In the Diamond Sutra, the Buddha said his Dharma is no Dharma thus it is called the Dharma. The first time I read this Sutra I thought there must be a textual error. If there ever seemed to be a twisted piece of logic this appeared as the prime example. But as I matured I have continued to read this Sutra, which The Buddha called the Perfection of Wisdom. I reasoned if The Buddha called it that, he probably had good reason. And every time I read it the wisdom began to seep into my conscious awareness. The Sutra is one of the most brilliant strokes of insight ever conceived. It shines like a Diamond.
Then one day it all became clear. First let’s understand a few important details. For example the word “Dharma.” That word has a variety of meanings. It can mean truth as in the case of Dharmakaya—truth body. It can mean teaching beyond time/space (e.g., transcendent). In this case a teaching beyond words. Dharma can also mean to grasp or understand something which is eternal, in other words to understand something not conditional or dependent upon anything. And these concepts are related. If something is genuinely true then it isn’t going to flip about from moment to moment, or change from culture to culture but instead will remain the same today, yesterday and tomorrow, wherever it appears. And the condition that makes it a real teaching is that it must be wordless; beyond bias.
This understanding is important in grasping the message of the Perfection of Wisdom. What all of us desire is being able to count on some stability and not be subject to continual chaos. But this desire seems to be at odds with the Three Dharma seals: impermanence, no-self and suffering. So what gives? There are two parts to the Dharma (or so it seems). On the one side is this matter of constant change. And a substantial number of Buddhists have a practice based on letting go; releasing themselves from this ever-eroding flux. And that practice works, to an extent. That’s the mechanical side, the side that is graspable because it is reasonable.
But there is another side that The Buddha addresses in this Diamond Sutra. The conversation, which ensues, is between Subhūti and Gautama. Subhūti asks a question and Gautama answers. Apparently Subhūti was an advanced arhat and was well versed in understanding the principle of emptiness with all of its implications. Subhūti understood that nothing existed as an independent matter and he was schooled in the Three Dharma seals. But Gautama knew that Subhūti needed a final push for him to become enlightened. What was the final frontier?
What Subhūti needed to understand was that emptiness is not emptiness, thus it is called emptiness. Emptiness, along with everything else is empty. It is therefore both real and not real at the same time. It too is dependent but what it is dependent upon is unconditionality. This means that there is a dimension of life that is constantly moving and a dimension that is not and these two aspects are really only one single thing, non-thing. In truth (which is not truth, but called truth) duality is an illusion that only exists conceptually.
In our minds we see objective configurations, which we call thoughts. These thoughts are illusive in nature. But our real mind does not move. It is silent and unseen. The same is true of our perceptible world: it moves. Things are different and not different, at the same time, thus the illusion of difference and the substance of non-difference.
But the ultimate question must be, Why does this matter? The answer is that duality is, and has always been, the driving force that leads to inevitable conflict and suffering. The illusion of difference is what causes suffering in the first place. And it doesn’t matter whether this illusion is internal (our thoughts) or external (our perceptible world). If any of it is perceptible, it is not real, in spite of the fact that illusions appear to be real. Only our silent, unconditional, unseen mind, (that never changes) is substantial and real. And this mind is our universal connection with all life. In truth all people are united in this mind where discrimination doesn’t exist.
When we approach life from an either/or perspective it seems like the two are separate and irreconcilable. Wrong is wrong, and right is right. But this is not any more true than imagining that we can separate up from down. Right and wrong are glued together as a single indivisible package just as up and down are. It is impossible to divide these two sides since they are not actually two. It is like two sides of a roof on a house. We can see the outside but not the underneath side, or the reverse, but never is it possible to keep them as separate and divided entities. It matters because it shows us all that living with the illusion of separateness and independence creates unending strife. And who needs that, particularly today?
The teaching of the Buddha, contained in this Diamond Sutra, is exceedingly deep and profound yet it is the secret to harmonious living. Here Gautama is teaching us, beyond time, space, and culture, that all of life is united and emanates from our mind, which by the way is The Buddha but not The Buddha thus we call it The Buddha!
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| The fusion of two worlds |
Sixteenth-century Spanish
mystic Saint John of the Cross wrote a poem that narrates the journey of the
soul from it’s bodily home to its union with God.
He called the journey “The
Dark Night of the Soul,” because darkness represents the hardships and
difficulties the soul meets in detachment from the world and reaching the light
of union with God. The main idea of the poem can be seen as the painful
experience that people endure as they seek to grow in spiritual maturity and
fusion with God. The Christian experience assumes a soul separated
from God that seeks reunion whereas the Buddhist perspective recognizes no
separation. Instead, unification takes place when the conceptual image of a
false self is replaced by the actual experience of selfhood.
However, it must be said,
that the key Christian scriptural passage that speaks to this matter comes from
the 12th chapter in the Book of John verses 24-25 which says, “Very
truly I tell you unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it
remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds. Anyone who
loves their life will lose it, while anyone who hates their life
in this world will keep it for eternal life.”
This is the English
translation of the Greek, which camouflages the actual meaning of true human life
due to translation limitations, and this inaccuracy has lead to widespread misunderstandings. In the Greek, the first two uses of the word life meant soul—a conceptual equivalent
of the self, and the latter meant the real self. The Greek word for soul/life
was ψυχή better known as psyche, one of two manifestations of the source of life ζωή/zōē,
the last Greek term used in this scripture.
How to understand this?
When the soul dies the presence of God shines forth. Another word for soul is ego, thus death of the ego unveils the
source, which is eternal (no birth/no death and unconditional). That being the
case, ζωή is ever-present but something without conditions: thus unseen. ζωή can never be perceived, only experienced. On the other hand, the ego is an unreal image—an illusion of the self, which is clearly evident. Nevertheless illusions have a hard way of immediately subsiding; the memory
passes slowly at the same time that the light begins to dawn. The seed grows
slowly and remains separate as an idea but when it dies, unity with all things emerges.
Roughly a century following the death of The Buddha, his teachings had moved out of India, along the Silk Road and into the Middle East, arriving during the era of the Greek philosophers. Evidence of his understanding, regarding illusion, can be found in the writings of Plato in an allegory called Plato’s Cave. In this allegory Plato describes a tenable argument involving this fundamental illusion and the resulting consequences on those so deluded. He also addresses the duty and price to be paid by philosophers who attempt to shine the light on truth. In essence, Plato says that coming out of darkness and into the light involves both courage and pain.
Eckhart Tolle speaks to
this process as follows: “It (dark night of the soul) is a term used to
describe what one could call a collapse of a perceived meaning in life…an
eruption into your life of a deep sense of meaninglessness. The inner state in some cases is very
close to what is conventionally called depression. Nothing makes sense anymore, there’s no purpose to
anything.”
Before, normal was egocentric and afterwards the center, begins to
fade into a depressive, immature darkness. This is a stage of jeopardy and
disorientation when we yearn for retention of our awakening yet can’t seem to
grasp and hold onto what is our hearts desire.
The Buddha properly
pointed out that to desire anything, even a lusting for enlightenment, is a
sure prescription for suffering, and when we think about it, this makes immanent
sense. Once true love is awakened, then only do we know for sure what it is. Up to that point, true love remains a product of our imagination; a wishful
fantasy. But once we know, then we have a dilemma: what was previously a less
than satisfying but acceptable idea, by comparison, now becomes a colorless and
shallow experience that lives on as a not yet forgotten memory.
There’s 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 recited, 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, a single short answer which reveals the nature
of enlightenment—both sudden and gradual. Sudden since the awakening happened
quickly but fullness required the sifting of life’s sieve. The rice was ready
but the lingering, residual chaff must be blown away by the winds of life.
In the words of the famous
psychiatrist Carl Jung, “There is no coming to consciousness without pain.’
Sometimes when we awaken, we realize that how we have lived and behaved has
simply been out of line and nonproductive. It is a painful experience to
observe ourselves from a space of neutral honesty and watch as we often go out
of integrity to appeal to mental images we have created, and hurt people we
love in the process. This observation of the false ‘self’ we have created in
our minds is one of the first steps of becoming ‘enlightened’ if you will, and
in this observation there is no gaining taking place. There is only the
crumbling away of what you are not.’”
It takes many years of
continuing adversity before our dawning matures. Once the seed of awakening is
planted, the world changes forever, there is no turning back to old ways, yet
maturity takes a long time. But, like Huineng, chaff of the old familiar way remains. It is natural once we
awaken into the dawn of truth to retain the whisper of what is now dead yet
lingers on in memory. And during this time we are in jeopardy, trapped between
two worlds: one dead and gone, the other fresh and naïve, like an infant not yet
able to stand alone with the indwelling spirit of eternity beating in our
heart.
What traps us? The Buddha taught us that we trap ourselves because of deluded thinking. We misunderstand our true nature and thus imagine that we’re fundamentally broken. And in this cloud of ignorance, we experience frustration, anxiety and remain firmly persuaded that we’re flat tires and desire a new one.
On the one hand, we are corrupted and do need a new one. Evidence of such corruption surrounds us. But when seen from a fundamental level there is nothing to save. This sounds like double-talk but only because we don’t understand our true nature. If we did there would be no confusion.
In the commentary on the Diamond Sutra, Huang-Po said, “Buddhas and beings share the same identical mind. It’s like space: it doesn’t contain anything and isn’t affected by anything. When the great wheel of the sun rises, and light fills the whole world, space doesn’t become brighter. When the sun sets, and darkness fills the whole world, space doesn’t become darker. The states of light and darkness alternate and succeed one another, while the nature of space is vast and changeless. The mind of buddhas and beings is like this. Here, The Buddha says to save all beings in order to get rid of the delusion of liberation so that we can see our true nature.”
Because we rely solely on bodily manifestations, a conclusion of corruption is inescapable and from that common logical premise, desire arises. From that perspective this is correct. But we are not fundamentally a body. As Huang-Po points out, fundamentally we share the same mind space as a Buddha. The mind is the production factory and our body is what’s produced. This is an important distinction. To not recognize this error is like imagining that our car manufactured itself and just suddenly appeared in our garage one day. Obviously, our car was produced somewhere and just as obviously so was our body. But then some will say, “This is nonsense. Our body was produced through the biological union between our father and mother.” Okay, so where did their bodies come from? This sequence must go all the way back to the beginninglessness of time, and we’re still left with the same dilemma.
On the other hand, consider the possibility that there is a difference between an objective body and an ineffable spirit that inhabits and is integrated with the body. An object is inanimate and has no consciousness or power to do anything, much less produce itself. Ah but a spiritual mind is an entirely different matter. Our spiritual mind produces everything, either for the good or for the worse depending on what we think. So long as we dwell only on bodily manifestations of pain and suffering without understanding the source, our mind will convert what is unreal into something that seems real, in a fashion similar to being in a dream without being aware that our dream is just an illusion. Our spirit is the engine. Our body is the vehicle of motion and unless we see this distinction we’re left with the swing between the rising sun of goodness and the darkness of despair, plus the conclusion of being a flat tire.
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| The realm of reality. |
Many, if not most, of the problems we encounter as humans are due to what we either don’t know or refuse to know. Such a lack has a way of catching us off guard at the worst possible moments, usually late in the game when there is little we can do to stop, or at least slow the progression toward disaster.
The coronavirus pandemic is a case in point. So long as we can be aware of the sign-posts, we can prepare for the worst while hoping for the best. Hope, however, must be realistic and in line with those sign-posts, or it remains pie in the sky. What we don’t know can, and many times does, hurt us.
Without knowing, we live in two realms at once: The realm of rational conditions (the mortal one) and a realm beyond conditions, where immortality lives. Think of the realm of immortality as the ground from which our mortal lives grow. It is very much like growing a garden. If the immortal soil is full of nutrients, then the odds are better, the mortal produce will be nutritious.
The realm of mortal conditions is our ordinary realm, where one thing stands in opposition to another. Mortally, we have a beginning and an ending. In this realm, differentiation is the criteria and is based on the senses that tell us how we are all different. Our sense of sight says to us, light is different from darkness. Our auditory sense tells us that sound is different from silence, and so on—each of our senses discriminates one thing from another different sensory thing.
The immortal realm is the realm of unity, where everything is the same. And unlike what grows, the immortal ground has no beginning nor end. That’s the good soil and is the unconditional realm of the spirit: The ground of all being—the well-spring of all. And these two realms are irrevocably joined together in perfect harmony. Should one realm disappear, the other would disappear. When one appears, the other appears. They define one another, and without an opposite, neither can be understood, just as without light, darkness would have no meaning. One is an abstraction—an illusion that appears to our senses as real, whereas the other, while invisible to the senses, is reality itself.
To our collective misfortune, the ordinary realm (e.g., the conditional) is what governs our world and is the root of all woe. It is because we imagine our life will end that we fear death, never realizing that genuine life never ends. Mortality segues into immortality, and life goes on. However, when we think we get only one shot, we see ourselves as distinct, separate, and different only. Then the mortal realm becomes a place where tribal wars of opposition rule the day, where nobody genuinely “reaches across the aisle,” and compromise becomes impossible, except as disingenuous lip-service.
It is within the silence of the mind where we discover our true, immortal worth. When all thinking ceases, it is there we find our true nature. Yet, as The Buddha taught, in emptiness, there is no mind and no self, so we call them both by abstract names to become aware. Without abstraction, only silence prevails, but it is within silence where we become enlightened to that which is the source of all awareness.
To most of the western world, Zen is a strange and confusing matter, most often utterly misunderstood. The founder of Zen (Bodhidharma) defined Zen as “not thinking.” And the great master Huang Po taught: “Whatever the senses apprehend resembles an illusion, including everything ranging from mental concepts to living beings. Our Founder—The Buddha, preached to his disciple's naught (e.g., nothing) but total abstraction leading to the elimination of sense-perception. In this total abstraction does the Way of the Buddhas flourish; while from discrimination between this and that a host of demons blazes forth!” — The Zen Teachings of Huang Po, (The teacher of Zen Master Rinzai).
If westerners had lived in the eastern world, Zen would not seem strange. Instead, the odds are favorable that Zen would be understood as the means The Buddha employed to experience enlightenment. Many in the western world have become aware of the practice of mindfulness meditation in helping to quiet the mind, leading to less stress and improved health. However, what has not yet become well established is the next stage beyond mindfulness.
Quieting the mortal mind is a sign-post on the way to what follows. First, the chatter must be regulated and brought under control. Then, and only then, is it possible to move on to the deeper stage of Samādhi attained by the practice of dhyāna (e.g., the ancient name given to the practice of Zen—the last step in the Eight Fold Path, otherwise known as Right Concentration). The preceding step (the seventh) was known as Right mindfulness, the level that is now so popular. There is nothing wrong with mindfulness. But there is more beyond that sign-post on the way, but following that, the going gets tougher.
The great Buddhist meditation master Chögyam Trungpa said, “My advice to you is not to undertake the spiritual path. It is too difficult, too long, and is too demanding. I suggest you ask for your money back and go home. This is not a picnic. It is really going to ask everything of you. So, it is best not to begin. However, if you do begin, it is best to finish.” The beginning would be more aligned with Right mindfulness, whereas Right Concentration is more aligned with finishing up the journey.
In the commentary on The Diamond Sutra, Huineng said, “A bodhisattva doesn’t practice charity for his own happiness but to break through miserliness within and to benefit other beings without. But the Tathagata says that the perceptions of self and other are ultimately subject to destruction and not truly real. Hence, all beings are fictions. If one can get free of the deluded mind, there are no beings to save.”
I’ve read and puzzled over that statement for a long time, and then I decided to just pay attention to that last part, “If one can get free of the deluded mind, there are no beings to save.” The question is, what’s the difference between a mind that is deluded and one that isn’t? Apparently, a deluded mind imagines something that doesn’t exist, like seeing heat waves on the highway and concluding rippling water. In this case, Huineng says that we likewise believe entities called self and others, which we mistake as being real. In other words, what we take to be real is actually fictitious.
The teaching of “no-self” is deeply embedded in Buddhism. It’s a fundamental tenet. In our deluded state of mind, we imagine a separate and independent being that is the same thing as a body. It looks real, and it seems separate from every other body. How can it not be real and mutually discrete? Yet Huineng says this perception is not real. It only seems that way, and this conclusion is apparently emanating from a deluded mind.
How can this be understood? To answer that puzzler, we have to take a step backward and consider how Huineng and The Buddha understood the difference between what’s real and what isn’t. The what isn’t part is that things exist independently. Instead, everything is arising dependently, based on something else. The extended thought is that everything is thus empty, meaning that a self is not an isolated matter. By itself, it is empty (non-existent). Only when joined with something else does it exist.
It is somewhat easier to grasp this distinction with a simple example. Up and down are obviously discriminately different, yet the two dimensions don’t exist independently. These two define each other. Neither up nor down could exist independently, yet both exist in relationship to each other. That is essentially the Middle Way: Not up. Not down. Neither not, not up. Neither not, not down. Both are true together. Neither are true apart. That relationship is known as dependent origination, and the implications of that principle are far-reaching. Of course, we embrace independence (which is foundational to our nation) and fail to see the connection.
How then does this understanding inform this matter of self and other? If we apply this criterion to a person, the question is, what is the connective tissue? If I’m not independent, what is the other side of me? Or of you? Obviously, we have a bodily form, which we are looking at, and that part certainly looks real and independent. Yet the Huineng said no. It is neither real nor independent. By itself, a body is no more real than up apart from down.
To answer this question, we need to switch over to another Sutra—The Heart of Perfect Wisdom Sutra, which says form=emptiness. We know what our own form is. It’s our body. But this sutra says that this bodily form is empty (e.g., not real; not independent); instead, it is mutually dependent on this thing called emptiness. Neither of these is real by itself, and both are real together. So how can we define and understand the empty part? The truth is you can’t identify or conceptually understand emptiness. It can only be experienced because emptiness is your primordial mind, which can’t define itself.
The father of Zen (Bodhidharma) said this, “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.”
The other side of us all is this spiritually enlightened mind. It can’t be seen or understood by our thinking mind, but without that, we (the bodily part of us) couldn’t exist. Without that part, we would be nothing more than fiction. This mind is what produces, not only our bodies but everything else. This mind is spiritually integrated with everything.
According to Ben Franklin, nothing is more certain than death and taxes. I would add to that list one more: Life. And while it may seem that life and death are not directly related, hopefully, by the time you finish reading this post, that opinion will fall flat.
Have you ever considered what would occur if we didn’t pass from mortality into immortality? All mortal things are conditional. As such they are born, grow, eventually die, and are conditioned by the very nature of being objective entities, whether humans, any sentient being or for that matter; anything (e,g., plants, insects, other animals, etc.) In psychological terms, two factors determine how a human life turns out: Nature (what everyone is born with) and nurture (e.g., circumstances or conditions to which we are all exposed).
All mortal things go through the same process of birth, growth, and death. If this were not so (e.g., never die, mortally), not only would we humans be standing on each other’s head, with the ancient on the bottom and the babies on top, but there would be no regeneration of anything.
Mortality is fleeting, and by design is conditional. In The Diamond Sutra, The Buddha taught: “All conditioned dharmas (e.g., phenomena) are like dreams, illusions, bubbles, or shadows; Like drops of dew, or flashes of lightning; Thusly should they be contemplated.” Likewise, Bodhidharma (the father of Zen) taught: “As mortals, we’re ruled by conditions, not by ourselves.”
Mortal death is essential to continuing immortal life. Yet it is among the last things we want to talk about. Consequently, when the unavoidable inevitability occurs, the living are left with a mess to sort out. That’s the nature of mortality—in the end, a conditional mess (and often before the end).
That part is beyond dispute. It is easy to understand and doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with spirituality because mortality is something tangibly perceptible, and we are all mortals. But some question anything imperceptible; that can’t be measured because they regard themselves as logical and scientific.
The nature of immortality is another matter. It isn’t born, it never grows and never dies. Immortality is not perceptible, it isn’t measurable, is eternal and is the unconditional, authentic nature of you and me. This delineation between what passes away and what doesn’t is not limited to Buddhism. It is a spiritual principle in Christianity as well. Several passages in the Bible address this. But here is just one:
“Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly, we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.”—2 Corinthians 4:16
But there is a difference. A fundamental teaching of Buddhism (that doesn’t appear in Christianity) is dependent origination, and this principle is likewise easy to grasp. It, too, is beyond dispute. Consider an easy example: “up” and “down.” These are two ends of the same stick. They come into existence as opposite pairs, and they disappear together. Neither can exist separate and apart from the other. And this fundamental is true of all things. Everything has an opposite that enables existence and defines another thing. That’s an easy matter to understand.
What seems hard to understand is the extension of the same principle, such as conditional/unconditional or mortal life/immortal life. These also enable mortal existence and mortal non-existence (otherwise known as immortality). So if this is so, (and it is), why do we concern ourselves with just the tangible/conditional (which we know passes away) but pay little attention, if any attention, to what does not pass away? It’s a logical contradiction, but one most people live with, along with taxes.
Some time ago, I wrote a post titled The destination. Far away?. And considered the thought that the ultimate place of peace may be far beyond where we presently stand. For sure, it appears that way. All we have to do is look around to see a growing wasteland of moral degeneration and hostile, polarized alienation.
The Dalai Lama wrote recently, “The paradox of our age is we have bigger houses and smaller families; more conveniences but less time; more degrees but less sense; more knowledge but less judgment; more experts but more problems; more medicines but less healthfulness; we’ve been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble walking across the street to meet new neighbors; we’ve built more computers to hold more information to produce more copies, but communicate less; we have become long on quantity and short of quality. These are times of fast food but slow digestion; tall men but short character; steep profits but shallow relationships. It’s a time with much in the window but nothing in the room.”
Step by step, we seem to be drifting further apart and losing our way. We live in a magnificent world with great abundance yet remain insatiable, with perpetual violence. The question is, why? Perhaps the answer is that we lust for a faraway Heaven or fear a Hell too close for comfort. It has been said that religion is for those who fear going to Hell, but spirituality is for those who have already been there.
For most of human history, people of the Western world have understood our ultimate destination as either a Heaven in the sky or a Hell in the bowels at the pit of the earth. Nobody in that long history has ever gone and returned with any convincing evidence to either, so the matter remains a concern of religious belief. However, at least two of the greatest and wisest men to ever exist—Jesus and The Buddha, maintained that Heaven and Hell were the eternal room within which we continuously exist. All of the necessary ingredients for making one or the other are forever in our midst. If this unorthodox yet profound, view is accurate, then it is beyond dispute that our greatest challenge is to make our collective lives into one or the other by what we think and do.
Just for the sake of consideration, imagine that Heaven or Hell is the result of what we think and do, and both are what we create within the eternal presence of our Mind. The Sūraṅgama Sūtra is a fantastic portrait of the already present, omnipresent Mind. And here is what the Buddha wrote about the conundrum of an imagination gone wrong: “...All things in all worlds are the wondrous, fundamental, enlightened, luminous mind that understands, and that this mind, pure, all-pervading, and perfect, contains the entire universe...it is everlasting and does not perish.”
In the commentary on the Diamond Sūtra, Huang-Po said, “Buddhas and beings share the same identical mind. It’s like space: it doesn’t contain anything and isn’t affected by anything. When the great wheel of the sun rises and light fills the whole world, space doesn’t become brighter. When the sun sets, and darkness fills the whole world, space doesn’t become darker. The states of light and darkness alternate and succeed one another, while the nature of space is vast and changeless. The mind of buddhas and beings is like this. Here, The Buddha says to save all beings in order to get rid of the delusion of liberation so that we can see our true nature.”
If you look at the top of my blog, you’ll read the essence of this thought: Birds and thoughts fly through the sky of mind. When they are gone, we’re left with the sky of wisdom and compassion. The cause of suffering is, quite simply, that we don’t realize that we are already at our destination and will never be anywhere else. We lust for what a never-arriving tomorrow might bring and dwell on a past that lives on only in our imagination. The path forward or backward takes us to exactly where we are, each and every moment. We will never be anywhere else. Everywhere we go, there we are within the universal mind, and it can never be otherwise. The “how-to” answer is not so hard. The hard part is accepting what is and realizing that if we want a Heaven, we need to make one, right where we stand by what we think and do. And the same holds true for Hell.
There are many prescriptions for a methodology of “how-to” (and I could redundantly add my own), but you could follow any and all and still come to the same place. When you awaken, you understand this simple truth: You are already home. All we need to do is open our eyes and accept the greatest gift of all—life, with everything needed to make either Heaven or Hell. If we don’t feel grateful for what we already have, what makes us think we’d be happier with more of the same?
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| Wise as a serpent. |
“Man speaks with forked tongue,” ordinarily means someone is deliberately saying one thing and meaning another. In the longstanding tradition of many Native American tribes, speaking with a forked tongue has meant lying.
This, however, may not have applied in ancient India, where the serpent was often considered one of the wisest animals, being close to the divine. In Sanskrit, Naga meant snake and was perhaps an allusive reference to the entheogenic nature of Nāgārjuna, one of the most revered figures in Zen and other sects of Buddhism. He is widely considered one of the most important Buddhist philosophers after the historical Buddha.
The relevant question in this post is whether or not there is such a thing as Independent Absolute Truth, and perspectives established by Nāgārjuna can help us thoroughly consider this matter. If there is such a thing, then just maybe no human can have access to or speak the absolute truth. Lao Tzu was persuaded that the truth cannot be told (absolute or otherwise).
To start the ball rolling, let’s begin with the notion of the truth of salvation. On the surface, it seems to be true that either we need salvation or we aren’t. A key piece of Christian scripture says yes, we need saving. You find this referenced scripture in Philippians 2:12, and it says, “…continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you to will and to act in order to fulfill his good purpose.”
From the Prajnaparamita Sutra (Diamond Sutra), The Buddha allegedly said, “O Subhuti, no one is to be called a Bodhisattva, for whom there should exist the idea of a being or non-being, the idea of any form of living entity, or the idea of a person, thus there are no sentient beings to be liberated and even no being-ness who attains Anuttara Samyak Sambodhi,”—the latter meaning in Sanskrit: supreme, unexcelled, perfect and equal enlightenment. The unexcelled wisdom which comprehends truth that is attained only by a Buddha.
From an orthodox Christian perspective, we are to believe that we need salvation, and from the Buddhist perspective, there are no beings to be saved (liberated). So what gives? And is there any way to have both of these be true? And here is where Nāgārjuna brings the solution, which, as it turns out, is a matter of relativity and dependent origination. He taught the idea of relativity; in the Ratnāvalī and gives the example that shortness exists only with length. Elsewhere he said,
“That which is the element of light is seen to exist in relation to darkness; that which is the element of good is seen to exist on account of bad; that which is the element of space is seen to exist on account of form.” He was also instrumental in developing the two-truths doctrine, which claims that there are two levels of truth or reality in Buddhist teaching: the ultimate reality (paramārtha Satya) and the conventionally or superficial reality (saṃvṛtisatya).
He said that neither the conventional nor the ultimate could exist alone; both came and went together: they dependently originated with each other. It is quite likely that the Apostle Paul was referring to that part of us that is unreal that must cease to exist for “…it is God who works in you to will and to act in order to fulfill his good purpose.” And of course, the imaginary part of us is that which moves, changes, and is the source of all woe: the idea or image of ourselves (ego). The ego has every right to fear and tremble when facing the truth of our real, unchanging Self. It is also equally likely that The Buddha was speaking from the perspective of unexcelled, perfect, and equal enlightenment. In that realm, there are no beings to save since they are already whole and unified (despite what they may think, albeit imperceptible).
Nāgārjuna would point out that both of these statements are true together. Neither is true independently. Yet only when someone awakens to their own genuine Self-nature does such a one realize that from the ultimate, unconditional perspective, salvation is unnecessary. And from the conventional, conditional perspective, there is a necessity for salvation—the ego must be removed (or integrated) before, or concomitant to, awakening to happen. There is a valid American Indian expression that goes beyond the forked tongue idiom. It is “Before walking in another man’s moccasins, you must take off your own.”
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| 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.
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.
