Copyright 1993 by Bristol Chan Group, UK,
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NEW

CH'AN

FORUM
 
No.8 Autumn 1993

Dharma Adviser

The Venerable
Chan Master
Dr. Sheng -Yen

Teacher
Dr. John Crook

Editors

Hilary Richards
Peter Howard

(Calligraphy
See p25 of the printed issue)


MIND THE GAP

What gap? It was there and now it's gone. Summer holidays. The 
last issue. An organised retreat. A blank front page, a blank disk, 
now occupied. Distillations of the spring, early Summer and 
time gone by.

Before it disappears completely, stop and LOOK! What do you 
see? What do you feel? Was it exciting, or frightening, as you 
left one place and arrived at another? What happened in that 
space?

For the content of this issue, we continue to be indebted to those 
who travel the Path, those who create the gaps and those who 
enter the space between.

With the arrival of Autumn, we re-start the regular Wednesday 
evening meditation sessions at the Iyengar Yoga Centre in 
Bristol. For those who find Bristol a distant prospect, we are 
pleased to announce the affiliation of a meditation group in 
Swindon and to remind you of our long-standing connections 
with Cardiff. Details of all of these activities and forthcoming 
short retreats can be found on the final page.

During one of the sessions earlier in the year, John canvassed 
the opinions of the group then present about what they would 
like most from the Chan Group teaching. Members were asked 
to rate on a scale of 1 to 10 their personal interest in having: 
Discussions, Mondo [Question and Answer sessions], Teisho 
[Dharma talks] or Dokusan [Personal interviews] during the 
Wednesday evening meetings. It was taken that any mark below 
5 would indicate a negative wish, anything above a positive one:

	Mondo
	Average score: 7.9
	Discussion
	Average score: 7.9
	Teisho
	Average score: 9.2
	Dokusan
	Average score: 9.6

John will therefore try to increase the number of opportunities 
for personal interview whilst maintaining a programme of talks 
interspersed with mondo and general discussions. Discussions 
generally arise naturally on the evenings when John is not 
present.

Finally, thank you to all those who returned their subscription 
slips and a gentle reminder to those who have yet to do so!


NO THOUGHTS OF GAIN OR LOSS IS FREEDOM FROM SAMSARA (1).

A lecture by Master Sheng-yen based on The Sutra of Complete 
Enlightenment November 6, 1983. First published in Chan 
Newsletter No.33, Non 1983. Reprinted with permission.

In Chan training you may not be able to attain to the 
highest level of understanding right away, but you can get a 
small, subtle idea of Buddhahood. The Sutra of Complete 
Enlightenment speaks of the wisdom of a Buddha, not that of 
ordinary people. But it is as ordinary people that we begin. If we 
wanted to stay that way, there would be no need to practice. 
However, it is only when we hear of wisdom such as that of the 
Buddha's that we realize we are just ordinary people; we realize 
that there are higher states to attain. This will help to encourage 
us in our practice.

Ordinary people cannot conceive of the Buddha's wisdom. 
Even Arhats are unable to comprehend such wisdom. For an 
ordinary person to try to fathom what the Buddha knows would 
be like trying to light up Mount Sumeru with fireflies. Ordinary 
people rely on the knowledge that they have acquired; thus they 
can only see the material world of forms. They cannot see 
beyond it. Their thinking is already separate from reality. Such 
activity leads nowhere; it will produce nothing - like the 
blossoming of imaginary flowers.

The sutra tells us that even those who reach the Sravaka 
state of understanding still have not reached the state of the 
Buddha's wisdom. The Sravaka is one who is free of vexation; 
yet he is not willing to go back to the realm of suffering for any 
reason. Sravakas hope to attain or have attained to the higher 
worlds, much like a Western conception of heaven.

I once asked a friend this question: - what was your reason 
for coming to this world?" He said, "I don't know why I came to 
this world. There's certainly more suffering than pleasure here. 
So I couldn't have wanted to come here". He continued, "I stared 
living for my family, trying to find happiness. But I've been 
divorced three times. I tried hard each time, but my wife would 
get half my property and take the kids".

Why is it that all of you have come to this world? Why do 
you continue to live here? Is it because you wish to have a 
successful marriage or a comfortable family life? Two thousand 
years ago a great Chinese General, Ts'ao Ts'ao, wrote a poem 
after he had completed many successful battles. He wrote that 
life is like dew drops in the morning; the days of suffering out-
number the days of happiness. He was a great hero, a great 
success, yet he expressed these feelings. For all of us, in our 
family, in our work, in all our lives, is there more happiness or 
sadness? Whatever we take up and try to do will take hard work 
- if we genuinely want it to succeed. Life is a struggle for all of 
us. A baby struggles to walk. Few children like to study, but it is 
important for their fixture. These struggles, these burdens, have 
been with us since the moment of birth.

I answered my friend's questions thus, - we have come to 
this world for two reasons. first, to pay back our debts. Next, to 
save for the future. It is these two reasons that cause all of our 
hardship".

My friend disagreed, however, he said, "I don't owe 
anybody anything. As a matter of fact, it's just the opposite of 
what you said - it's they (my wives) who have taken everything 
from me". I said to him that maybe he didn't remember all of the 
debts that he had. I asked, "Can you remember your dreams of 
three years ago?". My friend said that would be impossible.

Perhaps you don't remember your dreams, but you must 
remember that life is just a dream. At death this dream ends and 
another will begin. How could you remember one dream from 
another dream? But you know that you had a dream last night, 
so you know of samsara.

We have debts from past lives and must save, so to speak, 
so that this debt will not grow into our next life.(2) To this my 
friend said, "If this is a dream, then I don't have to do anything - 
it's all an illusion anyway". But I replied, "If you don't do 
something, you will regret it". So my friend concluded, "Then I 
must work hard till death comes. Life is too much suffering".

What are all these questions and answers about? The lives 
and suffering of ordinary people. The Sravakas are already free 
from this sort of life, but they still have no idea of the Buddha's 
wisdom. Let me give you an analogy to show how a Buddha's 
wisdom differs from that of others: Three animals cross a river, 
an elephant, a horse, and a rabbit. When the elephant crosses, he 
knows how deep the river is because his feet are always on the 
bottom. The horse knows how - deep it is close to the shore, but 
not at the middle. The rabbit doesn't know the depth at anytime. 
But all three animals manage to cross the river. The rabbit 
represents the Sravaka, the horse represents the Boddhisattva, 
and the elephant represents the Buddha. The Sravaka practitio-
ner does not have an inkling of what has really happened. The 
Boddhisattva may have an inkling, but it is only the Buddha who 
really knows. All three have gone beyond the river - they have 
attained wisdom. So if even accomplished practitioners cannot 
know the Buddha's wisdom, how much more difficult it will be 
for an ordinary person!

People generally look for knowledge and wisdom in books. 
In general this is not wrong, but the highest wisdom and even 
the deepest emotions cannot be expressed through words. Many 
instances show the failure of words. There are instances of 
children in Taiwan separated for twenty or thirty years from 
parents in the mainland, or lovers who are separated for months 
or years. When such people finally meet, there is little that they 
can say.

The thinking mind necessitates symbols - this mind cannot 
bring us to a very deep level. We can achieve material success 
through such mental processes, but they have their limitations. 
They will not bring us to the Buddha's wisdom.

The sutra tells us that he who has conceptions of samsara will 
never enter Buddha's great ocean. The mind of samsara has 
ideas of birth and death, gain and loss, and it is filled with 
vexations. When we hope to attain happiness and to be free 
from misfortune - this is the mind of samsara. This is similar to 
drinking salty ocean water when you are thirsty. The more you 
drink, the more thirsty you are. The more thirsty, the more you 
drink. Happiness and blessing are ambiguous. Of what are they 
composed? Social status, a good job, fame, a fine family? 
Ordinary people say that these are the criteria of a good life. But 
these things cannot be maintained forever. Like the dewdrops in 
the poem, they are very beautiful on the grass in the morning, 
but the sun will shine and they will evaporate. They are very 
temporary.

Those who have the mind of samsara will have two 
attitudes: that of seeking happiness and that of avoiding 
misfortune. Such attitudes are foolish, but they are natural for 
ordinary people. And perhaps if ordinary people did not have 
such attitudes, they would not want to live. Seeking happiness is 
like a dog chasing its tail. He goes around and around, thinking 
that his tail is something apart from him. He can never get it. 
Avoiding misfortune is like a man waiting in the sun who tries 
to avoid his shadow. He thinks the shadow is evil, and he runs 
from it; but the faster he runs, the faster the shadow follows. 
Such attitudes will only make you tired.

My friend then asked me, "what attitude would we have to 
help us face our fate?" It is like this; whatever things are 
happening, let them happen. We should not worry too much 
about those things which have not yet happened - if they are 
beneficial, try to have them happen; if they are not, try to have 
them not happen. If you are sick, what can you do but call a 
doctor and try to get well? If you are not sick, you try to stay 
well, but you should not worry that you might get sick. if you 
are sick, don't complain or compare yourself with others. If you 
adopt this attitude in daily life, you will be happier.

Such an attitude is free from thoughts of gain or loss - it is 
already far from the samsara mind. Perhaps for us to live like 
this is another question. But this is the attitude of a Bodhisattva - 
to be unafraid of suffering. Bodhisattvas neither cause nor create 
suffering. Because they are not afraid of suffering, they will not 
suffer before suffering actually arises. When suffering does 
arise, the Bodhisattva will have no aversion to it. Thus where 
will be no real suffering. Fifteen years ago monks in Vietnam 
set fire to themselves to protest the political situation. One may 
question if this is acceptable, but these monks did not consider 
that this was death. There was pain, yes. But there was no 
suffering.

Not to have concepts of gain and loss, not to run to pleasure 
and to run away from pain, not to run towards to Buddhahood 
and away from samsara - this is the path of the Buddhas. 
Bodhisattvas are not afraid of suffering, and of birth and death, 
but Sravakas are still afraid of such things. They do not truly 
understand the Buddha's wisdom.

Not to have an attitude of gain or loss, not to seek happiness 
or to avoid unhappiness is characteristic of a Buddha or a 
Bodhisattva. People ask me if I want money, new Temples, 
recognition, etc. If these things become available, I won't reject 
them, but neither will I seek them. I will still take Korean 
Airlines despite the fact that the Soviets shot down one of their 
planes. I have been taking Korean Airlines for five years, and I 
have had no problems. It is just that when it is time for me to go 
something will happen.

That which is, let it be. What will happen, let it happen. 
What has happened, we must accept. Do not worry too much 
about that which is yet to happen - we can try to prevent what is 
unfortunate, and try to make what is pleasant come to pass. This 
is the attitude of Chan and Mahayana Buddhism. With this 
attitude one is free from samsara.

1 Samsara Sit. "That which is incessant movement." The cycle 
of birth and death, the world  of change. The only thing that is 
not Samsara is Nirvana.

2 Some of us may have a problem with this literal interpretation 
of reincarnation. Reincarnation may, if you wish, be interpreted 
as the intergenerational transmission of suffering which occurs 
as ideas, habits, attitudes, prejudices of one generation are 
handed down to the next. This occurs within the family but we 
are also subject to influences from our  education, culture and 
patterns of life, all of which are rooted in the past. It is indeed 
our duty to attempt to pass on a better world to the next 
generation and to pay our debts to our forefathers. We are 
responsible both for the manner in which we deal with our 
personal past and for what we transmit into the future. This feel 
for personal responsibility in the continuity of change is deeply 
rooted in the Dharma. Eds.


CHENREZI COMES TO TOWN.

An editorial from the Chan Hall.

Walking in the hills the other day I was reflecting on the 
meaning of "Buddha Nature". I found myself asking "Since the 
Buddha Mind was originally the Buddha's mind what would he 
be like if he was here now?"

You can find the most immediate accounts of Gautama the man 
in the Pali Sutras. Ananda's outstanding memory allowed him to 
recall Gautama as a friend and preserve his talk. Although 
framed in an archaic form of story telling, the person of the 
speaker still shines through.

Gautama was by nature princely, his mind was sharp, creative 
and highly original, he worked extremely hard establishing a 
new order of spiritual practitioners, rejecting caste. He was 
deeply involved in the politics of his time being an adviser and 
admonisher of kings and ministers. If you had met him you 
would have found a pair of siding intelligent eyes. If you were a 
Brahmin he would have skillfully led you into his way by 
redefining who you were with an irresistible appeal to your 
common sense and inner morality. He was ascetic, disciplined, 
totally positive yet deeply sceptical. Where others were 
idealistic, he saw through idealism to an acceptance of the 
illusory basis of human life, pride, shame, gain, egoism and the 
fear of impermanence. He had found a way through in personal 
experience and there had been no copying of others. It would be 
a meeting you would never forget. It would also, in spite of the 
severity of his message, almost certainly have been fun. The 
man's charisma must have been deeply infectious.

And now Chenrezi suddenly comes to town. A Bodhisattva has 
been touring Britain, chatting in princely style with senior 
ministers, high prelates and influential persons, playing croquet 
at a country hotel and appearing on the largest platforms in the 
land, speaking to vast audiences drawn from all walks of life, 
most of them not Buddhists but fellow travellers inspired by his 
humanity and positivity.

The Dalai Lama, in spite of his fame, titles, political position 
and Nobel Peace Prize, comes over as exactly what he claims to 
be - an ordinary Buddhist monk. To see him come on stage, 
hands clasped before him, with that slightly stooped, almost shy 
manner and surprised look, as if the occasion was a refreshing 
revelation to him, is to have the heart touched. Knowing the sad 
history of his people, the relentless balancing acts in which he is 
engaged with the obdurate Chinese communists, the awe 
inspiring solemnity of his high religious office and his deep 
learning, it is profoundly touching to see at once that here is a 
man with whom one could sit down to tea and open one's heart. 
His power of meditation shows. He is after all the current 
embodiment of Avalokitesvara, the Bodhisattva of Compassion, 
Chenrezi. He is perhaps the nearest person in our time to show 
us how the Buddha must have been.

So what did he say? Homely and straightforward, not complex, 
his was a simple appeal for goodness. His faith is that humans 
are at root loving, compassionate beings. Pointing out that, 
unlike Tigers, we have neither fangs nor claws but soft fingers 
and vegetarian teeth, he argued that our nature was at root 
peaceful like animals that pasture themselves gently in the 
world.

Yet, sadly, we are afflicted by karmic ignorance that gives us 
illusions of ego, creating needs for power, cravings for fame and 
antagonism to all who appear to threaten us. We forget that 
everyone is in the same boat on an ocean of mutual fear. Once 
we recognise that others are just as fearful and confused as 
ourselves there is a chance that empathy and compassion can 
arise.

Compassion is often mistaken as pity and tends to focus on 
those who, to use Mrs Thatcher's expression, are "one of us". 
That is not compassion, says the Dalai Lama. Compassion 
involves the recognition of sameness, an empathy for others that 
comes from a fearless openness of awareness and insight that 
even one's enemies are frightened too. Compassion is thus in a 
sense disinterested, impartial. It wishes well. It is also good for 
you. Indeed, to be compassionate is the best thing one can do for 
oneself. And why? Because compassion turns one's thoughts 
away from self onto others. The focus on one's own fears and 
prejudices is reduced and with that comes a calm of mind that is 
the root of creative reflection. It is the way to inner peace.

The opposite is hatred and hatred is the product of fear. Fear 
lashes out and becomes violence. Weapons are sought and arms 
races begun. The stupidity of it all is so apparent but still it 
happens. At every level it is essential to control hatred. Anger is 
sometimes beneficial for there is righteous anger, but generally 
speaking, anger allied to hate is nothing other than pure 
destructiveness. And the selfishness that underlies it is eating up 
our societies, our world community, our environment and 
ourselves.

The point is so simple - just the recognition that all of us have 
the same tendencies to fear and hate. Knowing this it becomes 
essential to try the other path, the way of compassion, hearing 
the other's viewpoint, talk and more talk, negotiation, 
permission to empathise. And this at every level, highest to 
lowest, in and out the marriage bed. It is essential to realise that 
Compassion is one's root nature from which hatred is a 
deviation. Down through time we have all been mothers of one 
another.

His Holiness has often spoken of his compassion for the 
Chinese. Indeed, the karmic fate for those who are cruel and 
destructive is severe. The torturers are in deep need of 
compassion and need also to learn what this word means. 
Human rights involve the granting of freedoms of self 
expression and government that will foster understanding, 
empathy and compassion, especially between neighbours.

The Dalai Lama sees hope in the world. Not for him some 
world-ending scenario. He always sees the buds of May 
sprouting from wintry branches. He interprets the present chaos 
as the pain of growth towards new political expressions in 
which human rights will be respected and economic and 
political realities. He will continue to work towards this end 
even though his enemies, for whom he manifests such a studied 
regard, are perhaps the most blinkered in the world.

If this man with all his cares can be so positive can we not 
follow his example? His infectious chuckle radiates warmth 
from platform, TV screen and newspaper. We should place that 
chuckle in our hearts and live towards others from such deep 
laughter.

Difficult - you say sceptically? Sure sure . That's what the 
Buddha said. 

John Crook


THE PRAJNAPARAMITA HEART SUTRA- A BRIEF COMMENTARY.

An edited and abbreviated text of the third and last lecture on 
this topic given to the Bristol Chan Group by John Crook on 
November 25th 1992.

The Sutra ends with the following words:

With nothing to attain 
Bodhisattvas relying on Prajnaparamita 
have no obstructions in their minds. 
Having no obstructions there is no fear 
and departing far from confusion and 
imaginings, 
they reach ultimate Nirvana. 
All past, present and future Buddhas 
relying on Prajnaparamita 
attain Anuttara Samyak Sambodhi. 
Therefore, know that the Prajnaparamita 
is the great mantra of power, 
the great mantra of wisdom, 
the supreme mantra, 
the unequalled mantra 
which is able to remove all sufferings. 
It is real not false.
Therefore recite the mantra of 
Prajnaparamita:

Gate Gate Paragate Parasamgate Bodhi 
Svaha.


An alternative translation is given by Roshi Kennet in her 
metrical rendition from the Japanese.

In the mind
of the Bosatsu who is truly one
with Wisdom Great there are no obstacles 
and going on beyond this human mind
he is Nirvana. All the Buddhas True
of present, past and future, they are all,
because upon Great Wisdom they rely, 
the perfect and most high enlightenment. 
The Prajnaparamita one should know 
to be the greatest mantra of them all. 
The highest and most peerless mantra too 
Allayer of all pain Great Wisdom is. 
It is the very truth no falsehood here. 
This is the mantra of Great Wisdom, hear!
Buddha, going going going on, going on 
beyond, and always going on beyond, 
always becoming Buddha. Hail Hail Hail!

In our two preceding talks we have seen that the Sutra expresses 
the Mahayana vision of ultimate emptiness. Not only are all the 
attributes of mind perceived as empty but the whole cosmos and 
all its components, the dharmas, are seen as empty too. The 
awakening to emptiness is the heartfelt realisation that no thing 
stands by itself with an inherent existence or solitary 
independent selfhood. Emptiness means that apparent things are 
empty of their thingness. Everything is in intimate relationship 
with everything else. There is a continuous flux of time and 
space in which all appearances flow in interdependent 
origination. "Form is precisely emptiness and emptiness is 
precisely form". This fluidity of process is itself empty and the 
ultimate process hidden beyond our understanding: it is 
ineffable, and experientially void. Yet, here the things are, right 
before our eyes, ears and under our fingers.

The flux of time appears to us as it does because our sense 
organs are structured to see them as we do. Birds, bees and bats 
do it differently, Their sense organs represent the objects of 
awareness to them in other modes than our own. These various 
interpretations of our universe allow differing sentient beings to 
find food, companions, objects and experience in their own 
ways. Emptiness thus is forms; forms are how emptiness is 
expressed in sentience.

There is then an emergence together of form and emptiness. 
Both present themselves together to our minds. The great 
Tibetan Teacher, Tsong kha pa, remarks that this two sided 
vision is one of the most difficult realisations a Buddhist 
practitioner needs to comprehend. Yet, once the insight is seen, 
liberation from the attachment to things as such more easily 
arises.

As we deepen this perspective, we begin to see that there can be 
no separation between ignorance and insight, time and space, 
ageing and death or cessation of ageing and death and indeed, 
amazingly, no path, no wisdom or any attainment. All such 
words arise from the reifications whereby we dissect out 
experience into parts and events, creating a thingness of things 
where insight reveals an uninterrupted flow. When this is 
perceived one suddenly sees that there can be no attachment 
because there is actually nothing at all as a thing to be attached 
to. And with all attainments and paths seen as illusory there can 
be no loss or gain and therefore no fear, anxiety or worried 
concern. The mind, normally confused and troubled by such 
things, thus becomes free of them. There are no obstructions, 
only a great clarity. This clarity, in which all basis for 
attachments has been blown away, is called Nirvana.

The realisation requires meditative insight for the words alone 
can only convince intellectually, if at all. In meditation, a focus 
on any thing leads to its dissolution. Insight becomes curiously 
empty, vast spaciousness, vastness itself, unlimited. Names are 
no longer realities, just names. Namelessly the Universe 
unfolds.

And in this experience is a joy that comes from a release into 
freedom and a bliss that arises from gratitude. The three deep 
experiences of the Buddhist practitioner are emptiness, joy and 
bliss from which love and compassion arise as s/he 
contemplates the world in its encaging worldliness, a world to 
which we all return.

Those who have not had such a realisation should not dismiss its 
reality nor doubt their own potential. One practitioner at the 
Maenllywd was working on a koan during a Western Zen 
Retreat. Suddenly the meaning of the entire Heart Sutra became 
apparent as a single all embracing insight. He was overwhelmed 
in tears of joy. Later his realisation was acknowledged by Shih 
fu for he was so blessed as to be able to activate such insight 
again and again. For most of us such insights are mere glimpses 
highly tinged with emotion. We quickly become attached to 
them and want more. A depth of insight into emptiness has not 
yet materialised and ideas of attainment, path and goal still 
pester the mind.

We all have predispositions to create complex scenarios of 
attachment based on early experience. These samskaras arise 
because from the very beginning we attribute thingness to things 
and see them as objects for desire or rejection. Maybe the 
pattern of receiving mother's breast and the denial of it began 
the setting up structures of desire and satiation. These become 
more complex as circumstances unroll throughout life, the never 
ending elaboration of karma.

In Chan practice the samskaras make their appearance in the 
wandering of thought and emotion as we sit upon the cushion. 
Often we are warned about allowing the elaboration of 
wandering thought but, actually, once the mind has quietened 
down, much of it can be simply seen as clouds wandering across 
a sky. They come and go, we can learn to detach from them. 
This is cultivation in practice and it facilitates the possibilities 
of insight.

One Samskara in particular lies at the root of wanting and this 
includes the wanting of enlightenment experiences. This is the 
"thought that confers the I". If you watch your experience 
closely you will come to see that the emotional tone of your 
being is greatly determined by whether this "thought conferring 
I" is present or not.

To take a gross example, you may be having a jolly conversation 
when someone makes a remark that is a little critical of you . 
Immediately you feel the sensation we call "hurt". The remark 
has triggered your "thought which confers an I", your ego, and 
you respond defensively as if you were a fortress to be guarded. 
More subtly, you may be gently cruising on your cushion in a 
state of mild bliss and a seductive voice starts congratulating 
you. "Ah, this is it! Any moment now and its anuttara samyak 
sambodhi for me". Oh sad error. As nothing special happens, 
disillusionment spreads. Do we learn from this? Usually not. 
The "thought conferring I" is very deeply hidden.

To observe that it is this thought, almost alone of all thoughts, 
that is one's own deepest enemy requires persistence in self 
examination. And also humility, for we are unlikely to dispose 
of it once and for all merely because of recognition. Yet 
recognition is the beginning of wisdom. When we set aside this 
thought, other thoughts are rarely troublesome. In fact, since 
thought is natural to the moving mind, thoughts can become 
inspirational and the instruments of wisdom.

The clarity that arises when the "thought that confers an I" is 
absent is a very precise experience. Once recognised, this clarity 
is a door to insight (prajna). Indeed it is the raft that takes one to 
the other side. All Buddhas of past present and future have or 
will uncover this understanding and it is what Gautama showed 
his companions in the Deer Park all those centuries ago.

The Sutra ends with what we may call a celebration. Ananda 
stands in for the experience of Great Wisdom and, once an 
association is made between the mantra and the experience, the 
repetition of the mantra becomes a means of cultivating its 
signification. Usually the mantra is translated as "Gone gone, 
gone beyond, absolutely gone beyond, Wisdom, Hail". Roshi 
Kennet stresses the present moment as "Going, always going on 
beyond". She emphasises the need for perpetual practice, ever 
present cultivation.

The going beyond the thought that confers the ego is the central 
feature of the meaning of the mantra. The emptying of the self 
of its thingness is now perceived as real and with deepening 
insight the emptiness of all things becomes ever more clear. 
Roshi Kennet also stresses that the mind that has gone beyond is 
itself Nirvana. There is no longer a mind or an ego that has 
Nirvana. Nirvana simply presents itself.

Does all this seems remote and distant? Well, take heart! It is 
not so faraway. For example, try a change in language as a door 
to a fresh experience. We normally say "I" whenever we use a 
verb . Thus: "I have a head ache", "I am resentful", "I am cutting 
carrots", "I am enduring the heat and crush on the underground". 
Now try to rephrase yourself without the I. Thus: "There is a 
headache", "Here is a resentment", "There is a carrot cutting", 
"There is a hot crushed feeling down here". Such a change 
allows the actuality to be present without the possessiveness, the 
rejection or the desire of a needy self attribution. Things are just 
as they are. Often they may still be troublesome but we can stop 
giving them an inflated importance as when the illusory me-ness 
of my feeling is the central pivot to experience. As Shifu says 
so often, "put it down. Let the Universe do it!" When you are out 
of the way there is no path and no attainment. You are looking 
directly at the moon and not at its reflection in the bucket. Try 
it.



Being with Prisoners

I came across 'Angulimala' whilst idly scanning the notice board 
of The Buddhist Society in Eccleston Square, London. A small 
leaflet explained that Angulimala was the Buddhist Prison 
Chaplaincy Organisation. It was set up in 1985 under the 
guidance of Phra Ajahn Khemadhammo, Abbot of The Forest 
Hermitage south of Warwick, to foster the teaching and practice 
of Buddhism in Her Majesty's Prisons. The name comes from 
the story related in the Pali scripture, The Middle Length 
Sayings, of a mass murderer, Angulimala, who was converted by 
the Buddha and, after a period of trial to himself, attained 
liberation.

Within a year I had attended the quarterly meetings and 
workshops at The Hermitage and joined the team of voluntary 
visiting chaplains and, after obtaining security clearance set off, 
Home Office 'green card' in hand, for the intimidating main gate 
of HMP Horfield, Bristol.

What would prison be like? How would my first Buddhist 
prisoner react to me? Would I meet his needs and expectations? 
What would I do? I suddenly felt very inadequate and 
unqualified for taking on the role of visiting Buddhist Chaplain. 
My trepidation increased as I waited for an officer to escort me 
through endless locked iron gates and echoing corridors to the 
main wing. There I climbed the clanging flight of steel steps, 
with what felt like a hundred pairs of prisoners' eyes watching 
me, to the landing and the security of a cell. After throwing the 
door bolt to reduce the possibility of being taken hostage I was 
face to face with my first Buddhist inmate.

That was four years ago. Since then I have visited many 
prisoners at Horfield, Gloucester, Erlestoke and Pucklechurch, 
some committed Buddhists, all searching for something, from 
all sorts of backgrounds, in prison for all sorts of offences; first 
offenders on drugs charges, sex offenders, lifers. All fellow 
humans, requesting to see the Buddhist minister, stretching out a 
hand for help in a time of need.

What can I do?

All my fears on that first visit to Horfield proved groundless. As 
I soon realised, what an inmate needs above all else is someone 
to listen to him, with compassion and respeet; someone he can 
trust. He may not feel able to trust anyone else. Too close a 
relationship with other inmates may lead to tensions which 
cannot be easily walked away from. Officers and staff; however 
professional and understanding, maybe seen as part of the 
system'. Apart from visits from relatives and friends, if he is 
lucky enough to have any, you may be his only confidant.

To have an inmate trust you and open his heart to you is a 
tremendously rewarding and humbling experience. He may tell 
you about his family, his hobbies, inmate social pressures, 
feelings about prison staff. A sex offender may reminisce about 
his wonderful wife, family, house and job, all now lost. A lifer 
convicted through a street stabbing incident in his youth may 
relate the details as if it were yesterday. Listening to the whole 
story - the gang he got mixed up with, the drinking, the bravado, 
the girl he came to the defence of, the flick-knife flashing 
open. how could one be judgemental or feel anything other 
than compassion? There is no good, no bad: only delusion, 
attachment, and suffering.

But you are helping. He starts to reflect on his position, take 
stock. He may ask about Buddhist practice and meditation. He 
may think of his cell not as a restraining prison cell but as a 
liberating monastic cell. Finding, perhaps for the first time, 
someone who accepts him as he is, he may come to accept 
himself as he is. Or perhaps not.

The lifer, convicted for a series of brutal murders - skilful, 
methodical, calculating -preparing an appeal, relates his 
rationalisation of what happened in minute detail. He could not 
have done it... how could he have been there that night?... the 
body was never found... she lied in court... they had to convict 
someone. Maybe he's trying to convince himself of his inno-
cence. He unloads it all on me, hour after hour, month after 
month. He asks me if believe him. How can I help? Sometimes I 
feel inadequate, searching for answers but unable to find any. 
Then I come back to what is happening now, which is that this 
person desperately needs to talk to me. I tell him it doesn't make 
any difference to me whether he committed the crimes or not. I 
am not there to be judgemental, but to be there for him, and to 
accept him for what he is: another suffering human being.

Then one day that familiar face is no longer on the wing. The 
officer checks the roll. He has been transferred: security... The 
Moor... or Leyhill: open prison, workshops, rehabilitation. Was 
he prepared for it? Will he cope? After all these years isolated 
from the world, will the new freedom be too much for him? 
Will he try to escape, and be sent back here again? These are the 
thoughts flashing through my mind as I follow the officer to 
another wing, another inmate. I mentally wish my old friend 
good luck, thank him for what he has done for me, and go to 
open another cell door.

John M Senior 1/12/92


IN CHINESE MODE : THINKING OF A FRIEND

This poem, parts of which were written at various times in the 
1960's and revised now in 1993, is dedicated to Yiu Yan Nang, 
JP, now Deputy Commissioner of Labour, Hong Kong.

Reading a book of Chinese translations 
I remember my Chinese friend, 
bamboo breezes drift though my study, 
moonlight on the terraced temple shines again. 
Climbing to those high places 
sometimes you picked flowers 
and in the monastery monks disliked our intrusion, 
tried to put us off, speaking of one infected 
who'd died last night in the visitor's room.

Before the dawn the wooden clappers clacked 
and in the shrine room I recall
the candles flickered along the wall 
the golden images splendidly sat 
there was no time at all in that 
and now that all these years have flown 
and after midnight I sit here alone 
I see again the silvered lateen sails 
that down the fishing moon's track trailed 
as silently they put to sea 
below the hill that sprouted guns.

Wearily I reflect, modern life 
differs little from the time of Li po. 
I too seek my mountain cottage, 
winter winds strike the oaks and birches
and the rushing stream gurgles past the muddy yard. 
Wood fire bums low
and by my candle I read some far-off words. 
This is no bamboo mountain
yet here too the natural stillness 
creeps from the stones and trees 
as in my secret heart I discover 
my lone home.

Thinking of you and the passing years 
of war and waste, treaties broken 
and pledges meaningless, 
the rise in prices and the difficulty of travel, 
passports and regulations, 
I am comforted to know that old officials 
in your ancient land also knew 
the weariness of worldly noise, 
that little changes in a thousand years 
is proven true.
Time and space are endless 
and only a fool finds a comfortable way.

John Crook



RETREAT REPORTS

We are grateful to retreat participants for writing so freely to us 
about their experiences on retreat. This gives us valuable help 
in understanding the retreat process and guides us in our 
efforts. The retreats also provide others with an insight into the 
difficulties and benefits of attending a retreat. We continue go 
publish these accounts anonymously selecting reports from both 
genders. We regret we cannot publish everything we receive. 
Eds.

THE LITTLE NUN

Chan Retreat, Maenllwyd, April 1993.

I cannot write in hindsight, yet three days after the Retreat 
ending I am still in it, with a deep sense of calm and sitting 
sessions that pass seemingly fast. Vast silence is dearly 
perceived. This is perhaps the benefit of 'not meditating".
This was the second Retreat(1) I had attended within a month so I 
settled in easily. The sittings were clear the first morning, but 
after lunch tiredness set in and I could not keep my head in 
control. The fear of endless sittings ahead of me gave rise to a 
thick cloying fog and I knew l had to just wait for it to lift. I 
even gave up trying and thought just to sit here is something".

An image: two goldfish in a bowl, but what else is in there? The 
trick is to see the water.

On the second day, during the morning service, the Heart Sutra 
and the chanting of the Three Refuges bore the "fruit". I saw 
another way, big and free - not the small vehicle that I baggage 
myself up in.

So that was why the statue of the Nun(2) was smiling! Going 
around the yard I knew it. I laughed because I had been given 
back something that I had lost. I had remembered! It seemed 
idiotic that anyone could lose such a thing. I also cried because 
the Chi rose and made me feel emotional.

I saw that this understanding is easily lost superficially, but it is 
an ocean under the surface. I saw how much negative karma I 
hold in the vehicle of me and the self-annihilating viciousness 
was interesting to note. But one can slip past that. I bowed to the 
Nun and liked her very much.

After a few hours it was back again to my internal gestapo, who 
break in and do me over. I called upon Mahakala, the black 
Tibetan deity to protect me. My thoughts were also sometimes 
nasty and petty. I began labelling thoughts; one or two of the 
issues needed addressing and I went into them in thought. I have 
not yet found the balance of when I should or should not go into 
issues. I asked my friend the Nun to help me. I reckoned that in 
order to get that pearl she was holding and that smile, she had 
probably been where I was then. I was desperately tired. I slept 
without falling off my cushion - she must have held me there. 
This induced a deep calm meditation, strange and 
hallucinogenic. So this tiredness was not an enemy! 
Transformation again.

I tried to maintain the idea of whatever there is to do, just do it. 
Don't question or justify. Just watch the voice singing or the 
taste eating". No other baggage at all. By the fourth day, time 
had gone. I watched cycles of heavy difficult thinking change to 
clear spaces of deep calm which was situated in and below my 
heart. Then I felt at ease and listened to birds, wind, rain and 
floated like one of the buzzards up above us. My heart grew 
until the Stream outside ran through it. what a relief not to have 
to keep it small.

In an interview John said, "you've got that samskara firmly by 
the tail". That is, I was resolving a particular issue that I have 
been confronting for years. This is the cause of much rejoicing 
and a new freedom for me. John also explained that my contact 
with the growing heart will make it grow until it becomes my 
strength. His compassion towards me also gives me strength.

On the fifth day whilst "directly contemplating" I was looking 
at the Zendo carpet, the orange bits in fact, and I could see 
spirals. There was just this spiralling. Then I thought "Who is 
watching? I wish this watcher would go away!". By this stage of 
the Retreat, my energy was so high that I would have been 
happy to giggle idiotically at anything. I was feeling so good just 
floating from one thing to the next with no memory. The 
Chenrezi visualization I did was very focused. It was surreal. 
The meditations were deep in and below my heart and a strange 
sense of having no body grew stronger. Over a period of about 
one hour blocks of magenta had appeared in my vision, whether 
my eyes were open or closed.

Two further events taught me a great deal about my personal 
karma. I began to get in a stew about having to give a short 
account to the others of how the week had been for me. On a 
previous Chan Retreat I had been unable to speak through fear 
of the group. I decided to crucify my fear, even if it meant acting 
out the crucifixion. Then I bowed to the Buddha and asked for 
help. Well, in the event, I spoke quite well. I was very pleased.

The other event was watching the panic of another person, 
which threw me into a state of childhood terror. This taught me 
to guard my own vulnerability.

On returning home, I realized that if I apply my method of 
watching the breath and centering myself in the body, whatever 
I am doing, I can also practise mindfulness and become part of 
the big silence.

On Thursday morning, alone with my little son in the car, 
holding his hand after a whole week away from him, I drove 
through the countryside with the trees standing in their space 
amidst a soft mist. There was the silent eternal OM.

1 The writer had attended the Tantra Retreat of the previous 
  month.
2 The writer is, referring to the statue of a little "nun" placed on 
  the altar during the retreat. Participants were asked why she 
  was smiling and what was the pearl she held in one hand. Eds.


WIND AND SILENCE

Chan Retreat, Maenllwyd, April 1993

A Chan Retreat begins for me when leaving home; making the 
journey as relaxed as possible; taking my time. In the preceding 
months I'd felt the need for a period of concentrated practice, 
and was willing and determined to let go of the 'daily round' and 
make good use of this rare opportunity. I was greeted in the yard 
by John, whose warm welcome and gesture to park the car 
sealed my 'arrival'.

As darkness descended and the lamps were lit it was time for tea 
and introductions. Some of us explained our reasons for being 
there. I talked about the 'adolescent society', peoples' endless 
seeking after novelty and taking refuge in pleasure; and then of 
the remnants of my own adolescence that have become a 
hindrance to me.

I went to look for my place in the Hall and found I was to sit in 
front of the shrine. Early in the evening the room was slightly 
smoky from the fire. I began to cough; a tickly cough which 
developed into a kind of koan for me - smoke from the Tibetan 
incense aggravated it and the smoke lingered in the attic where I 
slept. Smoke remained a significant feature of my week, 
reminding me of hindrances I have to overcome.

In sitting I was quickly able to let go of everything and just Be 
There. Early days passed quickly, sometimes in a state of clarity, 
feeling contented with the pleasure of practice - glad to be there; 
sometimes my mind was dull and in a fog, drifting in fantasies, 
unable to WAKE UP, then after five or ten minutes realising I'd 
been 'caught out' again! At first I felt frustration, then realising 
that kindness to myself was required, I just let it be - all part of 
the rhythm. "By our own wills and vigilance may we our fetters 
cut away" - came to me as inspiration to make the effort. The 
days passed calmly, it was a joy to be there, ever mindful of 
what a rare opportunity it was to train. During the week, the 
chanting in Chinese of the Three Refuges during morning and 
evening services grew to be increasingly harmonious and 
significant, an expression of our singularity of purpose.

About halfway through the week John introduced direct 
contemplation, which I had tried before without 'success'. This 
time I think I was better prepared, perhaps more open. We 
began with slow kihhin, eyes closed, which I found a powerful 
meditational experience. On opening my eyes and raising them 
slowly to the landscape I heard a curlew and saw a pair of 
buzzards circling the pine ridge. We each chose our own spot to 
sit, from which to contemplate the landscape, allowing our eyes 
to rest in one place. I was sitting under a pine tree on a ridge. 
The view of the landscape was expansive, too much and too 
active. The movements of tractors, cars and sheep passed 
through my field of vision.

I lowered my eyes to some grass and sat for a while without 
disturbance. It was then I felt the sun on my face. I closed my 
eyes and lifted my face to its warmth. I could hear the wind 
getting up and feel its power growing as it came down the 
valley. It became even stronger. I felt my head being filled with 
the wind. There was indescribable light - wind and light. My 
eyes were still closed. I could feel an energy building; just wind 
and light and emptiness in my head. Then an easing of the wind 
- it seemed to return to the valley. I was again aware of the 
solldity of earth beneath me.

The bell rang for our return to the house. I felt waves of some 
kind of energy rising in my body. There was a strange mixture 
of certainty and amazement. I felt that my practice had been 
confirmed. I put on my boots - they felt very heavy - and 
gathered my belongings. The descent to the house seemed slow 
and very purposeful, there was a sense of isolation.

I went to sit in the Zendo. My mind wanted to explain my 
experience but the questioning was futile. I just seemed to be 
sitting with this feeling of confirmation. Later I asked for an 
interview; John told me I had been given a 'glimpse'. I went to 
the Buddha room and made prostrations to the Buddha.

During the rest of the Retreat I had to make efforts to prevent 
my ego-mind going over and over the event, and was often 
overcome with immense gratitude which each time brought me 
to tears. I am left with a sense of the urgency to practice 
consistently.
"Already you are in possession of the vital attributes of a human 
being, do not waste time with this and that - you can possess the 
authority of a Buddha". (Dogen)
                              
Under the pine 
a wind came out of the valley. 
Affirmation was given, 
received with bows.


RETREAT POEMS

(Written during a three month solitary retreat at 
Mount Amiata in Tuscany, Italy).

Sitting by the doorstep 
on a dusty sheepskin 
in the early morning, 
a hazy sun warms my cheeks. 
I wonder what will
come to mind? 
I remember my dreams. 
My thoughts are like 
a bird tied to a pole 
by a long string. 
they fly in endless circles 
under the illusion of freedom.

Alone 
all alone 
in an empty room 
in an empty house 
on a wind-blown hill.

What do I feel? 
What do I really feel? 
Lonely?
Yes.
The images speak for themselves...

Nothing moves, only silken mist 
translucent as a moth's wings 
hovering between the cliffs.

Silently the mountain breathes, 
recumbent like a dragon 
coiled upon the world beneath.

Dark leaved candytuft and thyme 
are secretly disclosed in rocky 
gardens, miniature and wild.

Sitting quietly in solitude 
I lose myself, absorbed 
by the mountains sombre mood.

Today the mountain tops 
are clothed in mist 
and a heavy scent of rain 
pervades the valley. 
A north-west wind blows hard 
making the shutters bang. 
At night, I sit by the fire 
with a candle.
I don't like the smell of the oil lamp.


The first snow came 
amazing me, as it always does
with its perfect beauty. 
Icicles hang from the gutter 
jagged as dragon's teeth. 
Walking outside, the wind 
blows the snow in my face:
I can scarcely see my own footprints!

The wind howls outside 
the world is grey with mist 
I drink tea beside the stove 
and think of you.

Daylight drifts into disguise 
night begins her dance 
a bat flits by... 
rocks of ember come alive 
earth and sky embrace 
a presence of the dart-eyed 
goddess has arrived.

As outer pre-occupations dwindle 
inevitably the stream runs on, 
but since I find its going no-where 
there are no conclusions to be drawn.

Now, looking inwards I find 
the same stream going nowhere, 
in practise I can only do my best. 
I clearly see how I am trapped.

Why carve words out? 
All is poetry 
to the mind's eye 
as it is.

Why tamper 
with reality?
The wind has changed 
it blows from the south 
with spring and the scent 
of the sea..... 
the trees and grasses 
now bow to the north; 
the mountain remains unchanged.

In the clear blue sky a skylark sings, 
the wind sighs in the winter broom, 
the only other sound is the "ting" of the 
wind in the wind chimes beside the door.

Too involved in poetry 
I let the stove go out.

Outside my window 
the mist shape-shifting 
makes phantoms of bushes 
the valley is shrouded. 
Does the mountain exist?

Why am I afraid of clarity 
and sensitivity? 
Because the strength of simplicity 
is stunning!

Everything is perfect
there is nothing to be attained.
I am here alone drinking tea beside the stove.
I never guessed what perseverance
is required to re-attain simplicity.

Why do I search for the poignant words 
giving birth to poetry?
Is it to share
the quiet beauty of my isolation? 
For whom do I write and round my thoughts. 
trying to touch the essence of my being?
                              
I stand on the bridge between 
this world and another:
the play of light and darkness 
on the water makes me dizzy.

You said 
that when we met 
you'd wear a feather
so that I could recognise you. 
but when you came 
it was I
who wore the feather.

Julia Lawless


REFLECTIONS ON CHANTING - SPACE IN BODY, SPACE IN MIND

This article is in response to a discussion which took place at 
the Chan sitting group in May. It concerned the usefulness of 
chanting and whether using the traditional Chinese sounds 
might be replaced by an alternative rhythm/sound.

Without wishing to retain ritual for rituals sake, it seems to me 
that in the West we are often ready to sweep away tradition 
under the guise of creating our own forms without fully realising 
what it is we are sweeping away. As a novice in the 
understanding of sound I can only offer seeds not flowers which 
may grow in the fertile ground of practise. I have no view either 
way and simply offer the following reflections.

My own experience is that in chanting, sound resonates up and 
down the body (clearing the chakras). I assume that the Chan 
form of chanting also evolved to do this. Plainsong and 
Gregorian chant also had this function and were known to 
facilitate different mental states according to the form. In 
medieval times I understand there were at least 24 scales and 
peregrinations helpful in engendering states such as peace, 
tranquillity, love, and fire in the body. Roshi Kennet states that 
we now mostly use the major and minor tonic scales associated 
with death and war. My frequent visits to a local Anglican 
convent suggest that the choral work there mostly resonates in 
the brow and crown chakras.

Practically, I have found the use of sound helpful to some 
people when linked to Japanese exercises (makka ho). These 
exercises work on stretching and balancing the meridians, 
allowing a freer flow of Chi, opening space in the body and 
allowing the breath to descend.

A further reflection concerns the work being done on 'primary 
sounds', language and quality. I know little about this but 
understand intuitively what is meant. It is said that 'primary 
sounds' are the mechanism of mantric sound. Sounds which 
appear across many languages, when uttered help to manifest 
certain qualities. This is so even where a language is supposed 
to be unconnected to other languages. For instance the 'n', or 'm' 
sound in many languages is related to the so called female 
nurturing qualities. This sound resonates for me in the heart 
centre. Examples are in English:- mother, mama, mummy, 
nurture, nourish, nanny, natal, nature; in French:- naissance, 
maman, naturel, natal; in German:- mutti, naturlich; in Chinese:- 
nu (woman); in Hindi:- ma (mother); and in Hebrew:- nephesh 
(soul).

Another such sound is 'rt' which exists in its earliest form in 
sanskrit as Rta, the cosmic order of things. Rt is said to have 
come down in English in the words ritual, right, rhetoric, and 
art; and in Greek as arete which means virtue or quality.

My understanding of this work is sketchy. However it connects 
for me with being mindful of how we recreate and fix ourselves 
in our speech patterns or habits and how mindful use of sounds 
can help to realise space in both body and mind. The practise for 
me is simply to mindfully observe my attitude to the chanting 
(and the discussion about chanting). To observe unconditionally 
my likes and dislikes. To observe the connection between sound 
and body and mind and with the outbreath to let go of all 
attachments.

The final word is left to the Heart Sutra;

        "0 Shariputra - in this void there is no form -
        sensation - thought - activity - or consciousness.
        No eye, ear nose, tongue, body, mind, no form, no tastes,
        sound, colour, touch or objects; vision none;
        no consciousness; no knowledge and no sign of ignorance;"

and to St. Theresa of Avilla:

'He can apprehend nothing with the senses, which can only 
hinder his soul's joy and thus harm rather than help him." (The 
Complete Works' ch. XV111)

References:

Meetings with remarkable women 'Buddhist  Teachers in America'. Ch 7.'
Behold Woman. A Jungian Approach to Feminist Theology.'
  Carin Dunne, Chiron Publications 1989'
Lila. An enquiry into Morals'. R. Pirsig. Bantam Press 1991.'
Gregorian Chant'. Willi Apel, Burns Oates and Washbourne Ltd.

Auril Furneaux July 1993


Everywhere, people are searching
For an answer,
Not realising the question
Is the problem.
No question - No Problem!
(Got it? - Then tell me:
Why the original Question?)

Ron Henshall 14/4/93

[END]