Finger pointing at the moon

Anyone even slightly familiar with Zen knows this metaphor of a finger pointing at the moon. And of course, the meaning of the metaphor is there’s a difference between a teaching and the meaning of what’s being taught. 

So what’s the teaching? To answer that question leads us to Nagarjuna and his “Two Truth Doctrine.” What he taught is the difference between two truths—the conventional and the ultimate. He said that we must, by necessity, use the finger of conventional truth to fathom the moon of ultimate truth. Conventional means are words and other communication methods and the ultimate can’t be framed because it is beyond the form of any kind. Nevertheless, without words (which are admittedly abstract reflections), there is no way of communicating about sublime truths beyond words.

The second part of his teaching (the most important part) is that while we must discern these two truths conventionally unless we experience the ultimate, we will never be free. Instead, we will remain lost in the sea of conventional abstraction yet firmly persuaded the reflection is the moon. In The Sutra of Complete Enlightenment, Ch’an Master Sheng-yen says that we must use illusion to destroy the illusion, which is just a different way of speaking about Nagarjuna’s two truths. The enlightenment of the moon is ever-present and we become aware through reflections.

The entirety of all of my posts is a mere finger pointing to a moon beyond words. They are reflections shimmering on the surface of a rippling pool of water.

Duplicity?

Our two aspects of good and evil.

All of us are, unintentionally, duplicitous. Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn suggested there is good and evil in everyone, and proposed the only way to separate the two was by drawing a line—on one side would be all the good people and on the other, all of the evil. He said, in that case, the line would go down the center of us all. His specific quote was, “The battle-line between good and evil runs through the heart of every man.” 

This wisdom is without question true. There is both good and evil in everyone. The Lankavatara Sutra (a Mahayana favorite of Bodhidharma) addressed the issue of one vs. another with this: 

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

The Dharmakāya goes by various names, all of which are meager attempts at defining our ineffable nature. An alternate handle (perhaps more familiar) is indiscriminate, unconditional non-applied consciousness: The realm of ultimate reality, and the womb of The Buddha. That is the core of us all that “…is far beyond the senses and the discriminating mind.” Here there is neither good nor evil since that realm is unconditional.

“Buddhas say emptiness is relinquishing opinions. Believers in emptiness are incurable.”—Nagarjuna

We live, however,  in a conditional world where there is plenty of judgment of good vs. evil. The root may be hidden but the branches are not, and praise and blame flourish. It is only when we awaken to this truth that we understand the difference between the two. The notion of dependent origination/relativity is the natural manifestation of emptiness (Śūnyatā: emptiness, another name for the Dharmakāya), which states that nothing contains intrinsic substance. 

Instead, reality exists in two, inseparable aspects at once. Nagarjuna labeled these aspects “conventional” and the “ultimate.” His understanding was laid out in his “Two Truth Doctrine,” where he taught the difference between the two. He said that we must, by necessity, use the conditional/conventional truth to fathom ultimate truth. 

Conventional means are words and other communication methods and the ultimate can’t be framed because it is beyond form of any kind. Nevertheless, without words (which are admittedly abstract reflections), there is no way of communicating about ultimate truths beyond words. That is what takes place every time I make a post: I speak about matters beyond words and form

The second and most important part of his teaching is that while we must discern these two truths conventionally unless we experience the ultimate, we will never be set free. Instead, we will remain lost in the sea of conventional abstraction yet firmly persuaded that there is nothing beyond “the senses and the discriminating mind.”

Having defined these two aspects there is a danger of dogmatism, which the Buddha warned against with his teaching on expedient means—upaya-Kausalya: Actions measured and dictated by unfolding and unanticipated circumstances. Here Voltaire and Nagarjuna are in agreement: 

“Doubt is not a pleasant condition, but certainty is absurd.”—Voltaire

The key to a meaningful life is to hold these two aspects of reality in balance and most importantly to act “as if” your neighbor were your Self, with kindness and empathy, most particularly when it seems difficult.

Who stands before me?

One of the most profound stories concerning Bodhidharma, the figure who is credited as the originator of Zen, occurred in China during the 6th century CE during a conversation with Emperor Wu. The Emperor had invested himself in many ways to promote Buddhism and thus felt deserving of special merit. He said to Bodhidharma, “I have built many temples, copied innumerable Sutras, and ordained many monks since becoming Emperor. Therefore, I ask you what is my merit?” 

At the level of vast emptiness, there is nothing special, or the opposite: Specialness. In response, Bodhidharma replied: “None whatsoever!” Emperor Wu then responded with, “What then is the most important principle of Buddhism?” Bodhidharma answered: “Vast emptiness. Nothing sacred.” Shocked by his answer, the Emperor then said, “Who is this that stands before me?” Bodhidharma: answered, “I don’t know.”

Without a doubt, to students new to the practice of Zen, this story must seem bizarre. How on earth could such apparent ignorance, expressed by the founder of Zen, be considered profound? To sweep away the cloud that covers over the significance, we must explore a common dimension of human nature: The desire to be somebody special, and the corresponding quest to be involved in doing something we all consider important that moves us toward that goal of specialness. 

So long as we are not doing whatever it may be we consider as important, the more guilt we feel. For many, we begin in childhood with feelings of inadequacy. Some people are so consumed with “doing” they become obsessive-compulsive, doing the same thing over and over to experience some relief. The rest of us, at the very least, feel uncomfortable thinking that we are wasting valuable time by not doing something.

Two points: Who is consumed with this desire? And what’s the difference between “being” and “doing?” Let me address the second point first: The issue of beingness which concerned Bodhidharma’s unknowing. He seemed to be saying he didn’t know himself, and if anything is central to Zen it is the unveiling of our true nature. You really can’t understand this issue without the other part of his answer: “Vast emptiness. Nothing sacred.”

Instead, there is nothing whatsoever, yet within emptiness, is completion. That state of mind is the base upon which everything we do is based. Without “beingness” it is impossible for “doing-ness” to exist, thus the catchphrase, “Be here now.” We have been so conditioned to think that just being without the expression of acting in some way toward our goal, is to be considered as a useless bum. 

There is special significance in being present—fully present in the moment, but the question is “who is being present?” The knee-jerk (and unexamined answer) is, “Me.” But this me can be expressed, both in many definable terms (e.g., The ego, which is mere clothing upon a mannequin, changing moment by moment, depending on changing circumstances), or the indefinable true person that we are, neither special nor not.

So then we come to the first point of the “Who,” to which Bodhidharma answered, “I don’t know.” Why does that make sense, whether we know it or not? It makes sense simply because emptiness—the realm of completion and the lack, is the same realm lacking definition. Nobody, not even a Buddha can define what is essentially indefinable except to note the obvious: doing and being are essential partners. 

If this is the case, how are we to know, not only ourselves but also other people? The Buddha himself pointed to the answer with his statement in the Mahāyāna Mahāparinirvāṇa Sūtra when he said, “Seeing the actions of body and mouth, we say that we see the mind. The mind is not seen, but this is not false. This is seeing by outer signs.” In other words, we not only know who we are, but we also know who others are, not just by what is said but by how actions speak louder than words alone. Our words and actions together define the person that stands before us all.

Thoughts on Self Nature.

Over the years, having read, studied, and experienced the voice of enlightened people and considering my own, I have attempted to capture, with words, the essential nature of humanity and the opposite: Our corrupted nature. 

The latter has produced an eternity of evil and destruction globally, while the former has countered evil with goodness. I have personally experienced the transformation of self-destructive thoughts, words, and deeds into genuine benevolence. I have likewise witnessed the attempt to feign piety that clearly stood as a wolf in sheep’s clothing. People of the world seem to know that transparent evil is undesirable, and consequently, they try to conceal the heart of darkness with a camouflage of pretended allure. 

This effort, like the opposite of transparency, is affirmed by those who, similarly, play the same game. The pretenders flock together, as do those who choose to reveal a purity of heart, having nothing to hide. These two forces oppose one another and speak a different language.

But God would not allow me such relief, but instead brought back to me the more excellent relief of that magnificent young lady in the dawning of adulthood. It was then I found my true nature of completion and realized, contrary to what I had come to believe, that I was the essence of internal love that she alone had seen in me a half-century before. It was unquestionably a miracle and so clearly the act of a loving God that it was unavoidable to not see what had been there all along, but lay hidden beneath that sense of self-hatred. “Then I knew fully, even as I am fully known,” and at last, I came to understand the mature language of the heart that joined my heart with hers around the core of a unified, indwelling presence of God.

It has been my experience that the language of love, compassion, and tenderness is impossible to articulate with words. In contrast, the language of pretense and deception comes in convincing forms more difficult to detect, except to those who, by nature, have passed beyond words and found their true self-nature. To the former, the task is one of mime. To the latter, the charge comes naturally. The communication challenge for humanity is to find a way to bridge that gap to inspire the minds of those still lost, to a higher standard beyond these surrogates of truth, much like a teacher with advanced education and knowledge must employ with children, not yet schooled. 

Having once been an unschooled child, a teacher knows both the language of a child and the language of the heart. The opposite is not valid. It is as the Apostle Paul stated in the 13th chapter of 1st Corinthians, 

“…where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. For now, we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.” 

Paul’s words, in essence,  are the same as the words of Meister Eckhart, the German theologian and philosopher who lived during the 15th century: “The eye with which I see God is the same eye with which God sees me.”

While still a child having little maturity and life experience, lost to the voice of others, I defined myself as incomplete and worthless according to the opinions of those who appeared to hate me, for reasons I failed to understand. The result was I conformed to unworthiness and attempted the impossible of persuading both myself and those who’s voice I valued, that I was worthy of their affection and love. In essence, I did not love myself because I placed more value or their opinions than on my inherent completeness.

It took many years for this self-deception to fully ripen into the unnatural result of pure self-hatred, so thorough that I found no reason to continue living. The only contradiction to this perceived sense of self-hate was the pure, unselfish love that poured out of a magnificent young lady in the dawning of adult life. And that love, where our hearts beat as one, was lost to my own naïve and innocent error, thus driving the stake of self-hatred and associated guilt even deeper. 

The ensuing suffering I then experienced continued up the birth of my daughter, who seemed to come as a gift from God to show me through experience how to recapture selfless love again. For 20 years she, and I grew together within the realm of unconditional love, and when she was gone, I returned once again to the hell of self-hatred left with the whisper of the lost love of both my first love and my daughter. Again, I found no reason to continue living, sought the ultimate release, and readied myself for bodily death.

At long last, I understand the meaning of selfless love. It does not mean to sacrifice and give up what is of value. It means instead to lose the sense of an artificial and perverted self, shaped by the opinions of others and affirmed by my desire to be loved, to cast off the unreal that hid the real. By losing the artificial, I found the truth. And this true self-nature is united as a single purity of heart, not only with my first love and my daughter but with the breadth of humanity. 

True love needs no interpretation or indirect translation thru the medium of words. It is pure, recognizable, and when my eyes finally opened, I knew what I had previously known only in part. Then, at last, I experienced what Eckhart had said, “The eye with which God sees me is the same eye by which I see God.” Or, as the native Indians have said, “Before we can truly understand another person, we must walk a mile in their moccasins. Before we can walk in another person’s moccasins, we must first take off our own.” 

The old self-hatred had to fall away before I could see the new Self-love, and when it did, I came to know that the ideas I had previously held of myself as a false self, alienated from others, unveiled a true Self that united with God and the world. 

Thus selfless love is a love that loses the artificial and is replaced with the real. Selfless love is Self-full love that echoes, in a circular fashion from one heart to another. What goes forth comes from within. Which in itself is already joined with a passion that indwells the heart of another. And when that happens, there is no separation between your true self and the true self of another. That, to me, is the definition of genuine compassion: to experience the love and agony of your beloved, and they of you. You become echoes of each other, and your hearts beat as one.

Knowing not.

Our hidden roots

Knowing not? Why not say “not knowing?” The first suggests it is possible to fathom nothing, whereas the second implies we don’t have a clue.

If I were to conjure up a list of Buddhist giants, my list would certainly include The Buddha, Nagarjuna, and Bodhidharma. The Buddha started what we know today as Buddhism, which of course is as misleading as it is to say Jesus started Christianity, or Moses starting Judaism. In the ordinary, all-encompassing fashion, these people began movements that today are fractured into many different sects, none of which can possibly represent the entirety of the main body. It’s much like a tree with roots beneath the ground emanating into a trunk with many branches above ground. Rarely do we concern ourselves with the unseen roots—only one of the branches.

Often times we learn valuable lessons by way of myths about these Buddhist giants. We can’t even say for sure if, for instance, that Bodhidharma actually existed, but the tales of his life (true or not) are extremely valuable to our ordinary lives, sometimes in unexpected ways. To most people, such tales seem arcane or meaningless just as this “knowing not” may appear at first glance.

One of the tales about Bodhidharma concerns his meeting with Emperor Wu of the Chinese Liang Dynasty during the 5th century. The emperor had built many Buddhist monuments when he met Bodhidharma and expected to receive an equal number of accolades from Bodhidharma. Instead, Bodhidharma told the emperor none of his work deserved any merit at all. Why? Because Bodhidharma was expressing a fundamental truth: All of the mortal life is fleeting. It comes and it goes. Nothing temporal has lasting value.

The emperor was quite perturbed and in a huff asked two questions of Bodhidharma and got two more unexpected answers. First, he asked, “What is the first principle of the holy teachings?” “Bodhidharma replied, ‘Vast emptiness, nothing holy.’” Then the emperor asked, “Who is standing before me?” Bodhidharma said, “I don’t know.”

“Vast emptiness, nothing holy,” and “I don’t know.” Knowing not, or not knowing? In a curious way, the answers Bodhidharma gave are the same, even though they seem very different. How so? How about we make some word substitutes and instead of using the word “emptiness” we use the word “unconditional.” Would that clarify matters? It might except for this word “vast.” And this “nothing holy” might just as well be called “nothing unholy,” since without conditions neither holy nor unholy has any meaning—emptiness/unconditional can’t be articulated just as none of us can really define our inherent true nature. 

That too is “knowing not.” Only this “not,” while being incomprehensible, can only be experienced, never articulated. What we think we know of ourselves is a shadow: an unreal mirage which we call “ego,” and an ego appears to us as what we think of ourselves. It is a perceptible fabrication that is very convincing, and being perceptible gives us a clue. To observe or perceive anything requires one who perceives, yet is in itself imperceptible, without form or any dimension conceivable. Yet it must exist or nothing could be perceived, just like a blind man, without vision, can never see anything objectively delineated.

Unfortunately, our ego is the source of all suffering. This imaginary non-being is, as Zen Master  Hakuin Ekaku said, “The cause of our sorrow is ego delusion.” It is a mask that hides our true nature, which is pure, complete, joyous, and beyond suffering. In truth, all of us are in a state of knowing not and the only way to vanquish suffering is to penetrate through the mask that blinds us. How to? The answer is here.

Humans Behind Sixth Period of Mass Extinction According to Studies

Humans Behind Sixth Period of Mass Extinction According to Studies

Egotistically, greed induced blindness, leading to denial is the cause of our greatest catastrophe.

donde tengas la olla no metas la polla, nekálej do vlastního hnízda, не плюй в колодец, пригодится воды напиться

The language of all people says the same thing and all people ignore the admonition at our own peril.

Surrendering from absolute truth.

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.”

Surrendering from contrived actions.

Unmoving movement.

The wisdom of the Four Nobel Truths is present in understanding the causal relationship between attachment and suffering. All suffering arises from clinging and resistance. 

Bodhidharma spoke of this relationship in his Discourse on the Twofold Entrance to the Tao. He understood the Tao to be the animating essence of life and death. The Tao was Bodhidharma’s code for the primordial mind that lacks discrimination and opposition. Here is what he said:

“Everyone who has a body is an heir to suffering and a stranger to peace. Having comprehended this point, the wise are detached from all things of the phenomenal world, with their minds free of desires and craving. As the Scripture has it, ‘All sufferings spring from attachment; true joy arises from detachment.’ To know clearly the bliss of detachment is to walk on the path of the Tao. This is ‘the rule of non-attachment.’”

To be non-attached is to experience release—yielding heaviness and receiving lightness, like removing an obstruction from flowing water. Once removed, the water flows naturally and nourishes all things.

A key principle in realizing our oneness with the Tao is wu-wei, or “non-doing.” Wu-wei refers to behavior that arises from a sense of integration with our source, others, and our environment. Wu-wei is not motivated by a sense of separateness, or egotistical motives. It is the action that is spontaneous, effortless, and naturally reflects our connectedness. It is the experience of going with the grain or swimming with the current. 

The contemporary expression, going with the flow, is an excellent expression of this fundamental principle, which in its most basic form refers to behavior occurring in response to the flow of integrated life. Thus to engage wu-wei means to surrender or give oneself over to the ubiquitous, flow of a mind at peace: the birthplace of The Buddha. 

But importantly, it refers to an experience of getting out of the way and surrendering to the movement of something beyond our comprehension. Our body moves but it seems to function without us moving it. In the Platform Sutra, Dajian Huineng (the sixth and last patriarch of Chan) reported on a conversation between two monks regarding the movement of a flag. One said the wind moved the flag. The other said no, it was the flag moving independently of the wind. Huineng said you’re both wrong. It was the mind/Tao that moved. When the primordial mind moves We remain silent and unmoving.

Lao Tzu expressed this yielding as giving up and getting. He expressed wu-wei this way in stanza nineteen of the Tao Te Ching:

“Give up sainthood, renounce wisdom,
And it will be a hundred times better for everyone.
Give up kindness, renounce morality,
And men will rediscover filial piety and love.
Give up ingenuity, renounce profit,
And bandits and thieves will disappear.
These three are outward forms alone; they are not sufficient in themselves.
It is more important
To see the simplicity,
To realize one’s true nature,
To cast off selfishness
And temper desire.”

Surrendering from Expectations

Everything except essence is fleeting and will come to an end. That was the message Alan Watts made in his book, “The Wisdom of Insecurity.” 

The passing of some things is quicker than others. A Galapagos Land Tortoise lives close to 200 years. Some life forms come and go in a matter of days. The parasitic wasp, for example, lives as an adult for 3 days or less. As far as we know, the universe since the Big Bang has lasted 13.7 billion years, but it too will end at some point.

Life looks long, but by nature, an end there must be.

Whatever flourishes always wanes; met, one must part.

The prime of manhood is not long;

Luxuriance meets with illness.

Life is swallowed by death; nothing exists eternally.”

Holding on to fleeting form invites suffering. The book of Ecclesiastes begins and ends with:

“Meaningless! Meaningless! Says the teacher. Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless”.

Chapter 2 of the Mahaparinirvana Sutra says,

“In all the world, whatever is born must die.

The message is the same. These forms of vapor are easier to see than mental fixations, but the rule still applies. Take, for example, the mental obsession of expectations. We start each day with a set of expectations. We expect clear skies, so we don’t take an umbrella. We hope it will take a particular amount of time to travel from our homes to our destinations. We expect certain acceptable conditions in our environment. Any one of these expectations may or may not come about. If they do, we are pleased. If they don’t, we become upset. Our emotions and repose balance on a razor’s edge of outcomes to expectations. Nobody can predict exactly what will happen in the future, so we walk a fine line and hope for the best.

Often, when things don’t turn out the way we want, we try to force a different outcome. If that fails, we may increase the heat and intensity, believing that we can dominate and prevail. What is not noticed is the interdependent connection to this forcing. From one side, there is shoving. From the other side, there is being pushed, which simply invites a responsive shove. What started with our pressing turns into being shoved back, which then invites more back-and-forth shoving. Some nations and people have been pushing back-and-forth for so long nobody can remember who made the first shove.

It is impossible to function without making predictions, having hopes, and expecting certain conditions. The problem is what happens when our predictions go south. Becoming attached to the outcome is the problem. The secret of emotional stability and release from self-righteousness is to surrender from outcomes. In truth, results are not the product of our isolated actions. Both Krishna and the Buddha said: The greatest effort is not concerned with results. We just do our best and release from success or failure. 

There is, however, a most subtle difference between having no expectations (and possibly no action) of attempting to shape outcomes. I have written concerning this delicate balance in a post In the world: enlightened social responsibility. The story of John Chapman (known as Johnny Appleseed) is instructive in this regard. You can read about what this means in another post: Cleaning house.

It is of vital importance to work for the common good and not withdraw. Ultimately the outcome of any action is not exclusively our own. Our ideas may last an instant or as long as the universe, but they will always be approximate—just reflections on the surface of shimmering water.  

The destination. Far away?

“If it weren’t for afflictions, there would be nothing to create awareness. And if it weren’t for awareness, there would be nothing to negate afflictions... Suffering is the seed, wisdom the sprout, and buddhahood the grain.”—Bodhidharma

When we begin a journey it’s important to know where we’re going. Imagine showing up at the airport and telling the ticket agent it doesn’t matter where you’re going, just sell you a ticket to anywhere. That would take you somewhere but the journey we’re on now will hopefully lead us out of suffering, but to where? 

Obviously there are two sides: where we are presently and where we want to go. So today I want to begin a sequential series on the destination and first take you on a little side trip to begin clarifying the where.

Over the years of extended study I’ve become aware of many different words that speak to the same destination. It is a bit like seeing a color for the first time and realizing there are many different ways to describe it. Regardless, the color remains the same. William Shakespeare used this awareness in his play Romeo and Juliet.  In the play Juliet argues that names of things don’t matter, only what they are. She says to Romeo: “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” 

Indeed so, but we do get snared by words and often miss what they represent. Within that context, a simple question: What’s the Buddha? Without answering that question we can search for an eternity and never arrive at our destination. The average person will probably answer that The Buddha was a man who lived 2,500 years ago in India and he started the religion of Buddhism. Others may say the Buddha is an idol, icon or symbol used to represent a way of thinking and approach to life. Some even say that an idol of The Buddha is heretical since worshiping idols is a sin. That question, and the correct answer are essential to self-understanding. Many enlightened masters answered it in revealing and unique ways.

In ninth century China, Chan Master Yúnmén Wényan (known in Japan as Ummon Zenji) answered in perhaps the most unexpected way. The answer he gave was “A dried shit-stick.” The story goes that upon his enlightenment, Siddhārtha Gautama saw the morning star and shouted, “That’s it! That’s it! That’s me that’s shining so brilliantly!” 

How we understand the mind is also a critically important addition to this matter of words and substance. In the book Meditation on the Nature of Mind, the Dalai Lama writes, “Those who search for the view (of the Buddha) apart from the mind are like rich people searching for wealth. It would be foolish for those who are wealthy to search for money apart from what already exists under their own noses in their own coffers. Likewise, the view is closer ‘than our own jugular veins,’ as the Tibetan saying goes. All we have to do is to turn our attention to the nature of our own minds.” The father of Zen (Bodhidharma) said, “…without beginning, whatever you do, wherever you are, that’s your real mind, that’s your real buddha. This mind is the Buddha.” 

Likewise, in the Mahāyāna Mahāparinirvāṇa Sūtra, The Buddha himself is quoted as having said, “Seeing the actions of body and mouth, we say that we see the mind. The mind is not seen, but this is not false. This is seeing by outer signs.” So that too must be thrown into the hopper of destination.

So which is it: A distant realm, or closer than own jugular veins, your very own mind, the man who lived 2,500 years ago, the icon sitting in your foyer, a dried shit-stick or the morning star? In our normal way of thinking the answers are all discreetly different and we want to choose one destination against all others. The answers appear to be quite different yet the real answer is, all of the above and none of the above. That seems most confusing. How can our destination be that answer? Yet when some other pieces fall into place we’ll see how true it is.

This series is about suffering and the role afflictions play in becoming self-aware. It seems to be a major paradox that suffering is the engine driving the process leading to a transformed mind (our destination), and maybe even beyond, but if Bodhidharma is to be taken seriously, “If it weren’t for afflictions, there would be nothing to create awareness.” Today’s post perhaps creates more questions than answers but taken as a whole, these views are a piece of the larger puzzle. Tomorrow another piece.