Morning Stars and Oak Trees

There has probably never been a human who didn’t wonder about their own identity and how they fit into the world. 

This matter is what drove The Buddha to endure an ascetic life nearly to the point of death, only to surrender the quest and then experience his revolutionary enlightenment that has since shown millions the way to freedom. During his life, the Indian culture was deeply divided between those who believed in Brahman as the embodiment of permanence, and those who saw life as transient and thus meaningless. The atman (permanence) issue vs. anatman (impermanence) was central to this conflict, and The Buddha’s awakening.

Upon his enlightenment, he saw the morning star and shouted, “That’s it! That’s it! That’s me! That’s me that’s shining so brilliantly!” From the vast distance of 2,500 years, it seems arcane to consider what exactly he meant. Was he actually saying that he was the morning star?

There is a clue in the Mumonkan to this mystery in case number 37—Chao Chou’s, The Oak Tree in the courtyard. “A monk asked Chao Chou, What is the meaning of Bodhidharma’s coming from the west? Chao Chou said, ‘The oak tree in the courtyard.’” If that is the clue, then it isn’t a clear one, but it is there when we look closely and consider the circumstances which prevailed during Gautama’s time—The Atman/anatman debate, which is still a central issue.

What do we humans see when we open our eyes? We see objects, and we consider them “real.” Just as important is what we don’t see (and sense as “unreal”). Our reasoning is universal and wrong. We assume that what we can perceive is reality, and without realizing it, we take up the atman position—things are permanent. Or we take the opposite point of view by recognizing that all things are transient and thus impermanent (anatman). 

We see reality as an either/or proposition and have the same mindset for ourselves. We perceive ourselves as an objectification: a self-image that we view with our subjective faculty and call that projection “my self” (and assume that we are really the seer/atman). The apparent logic here is duality—object vs. subject; seer vs. seen: One part permanent (the subject which sees and is indefinable, yet real), the other part vaporous (the object which is seen, definable yet unreal). What we don’t do—but The Buddha did put the two pieces together. He saw that what he perceived were not two different dimensions but instead, One dimension comprised of two aspects, which he called The Middle Way.

This is the most challenging matter to comprehend but is vitally important—the coalescence of two aspects into One whole Subject/Object. Think carefully about this matter. So long as we see ourselves as either permanent or impermanent, we are left adrift. If permanent, then we conclude that we must be God, which alone is endless, and we are filled with aspects of denial of the impermanence of life. We pretend Nirvana where none exists. If impermanent, then life is worthless, and we adopt an ego-centric, hedonistic posture, which leads to the three poisons (greed, anger, and delusions—suffering). Neither conclusion works.

When The Buddha said, “That’s it! That’s it! That’s me! That’s me that’s shining so brilliantly!” he was acknowledging the fusion of opposites—The Middle Way. He was not one vs. the other. He was both the seer and seen, just as we all are. We are neither isolated and estranged from life, nor are we the singular force that eternally compels and creates life. We are Nagarjuna’s union of convention and ultimate. We are both the seer or the morning star and the star or an Oak Tree in the Courtyard, or the rising and setting of the sun, or any and every dimension of our individual existence. In that sense, our life is just our life, each moment, and nothing more. It is not the star that arose yesterday nor the Oak Tree of tomorrow. Whatever meets our eye, each changing moment is what we are, and not, and it was this reason that Bodhidharma came to China—To establish this unity. This Middle Way of the Buddha is how we make sense and peace of our identity and our world.

Mind

“He’s lost his mind.” “She changed her mind.” “I can’t make up

my mind.” We use the term “mind” in such an off-handed way that it’s rare to look at the concept closely, but it is impossible to be a serious student of Zen without considering how it is understood. So today I want to devote some attention to a thorough look at the “mind” from a Zen perspective.

We fail to consider that this conclusion results from a collaboration between the object and a process in our brain. In Buddhism, this collaboration has a designation called the Five Skāndhas—“Skāndhas” is a Sanskrit word which means aggregate or heap, and the five are (1) form, (2) sensation, (3) perceptions, (4) mental formations and (5) consciousness. None of these singularly is adequate to produce the conclusion of “rock.” And this is true for all objects, whether internal or external. This collaboration amongst these Skāndhas fabricates the illusion of solidity, and this illusion is the basis of “mind.” Consequently, Buddhism says that forms (objects) are “empty,” meaning that a form has no substantial existence, and if there are no forms to see, then a mind is not produced since “mind” is the result of this collaboration.

Because of the incredible advances made in neurological detection, it is now possible to validate what Buddhism has been saying for centuries. When we examine the brain with today's neurological tools, we can see that this Skāndhas view of fabrication is correct. Given this, it now makes sense that there is no substantial, independent objective anything, including the mental formation of a self (otherwise known as a “self-image”). Since everything is impermanent and in flux, when any one of these Skāndhas changes (which is all of the time), our “mind” reflects these changes. Thus the expressions above: (“He’s lost his mind.” “She changed her mind.” “I can’t make up my mind.” ) take on an entirely different meaning. In fact, the notion of a “mind” sitting between our ears is simply a convenient way of referring to our thoughts, which are in constant motion.

So the next step along this exploration is how this understanding affects the practice of Zen meditation. When we sit, we “see” mental formations and sense feelings wafting across our consciousness. When these formations cease, our mind goes away as well, and this cessation reveals MIND (which has no dimension or distinguishing characteristics)—the ground from which everything arises. 

The capacity of seeing must entail separation and life. An object, such as a mental image, may have separation but not life. Only a subject has life, but it too must have separation for seeing to occur (or hearing, smelling, tasting, touching, and thinking).

If it were possible for one person to completely merge with another person, there would be no sense of self and other—Only unity. At the manifestation level, there is what appears as duality—me vs. other, this vs. that, a thought vs. a thinker, etc. This level of reality (the level of manifestation) is the ordinary level where we notice ourselves versus our world. But this level is only possible if there is a separate level of unity, the ground from which manifestations arise. 

Because we only notice forms/objects, our subjective nature (Buddha-Nature) is never seen, yet this source ground is who we truly are. Through the process of Zen meditation, we couple this understanding together with our practice to experience both the illusions (e.g., images) and the ground from which they arise. This noticing, separated from what is noticed, allows the emergence of our true nature.

Nagarjuna—the founder of the Madhyamaka school of Mahayana Buddhism, referred to these two levels as “two truths” (Partial/conventional truths and sublime truths) and said that we learn about the sublime truths (which set us free) by way of the conventional/partial truths. In other words, we are forced to use the mental formations (which admittedly are empty) produced by the Skāndhas to fathom sublime reality. And until that happens, we are trapped in the illusion that what we experience is the totality of our existence.

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.

Standing on our heads

Duality is a mental divide—the conclusive belief that one thing is separate and different from something else. From within the realm of external “normal life,” it is impossible to deny that things are different and separate; thus, discrimination (and corresponding judgments) has become normal and conflicts inevitable.

Buddhism has long taught a different message—Unity of all things. From the perspective of normal life this seems absurd and impractical. Our eyes alone tell us that such a premise is flawed. But Buddhism asks no one to accept what appears illogical, so where is the missing logic? 

The logic is that “All things are unified”, even the things which are not apparent. What the eye can’t see is still there, regardless of our inability to see them. Our eye sees a very limited range of energy. X-rays are not visible. Infrared is not visible. Ultraviolet is not visible. Would we include these invisible forms of light in “all things”? Likewise we can’t see space but we exist within space every moment of our lives. The list might go on but the point is that we trust our perceptions too much and assume that what we can’t see doesn’t exist.

Nagarjuna helped our understanding of this seeming anomaly by pointing out that we live in two realms at once, and referred to these two realms as The Two Truth Doctrine. The two realms he spoke of are the Conventional and the Sublime. The Conventional realm is of course our normally perceived realm and the Sublime realm is our imperceptible realm. The nature of these two realms is the flip-side of the other and together they make up one indivisible true nature of us all.

The context of the conventional realm is completely illusive and the context of the sublime realm is completely fixed. These different contexts define whatever exists within those contexts. It would be irrational to suggest that something could be fixed if the context is illusive. It would be equally irrational to suggest that something could be illusive if the context is fixed. The nature of the context limits and defines whatever exists in that realm.

Thus what appears normal and concrete within our “normal life” is anything but concrete since the context is illusive. We take it for granted that an ego (a self-image) is concrete. We take it for granted that a mind is concrete, but if we accept the illusive nature of our “normal life,” how is such a thing possible? And to assume that our true nature (discernable only within the sublime realm) doesn’t exist, is likewise impossible since that context is fixed.

Of course there are those who argue that this Buddhist view is wrongheaded—That the context of our normal life is fixed and that there is no such thing as a sublime realm, so how could a non-existent realm have a context? Perhaps we can better understand why our world is so messed up by understanding how wrongheaded this wrongheaded perspective is.

Pluses and Minuses

The notion that anything can exist, separate, and apart from any contextual framework is, of course, absurd. “Up” makes no sense apart from “down;” good and evil define one another. Everything is defined and understood in such a manner, and this is true of Buddhism as well.

There are two truths in Buddhism, just as there are two truths in everything. There is a negative truth and a positive truth. One truth concerns impermanence; the other permanence and neither could exist without the other, just as up couldn’t exist without down. Countless Zen Masters have spoken of these two truths in various ways. Nagarjuna used the terms conventional and ultimate truth. He further said that we will never be free until we know how they differ and experience the ultimate.

Sadly too often, just the negative/impermanence side is emphasized with no mention of the positive side. All phenomenal life is indeed impermanent, and clinging to what constantly changes does produce suffering. Various words and concepts are used to define this problem. Words like attachment or resistance are often employed, but the important point is that we create distress by linking our sense of well-being to a vapor.

While that part is indeed important, it is just the negative truth leaving a vacuum for the positive. Buddhism teaches that there is no substantial “mind” but rather a constellation of interdependent contributing factors. Sensory phenomena, perceptual capacities, mental processing, and consciousness contribute to a solid mind’s illusion. And our sense of self is a function of this illusion, which ultimately drives greed, anger, and ignorance. When we fathom the elusive nature of this constellation, we realize no basis for independent isolation and conflict.

This realization is an important milestone along the way to enlightenment. Before we can become genuinely self-aware, we must relinquish these negative and poisonous illusions. Simultaneous to the realization of who we aren’t is the realization of who we are. The enlightenment experience is affirmed by the esoteric and intuitive teachings intended for Bodhisattvas. The late and great Nyogen Senzaki said this was revealed in Sūtra such as the Mahāyāna Mahāparinirvāṇa that teaches that our true nature is buddha—the universal, never-born One Mind, uniting us with all life. When we can embrace this constant presence, we finally know who we are, gain emancipation, and discover that we are not alone.

Buddhism's Two Realms

As Buddhism becomes known in the West, an unfortunate development has occurred due to our preoccupation with science. Objectivity is the cornerstone of science since it begins and ends with the ability to measure phenomena. Anything beyond that constraint has no scientific validity and is consequently seen of no value. There is much of value about Buddhism from that limited perspective, just as there is much value in the study of anatomy, but neither anatomy nor phenomenal Buddhism has very much to say about the sublime source of both, and neither could exist without it.

Centuries ago, Nagarjuna established his “Two Truth Doctrine.” He stated that we live within two realms—The phenomenal realm of measurable convention and the noumenal realm. And he said that without intuiting the sublime, we remain in bondage. Advance the clock to the current time and what has begun to emerge is an attempt to create a quasi-science based on just the measurable realm, leaving the essential core behind. The result is form with no emptiness, a sort of paint-by-the-numbers Buddhism to be administered by unenlightened therapists schooled and knowledgeable of the conventional realm but completely lacking acknowledge of the sublime side.

There is little argument that rational logic helps construct a vast web of contemporary usefulness, but none of this solves the spirit's crisis so prevalent today. A solution for that will always take us to the sublime. “When knowledge and views are established, knowing is the root of ignorance. When knowledge and views do not exist, seeing itself is nirvana.” (Chan Master Shangfang Yu-an)

Amazing!

To live is to enjoy a truly great mysterious adventure! We have a body that moves, senses the universe, thinks and speculates, imagines realms which can never be touched, and it all happens with no volition, all by itself. The fascination is beyond understanding, yet we take it all for granted without giving it a second thought. What moves? Senses? Thinks? Imagines? And can never be touched? Whatever it is that functions in these ways has no name to ever adequately contain its meaning. IT is transcendent to a description.

Many enlightened beings have pondered this matter and come up short. The founder of Zen—Bodhidharma—saw it this way... “The Buddha is your real body, your original mind. This mind is not outside the material body of four elements. Without this mind, we can’t move. The body (by itself) has no awareness. Like a plant or stone, the body has no nature. So how does it move? It’s the mind that moves.” 

Huineng (sixth patriarch of Zen) saw it the same way with his famous observation about a flag’s movement. One monk argued it was the wind that moved the flag. Another said no, it was the flag alone which moved. Huineng corrected them both and noted that it was neither. It was the mind that moved. Nāgārjuna sliced this matter in a variety of 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?”

The mind moves: That is an amazing observation! And of course, it makes sense even if we don’t give it a second thought. Thinking about it doesn’t alter the function. The mind moves independently of thought, yet thought is absolutely dependent upon the transcendent mind, which can never be found and never described. 

When we enter this world, our mind is with us, stays with us while we are here, and remains when we are gone. My mind is not “mine,” and your mind is not “yours.” The mind is beyond possession. The Buddha said that there is no person—neither you nor me—to possess anything. The person we imagine our self to be is just that: “Imagined.” 

We all fabricate this entity called ego to have a sense of self. We all have the same wish—To know who we are.

After spending 9 years doing zazen facing a blank wall, Bodhidharma met with Emperor Wu and was asked “Who stands before me?” Bodhidharma answered, “I don’t know.” Nine years and he didn’t know. The reason he answered as he did is that who we truly are can’t be known. Our perceptual faculties can’t go to our unconditional nature. What we can perceive is concrete and objective. I can see a rock. I can see my own skin and a picture I fabricate (which goes by the name of “self-image”), but it is not my skin nor the fabricated image, which is me. Who am I? I don’t know. But then I don’t need to. My knowing doesn’t alter my existence at all. Without knowing what, who or how I still move, sense, think, and imagine. And it all happens without my volition.

There are really only two things which must be known:

1. Who I am not—Not an imagined, independent self which exists in isolation without connectivity to life, and

2. That whoever I am, however inadequately defined, is no different from you or The Buddha. We are indiscriminately connected in the vast and boundless realm we call “life.”

Amazing!

Wrapping up the Eight-Fold Path

When we set off on a journey we want to know from where we’re starting, where we are going, and how to get to our destination. This line of inquiry is perfectly natural.

In the Diamond Sutra, Subhūti wanted to know the same thing about traveling the Path of a Bodhisattva. He asked about the nature of sentient beings and how to conduct himself in the mission to liberate them. And right off the bat The Buddha threw out a curveball and thus set the tone for the entire Sutra. In response to Subhūti’s questions, The Buddha said,

“And though I thus liberate countless beings, not a single being is liberated. And why not? Subhūti  a bodhisattva who creates the perception of a being cannot be called a ‘bodhisattva’. And why not? Subhūti  no one can be called a bodhisattva who creates the perception of a self or who creates the perception of a being, life, or a soul.”

This response is repeated numerous times throughout this Perfection of Wisdom Sutra. Understanding this statement is central to properly traveling the Noble Eightfold Path.

As the Sutra unfolds, Subhūti’s depth of understanding advances but never wavers from this initial starting point. The Buddha explains that a self (ego) is an illusion that manifests in an infinite cascade of further illusions, all of which obscure and block enlightenment and thus undermines the mission of liberation. Beings are just other selves who are likewise illusions and an illusion can’t be saved since illusion are not real. There are a couple of points regarding a “self” which must be grasped to start off on the right foot.

• A self is a fabrication; an ego; a thought-form; an abstraction of our identities. Any thought, and particularly this thought, is not real. A thought has no substance. It is a pure mental product.

• The Buddhist understanding of something real is what has intrinsic substance. An independent entity with its own substance (not dependent upon anything else) would be real. But dependent origination correctly points out that nothing within the realm of ordinary existence possesses independent status and is thus not real. An ego-self has no independent status and is thus not real.

By misidentifying with this self we don’t see our true nature as Buddha-Nature, (e.g., the eternal, ever-present, inherent natrual condition of being capable of awakening) which is unconditional and the same for all sentient beings. Throughout the Sutra the Buddha builds the case that because there is no self, there are no beings to liberate, thus no path. Yet without a path beings would remain in bondage, attached to delusions. Consequently, The Buddha says there is a Path and there are beings to liberate. The Buddha employs expedient means in order to free them.

Centuries later Nāgārjuna addressed this conundrum with what has become known as the Two-Truth Doctrine. Essentially this doctrine acknowledges that in order to lead someone to a deep sublimity it is necessary to begin from where they can understand. There are partial truths of the world and truths which are sublime. To coin a modern-day term, You can’t get there from here. To arrive at the sublime you must first know there are two truths and then go through the partial to reach the sublime.

The Buddha says, furthermore that because the true nature of beings is Buddha-Nature, they are already liberated and thus can’t be set free and finally, given the true nature of the Buddha—as the Dharmakāya  (e.g., truth-body, or the inherent body of truth—the transcendent source of all wisdom) at the level of our existence which alone is real—there is no beginning nor end to the Path nor beings to liberate. The Dharmakāya is the realm of non-conditions, thus non-karma, completely without differentiation of any kind. The realm of Nirvana is therefore the same realm as delusions. 

Accepting this truth releases us from the desire to leave the realm of delusion and seek the realm of Nirvana. They are one and the same realm and both leaving and seeking are forms of attachment that lie at the heart of suffering. Being ignorant of this truth is what binds beings who continue in Saṃsāra as ones who die of thirst in a vast sea of water.

Taking the first step on this Path, which is no Path, with this Right View (1) is the only way to realize enlightenment (which already exists).

The next step is Right Intentions (2) which flows from the first right view. Because of the non-differentiated nature of our essential being, we are in fact no different from other beings and our intentions must therefore be measured in a selfless fashion. By genuinely seeing ourselves, others, and Buddha as One we can then move on to the Right Actions (3) to mete out behavior on the other side of karma (to which Buddhas are not subject).

Right actions thus result in no merit since they are selfless, and within the Dharmakāya merit is already full. The truth is that in the realm of Dharmakāya there is no difference between merit and non-merit because there is no difference between anything: everything is non-dual. Precepts that emerge from such selfless intentions are not done to gain merit but rather as expressions of a goal that has already been reached. Actions are thus gifts which we pass on having already received them ourselves.

Right speech (4) is another form of action and is constructed within the spirit of doing no harm. Guidelines for determining speech that is right are useful but must not be clung to lest they become objects of attachment. Every disease is unique and requires special medicine tailor-made to fit the specific disease.

Right livelihood (5) is likewise “right” when we are employed in professions that don’t bring harm to ourselves and others while being free of the three poisons (greed, anger, and ignorance). To be thus employed will further the cause of emancipation by creating good karma and therefore assisting the reduction of delusions emanating from a false self.

Right effort (6) flows from a developed understanding that we are truly interdependent with life. Such an effort is no-effort. It is wu-wei—a natural extension of non-attachment. Wu-wei does not arise from the false self (ego) but rather from our true, already enlightened nature and is thus not ours. It is to surrender or give oneself over to the ubiquitous, flow of Buddha-nature. In the words of Bodhidharma, “To know clearly the bliss of detachment is to walk on the path of the Tao. This is the rule of non-attachment.”

And finally, the Path comes full-circle back to the ground of all Buddhas by engaging the two-fold practice of Right mindfulness (7) and Right concentration (8). Through the practice of meditation, those who travel the Eightfold Path deepen their insight and experience Hishiryo consciousness where all preoccupation with thoughts and non-thoughts come to an end and subject (self) melds with objects (manifestations of self). When this state is realized, delusions cease and we arrive back at our True Nature—A Nature with no beginning nor end.

The Nobel Eightfold Path is thus The Middle Way between the extremes of denial of existence (All things are empty—Nihilism) and the belief in permanence (everything has independence and permanence). Both are truly united and neither are true apart. It is a matter of perspective. From the perspective of the Dharmakaya, everything exists eternally without conditions. But from the perspective of nirmanakaya and the sambhogakaya things are born and die dependent upon causal conditions. By traveling this Path with these eight Rights in mind we free ourselves from delusions which create suffering and come to both understand and experience our true natures.

The Second Step

Nothing in return.

The second step along the Eight-fold Path is Right Intentions. The principle of selflessness among religious traditions is universal but has special significance within Buddhism, given the central focus on the non-self/Self paradigm arising from interdependent origination. Throughout Buddhist sutras, there is a continuous thread contrasting manifestations of the ego with acts of charity arising from the purity of unobstructed manifestations from the Self/Buddha-Nature.

Defilements, delusions, and obscurations are seen as impediments to charity's free-flow. It is one thing to imagine doing good works from a moral correctness perspective. It is a very different thing to act in charity through interdependence. Love is not what you say. Love is what you do. It is the ego’s nature to talk a good deal but not follow through unconditionally. One functions as the “keeper” of one’s brother in the first case. In the second case, one functions “as one’s brother.” The ego takes great pride in performing for the crowd and expects a responsive reward. A purely selfless act has a built-in reward. There is no genuine love when emanating from the ego. I discovered the following (anonymous), which sums this up nicely: 

“When you give and expect a return, that’s an investment. But when you give and expect nothing in return, that’s pure, unattached love.”

The difference between these two views was expressed by the eighth-century Buddhist monk Shantideva, author of A Guide to the Bodhisattva’s Way of Life—a nine-hundred-verse poem credited to Nagarjuna. He said:

“When I act for the sake of others,

No amazement or conceit arises.

Just like feeding myself,

I hope for nothing in return.”

This view was echoed by the Golden Rule spoken by Jesus in the 7th chapter of Matthew, “So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you...” The distinction lies in the perspective that there is a difference between oneself and others, disputed in Buddhism.

When Bodhidharma went from India to China, Emperor Liang was welcomed. The emperor asked him, “What merit have I gained since I built so many temples, erected so many pagodas, made so many offerings to Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha, and did numerous other virtuous deeds?” 

Bodhidharma’s reply greatly disappointed Emperor Liang. Bodhidharma said, “Your Majesty, there is none whatsoever. You have gained no merit. What you have done produces only worldly rewards, that is, good fortune, great power, or great wealth in your future lives, but you will still be wandering around in samsara.”

On the other side of the world, another such teaching was established—“Be careful not to do your ‘acts of righteousness’ before men, to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven. So when you give to the needy, do not announce it with trumpets, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and on the streets, to be honored by men. I tell you the truth, they have received their reward in full. But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.” 

This second teaching was conveyed by Jesus and is found in the 6th chapter of Matthew. The message is the same—True charity is selfless. On the other hand, phony charity expects a return or some gain to accrue from works, and this is a subtle form of attachment linking action with results that keeps the giver locked in the vise of karma, which, like everything else, has no intrinsic nature. 

It, too, must link to action, and action, in turn, is linked to one who acts. When there is no “one/self,” nor “other/self,” action has no meaning, thus no karma. A Buddha has no self and is thus free from all karmic attachments, in which case selfless charity becomes a completely pure expression of giving and receiving. At the level of our True Nature, we are all Buddhas.

Seeing the Unseen

In the Diamond Sutra, The Buddha has a conversation with Subhuti, one of his esteemed disciples. In the course of their conversation, The Buddha mentions five different kinds of vision. These same five are reflected in the Mahaparinirvana Sutra.

The five ways of seeing are:

1. The mundane human eye—Our mortal eye; the normal organ with which we see an object, with limitation, for instance, in darkness, with obstruction. There is a viewer (subject) and what is viewed (object) and thus duality.

2. The Heavenly eye —It can see in darkness and in the distance, attainable in Zazen.

3. The Wisdom eye —The eye of an Arhat (an advanced monk) and two others: the sound-hearers (Sravaka: One who hears the Dharma as a disciple) and the (Praetykabuddha: A “lone” buddha who gains enlightenment without a teacher by reflecting on dependent origination). These can see the false and empty nature of all phenomena.

4. The Dharma eye —The eye of a Bodhisattva can see all the dharmas in the world and beyond. With this eye, the Bodhisattva sees the interconnectedness of all and experiences non-duality. He then embraces genuine compassion seeing no difference between himself and every other manifestation of Buddha-Nature. He is in undifferentiated bliss. This is what Sokai-An says is the Great Self—“Self-awakening’ is awakening to one’s own self. But this self is a Great Self. Not this self called Mr. Smith, but the Self that has no name, which is everywhere. Everyone can be this Self that is the Great Self, but you cannot awaken to this Self through your own notions.”

5. The Buddha eye —The eye of omniscience. It can see all those four previous eyes can see.

Complete and thorough enlightenment is to see with the eye of a Buddha, which according to Buddhist sutras, could take many lifetimes, so we should not be dismayed if we don’t leap to the front of the line overnight. What none of us knows is where we enter this stream of insight. We only know how we see, not what we don’t. For all we know, we may have been on the Path for a Kalpa already.

Manjushri is the Bodhisattva who represents wisdom. He holds a sword in his right hand—symbolizing his ability to cut through the delusions of the non-Self. In his left hand, he holds a book—the Perfection of Wisdom teaching on Prajnaparamita, which grows from the lotus: the symbol of enlightenment. On his head is a crown with five eyes—The eyes spoke of above.

Manjushri symbolizes prajnaparamita: the perfection of wisdom.  His wisdom is transcendent, meaning that it is divinely rooted and takes shape circumstantially. In the normal sense, rules are discriminated against and governed by duality, administered in a fixed fashion, and rarely reflects justice. Life is fluid and ever-changing. To apply fixed rules in the fluid dimension of ordinary life ensures conflict. Precepts are both the letter and the spirit of the law. The letter defines within the framework of form and spirit undergirds the form with essence/emptiness.

Nagarjuna referred to these as two aspects of a common reality, which he labeled as conventional and the sublime. The Buddha said in the Mahaparinirvana Sutra that while his true nature is eternal and unchanging (e.g., sublime), he takes form and adapts his shape (e.g., conventionally) according to specific circumstances as needed “To pass beings to the other shore.” In one case, he may take the form of a beggar or a prostitute. In another, he emerges as a King. 

Whatever specific circumstances exist, The Buddha transforms to meet particular needs to emancipate those in spiritual need. It is The Buddha who implants the seed of inquiry, which compels those spiritually ill to seek the Dharma. This explains the motive to action, which many experiences. It is an itch that seeks relief and nags us until we resolve our illnesses. Manjushri is the moderator of the fused realities of form and emptiness. His wisdom comes from beyond but is applied materially, just as Bodhidharma’s Mind determines motion. The throne upon which he sits in the lotus depicting the source of his power.

That explanation accounts for the metaphysics of seeing the unseen. The depth of that seeing is a function of advancing capacity, which is a measure of our success in eliminating delusions. The URNA (a concave circular dot—an auspicious mark manifested by a whorl of white hair on the forehead between the eyebrows, often found on the 2nd and 3rd Century sculptures of The Buddha) symbolizes spiritual insight. The practical “working out” is managed through the Noble Eightfold Path. As the name indicates, there are eight functions, and these are divided into three basic categories as follows:

Wisdom—The seed from which the next two categories grow. This seed is rooted in transcendent Buddha-Nature, not the self, symbolized by the lotus seat upon which Manjushri sits—the foundation; ground for his wisdom.

1. Right views

2. Right intentions

Ethical conduct—These are forms of wisdom expression, the structure for how wisdom takes shape.

3. Right speech
4. Right action
5. Right livelihood

Mental discipline—These are means for refining capacity and depth. As capacity advances, sight increases.

6. Right effort
7. Right mindfulness
8. Right concentration (Zen)

These eight are not necessarily sequential functions, although wisdom must infuse the other functions. In truth, prajna—wisdom is omnipresent, transcendent. The eight functions are not designed to acquire or create prajna. Our lack of awareness occurs not because prajna is absent but rather due to illusive mind. These eight functions are designed to reveal prajna by removing those dimensions of life that fuel the illusive mind. They are the “dust cloths” we use to remove obscurations. Rightly, they arise together, but this may mean that some aspects are lacking or weak.

Before concluding this introduction on seeing the unseen, a key point must be made: these eight steps along the Path are form expressions of emptiness. Some technical terms may help here. There are three aspects mentioned in Buddhist metaphysics to refer to the totality of Buddha-Nature. The three are the dharmakaya, the nirmanakaya, and the sambhogakaya. All three “kaya” aspects are already embodied within each sentient being, and fruition is a matter of coming to that realization. 

The first—dharmakaya is the formless, indescribable unseen essence of which we have been speaking and the aspect we have referred to metaphorically as “The Wall.” This aspect of Buddha-Nature is called emptiness or the Void. 

The second aspect— the nirmanakaya, is the enfleshed form of Buddha-Nature that we see when we look out upon life. This aspect is form. When we see as Sokai-An says, “man, woman, tree, animal, flower—extensions of the source.” When we see one another, we are seeing what the Buddha looks like in each of us. 

And the third aspect—the sambhogakaya, concerns mental powers, with the ability of one’s mind to manifest with the five means of seeing. It is connected with communication, both on the verbal and nonverbal levels. It is also associated with the idea of relating, so that speech here means not just the capacity to use words but also the ability to communicate on all levels. 

Wisdom transmitted and received through dreams, visions, and mystical experience comes via sambhogakaya. An awakening experience is modulated through sambhogakaya. This aspect contains elements of both The Wall and The Ladder—Emptiness, and Form. Actually, this is a misstatement since it seems to imply that the three aspects are somehow separate.

To see these as separate is only a matter of convenience. The problem with this view is that it carves Buddha-Nature up into separate pieces. Buddha-Nature is non-dual—a single unbroken reality. The “sambhogakaya” fuses these apparent pieces into a single aspect, thus removing the apparent duality. The Buddha calls the Void-Void—Not This; Not That yet also not-not This and not-not That. In other words, it is Not emptiness (alone) nor Form (alone), but instead, both emptiness and form fused into an inseparable bond. All three aspects are manifestations that are linked interdependently to transcendence/Buddha-Nature.

For lack of a better way of understanding these three, think “sambhogakaya” when the term “mind-essence” is encountered—the fusion of both emptiness and form but accessible to the mind. In other words, “mind-essence” is our doorway to transcendence using form. The dharmakaya is the Tathagatagarbha (Buddha-womb), the ultimate, non-differentiated source spoken of in the Heart Sutra where no eye, ear, or other form exists (yet all forms exist). You may want to re-read the posts on The Wall—Essence to get a firmer picture about the dharmakaya. This is the engine that provides motion to form, without which form could not move, and the bridge between form and emptiness is the sambhogakaya—“mind essence.” 

What we do with wisdom transmitted from the source becomes a matter of transformation into form. When we pledge to emancipate all sentient beings, it is a matter of using the integrated power of the dharmakaya, conveyed and received through the sambhogakaya and actualized through the nirmanakaya. There is no power for emancipation without employing all three aspects. In the end, we must do something. If that “doing” is a matter of independence, cut off from our source, the “doing” will be ego-centric instead of Buddha-centric.

The Buddha is ever-present and is seen in every dimension. We see The Buddha when we use our fleshly eyes and look out upon ordinary life forms. We see The Buddha when we see through visions, dreams, mystical experiences using different eyes. And we see The Buddha in the Ultimate Realm of the dharmakaya, where prajnaparamita resides. The way of seeing reflects the degree to which we succeed in removing delusions that obstruct vision. All vision moves along the spectrum defined by the limits of the mundane and the supra-mundane. This is a continuum that floats on the surface of the mind. The more delusions, the more clouded our vision. The fewer delusions, the clearer our vision.

Prajnaparamita is ever-present—it doesn’t come and go. What does come and go are delusions which block and mask it. The Noble Eightfold Path is not a Buddhist version of a Jack LaLanne “spiritual self-improvement” program. Delusions which arise from the “self/nonSelf/ego” lay at the heart of the very clouds which obscure the truth, and to start down the Path with the presumption of building ego strength or using the “tools” of the Path for personal gain is a prescription for certain failure.

Functions—including the eight of the Noble Path— are “isness”—with definable properties, but they are connected to the “is” of “isness”—the divine spark that drives the engine of “isness.” This “is” of “isness” goes by many names, but as Lao Tzu said, “The name that can be named is not the eternal name.” Bodhidharma called this namelessness “The mind of Buddha and the Tao,” a nameless name that Lao Tzu first established. The Buddha himself referred to this namelessness as the Tathagatagarbha and the Dharmata. Dogen spoke of the indivisible, non-dual union of essence and appearance as “mind essence.” Huineng used the same expression. Sokai-An used the name “Great Nature” and “Great Self.” There are many names to point to the nameless mother of heaven and earth, but Sokei-An perhaps said it best. He said, “If you really experience ‘IT’ with your positive shining soul, you really find freedom. No one will control you with names or memory of words—Socrates, Christ, Buddha. Those teachers were talking about consciousness. Consciousness is common to everyone. When you find your true consciousness, you will not need the names or words of any teacher.” (The Zen Eye) In the days to come, I will share more about prajna, which will lay the groundwork for further discussion. Then in the eight days following, I’ll take these eight, one at a time.