up to no realm of mental cognition.
There is no ignorance and no ending of ignorance.
There is no ageing and death and no ending of ageing and death
There is no suffering, no cause of suffering, no cessation of 
suffering and no path
There is no wisdom or any attainment".

Here we have the pivotal message of the "Second Turning of the 
Wheel of the Law", the doctrine of emptiness as the central feature of 
the Mahayana. Yet when we examine the way the idea is presented 
we find the language used belongs at first to the older vision, the 
philosophical doctrine of the Theravada. Scholars who have studied 
the text carefully suggest that it was assembled from the huge 
Prajnaparamita literature during a transitional period in the history of 
Buddhism when a fresh emphasis was gradually extending the ideas 
of the original view. The difference lies in the wider scope and 
greater range of perspective. Let us see how this happens.

The main ideas of the early doctrine go right back to the first sermon 
when the Buddha spoke to his yogin friends in the Deer Park at 
Benares. The Buddha expressed his new found understanding, his 
enlightenment, very simply in the Four Noble Truths, that life is 
suffering, that suffering is due to craving, that craving can end and 
that the way is eightfold in method.

The word translated as craving means any kind of wanting, either 
wanting something you have not got, or not wanting something 
which you have. Either way it is the movement of desire or rejection 
which is the root of the lack of ease. Clearly the Buddha is speaking 
primarily about mental suffering, about attitudes we hold which 
cause us distress. He is not talking about the pain of a broken leg, but 
rather the attitudes towards a broken leg which can make a great deal 
of difference to the manner in which we cope with an accident. He 
speaks of the mental approaches to life and not some magical or 
idealistic idea which will stop a broken leg from hurting.

If you find that you are suffering the Buddha recommends that you 
look into your own mind to see what it is doing with the problem. 
Instead of evoking some state of passionless trance or samadhi the 
Buddha recommended his own method of Vipassana. This method 
requires a practitioner to look directly at the processes of his own 
thought and feeling without denying them. One has to ask the 
question "What is going on here?" and then explore it fully by letting 
thought and feeling express itself within an acute awareness of 
process.

What do you find? Well, you find sensations, ideas, wants and 
consciousness. You also realise that all this is situated in the form 
that is your physical presence. These features are known as the five 
'skandhas'. All mental phenomena are structured in this way. 
Whenever you look into your mind you will find them.

Furthermore they are based in the operations of the eye, ear, nose, 
sense of touch and awareness and the mental corollaries of these 
physical systems. You also become aware that these systems get old, 
wear out and die. At the centre of all this activity is your sense of 
your "own being", your self, ego or I. This is the Buddha's model of 
the mind described in detail in the scriptures of the Theravada known 
as Abhidharma.

But the Buddha also said that such processes of knowing, wanting 
and rejecting, all centred on the presence of a self, are in a special 
sense quite illusory. These are the terms you come up with when you 
set out to analyse and describe the way the mind works. Where is the 
self? Is it the totality of the body? Is it in the body at all? What is its 
relation to the body? As you read this - try to find it. Paradoxically 
while you will have little doubt about the fact of your existence, the 
precise location or mode of being of what you appear to be is very 
far from obvious. Similarly, if you seek to locate the roots of 
experience whether of sensation, volition, thought or awareness you 
again find yourself tumbling into an absence of certainty, into a great 
doubt. Such processes are easy to name but when you seek to locate 
or find them, or observe from where they arise, there is more of an 
absence than a presence. It is as if these words don't refer to things 
but to merely transient states the objectivity of which is highly 
illusory.

The Buddha said that all these words simply isolate aspects of a 
process of interdependent origination ('pratityasamutpada'); where 
the mind is so are all of they. But where is the mind? It too is in an 
interdependent relationship of inner and outer, of before and after, of 
now-ness and then-ness. Nothing in fact can be pinned down. There 
is at root just a great flowing together. Furthermore, in meditation 
these processes flow apart in ways that differ from everyday 
minding. There are alternative ways of seeing things. Indeed what are 
things? Are they out there or in the mind, part in or part out? Can one 
actually say?

The Buddha said that all these processes lacked objectivity as things 
with intrinsic selfhood. They were empty of "inherent existence", 
rather their being had the nature of flow which only appeared partible 
through the activity of a discriminatory mind. Self was therefore 
empty and, since that was so, to be attached to it as if it were a thing 
was to be in great ignorance. In fact, this was the root of all illusion 
and suffering. Meditation on this allows one to drop attachment, drop 
the illusory projection of objectivity and enter a world of revelatory 
freedom. Words are names and, as modern thinkers might say, we 
tend to live within our texts and not within truth itself. To let go of 
the assumptions of the worldly illusion, ('Samsara') is to find the 
freedom of 'nirvana' where all texts themselves are dropped.

If you are not here what is there to fuss about? Of course the world 
remains in itself, ineffably so. There is sensation, form and process 
and it is beautiful. Why do you want more? or want it to be 
otherwise? This is how things are. There is no need to crave or reject 
because there is nothing substantial to crave or want.

The essential feature of this approach is to realise that it is based in 
meditation. Thought can raise innumerable objections and create 
endless metaphysical speculation. The Buddha is speaking out of his 
enlightenment. He is sharing it, transmitting it. To receive it one has 
to follow the same path. Philosophically the idea of "self' is a 
"category error". Self is simply not the sort of thing it seems to be. 
Meditation is essential to realise this existentially. At some point 
there is an "Ah ha!" experience. "So that's it" you will say. You have 
dropped a concept and seen a freedom. These are first steps on the 
path leading to a place where your view of self as entity itself also 
falls away.

In the "Second Turning of the Wheel of the Law" these ideas were 
pressed further. In the traditional view, the Buddha himself taught 
this extension to certain disciples who were ready for it. Some 
scholars in fact believe there was a minority belief among certain 
practitioners which always held the new view. Others think there was 
a gradual revision of the original insight.

The idea of emptiness came to be focused not only on psychological 
phenomena but applied to all phenomena of any son anywhere. 
Whereas the Buddha's first approach had been psychological and had 
shown how the individual could go beyond self limitation, the notion 
of everything as empty now expands and expands until everything 
you can think of, the vast cosmos itself is seen as Vast Emptiness. 
Vastness unlimited, unbounded spaciousness, timeless presence.

Do you catch the idea? imagine the space through which the universe 
has expanded since the Big Bang. Physicists say one cannot really 
talk of this in terms of space or time at all since neither of these had 
existence before the primal explosion. There is eternity, an endless 
present moment; an imagined vastness.

This is the root of the Mahayana. So also, however, is the opposite 
realisation. If all form is precisely emptiness, emptiness nonetheless 
appears to us as form. Form is precisely emptiness but emptiness also 
is precisely form. Samsara and Nirvana are contrasting perspectives 
on the Unknown Nature that lies behind it all. The vision of the 
Mahayana is that both are true in a co-emergent mutuality which 
becomes the focus of meditation itself.

In the older vision the ending of self cherishing led to the realisation 
of the Arhat - one who had gone beyond and disappeared without a 
care. In the new view no-one has disappeared. The market place is 
still full of the goods and contending merchants. The sadness of the 
ignorance, the horror of war, abuse, crime and the knot tied by 
visions of self importance or fearful insignificance appear again as 
real; an illusory vision maybe but one that inspires an appropriate 
compassion. The new idea is the Bodhisattva, one who seeks 
enlightenment only so as to assist others to enlightenment 
themselves.

How can others be helped along the path? This is the way of the 
Bodhisattva. Paradoxically this way has no path as such, no 
resolution as such, no wisdom inheres within it. Suffering is empty 
yet never ceases. There is no attainment. There is however the 
activity of the Bodhisattva functioning within the dual insight that 
form is emptiness and emptiness is form. In the co-emergent vision 
the Bodhisattva knows nothing - yet through his being he seeks to 
transform the world.

How do we comprehend this? What is our starting point here? Take 
pain. Look into it closely. In meditation place your awareness on 
your aching knee, the itch on your cheek or your backache. If you 
can sustain a disinterested awareness it changes its apparent nature. 
Instead of pain to be rejected or escaped it changes to mere sensation, 
neutral. If you just feel it to be so the discomfort slowly disappears. 
Finally it moves on and something else appears. What then did the 
word 'pain' mean?.

Zen masters are not very sympathetic if you have a backache in 
meditation on retreat. "Put your mind in it!" they may say. Change 
may take time but mostly you suddenly find yourself free and realise 
the extent to which your own fear of pain was creating it. (Of course 
this practice is not appropriate in cases of actual medical problems).

Now look at form. Is your body really here. If so in what manner? 
Shut your eyes and where is it? All this has to be gone into. "You" 
may entirely disappear and instead of your body on the cushion there 
may he a mere awareness of presence. A presence of what?

Now look at the Universe in all its multiplicity. What happens if you 
persist with the Koan "What is it?".

If we look at volition, our wants and rejections, we find they are 
structured by ideas which we project upon our world. These 
projections are called "samskaras". They are the product of our 
education, relations with parents, karma rolling down through 
centuries. We conceive things in highly patterned ways in which our 
presuppositions create only apparent realities. In modern 
psychotherapies these are the sources of neurosis, fixed attributions 
the Illusory nature of which we have not seen. You believe you 
should be seen as famous or beautiful yet you are not so perceived. 
Trouble for everyone, pride, jealousy and paranoia, fear that one may 
not be what one has cracked oneself up to be.

It turns out that it is very difficult to think differently, to change these 
deeply emotionally rooted presuppositions. Some such 'samskaras' 
have dreadful consequences. They produce prejudice and ethnic 
cleansing of all sorts be they in Serbia, Tibet under Chinese 
domination or the paranoid Muslim fear of Salman Rushdie (he 
might be right and that must never be allowed).

In what sense are these 'samskaras' empty? If you examine your own 
prejudices and biases in deep meditation you will find out. Just as 
pain dissolves when examined with a meditative mind so too do the 
'samskaras' weaken their hold upon our attitudes. Prejudice dissolves 
in meditation as the self becomes freed of selfishness. Pre-
conceptions drop away. Others are seen just as they are, as deluded 
as you are. In the same boat. Compassion has a chance to emerge in 
the mind.

As meditators you need to examine your own 'samskaras' and work 
with them. Let them appear in full force and do not shrink from 
them. Then go into them, examine their bases. How can we test that 
they are empty?.

The purpose of the Western Zen Retreat is to allow your personal 
'samskaras' to arise in the communication exercise. Working with 
"Who am I?" your judgemental nature appears undeniably. After 
multiple evasions and excuses you have to admit who you are. 
Gradually it all appears less dreadful. As you realise this is just the 
way you think, so you realise it is possible to think differently.

But something else is going on. In meditation the mind is much 
calmer and more insightful. You reach the point of realising that your 
whole self conception and that of others is a rigmarole of the 
imagination. You may reach a point where you simply give it up. 
You drop it. And, as it disappears, you realise your mind is suddenly 
cool, clear and empty of discrimination that leads to prejudice. You 
see others just as they are, as you are. And giving up the self you can 
understand Shifu when he says "Let the Universe do it". You are no 
different from the Universe.

When the mind lets it all go, becoming still and quiet you may find 
there is no sensation of time, no fixity in space. There is a sort of 
cosmic reference, no longer walls, boundaries, horizons. The clock 
ticks but where is the ticking? It no longer advances in time, it goes 
backwards and forwards. Momentless presence, eternity. Eternity 
itself never moves. Have you ever moved?

If you have touched the Eternal you will know there is no wisdom, 
no attainment, no path. There is the fullness you cannot express. 
Beyond its limitations the mind can only find the ineffable. What 
began as a mountain is no more a mountain, but then it is simply the 
mountain again. What was said can no longer be said, but then it is 
said again. The text is empty but outside of being it is all we have.

The text of the Sutra moves on. "With nothing to attain, the 
Bodhisattvas relying on insight have no obstruction in their minds. 
And having no confusion and imaginings they reach ultimate 
Nirvana". Afterwards the Bodhisattva will go into the kitchen and 
prepare for you just another cup of tea. Earl Grey or Peppermint 
perhaps?


MAENLLWYD 

Three Poems

Arriving in the yard 
I switch off the engine 
and gaze at the view, 
evening sun on the rolling hills
yellow fields, dark woods. 
In the sudden silence 
a buzzard mews, 
distantly guiding sheep 
dogs bark.

Entering the gate 
I come home to my hermitage, 
welcoming trees brood 
and the old door creaks on rusty hinges
falling plaster needs sweeping from the floor, 
softly on cold flags moisture gleams.

Lighting the fire 
I watch slow smoke rising, 
hang in the windless cwm. 
The smells of the hills 
roll in through opened windows, 
thankfully I breath out city air, 
inside my room
no sound.




The hills lie still, only sheep disturb 
this summer evening's equanimity, 
over the farmstead yard 
the dark soul'd sycamore broods 
bunched branches heavily 
together hang.

Wide valley, patchwork fields 
roof the bedrock of this land, 
few travellers, for tourists hug the towns 
and roads that cut like knives, 
here shady lanes meander yet, 
one travels vaguely, 
things do not get
so easily done.

Fading light brings deeper silence, 
the grey stone soul turns inward to the cwm, 
this sycamore now holds its breath 
continuously - my eyes roam
yard to landscape far to near, 
behind my chair
the small and unlit house 
waits like an old friend.




Freshly cool the silent room inhales 
the fair scent of summer night 
candles on the table flutter 
an incense mingling breeze.

Retreated from our seared souls' silences, 
those zombie spaces where in the cold snake 
kills the warm, composed heart opens 
to the pains that move yet are not changed.

If I could give you now this other stillness 
wherein the night owl cries beyond the barn 
two minds' silences would be as one 
grateful emptiness of a midnight calm.

And yet heart's silences like secrets 
are for the single one alone -
in your universe and far away you move 
here candles flutter in hay scented air


John Crook. July 1975.



BOOK REVIEW

Space In Mind: East - West Psychology &
Contemporary Buddhism

Edited by John Crook and David Fontana Element Books 1990 
230 pp. UKP 9.99

The editors of this book Dr John Crook, Reader in Ethology at 
Bristol University and Buddhist Scholar and teacher, and Dr David 
Fontana, Reader in Educational Psychology at Cardiff University, 
author and therapist, have brought together seventeen essays, most of 
which are based upon papers presented at a conference on 'Eastern 
Approaches to Self and Mind' sponsored by the British Psychological 
Society in Cardiff in the summer of 1986.

Crook and Fontana provide an introduction and conclusion to the 
book, as well as introducing each of the four sections into which it is 
divided. They contribute between them five of the total seventeen 
essays. Other contributors are Stephen Batchelor, Susan Blackmore, 
Venerable Ngakpa Chogyam, Guy Claxton, Padmal da Silva, Kedar 
Nath Dwivedi, Lynn Goswell, Richard Jones, James Low, Paul 
Thomas Sagal, Martin Skinner, Malcolm Walley. The field of 
interest covered by the contributors is very wide, ranging from 
Western Psychological theory and therapeutic practice to both a 
scholarly and experiential knowledge of Buddhist philosophy, 
psychology and spiritual practice.

One of the key aims of this very rich book is to define the contrast 
between Eastern and Western approaches to mind, to self, to reality, 
Western thinking tending to focus on form, and the Eastern mind on 
the space within the form. The West sees the self as a fixed ego, an 
entity or definable object, the East sees it as energy, flow or process. 
To quote the authors "It seems to us that when East comes West 'the 
wordless view' meets 'the viewless word"'.

In the past these contrasting views have led to incomprehension and 
an absence of true dialogue between Eastern and Western thinkers. 
The authors believe that we now stand in a period of reciprocal 
exchange but that there is scant comprehension of how the 
contrasting paradigms of East and West can meet and relate to each 
other, to create a truly global perspective on a world that is in deep 
crisis.

The book attempts to enhance this understanding particularly within 
the psychological field. Section 1 deals directly with this theme. 
Section 2 shows how our comprehension of self, mind and 
meditation can be enlarged by including Eastern perspectives. 
Section 3 examines problems of personal growth and spiritual 
development and looks at the social world of Westerners who are 
attempting to find personal meaning in Eastern practices or 
viewpoints. Section 4 applies the same line of thought to the study of 
counselling and therapeutic practice.

The authors explain that their focus on Buddhist perspectives, rather 
than on Eastern traditions in general, rests on the fact of Buddhism's 
lack of dogmatism, its sophistication, its flexibility, its compatibility 
with modern scientific discoveries and its contemporary popularity 
amongst intellectuals.

The four chapters in the first section indicate some of the ways in 
which Buddhist psychology may be related to contemporary Western 
psychological thought. John Crook stresses the experiential contrast 
between two types of knowledge: 'knowing how' and 'knowing that'; 
the first discriminative and analytical, the second passive and 
apperceptive. Since Western philosophy is primarily concerned with 
'knowing how' and Eastern thought with 'knowing that', it follows 
that an integration of the two should produce a more holistic 
perspective.

Stephen Batchelor introduces us to Eastern thought in a brief but 
comprehensive account of the nature of Mahayana spirituality. He 
outlines the two complementary philosophical positions of the 
Madhyamika and Cittamatra schools respectively, which have 
similarities to Western linguistic and deconstructive philosophies of 
Wittgenstein and Derrida and to the 'mind only' perspective of A.N. 
Whitehead. Each perspective is associated with ways of progressing 
from purely conceptual to experiential and intuitive insight into the 
meaning of key ideas. He then proceeds to discuss two of these ways, 
Tantric Vajrayana and Chan (Zen). In spite of the surface differences 
in practice and orientation both can be seen to be anchored in the 
fundamental Mahayana philosophy of the essential emptiness and 
relativity of all things.

Martin Skinner examines parallels between Buddhist and Western 
ideas on the nature of the self. He discusses in particular G.H. Mead's 
interpretation of the self as a social object. The idea of the self 
becomes 'a symbol' derived from social interaction in personal 
development. There are very clear similarities between Mead's view 
and the ancient conception of the self as object in Buddhism. The 
relating of Buddhist practice to the theory of 'symbolic 
interactionism' can thus become a creative contemporary perspective 
on the processes of mind.

David Fontana looks further at the difficulties Westerners experience 
with the Buddhist conception of self. He stresses that the self is not 
an object like a table or chair but rather an internal process of 
attribution. The quality of this attribution is thus subject to many 
influences that can have personally destructive or beneficial effects. 
The basis of mind resides behind this process of attribution. To 
become aware of this aspect of mind below or beyond the mere 
attributing of self requires experiences of deep insight. Only when 
self assertion is related to perceptive self-negation can a deeper self-
affirmation, which lies at the root of wisdom, begin.

In Section 2 the contributors consider some contemporary models of 
mind that depict processes of conscious awareness, self-
consciousness and personal awakening. Susan Blackmore discusses 
the way in which the mind creates models of reality including 
representations of the place of the self in that reality. She describes 
mystical experience in terms of alterations in the modelling process 
and draws attention to the personal challenges evoked by attempting 
to view one's own life in this way.

Guy Claxton's chapter develops the issue by focusing on the 
assumptions we carry concerning the fixity and the continuity of the 
'self'. He points out that the annatta doctrine in Buddhism has always 
claimed that 'the sense of self' is based mistakenly on the assumption 
of permanence and 'thingness'. The notion that we are a process 
rather than an object is at first frightening for it means the letting go 
of basic assumptions. Nevertheless both writers point to a remarkable 
sense of personal freedom and expansion that can develop from such 
a cognitive re-evaluation of the idea of self.

Kedar Dwivedi provides an account of the model of mind and its 
transformation found in the approach to Vipassana meditation of the 
Theravada School of Buddhism. He is particularly concerned with 
the process whereby negative emotions associated with limiting 
views of self can be transformed, and we gain here a direct insight 
into the intellectual background of a way of transformation based in 
meditation.

Finally, John Crook builds on his description (Chapter 13) of the Zen 
training in Western Zen Retreats and in Orthodox Zen Sesshins of the 
Chinese and Japanese traditions. He shows that the model of mind 
and personal transformation in the Lankavatara Sutra of the 
Vijnanavada School of Mahayana has much in common with a 
comparable model he constructs from contemporary Western 
premises in cognitive psychology. This model is useful in 
understanding the process of Zen training, and Crook argues that it is 
important for Buddhists to examine the way in which contemporary 
cognitive psychology can be of value in updating Buddhist 
psychology without losing the integrity of the ancient tradition.

In Section 3, Psychological and Spiritual Development, the authors 
look at the problems that arise when individuals decide to come to 
grips with their personal development and move their lives in the 
direction of greater satisfaction and away from suffering and 
discontent. Eastern psychology helps us take charge of this 
development and employ what Buddhism calls 'skilful means' in 
order to achieve self-fulfilment and lessen pain.

James Low demonstrates in his essay how from the Buddhist 
perspective the entire realm of human experience is pathological, 
dependent as it is on the working out of unresolved conditioning that 
arose in previous life-times. Psychological development is therefore 
a process of deepening delusion, which if not radically transformed 
leads onto another life founded upon the concluding confusion of the 
last one. He takes the reader through the arguments of the 
Nyingmapa view in Tibetan Buddhism and leads us finally into a 
discussion of those processes of transformation whereby individuals 
can become aware of their innate Buddha nature - the basis of mind 
that is always present however much obscured by the Karma creating 
effects of ignorance.

Padmal da Silva discusses strategies of self-management advocated 
in Theravada Buddhism. He points out that, apart from the main area 
of uncovering or reaching Nirvana, there are many simple techniques 
provided for improving day to day living. These strategies are mainly 
behavioural, so similarities with modern behaviour therapy can be 
drawn. Padmal argues that on a practical level this behavioural 
approach is quite in keeping with the overall empiricist stance of 
early Buddhism.

Malcolm Walley examines the way in which the transformations in 
behaviour and attitude in the process of Buddhist training are 
conceived and shows that these transformations can be effectively 
described in terms of cognitive reversals. Both da Silva and Walley 
thus develop themes which show important parallels and similarities 
between the Buddhist path of transformation and two contrasting 
psychological approaches in the West.

Paul Thomas Sagal's perspective is more philosophical, emphasising 
the therapeutic value of scepticism in Buddhist thought - especially in 
Zen Buddhism. He traces traditions of scepticism in both East and 
West, noting important similarities and contrasts. The relative 
absence of dogma in Buddhism, especially Zen, allows for an 
unusually free relationship between idea and experience, for the latter 
is not rigidly framed by preconditioned values. Such freedom allows 
us to use philosophy as a form of therapy, while psychotherapy itself 
provides the basis for dynamic personal philosophy.

John Crook describes a recently created form of five-day retreat in 
which individuals confront themselves in the rigorous manner 
characteristic of Zen training. The Western Zen Retreat, as it is 
called, combines the practice of Silent Sitting (Zazen) with exercises 
in communication in which participants share with a partner their 
exploration of a koan (paradoxical question) such as 'Who am I?', 
'What is Another?', 'What is Death?'. Gradually participants find 
themselves disidentifying with the imprisoning concepts and self-
attributions upon which they have based their identity and sense of 
self worth. Dr Crook sees this disidentification as having results that 
are not only therapeutic but provide the basis from which a 
participant can begin Zen training in earnest.

Lynn Goswell reminds us of the need to measure our progress by 
looking at our personal relationships. She does this within the setting 
of Theravada Buddhist monasticism - looking at the motives and 
some of the issues faced by people who come together to live in a 
spiritual community. Contrary to popular belief, monasteries are not 
necessarily havens of peace and light but they are excellent testing 
grounds for that prime virtue - tolerance!

In Section 4, Counselling and Therapeutic Practice, the contributors 
demonstrate how Eastern spiritual techniques can blend helpfully 
with Western insights in therapeutic work and have contributed both 
to their own growth and that of their clients. Sometimes the level at 
which improvement takes place is a relatively minor one, as when an 
individual sees that stress in a place of work can be reduced by being 
more mindful in simple everyday situations. Sometimes the level is 
more profound when an individual learns to sever an attachment to 
negative states and to his or her 'woundedness'. And sometimes it is 
profounder still when he or she is able to identify negative emotional 
states as they arise, refrain from identifying with them, and ultimately 
trace them back to their source in attachment, aversion and erroneous 
conceptions of the self.

Ngakpa Chogyam, a Westerner and ordained Yogi, shows how 
Tibetan tantric practices, for all their apparent complexity, yield 
simple and highly effective strategies for working with and 
transforming even the most negative emotions.

Richard Jones focuses specifically upon the work that can be done in 
family therapy.

Finally, David Fontana attempts to reconcile apparent anomalies 
between Eastern and Western therapeutic approaches to the self and 
looks at the place of Buddhist techniques in Western psychological 
counselling.

The reviewer has taken time to give a detailed account of the contents 
of each section in the hope that it will enable the prospective readers 
to find out in advance if and how their particular interest or speciality 
is dealt with. For this reader, whose profession is that of therapist and 
counsellor, Section 4 was particularly rewarding and stimulating and 
I can recommend it as a practical and useful support for 
psychologists, psychotherapist' and others in the helping professions, 
both as a means for continuing work on the self and with their 
clients. For other readers the more theoretical sections of the book 
will be equally interesting. Whilst often scholarly the discussions of 
Buddhist philosophy and psychology never become pedantic or 
obscure. The material is presented lucidly, making it a book that 
would be appropriate for a Buddhist 'beginner' but the depth of the 
studies, particular focus, the range of Buddhist schools of thought 
which are presented, make it an appropriate choice also for the 
'veteran' or 'specialist'.

Although the ubiquitous presence of the two editors in introductions 
and conclusion, gives the book a certain uniformity of style, the 
individual contributors express themselves with their own personal 
voices and their individuality shines through in the essays 
themselves, where the prose at times is not without its poetry: "The 
light was beginning to fade, the glow of an early winter's evening lit 
up the mud flats, waders called and some wild duck were moving 
about. The long skeins of gulls came out of the darkening sky inland 
and flew past in silhouette before me". (Crook).

"Leaves rustle and branches move, clocks strike and people walk, but 
everything is still and timeless and joyful Then that too dissolves. I 
am reforming, looking at the tree again... It is more solid, more 
strong and tall and treefull. Its leaves are gloriously green and gold 
and brown and mottled. Its trunk is gloriously complex with its 
shedding scraps of bark and so are all the other trees along the path. I 
walk among these marvellously vivid trees with a little smile on my 
lips". (Blackmore).

"We are already secure, because we are a process and remain a 
process... In security only comes from trying to congeal that process 
and the hanging on to this congealment, like a river that tries to turn 
itself into one of the rocks which it so easily flows past. Or like a 
flame trying to turn itself into one of the cinders around which it 
dances and plays". (Fontana).

To conclude, this is a refreshing book and a healing one, both in tone 
and motivation, and deserves to be read and enjoyed by a wide 
readership of both lay and professional people alike.

Its motivation is a compassionate one, in that it attempts to show 
ways of healing the divide between Western and Eastern spiritual and 
psychological thinking and practice. From this ground of wholeness 
and sanity hope arises that we will be better able to heal the 
ecological wounding that our past disease and disunity have inflicted 
on the planet. This is a brave step in the direction of global healing, 
making all skilful means available to all sentient beings in the human 
family.

Carol Evans



SOME IMAGES OF INDIA:

A haiku diary of a tour through Uttar Pradesh by bus, boat, plane
and rickshaw in the winter of 1992.


The plane stops at Abu Dhabi.
White faces recede;
The Fast floods in.

Against a high-rise backdrop,
Two vultures on a pig's back.
Third World.

The fawning rickshaw wallah's
Smile
Frames my guilt.

A black bull
With a white egret on his back;
Time out of mind.

Muzzafarnagar -
Dust and Chaos
No, not chaos.
Everybody
Is up to something.

In an old brick field
With sacred cows;
Midday shade.

The shiny black lingam
Thrusts in the smooth white yoni.
Bang the bell; say a prayer; drop the small change.

Powered by a Harley Davidson,
Our eight-a-side rickshaw
Thunders across the busy intersection.
May all beings by happy!

Vultures in a thorn tree
At sunset;
Heavy black rags.

Opposite the 'Encyclopedia of Hinduism' bookshop
Shiva dances.

Old starved dog, 
Death in his eyes; 
Helplessness - him and me.

At dawn
The clapped out diesels moan in their sheds;
An ancient country, pushed beyond endurance.

Legless beggars
Race like crabs
Towards the tourist bus.

Down at the railway station
Beggars sit around tiny fires;
Autumn rains.

The sunset floods Mother Gang a
As my feet sink
In the soft, warm mud.

Basking crocodiles;
Just the tips of their snouts above the water.
What are they thinking?

On a huge mudbank
A solitary watcher
Lights a cigarette.

Beside a sandbank
Three old boats
Sunk in twilight water.

The unturned eye, 
The imploring band; 
Day after day.

The Taj Mahal
Leaps
With delight.

At the police station
A solitary monkey
Surveys the world.

Buffaloes out on the sandbank, 
Pandemonium on the girder bridge.

The tourists photograph the holy man
To show to their friends.
The holy man smiles.

Pulled on an oxcart
A rusty generator
Lights up the wedding march.

Surrounded by suitcases,
A bundle of rags
A matchstick arm,
A tiny wizened face.
Oblivious of greed,
Baboons rush the banana stall.

Feeling deep compassion for India:
But my rickshaw wallah
Just keeps on pedalling.

My broken camera
Leaves me with only memories
And haiku!


Ken Jones.