A Christmas message.

The name changes. The essence doesn't.

Suppose I said, “The universe is mine or ours.” Clearly, such a statement is delusional since the universe is pretty big, and to suggest that it belongs to you or me is ridiculous. But suppose I shortened the span of space and said, “The earth is mine or ours.” Smaller span but still pretty big and still ridiculous. How far down do we need to go before it stops being ridiculous? Or, for that matter, how much bigger? We could go all the way down to the quantum level or outward to the farthest expanse of space, and the essence of the statement won’t change. 

The word “The” is a definite article: something definite or unconditional. “The universe” is not contingent and isn’t altered by our presence, and isn’t waiting on anyone to possess it. Both “mine” and “ours” are forms of possessive pronouns, and both have the same meaning: To possess something. 

“My self” is different in meaning from “The self.” The first implies possession, and the second is independent, just as “My shirt” is different from “The shirt.” Okay, is it possible for anyone to possess himself or herself? Heck, we can’t even say what “The self” is, so how can it be possessed? In truth, nothing can be possessed since, in our true nature, there is no real self to possess anything.

We have this idea that we can know ourselves but, when we turn our eyeballs around and look within, nobody’s home. Some time ago, I wrote a post after reading Paul Brok’s book “Into the Silent Land.” Broks asks alarming and provocative questions such as “Am I out there or in here?” when he portrays an imaginary man with a transparent skull, watching in a mirror how his own brain functions. He notices, for us all, that the world exists inside the tissue residing between our ears. And when the tissue is carefully examined, no world, no mind, no self, no soul, no perceptual capacities, nor consciousness—nothing but inanimate meat is found. Unable to locate, what we all take for granted, he suggests that we are neither “in here” nor “out there,” maybe somewhere in between the space between the in and the out, and maybe nowhere at all.

It’s a mystifying perspective, yet all of us just continue on down the road without ever truly grasping who it is that’s continuing. Nagarjuna parsed this matter in various ways, but one of my favorites is his poem about walking, which ends this way... “These moving feet reveal a walker but did not start him on his way. There was no walker prior to departure. Who was going where?” There is no walker without walking, just as there is no thinker without thinking.

The Buddha properly pointed out that there is no discernible identity at the core of each of us, and we only begin to fabricate a self-image (ego) once we move and take action. Until then, there is no observable identity. The actions we take define who we are, not the ideologies to which we cling. Of course, what we think is usually followed by action. Without action, either for the good or the bad, we are no one at all. And when we remain still, we have a potential for unlimited either. Then we are silent and can dwell in the infinite space of tranquility, wholeness, peace, and readiness, which lies at the very heart of undifferentiated sentience.

On the other hand, when we imagine ourselves as distinctly unique individuals, we become an incomplete ego with definable differences that must possess and attach to forms to identify. That fabrication must possess and makes things mine. Then the universe, and all therein contained, stops being the universe and becomes my universe. This, however, doesn’t mean movement necessarily equates to being a possessive ego. So long as we remain aware of our genuine indefinable sentient nature and not a fabricated ego, our movement can be nonpossessive. We can continue as nonjudgemental members of indiscriminate humanity. 

What everyone will discover, if pursued, is that we exist and don’t exist at the same time. The “walker” only comes along with walking. The thinker only emerges with thinking, digestion only with eating, and the self with and through living. The question is, what or who sparks the process of all?

There’s a direct link between what we think and what we do. The Buddha said, “We are what we think. All that we are arises with our thoughts. With our thoughts, we make the world.” He then went on to say, “To be idle is a short road to death and to be diligent is a way of life; foolish people are idle, wise people are diligent.”  Jesus likewise pointed out that “the things that come out of a person’s mouth come from the heart, and these defile them. For out of the heart come evil thoughts—murder, adultery, sexual immorality, theft, false testimony, slander. These are what defile a person.” 

Today there is far too much negative rhetoric and inaction. Likewise, there is far too little positive thought and action in our world. As you open your gifts on Christmas day, think about the greatest of gifts: The gift of giving yourself to make the world a far, far better place. 

The Truth About Truth

In the early 1980’s speaker of the House, Tip O’Neill coined the phrase “The Third Rail of Politics” as a metaphor for addressing a topic too hot to openly discuss for fear of committing political suicide. 

In that case, the topic was the looming bankruptcy of the Social Security System. Today that third rail is about many other systems ranging from our healthcare system, even the forbidden conversation of the political system governing our nation. Sometimes in order to solve a thorny problem, it is necessary to stick your neck out and risk getting it chopped off. Politicians, who depend upon the votes of the public for their survival, have more times than not chosen to say what they think the public wants to hear rather than what they need to hear. Every institution has its own “Third Rail” and Buddhism, as an institution, has one too: The Third Rail of Truth.

All of us think we know the truth (absence of falsity) and as a ordinary yardstick this works most of the time. So as a human society we have created norms and standards by which we measure the flow of life to determine whether or not something is true or false. It works loosely which means “most of the time”—but not all of the time. Sometimes what we thought was true turns about into “fake news.”

Ancient Indians believed they knew about truth and expressed their beliefs in the language of their time (Sanskrit). The Sanskrit word “Dharma” has a variety of definitions. One definition is “that which upholds and supports existence.” The root “Dhr” means to grasp (like in “understand”). An alternate definition is “Truth” as in Dharmakaya (Truth Body), which means the real/absolute, unseen body of The Buddha which all acknowledged Buddhist sutras say is The Buddha womb from which everything is made manifest: the pillar of The Buddha. 

Many enlightened persons have used different names for this Truth Body. Huang Po called it “The One Mind,” without defining characteristics, Ch'an Master Linji Yixuan (Zen Master Rinzai) called it “True Man without rank,” and Master Bassui Tokushō would simply ask, “Who is it that hears?” I call it Mind Essence (Bodhidharma’s choice). 

In an unexpected way these definitions of truth are not counter to the ordinary yardstick—the absence of falsity. But there are important subtleties to this understanding which open the “Dharma Gate” and allows the flow of wisdom, and one of the most critical subtleties pertains to attachment to truth itself. The question is both simple yet profound: Is truth absolute? Relative? Neither? Both? Transcendent to both absolute and relative? Easy to ask the question but not so easy to answer, at least in a way that doesn’t entail touching that third rail. 

We pride ourselves as being moral people and as such we cling to ideas about what it means to be moral. This moral (sila) framework has been institutionalized with Buddhist precepts, one of which has to do with truth telling, so we use this as a guideline to govern our conduct. So how much of the truth do we tell? All of it? None of it? Some portion? Which portion?

Mark Twain, in his whimsical fashion said,“Get your facts first, then you can distort them as you please.” Distortion seems to have now become the norm, even without getting the facts. Suppose we are talking about complete truth telling about ourselves. How exactly would that be done? Would we push the play-back button and share the second-by-second litany of every single moment of our present life? Do we share selected and edited versions? Edited according to what criteria? Who edits? Do you see the problem here? There is no solution to this dilemma when approached from the perspective of conditional reality. The matter is beyond comprehension.

In the sixth chapter of the Diamond Sutra The Buddha said an incredible thing regarding truth telling. He said, 

“..if these fearless bodhisattvas created the perception of a dharma (truth), they would be attached to a self, a being, a life, and a soul. Likewise, if they created the perception of no dharma (no truth), they would be attached to a self, a being, a life, and a soul.” To this Kamalashila wrote, “According to the highest truth, dharmas do not actually appear. Thus, there can be no perception of a dharma. And because they do not appear, they do not disappear. Thus, there can be no perception of no dharma. This tells us to realize that dharmas have no self-nature.” 

Let’s rephrase that: Truth does not have an independent status cut off from life. Truth is not a separate/abstract thing. Truth is a real thing which is reflected in the confused and unpredictable messiness which is life. Without wisdom this confusion becomes a Gordian knot so complex it is impossible to untie.

The ordinary way to fathom this complexity is to hold the feet of flow to the fire of inflexible standards and watch the sparks fly with the loud grating noise of friction, like a subway car screeching to a sudden stop. The infusion of wisdom turns this conflict upside down and allows the unfolding messiness to determine “expedient means” where the end (emancipation) dictates the appropriate (expedient) means. 

Life is not a one size fits all situation. Chi-fo (aka Feng-seng) says, “Before we understand, we depend on instruction. After we understand, instruction is irrelevant. The dharmas taught by the Tathagata sometimes teach existence and sometimes teach non-existence. They are all medicines suited to the illness. There is no single teaching. But in understanding such flexible teachings, if we should become attached to existence or to non-existence, we will be stricken by the illness of dharma-attachment. Teachings are only teachings. None of them are real.” 

To this Daoxin added, “Therefore the sutra (Nirvana sutra) says: ‘Since there are numberless (types of) capacities among sentient beings (the buddhas) preach the Dharma in numberless ways. Since the Dharma is preached in numberless ways, the meanings are also numberless. Numberless meanings are born from the One Reality. The One reality is formless, but there is no form that it does not give form to: it is called the true form. This is total purity.’”

This “One Reality” is of course the Body of Truth—the Dharmakaya: non-applied consciousness/Mind; the wellspring of all truth which is applied and conforms to the unfolding of life. 

Our ordinary human nature desires certainty and predictability, but life is fluid and complex. Every sentient being has a unique track of causal linkages and karma, which defines unique forms of illness. 

Daoxin said, “I expound this teaching (e.g., Essential expedient methods for entering the Path and pacifying mind) for those whose causal conditions and capacities are ripe for them...In the Prajna Sutra Spoken by Manjusri it says: ‘World Honored One, what is the one-practice samadhi?’ The Buddha said, ‘Being linked to the realm of reality (Dharmakaya) through its oneness is called one-practice samadhi. If men and women want to enter one-practice samadhi, first they must learn about prajnaparamita (e.g., perfect wisdom emanating from the unity of pure consciousness) and cultivate their learning accordingly. Later they will be capable of one-practice samadhi and, if they do not retreat from or spoil their link with the realm of reality, of inconceivable unobstructed formlessness.’”

To summarize this teaching. Truth is both absolute and relative. It is absolute within the realm of the Dharmakaya—the wellspring of all truth, where oneness reigns. And it is relative within the realm of our individual differences, where karma and causal conditions prevail. When our minds are pure (without retreat or spoilage; defiled with thought/non-thought) the Dharma Gate is opened and prajna flows freely. Prajna (e.g., wisdom) alone, the product of awakened awareness—the pipe-line from the Body of Truth—is capable of untying the Gordian knot of life’s complexity. Short of this we need guidelines, yardsticks, precepts and a tolerance for flying sparks and the loud grating noise of friction.

The sea of bliss.

The heart of darkness and light.

Until we have seen someone’s darkness, we don’t really know who they are. Until we have forgiven someone’s darkness, we don’t really know what love is.

To one trapped in a bondage of the mind, there is a darkness to move beyond that can cloud our sense of being and our capacity to love. The idea of moving beyond seems to imply movement toward a goal: something not present. There is, however, another way to understand this obstruction: The darkness that impedes our capacity to love.  A drop of water, dark or not, taken out of the great sea, is certainly divided from the indiscriminate source but when it returns to the source, it becomes absorbed and can’t be found. It is then lost in the sea of love.

This is an easy example that displays the difference between duality and unification. Bodhidharma illustrated this by speaking of the body of all truth, where everything is One. His commentary on the Lankavatara Sutra teaches there are two aspects of life: The discriminated/perceptible, and the unified/ineffable—bound together in a manner too marvelous to understand. He said: “By tranquility is meant Oneness, and Oneness gives birth to the highest Samadhi which is gained by entering into the realm of Noble Wisdom that is realizable only within one’s inmost consciousness…The beginning chapter of this sutra concludes in this way... “In this world whose nature is like a dream, there is place for praise and blame, but in the ultimate Reality of Dharmakaya (our true mind) which is far beyond the senses and the discriminating mind, what is there to praise?”

So where is the source of hope and tranquility? Our hope lies imperceptibly beneath impermanence at the heart of decay. And what is that heart? Huang Po (Obaku in Japanese; 9th century China) was particularly lucid in his teaching about this. In the Chün Chou Record, he said:

“To say that the real Dharmakāya of the Buddha resembles the Void is another way of saying that the Dharmakāya is the Void and that the Void is the Dharmakāya ... they are one and the same thing...When all forms are abandoned, there is the Buddha ... the void is not really void, but the realm of the real Dharma. This spiritually enlightening nature is without beginning ... this great nirvanic nature is Mind; Mind is the Buddha, and the Buddha is the Dharma.”

This perspective, however, is a bit like looking in a rearview mirror that reflects darkness once you’ve found light. While in the darkness, no light is seen. To go looking for the void beyond darkness takes us into the sea of nondiscrimination where compassion and wisdom define all. And once there, in this eternal void—the source of all, we fuse together with all things and realize that dark and light are just handles defining the seeming division between one thing and another. We are then absorbed by the vast and endless sea of bliss and tranquility. We are in a home we never left.

Inherent goodness.

You are not made good by your beliefs. You are good already. When you realize your inherent goodness there is no longer a need to believe. Then you know.

Is that all there is?

“Is that all there is? Is that all there is? If that’s all there is my friends, then let’s keep dancing. Let’s break out the booze and have a ball if that’s all there is.”

These words might very well be the mantra for today. They were however, sung by American singer Peggy Lee and an award winner from her album in November 1969. When your life seems surrounded with corruption it is easy to become disillusioned. Peggy Lee’s song was written by the team of Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller and based on the existential philosophy expressed at the end of the 19th and the beginning of the 20th-century. 

More specifically the writers borrowed the idea from the 1896 Disillusionment written by Thomas Mann who was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1929. Mann was a big fan of Goethe, Nietzsche and Schopenhauer, all of whom, in one way or another saw life as meaningless and were considered either implicit or explicit nihilists.

Without plumbing the depths of consciousness it seems logical that life is indeed meaningless. The words of the song keep changing but the message appears to be the same. Even among mainline Buddhism that message was first resonating with what was known as “The Three marks of existence.” The Buddha was thought to have taught that all beings, conditioned by causes (saṅkhāra) are impermanent (anicca) and suffering (dukkhā) while he said not-self (anattā) characterized all dharmas meaning there is no “I” or “mine” in life.

If that was the end of the matter, Buddhism would more than likely, have lasted about twenty seconds. But fortunately that was not the end of the matter. It took some time for Mahāyana Buddhism to emerge, which told the rest of the story. In Chapter 3 (On Grief) of the Mahāparinirvāṇa Sūtra the Buddha taught, about what he called “four perversions.” 

He said that the true Self signified the Buddha, the eternal signified the Dharmakaya (the Mind of truth), Bliss signified the lack of dukkhā and Nirvana/the Pure signified the Dharma. He went on to say that to cultivate impermanence, suffering, and non-Self has no real value/meaning. “Whoever has these four kinds of perversion, that person does not know the correct cultivation of dharmas. Having these perverse ideas, their (the lost) minds and vision are distorted.”

When life seems to be characterized by violence, political shark-man-ship, power through money, injustice, a growing wave of corruption, despair, apathy, and hopelessness, it’s easy to wonder, “Is this all there is?” And while we may not yet be able to find our true Selves (which is Sunyata), we don’t need to see life through the lens of a victim. A man who waits for enlightenment before being a balm to others is like waiting for the ocean to warm before taking a bath. 

While facing such adversity in the present moment, it may require strength, endurance, and keeping a level head. But of equal importance is the clear understanding that the only way to have better “nows” for tomorrows is by making those betters today. A single match can either ignite a blazing inferno of hatred or light a lamp of love that shines brightness into the darkness. Whatever we do in the never-ending “now” will make our world of tomorrow. 

We don’t need to be a Malālah Yūsafzay or an Edward Snowden to make a difference. A single act of kindness in whatever sphere we live turns adversity into joy. A single drop of rain waters 10,000 pines.

The illusion of you and me.

The shadow of self or the reality casting the shadow?

The tenet of “no self” has been a fundamental, defining loadstone of Buddhism since the very beginning. The term originally used for self/ego was “anatman” and the contention surrounding this matter was divided between those who argued for self vs. those who argued the opposite anatman (self vs. no-self). It boiled down to the issue of any phenomenal thing possessing an independent nature. Closely aligned with this argument was the understanding that all things were empty (of independent essence). In other words, everything could only exist dependently, thus the principle of dependent origination.

This argument stood for a long time until Nagarjuna came along with his Two Truth Doctrine in which he laid out his understanding of what the Buddha had taught, culminating with the Middle Way which expressed the Buddha’s conclusion of, “Not this (atman). Not that (anatman). Neither not (atman). Neither not (anatman).” 

The importance of this conclusion is significant and profound but unfortunately seems to be a broadly unresolved matter. What Nagarjuna said in his Two Truth Doctrine was that there is a difference between the conventional, discriminate view (the common-sense view) and the sublime, indiscriminate view (ultimate truth) and that no one could be set free unless they experienced the sublime.

In the 8th-century an Indian Buddhist philosopher by the name of Śāntideva said that in order to be able to deny something, we first have to know what it is we’re denying. The logic of that is peerless. He went on to say: 

“Without contacting the entity that is imputed. You will not apprehend the absence of that entity.” In a similar manner the Lankavatara Sutra (a Mahayana favorite of Bodhidharma) addressed the issue of one vs. another with this: 

“In this world whose nature is like a dream, there is place for praise and blame, but in the ultimate Reality of Dharmakāya (our true transcendent mind of wisdom) which is far beyond the senses and the discriminating mind, what is there to praise?”

The wisdom of emptiness and dependent origination ultimately reduces down to there being no difference between form and emptiness. They are one and the same thing: two sides of the same coin. One side perceptible (phenomena); the other side beyond perception (noumena). There have been numerous terms used as alternates for noumena ranging from Buddha-Nature, Dharmakāya, the Void, Ground of being and the preference by Zen and Yogācāra was Mind—primordial mind (not the illusion of mind nor the illusion of self vs. no self). In this state of mind there is no discrimination—all is unified, whole and complete, so there can be no difference between one thing and another thing.

Huang Po (Japanese—Obaku; 9th century China) was particularly lucid in his teaching about these terms. In the Chün Chou Record he said this:

“To say that the real Dharmakāya (the Absolute) of the Buddha resembles the Void is another way of saying that the Dharmakāya is the Void and that the Void is the Dharmakāya...they are one and the same thing...When all forms are abandoned, there is the Buddha...the void is not really void, but the realm of the real Dharma. This spiritually enlightening nature is without beginning...this great Nirvanic nature is Mind; Mind is the Buddha, and the Buddha is the Dharma.”

The Yogācārians took this to the logical conclusion and stated that everything was mind. You are mind. I am mind. The entire universe is nothing but mind. This, however, did not resolve the matter, and 2,500 years later the issue of atman vs. anatman remains unresolved. The Middle Way remains a matter of contention. Consequently there exist today three kinds of Buddhist practice: The kind that dogmatically clings to self, a second that dogmatically clings to no self and a third that says, “Not atman. Not anatman. Neither not atman. Neither not anatman.” 

In the end you will only know when you experience the sublime. Then the argument will come to an end and you’ll never be able to convey your answer. That is the ultimate test, “…far beyond the senses and the discriminating mind, what is there to praise (or blame)?”

Tracking a koan.

A story is told in the Platform Sutra of a conversation held between Daman Hongren (fifth Chinese Chan patriarch) and Dajian Huineng (sixth Chinese Chan patriarch). Huineng was an illiterate, unschooled commoner who, upon hearing the Diamond Cutter Sutra, realized enlightenment and subsequently sought out Hongren. When Huineng met the patriarch, he was assigned the lowly job of rice-pounder, where he remained for many months before proving his worth to Hongren.

The conversation between the two was thus: Hongren—“A seeker of the Path risks his life for the dharma. Should he not do so?” Then he asked, “Is the rice ready?”  Huineng—“Ready long ago, only waiting for the sieve.” 

Two questions, and a single short answer which reveals the nature of enlightenment—both sudden and gradual. Sudden, since awakening happened quickly, but fullness required the sifting of life’s sieve—The rice was ready, but the lingering, residual chaff had to be blown away by the winds of life.

The insight flowing from this conversation is enhanced through the lens of an ancient Greek word for perfection. The word is “Teleios,” which means having reached the finale—the logical culmination of maturation. Like birth, first, we come into this world, and then it takes many years of living to reach maturation.

More than forty years ago, I came to a realization of my true nature, but I also needed further shifting to fully grasp the magnitude of what had occurred. It is one thing to experience profound transformation, and it is another to allow it to flower and revolutionize your life. Besides, the initial experience was so contrary to the ordinary, that when it happens, I barely know which end was up. It took time to absorb the experience, allow it to infuse me, and to settle in.

One of the critical ingredients for me of this settling in concerned the Japanese words “mu” and “shin.” Mu is, of course, the Japanese word for “no,” and you find Mu in the koan about Jōshū’s dog: “A monk asked, ‘Does a dog have a Buddha-nature or not?’ The master said, ‘Mu (No)!’”

When I lived in a Zen monastery, this was my koan and for a long time it made no sense. In Zen, you are taught that Buddha-nature inhabits all sentient beings, one of which is a dog. So how could it be that Buddha-nature infuses everything but not a dog? But as life sifted me, it began to become a part of who I was, and ever so slowly, I understood. 

What I came to understand concerned variations on Mu. One of these is the obvious negation no. An alternative is nothing meaning the absence of something. And another is no-thing, (which is similar to nothing but more precise, meaning not a thing). These latter two can be combined, which rounds out the correct Buddhist understand of emptiness, which the Buddha said is form. Seen in this combined manner, emptiness becomes more than just the absence of form. It then becomes the wellspring of form (and everything else). Mu is not a phenomenal thing. Instead, it is the soil out of whch grows all things. If it was a thing, then it could not be all things.

The Heart Sutra says form is emptiness. That is a profound equation, but it rattles your brain. In a way this is the premier koan. We all think we know what form is. It’s the measurable stuff that surrounds us. We can sense it in every way. But emptiness is an entirely different kettle of fish. How can you perceive that? The truth is you can’t perceive emptiness. You can only experience it, and the reason is actually quite simple (but only when you understand—before that, it makes no sense). 

Emptiness is who we truly are. It has no discernible properties, but all form emanates from there and all form is infused with the indelible dimension of the ubiquitous power of creation. If emptiness had detectable properties, it would be limited. Buddha-Nature (your true nature) is not limited. Buddha-Nature is emptiness and it is you.

I was helped to fathom this when I learned a few things about the Chinese and the Japanese language. Every culture sees things differently, and these two languages see life in ways that are radically different from the English perspective. 

From a Western point of view, we have a heart, and we have a mind. We see these as two separate and different matters. Not so with the Chinese and the Japanese. The heart and the mind are one integrated whole, so they call it XIN (Chinese) or SHIN (Japanese), and both of these terms mean heart/mind—the integration of thinking and emotions. That was one piece of the puzzle.

The next piece concerned the seeming dichotomy between illusion and reality, and here again the cultural framing played an essential role. What we ordinarily consider real is what we can perceive, whether internally or externally. We see the objective world of form and the fabrication of thoughts and consider both real. But there is a problem here: Both our thoughts and the outside world of form are constantly changing, and both lure us into identity attachment and thus suffering. 

That part is the illusive dimension of XIN/SHIN, otherwise known as form. But The Buddha had said that form is emptiness, so in essence, he was saying that we could only perceive the manifestations but not the source of mind. In fact, this is what he had said in the Mahāyāna Mahāparinirvāṇa Sūtra:

“Seeing the actions of body and mouth, we say that we see the mind. The mind is not seen, but this is not false. This is seeing by outer signs.” Elsewhere he spoke of finding the fire of mind only by seeing smoke.

When we look for the mind, we find nothing—the mind can’t see itself, and this is where Zen shines because what we aim for in zazen is a cessation of form, long enough to experience the lack. Bodhidharma had said: “That which exists, exists in relationship to that which doesn’t exist.” And Rinzai’s teacher Huang Po, was particularly lucid in his teaching about the relationship between abandoning form and finding yourself. In the Chun Chou Record, he said: 

“To say that the real Dharmakāya of the Buddha resembles the Void is another way of saying that the Dharmakāya is the Void and that the Void is the Dharmakāya ...they are one and the same thing.... When all forms are abandoned, there is the Buddha ... the Void is not really void, but the realm of the real Dharma. This spiritually enlightening nature is without beginning...this great Nirvānic nature is Mind; Mind is the Buddha, and the Buddha is the Dharma.”

One of the fascinating aspects of Zen study is to begin patching together apparently disparate pieces into a seamless tapestry of meaning. When we arrange all of these pieces, a picture emerges centered on this notion of Mu and Shin and what it reveals is this equation: “Mu shin=Shin” where the first part “Mu shin” (the absence of thoughts and emotions) is joined to our true nature (Shin) which is formless/the void/true mind/the Buddha/yourself. 

Formlessness is lacking form. It is emptiness itself: “…the void is not really void, but the realm of the real Dharma. This spiritually enlightening nature is without beginning...this great Nirvānic nature is Mind; Mind is the Buddha, and the Buddha is the Dharma.” 

And that is who we are. Now the curious thing about my own awakening is what was taking place within me while immersing myself in Mu practice. Yes, I had been given the Jōshū’s dog koan, and yes, I was following the prescribed method, but there was a much deeper internal koan occurring that had been haunting me for many, many years, and there didn’t seem to be any way to either get rid of it or make rational sense of it. That koan was the mind-bender: who am I? So while I was immersing myself in dogs, this deeper koan was down there underneath. It didn’t seem to be even slightly related to dogs or Mu but what happened was that the answer to my who am I? question, emerged as the solution to the Mu koan because the answer to one is the answer to the other.

I had been struggling for years, believing all the time that I was a worthless excuse for humanity, and in my moment of awakening, I realized that I was already Teleios (complete). I knew, at the most fundamental level of me, I was perfect, had always been perfect, and would never stop being perfect, and ever so slowly, the winds of life began to blow away the chaff of the terrible part of me.

Mixing it up.

We’re a curious species. Being human puts us at the top of the food chain. It also puts us at the top of other chains, such as the chain of creativity. No other life form (at least none that we know of) can imagine and solve problems as we do. 

Unfortunately, this seems to be a two-edged sword. One way cuts in the way of creation, and the other way cuts in the form of destruction. We are masters of both.

Awhile back, I wrote an article called a “Bird in hand” and spoke about compounds that result from mixing different things together. The point of that article was that once mixed, an entirely new compound results. The separate ingredients can then no longer be detected, but something new has been created.

I’m an old man now and have been kicking around spiritual conclaves for quite some time, and I’ve noticed a meaningful thing about compounds. People show up in a wide variety of such places for various reasons, but the alleged reason is they go there seeking God. After a time, many remain for other reasons, and they forget about why they came in the first place. A rare few figure out an essential truth: God doesn’t live in churches, synagogues, or temples. God lives in people.

Many people pay lip service to what their own scriptures tell them. For example, Christian scripture says that “You are the body of Christ.” If you happen to be a Buddhist you’re taught that everyone contains the enlivening essence of The Buddha. But too few seem able to accept the resulting compound and just go ahead and act like God is absent from the true temple of themselves.

Have you ever wondered what our world would be like if everyone conducted themselves by embracing this fundamental principle? If we really want to make the world a better place, begin to see yourself and others as a compound container of divinity. I am aware that most of us exhibit some less than ideal nastiness, but it’s also mixed together with genuine love and compassion. Adversity seems to bring out the goodness that is always there. And even if you don’t accept the idea that we are the resulting compound mixture of spirit and matter, it never hurts to pretend that we are.

By any other name

By any other name

What if we could find the source of everything, and in the finding, realize that this source is an ever-present reality that is closer than our own breath? And furthermore, discover that this source is indiscriminate and spilling over with compassion and wisdom? Would anyone believe such an outrageous thing? How could that possibly be in light of what we see in our world today where discrimination, anger, and dissensions prevail?

It would take a real leap to put these two visions together, yet the Diamond Sutra says it is so. The lack of awareness would be like a fish swimming in water but not aware of the water, or a bird flying through the air not knowing air. In this sutra, The Buddha reminds us that the teaching contained here does not come from buddhas; rather, buddhas come from this teaching. For this teaching is the diamond body, the Dharmakāya, which buddhas realize and teach to others.

Such a big and strange-sounding word: “Dharmakāya.” What can it mean, this source of buddhas and us? Whatever it might be, so the teaching goes, is ever-present, and never leaves us. Buddhas come from there, and so do we. Fathoming such a thing requires some code-breaking like the Rosetta Stone that allowed the understanding of Egyptian hieroglyphics.

Bodhidharma provides the necessary code. He said, “To say that the real Dharmakāya of the Buddha resembles the Void is another way of saying that the Dharmakāya is the Void and that the Void is the Dharmakāya...they are one and the same thing...When all forms are abandoned, there is the Buddha...the void is not really void, but the realm of the real Dharma. This spiritually enlightening nature is without beginning ...this great Nirvanic nature is Mind; Mind is the Buddha, and the Buddha is the Dharma.”

When all forms are abandoned, there it is—the source of everything, right where it has always been. It has no beginning and no end. It is unborn and never dies. It is the air we breathe and the space of our existence. It is everywhere yet nowhere to be found. Jesus called it the kingdom. The Buddha called it the mind. The name is irrelevant. A rose by any other name smells as sweet.

Ideas vs. Reality

I have a dear friend who considers himself rationally intelligent and, by his own admission, “skeptical.” I’m sure some people hold this combination in high regard, while others don’t. 

Personally, I champion the combination, and so did The Buddha, who advised us not to blindly believe what others say, even those who appear as holy.

If we were discussing the Easter Bunny we would have a great laugh if some argued that there really was such a thing and most people would agree and laugh along with us. But some matters are not so laughable when the ideas we hold keep us from enjoying an incalculable treasure we already possess. It would be like starving people sitting on a vast treasure buried beneath their own house. Our ideas can be either our best friend or our worst enemy.

When most people think of The Buddha, they conjure up a man who lived a long time ago and can’t imagine what relevance that guy has to them. If this idea were an accurate reflection of The Buddha, their skepticism would have merit. Neither an Easter Bunny nor that old man would matter very much. But suppose I told you that you are a Buddha, only you don’t know it. Now that might get your attention but also cause you to begin thinking I’m the Easter Bunny.

Yes a man lived 2,500 years ago and we know that man as Siddhartha, who upon his enlightenment, became Gautama Buddha. But he wasn’t the only Buddha. There have been countless Buddhas beyond Gautama. The term “Buddha” simply means awakened and according to too many Zen masters to count, Buddha is just a name to designate your own mind. Bodhidharma said the Buddha is your mind; there is no other Buddha but your mind, and that understanding equates with what Gautama himself taught.

So if you are a Buddha, then I am too, and so is everyone else. We all possess the same incalculable treasure buried beneath our conscious awareness, and there it lays hidden and of no use. We are all starving and rushing around like hungry lions snapping at each other, trying desperately to obtain what we already possess. That’s a great tragedy: to be wealthy beyond measure, yet starving while we try to find what is ours. What fools we are.

The Science of Everything—Nothing

The famous Heart of Perfect Wisdom Sutra makes an astonishing statement: Form is emptiness. Emptiness is form. To the ordinary way of understanding, the statement makes no sense. From that perspective, a form is a detectable object. We can perceive such forms. 

On the other hand, something that is empty is not detectable, so we say that emptiness is void of perceptible objects. That’s our ordinary way of understanding reality, and we refer to that arrangement as mutual discretion, which Aristotle expressed as the Principle of Non-contradiction. The “PNC” says that two matters that are different can’t be in the same place simultaneously, so when we consider the form is emptiness arrangement, we immediately reject the statement. Why? Simple: One is detectable, and the other is not—different, so not the same. Yet there is that perplexing statement, which is supposed to be the height of wisdom. In fact, the sutra says this is the highest wisdom:(perfect wisdom). So what’s so wise about such a curious statement?

If the statement were true, we would be forced to come to terms with how both Aristotle’s and the Buddha’s statements could be the same, even though they appear as polar opposites. Perhaps this emptiness is not really the sort of emptiness we imagine. Probably this nothing is really everything in disguise. How we express thoughts is dependent upon language. Words have a particular meaning. Words are conceptual, but there are no words or concepts to adequately express Śūnyatā (emptiness) because it is beyond words. Words change from one language to another, but the wellspring of all language forms is the human mind, and the mind is not only the source but also the form. 

In one sense, the mind is truly empty, and in another sense, it is everything. For 2,500 years, Buddhists have accepted this puzzling wisdom. They have used it to achieve an enlightened understanding of our world, even while the rest of humanity proceeded down the path of mutual discretion.

Bodhidharma said that the void (emptiness) is the true Buddha, and the Buddha is our primordial mind; that there is no Buddha beyond the mind; no mind that is not a Buddha. Looked at in this way, we can begin to fathom the wisdom. The true Buddha has no defining characteristics, nor does our mind. A mind with defining attributes is not our true mind, and a Buddha with defining attributes is not the true Buddha. Such a mind and such a Buddha would be fake—surrogates for the real thing.

Until very recently, this entire matter stayed as an esoteric spiritual truth. That is no longer the case. What Buddhism has been claiming is now being established by cutting edge theoretical physics. World-renowned physicist Lawrence M. Krauss has now captivated the scientific world with his revolutionary thoughts that confirm what the Buddha said 2,500 years ago: Everything is Nothing. These two paths—The path of the spirit and the path of physics have now converged. Where this leads from a scientific perspective has yet to be determined. But where it leads from a spiritual perspective is realizing that everything is united in emptiness, which is an everything/nothing. We are all one with everything. Watch the video.

Self Esteem

Unfortunately, Zen practice can take on an esoteric quality with practical manifestations remaining unseen and not useful. 

Fathoming essential Buddhist truths can be abstruse, and incorporating these truths into everyday life is even more challenging. Our task is not to meditate endlessly toward no end. Meditation is intended to reveal our internal body of truth/bodhi (e.g., awakening). If it doesn’t accomplish that end, it falls short. 

Today I want to make an attempt to bridge this divide and underscore both a pressing current need and Zen’s answer, and my analogical tool for this attempt will be a tree:

A tree is an amazing plant. It grows from a tiny seed into a giant above-ground structure we can perceive. The “lifeblood” of a tree is the sap, which moves throughout the trunk and limbs, delivering essential nutrients from the soil. If any part were missing—roots, trunk, sap, or ground—the tree would not be a tree. All four parts are needed. From the outside, the roots are neither seen nor the sap; neither is the pathway through which pass the nutrients flow. Another vitally important, unseen-beneath-the surface phenomenon is how each separate tree is joined (through its roots) with other trees forming a symbiotic unity.  All we see is just the outward form—what is expressed.

In a sense, we are like a tree. We, too, have discernible attributes. Our outward form is clearly seen, and we have an inner world with psychic and spiritual attributes. And exactly like a tree, we have a ground (from where the nutrients arise) with undetectable attributes. The analogy works as far as it goes, but what is the application to everyday life?

In our contemporary world, there is an extraordinary attempt to fashion dust into permanence. Core beliefs are often equated with the identity of those who share such beliefs. And to present a perspective that challenges these beliefs is to challenge their sense of identity. When a person is firmly rooted in a tightly-held idea of who they are (good, bad, or unestablished), the psychological response will most likely be to hold tight to preconceived beliefs regardless of spiritual evidence. In such a case, cognitive dissonance and confirmation bias are at work. The result is reification (psychologically converting their imperceptible subjective being into a perceptible object and believing they are merely a bag of flesh and bones). Reification is often considered a sign that someone is thinking illogically, but irrationality is likewise understood as rational.

Specifically, this complex thrust reinforces and transforms something, which has no substance into something, which does. I’m referring to self-esteem. In so doing, we are functioning like a tree, which grows detached from the ground, suspended in thin air, but with perceptible attributes. This thrust is doomed to failure, but rather than allowing it to die a natural death, we attempt to shore it up with devastating results and consequences. We are rooted in turf, but our ground is spiritual rather than earth, yet this turf is unseen and to deny this link creates genuine problems. How so?

There are two primary sutras, which define Mahayana Buddhism and, therefore, Zen. They are the Heart Sutra and the Diamond Sutra. The fundamental message of both sutras addresses the true nature of the Buddha, and us, as both form (with definable attributes) and emptiness (without definable attributes), which sadly is a broadly misunderstood proposition. 

The common-coin understanding of emptiness is vacuity, which is not what emptiness means from a Buddhist perspective. What emptiness does mean is a lack of intrinsic, independent substance. In other words, things arise dependent upon time, conditions, and other things. This definition’s most basic expression is “form is emptiness”—every form; however, they may be defined. That notion is called dependent origination.

The majesty and ultimate power of this arrangement distinguished Mahayana Buddhism from all other spiritual/emotional forms and were the centerpiece of Nagarjuna’s ministry. He reasoned that if the dependent origination proposition had any validity, emptiness must itself be empty: Empty emptiness. This idea takes some digestion before it hits home.

The undeniable conclusion of dependent origination is that everything is relative. To relate to things that are empty of substance (such as a self), as if it had substance, is a doomed proposition. Everything at the conditioned level is subject to this conclusion.

Likewise, the conditional’s opposite is unconditional, not subject to relativity, defining attributes, or impermanence. But doesn’t this arrangement defy dependent origination? Indeed it does (almost), and here is where Nagarjuna shines. 

Empty emptiness means that dependent origination itself is empty (of independent, intrinsic substance), and the opposite which arises with dependent origination, is independent origination: The realm of the true Buddha otherwise know as the Dharmakaya (from the Sanskrit “Dharma” meaning truth and “kaya” meaning body=Body of Truth). 

Such Sanskrit principle seems to have little practical value to 21st Century people, but there is a realm with value, which is timeless and transcends all language. This is the realm of our own mind, which is not subject to artificial reinforcement and is readily accessible to everyone. Everybody has a mind (even though nobody can find it). We get hung up by names and thus lose the significance of the message. Zen Master Huang Po gave us a helping hand in unraveling the language. He said the Dharmakaya is the void, and the void is our mind; not what we ordinarily think of as mind manifestations, but rather the indefinable source (e.g., it is transcendent and thus beyond rational understanding).

What this means has vast implications for practical reality and self-esteem. The nature of a Buddha (Buddha-Nature) has three parts, two of which have definable attributes and are subject to conditions. The conditioned parts are the Nirmanakaya (physical body) and the Sambhogakaya (reward or spiritual body). These parts are born and pass away, and it is at this level where we experience everything—sadness, joy, and everything else; this is the tangible, physical form where transcendent wisdom is expressed. Within the conditioned realm, karma rules, and if that is the whole story, we are without hope because the conditional realm is governed by discrimination—forced to choose between one thing vs. another. 

Fortunately, this is not the whole story. The third part—the Body of truth—is the unconditional source and beyond karma (e.g., cause and effect). This is the true never-born, never-die realm of the Buddha (and us)—the basis of all life.

So if the “self” of the conditioned realm is vulnerable and insubstantial (without hope), what does that suggest regarding self-esteem? It simply means that a tree (and us) rests upon the ground, where unseen spiritual/emotional stability arises, and true life with genuine identity is found. To try to shore up the “dust” of an insubstantial self and convert it into a substantial self is an impossibility! But there is no real division between these two realms. There is only one realm with both discernible attributes and non-attribute attributes. We are one whole thing, not two, just as a tree is only one whole tree with both seen and unseen attributes. Our mind is not divided.

The result of this artificial shoring-up is much like trying to counter disease by destroying the immune system. An artificial self is a foreign body, every bit as toxic as a virus, and our immune systems are designed to rid us of these foreigners. This is a natural process that allows life to continue and flourish. A virus is very, very small, and can’t be seen without the use of a powerful microscope. 

On the other hand, an artificial self is quite discernible, albeit in a delusional way. It is so prominent that it over-rides and masks our true (unseen) nature, leaving us with a firm belief that we perceive ourselves as our true nature. The death process at the conditional level is painful. Since we don’t like pain, we resist or hold on for “dear life,” not realizing that this conditional death is critical to realizing our true, unconditional life. 

What most of us fail to see is that suffering plays a vital role in our own awakening. Bodhidharma told us, “Suffering is the seed, wisdom the sprout, and Buddhahood the grain.” We all hate to suffer, so we resist the lesson. This speaking manner sounds strange and esoteric, but regardless, it is a practical reality with vast implications. We fail to notice that our suffering occurs because we refuse to let die what must die and that emancipation can only occur through this death (of what is unreal, yet seen).

The bottom line for self-esteem is to allow nature to progress and let the artificial self die so that we can access our own body of truth—our primordial mind. It is like a snake that sheds its skin as it grows larger. When this “awakening” occurs, we realize that our power for transformation depends on what is our unconditional being/self. This true-body (without definable attributes) fuels and enlightens our conditions and guides our way through to wisdom/prajna. We are thus both conditional and unconditional—neither insubstantial nor substantial, but both. This is the Middle Way of the Mahayana—between linked together psychic substrate of both form and emptiness.