A casual reader is tempted to ask, now what in the world is the Zen Master talking about here? What cups of wine? Where can they be found? And that is precisely the kind of question that this kōan is meant to provoke. The Master is telling Qingshui, and also each and everyone of us, “You say you are alone and poor. Don’t you realize that you possess treasures in abundance, right there before your very eyes? Stop for a moment, open your eyes and see!”

There is another story of a seasoned Zen monk who was commissioned by the abbot of a temple to transport a small golden statue of the Buddha, gilded with jewels, to another temple where it was to be placed on a newly constructed altar. On the way to that other temple this monk happened to be ambushed by robbers. They beat him up badly, and took not only the golden Buddha with the jewels, but also the bullock cart on which he was riding, and his clothes and everything else he had with him, leaving him lying unconscious on a ditch by the side of the road. When this monk regained consciousness, body aching all over, it was night, and the moon was shining in resplendent light against the background of a starlit night. Looking up at the sky, the monk exclaimed, “Oh, those poor robbers. I wish I could have given them this beautiful moon as well!”

What an unusual way to respond in the midst of such tragic circumstances, one might say. This monk’s remark reveals the mind and heart of one who has found one’s true treasure, one that cannot ever be taken away by robbers or by anyone else. This is a lifelong treasure that never diminishes, but on the contrary, only increases in quality and depth through the years. In the Gospel of Matthew Jesus calls our attention to this kind of treasure “where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal.” (Mt. 6:19-20)  One who comes upon this kind of treasure earnestly wants only to share it with each and everyone around.

The verse appended to the kōan on Qingshui by Wumen describes the heart and mind of those who have made this treasure their very own:

Poor as the poorest,
They are as brave as the bravest.
They can hardly sustain themselves,
Yet they dare to compete with one another for wealth.

This is intriguing indeed, and we are led to ask, “What kind of treasure is this all about?” And more importantly, “How may I gain access to this treasure?” Qingshui is us, feeling all alone and poor, and earnestly wanting to be “prosperous.”

As we go through this earthly life of ours, whether we may actually be materially impoverished, or be somewhere in the middle class, or even be on the affluent side, we feel “alone and poor.” Even those few among us who may have abundant resources and live in palatial mansions, have huge bank accounts, and have scores of people at our beck and call, cannot evade that feeling of being “alone and poor,” knowing that money can only go so far, and we realize that it cannot buy what we truly long for deep in our hearts. What is it then that we truly yearn for in this life, our true heart’s desire, that one thing necessary that Jesus alludes to (Luke 10:42)?

Reflecting on the way we live our lives, we may notice that instead of devoting ourselves to seeking that one thing necessary that can fill our hearts with true peace and joy, we spend our time and energy in the pursuit of many things we are led to think are “necessary” for us. The consumption-driven economy of our contemporary global society feeds, and conversely feeds on people’s desire to have, and to have more and more at that. An underlying assumption that propels this consumeristic culture is that “you are what you have.” Your value as a person is thought to depend on the kinds of things that you possess. It is only natural therefore to want those things that everybody else seems to want, like a big house, a flashy car, fashionable clothes, the right kind of designer handbag or shoes, and so on. Having these things may seem to give us the feeling that we are “somebody” that can match up with anybody else out there. So we continue trying our best to keep up with the trends, to be able to buy the latest in those “must-have” items blown out of proportion in the media or that we hear friends and co-workers talk about.

Swayed by this attitude, we notice that the more we have, we want still more. And then at some point we may come to realize that we can never be truly satisfied with what we already have, because there is always something else out there that we don’t have yet. This feeling of acquiring some things and perhaps obtaining some momentary satisfaction in getting hold of them, and then after a short while wanting something else, and in all this remaining deeply unsatisfied, is an aspect of what the Buddha identified as the First Ennobling Truth: dukkha. This term is a Sanskrit/Pāli compound referring to a wheel that is not rightly set on its hub, and is thereby not rolling properly as it should. The term dukkha then describes the human condition that is dys-functional and out of sync, a condition of dis-ease and dissatisfaction. Incidentally, its reverse is the term sukha (a wheel that is centered on its hub and revolving smoothly), which is translated as “ease” or “contentment” or “happiness.” This term appears in the Metta Sutta (Treatise on Lovingkindness), in a phrase that Buddhists throughout the world often recite: “May all beings be at ease.”  “May all beings be happy.” The question then is, how can we turn our lives around, from a state of dukkha, to one of sukha?

The Buddha, in the second of the Four Ennobling Truths, invites us to examine the root cause of our dissatisfactory state of being. It can be summarized in one word: craving. In short, it is this very desire to have, and to have more, and still more, that seems to be causing our dis-ease and messing up our lives.

Buddhist philosopher David Loy writes how our feeling of being driven to want more and more comes from a deeply felt sense of lack, and points out that this is a characteristic of our human mode of being in this finite world.  What we think, say and do, tend to be motivated by this need to fill in this inner lack that gnaws at us at the very heart of our mortal being. And yet, the more we seek to fill this lack by acting on our craving to have more and more, the less we are truly satisfied, and instead are plunged more deeply in a vicious cycle of unfulfillment and dissatisfaction.

Underlying this lack  is the delusory idea of “I, me, mine, ” that we presume to exist and which we identify with our person, which we perceive as distinct and separate from other “I’s” and from the rest of the world, which thereby feels alienated, isolated, “alone and poor.” This isolated and impoverished “I” needs to prop up its insecure foundations, and seeks to overcome this feeling of alienation and impoverishment. It does so by grasping at all kinds of things, material as well as non-material, driven to possess and thereby identify with things that it can call its very own, and thus bolstering itself against those feelings of insecurity and poverty that threaten it from all sides.

How do we uproot this sense of lack, connected with the delusory idea of “I, me, mine” that continually drives us more deeply in the cycle of dissatisfaction?  What practical steps can we take in this regard? The Buddha’s prescription here is straightforward and clear. He advises us: stop and see.  That is, to stop the machinations of our discursive mind, and see through this delusory “I, me, mine,” and to see “things as they really are.”

These two words, stop and see, encapsulate the entire scope and extent of Buddhist meditation.   There are different schools of meditation that developed and blossomed in the Buddhist family of traditions through the centuries, but underlying the differences in emphases and technical aspects of meditative practice presented by the various schools is this common strand summarized in these two words.

What happens when a person takes this invitation of the Buddha to take up the formal practice of meditation, that is, to stop and see, and do so in a sustained way? There are numerous books that anyone can pick up and read in this regard, and these can provide valuable guidelines. But reading books about meditation is like looking at a menu and getting one’s mouth moistened in imagining the delicious dishes described. Here let me just offer a couple of appetizers, and then conclude with a practical suggestion.

Alan Clements, a meditation teacher who lived in Burma as a monk for a number of years and is now based in California, offers us this description of what can happen to one who takes up the practice of meditation.

The practice of meditation became a wonderful new way of life. I was amazed to see how awareness put eyes and ears where there had been none. It enhanced perception and revealed greater nuance and dimension. Sounds were accentuated. Colors became brighter. Tastes, more subtle and sweeter. Smells more fragrant. At times it felt like every cell in my body was undulating with orgasmic bliss. Watching the fog lift in the early morning was a dance in itself—the play of photons, like tiny prisms refracting thousands of infinitesimal rainbows on the eye. The smell of the gardenia bush just outside my window became a symphony of textured scents. I fell in love with the simplicity of just being.

In short as we learn to stop and see in a habitual and sustained way, our eyes are opened to the countless treasures that lie right here within our reach, which can fill our hearts with untold joy and deep peace. Meditation enables us see through the prison of that delusive “I, me, mine” which makes us grasp for things that only leave us unfulfilled and frustrated. It opens us to an infinitely refreshing and exciting horizon which we had hardly noticed, but which had been and is there all the time.

In the kōan above, the monk Qingshui implores Master Caoshan earnestly, “Master, I am alone and poor. Please help me become prosperous.” The Master replies, addressing him, “Venerable Qing!” The monk responds, “Yes, Master.”  Notice the Zen Master’s skillful way of guiding, pointing directly to the student’s heart and mind, as if ringing a bell to awaken him. “Venerable Qing!” The sound pierces Qingshui’s heart, and resonates throughout the universe. Qingshui, fully at attention, sheds all thought of “I, me, mine,” and hears. From the depths, with no place for the “I, me, mine” to intrude, he responds, loud and clear: “Yes, Master.” It is a sound that reverberates through all time and space. Just that. Qingshui and Caoshan, each in their own way, are fully at attention, listening with one’s entire being, and responding in that same fullness, and one might note, emptiness (that is, from a state totally devoid of the thought of “I, me, mine”). And in doing so, they are bringing to full light the hidden treasures of the universe, right then and there. That is what Master Caoshan is referring to when he says, “There! You have just drunk three of the finest cups of wine in all of China, and you say you have not yet moistened your lips?”

Master Caoshan addresses us by name too, as do all the Zen ancestors and masters of old and of late, inviting us to a turnabout in the way we live our lives. A consumerist-oriented, “acquisitive” mode of being, centered on the “I, me, mine,” keeps us imprisoned in a world of dissatisfaction, in a state of feeling “alone and poor.” We are invited to step out of that kind of life, and instead to enter a mode of being wherein we are able to stop and see, and behold the treasures that are right there in the midst of those “ordinary” things in our day to day life. This is called the contemplative path, a way of life and mode of being that allows us to discover, behold, partake of, and enjoy the treasures teeming all around us, and share them with one another, in wonder, gratitude, and joy. We may embark on this way of life by taking the very practical step of seeking out and joining a community of practitioners, and finding a teacher who can walk with us and guide us along this path. It promises to be a path of surprise and discovery, of treasure upon treasure to our heart’s content, enough for a lifetime and beyond.

by Ruben L.F. Habito

*Previously published in Dharma World, Vo. 38 (Jan-Mar. 2011)

How are we to live, what are we to do in the face of such a scenario?

Allow me to offer some reflections, addressed to those of us who have found something empowering, lifegiving and healing in this practice of Zen meditation.

If we engage in our practice of Zen meditation with the intention of shutting ourselves from the rest of the world and finding a haven of peace in a secluded place, so that we can just be content with ourselves and forget everything else, then we misunderstand the point of this practice entirely.  Sitting in stillness facing a wall is not a way of escaping, turning our gaze away from a world in turmoil. Rather, in doing so, we follow a path that precisely enables us to plunge right into the heart of the world.  A genuinely spiritual person is not one who seeks an escape from the realities of everyday life, but rather one who is able to see these realities with new eyes, with an open heart and mind, willing and ready to offer a response moved by compassion.

Following the call to live a spiritual life is to heed the invitation to go more deeply within ourselves, to seek a place of refuge, find a place of Peace (Shalom), a place of Shabbat (rest). As we discover wherein lies that place of Peace in the midst of this violent world, we are able to offer that Peace as our gift to the entire world.

We “seek refuge.” We are “refugees” in the spiritual sense of the word.  This word, “refugee,” brings forth the images of millions of peoples throughout the world who have been displaced from their homes, due to threats of physical violence, due to extremely difficult situations in their lives that threaten their very survival, or else due to dire economic necessities.  These events happen to millions of peoples in different parts of the world.  Even now, right now, as we sit and enjoy our silence, somewhere families have been forced out of their homes.

As we look into our own lives, we realize that we also are refugees. We have been displaced, not yet having found that place of peace that we can call our home in this universe. We are beguiled, hounded by a nagging sense of dissatisfactoriness, a sense of dislocation.

We feel that longing to come home, to seek refuge in a place of peace where we can truly feel at home, deep in our hearts.  Where is our home?  How can we find it? Where can we seek refuge?

Alas, we have a tendency to take refuge in many kinds of things, wanting to satisfy our inner longing, and in doing so, come to realize that these things we pursue are not what we truly seek from deep in our hearts. It may be that the very things we try to grasp and hold onto in order seek some kind of satisfaction, are the cause this sense of uprootedness, displacement, of not being “at home” within ourselves.

When we look at our global society, especially in the so-called industrialized world, we see an abundance of material goods dangled before our eyes by the mass media, enticing us, telling us that we must have this or we need that, in order feel happy and satisfied with ourselves.  People pursue different things in their lives to give themselves that sense of self satisfaction.  We search continually for new thrills and new pleasures.  The entertainment industry keeps coming up with new attractions, one after another, and so we gladly buy into these.  We want to be up to date on the latest fads, the latest movies, and the latest video games, the newest car model.  There is always that drive to seek more, to have more.

Our own sense of rootlessness and powerlessness, our wanting to bolster our “place” in the world, drives us to seek more possessions. We want some more in our bank account.  We want a bigger house; we want a flashier car.  We want more satisfying relationships. We want to have all of those good things the “cool people” in society seem to have. Of course! Who doesn’t?  And so we are driven to work more, to strive more, to keep pumping the gas of our inner accelerator. As we do, the further we are thrown from that sense of being at home. The external force of wanting more propels us to want to do more, to be more successful, to feel more powerful.  That desire to be more powerful is a dynamism that drives not only individuals like us, but also social groups, corporations, political parties, governments, nation-states, and so on.  Being led on by the drive for power, be it in an individual or corporate entity, will inevitably cause us to clash head-on with others also seeking power. The result is the kind of world we live in, namely a world of conflict, violence, warfare, and enmity among ourselves, between human beings on different levels.

It is we ourselves who bring about this kind of world, by our own misplaced grasping for more possessions, by our hankering for more power and pleasure. We make ourselves part of that vicious cycle that continues to keep us and our world in a state of dissatisfaction and turmoil, in so far as we ourselves are not clear as to where our true satisfaction lies. And when you do come to realize that that way of going about life, that is, the way of grasping, is not where true satisfaction lies, then you are ready to take on the invitation of the Awakened One.

When asked by people around him how they could also become awakened, the Buddha’s response was, “Stop, and see!”

In short, stop grasping, stop your mind from wanting more and more, and just be still. Be still, and you will see. Be still, and you will know peace of mind, and be awakened. As the Psalmist enjoins us, “Be still, and know. I am what the nations grope toward. I am the earth’s desire.” (Psalm 46. From Norman Fischer, Opening to You: Zen-Inspired Translations of the Psalms. Penguin, 2002, p. 68.)

Our practice of seated meditation (zazen) is our way of taking up this invitation of the Awakened One, and enabling us to find the place of Peace we so long for in our lives. Sitting in stillness is our way of returning to that place where we are most at home, where we will find our true peace. Not a stillness that is an escape from the world’s turmoil, but a place where we are able to look directly at the source of that turmoil, that is, in the turmoil in our own hearts, and let it be quelled, by a clear vision and discernment of what is, just as it is.

To sit in stillness is not to take a passive “do nothing” stance to life, but on the contrary, to purify our mind, to empty our mind of the hankering for power and possessions, and to open ourselves to experience inner freedom and equanimity whereby we see “things just as they are.” It is this inner freedom and equanimity coming out of the exquisite experience of stillness that enables us to live each moment of our lives more fully, more deeply aware, and able to “smell the flowers” along the way. It is also what empowers us to respond to the world’s turmoil and address the world’s ills from a place of inner peace. In the clarity that comes from sitting in stillness, we become sensitized to the pain of those around us, and are thus also moved to respond to particular situations with a heart of compassion, and be enabled to activate skillful means in addressing those situations, each in our own ways.

This is the path we are launched into when we allow ourselves to sit in stillness as an integral part of our day to day life—the path of awakening, a path leads to true inner peace, the path that at the same time opens our heart in compassion. This is the path of Kannon, the One who sees clearly and hears the cries of suffering of the world, who offers her thousand arms toward the alleviation of that suffering in its manifold forms. Yes, Kannon is Us. Each and everyone of us.

It is a great gift and blessing to encounter others on this path of awakening, and to find belonging in a community of practitioners on this path. This is what sangha is about. Amidst our vast differences in personalities and backgrounds, we feel a deep bond and cherish a true sense of kinship with one another. It is this bond of kinship that assures us that we are not alone, that we are in good company, in our pursuit of true peace, healing, and wholesomeness in this world of ours full of turmoil and suffering. It is in this good company, among kin, in sangha, that we, in accepting and listening to one another and bearing one another’s wounds, can find the strength and empowerment to turn our lives around and offer it as our own little gift for the awakening of the entire world.

I bow in deep gratitude to each and everyone of you, for being kin to me and to one another, for the gift of yourself to all of us, in walking this path of awakening together.

Palms joined,
Ruben L.F. Habito
Maria Kannon Zen Center
January 13, 2012

As we welcome the New Year 2011 in the Western calendar, the Year of the Rabbit in the Chinese Zodiac, I invite everyone first of all to take a deep breath, right there as you read this page, and appreciate for yourself the blessing that you are. And as we do so, in that same breath, each of us can also appreciate the blessing that we are to one another as sangha, the community of those who walk the path of awakening together.

According to Chinese tradition, the Year of the Rabbit is one wherein we are to catch our breath and calm ourselves. It is a time for deliberation and consultation.  We are enjoined to resist the temptation to force issues through, as this way of going about things will lead to failure.  This is a time to focus on home, family, our immediate circle of loved ones, our relationships with one another and with the Earth.

In this spirit, I would like to focus my remarks on our practice community, and also focus my own time and efforts for this coming year on continuing to walk with everyone in developing our sense of sangha, our com-pan-ionship in this path of Zen practice. As we all know, the word “com-pan-ion” comes from the Latin which means “those with whom we break bread together.” My primary role as your teacher is of course to continue to walk with each of you individually in this path of awakening. I value the time we actually spend together sitting in the same zendo in one another’s physical presence, as I also value the precious moments I can meet with you individually in dokusan. From this year on I would also like to be more engaged in matters that will be conducive to building sangha spirit, promoting our sense of being community together. Allow me to outline below some concrete steps I intend to take in this regard.

I will work closely with our co-teachers at Maria Kannon Zen Center, namely Valerie Forstman, Helen Cortes, Maria Habito, and Lee Ann Nail, so that we can help one another as a team in being your guide in this path. Incidentally, I take this opportunity to convey to you what I announced at the Rohatsu sesshin of 2010 held in Chico, Texas, that I have formally appointed Lee Ann Nail as Assistant Teacher of the Maria Kannon Zen Community. Based in Salem, Oregon, where a group of practitioners look to her for leadership and guidance, she will continue to practice with me toward cultivating her own gifts of helping others in this path.

I will also work more closely with the Board of Directors, your duly elected representatives who take care of the logistical matters that support our shared practice, including our finances, our facilities, our venues for practice, as well as our public persona and legal responsibilities as a non-profit organization in the State of Texas. The Board has recently initiated some steps in canvassing the views of sangha members on our vision for the future related to our Hunnicut facility, and I will cooperate with them in this venture. Helen Cortes, at the service of the entire sangha as our Executive Director, works with the Board on the above matters, and we are all grateful to her in the various services she renders to the sangha. In addition to her work with the Board, she also continues to assist me in practice matters as Head Monitor (working with Chris Runk), in our regular orientation sessions that provide instruction for beginners who wish to take up this practice (together with a team whom I myself will designate and guide more closely in this important work), and also in giving talks and presentations on themes related to our practice to the wider public.

I  will continue walking with and look forward to deepening the bonds begun with the MKZC Precept Study group, an ongoing group of around 50 members (including around 10 “distance participants”) who have committed to come together monthly for a sixteen-month period to study the Sixteen Bodhisattva Precepts together under my guidance. This group study will hopefully not only bolster and deepen our individual practice, but also strengthen our bonds to one another as sangha, we learn together and from one another and challenge one another on the concrete and practical implications of living as a Bodhisattva (a being-towards-awakening) and embodying this in our own communities and the wider society. I will also work with individuals and small voluntary groups who seek ways of embodying our practice vis-à-vis the wider community, so please be in touch with me regarding initiatives in this regard.

Now I would like to make an appeal to each of you as a member of this Maria Kannon Zen sangha, especially those who live within reasonable proximity of our facility, our MKZC Hunnicut Zendo. Our practice, needless to say, entails taking time to sit in silence in our day to day schedule on an individual basis. I would also like to invite you to commit to a time that suits your own life rhythm, to come and sit with the community at the Zendo on a regular basis, during those given times group sitting is provided on our schedule. I especially would like to invite you to make an effort to be present at our regular monthly zazenkai, and lend your presence on this occasion as your way of enhancing your own sense of belonging and connecting in a deeper and more palpable way to the entire sangha.

I conclude this message with the invitation to each one, once more, to take a deep breath, in gratitude for the sangha that we have in one another, for the support we continue to receive from one another, as we walk together in the path of awakening, toward transformation of self and of society.

With earnest wishes that the Year of the Rabbit be an auspicious one for each of you, with palms joined in reverence and gratitude,

Ruben Habito

Editor’s Note: This is part of a series of articles on The Ten Ox-Herding Pictures. View all the available articles of the series here.

Artist: Jim Crump

By way of preparation for this third picture, let me give a summary of what has been covered before. The first picture depicted the launching of the search in an individual’s spiritual journey.  It marks that time in life when you begin to suspect that there should be something more to life that what you deal with on a day to day basis. This can be when something that jolts you comes into your horizon, shaking your foundations. It could be the death of a loved one. It could be the own confrontation with your own mortality, more concretely, the realization that I am going to die, conveyed to you through an illness or an accident or uncanny premonition. It could be something out of the blue, that makes you realize that there is something more than meets the eye in our day to day life. So you begin ask the big questions, and seek out books and articles on spirituality and religion, or start talking to close friends and confidants about such matters. Going one step further, you be led to join a group engaged in some form of meditative or contemplative practice.

The second picture describes the stage when one begins to receive inklings of a deeper reality than this humdrum existence. I recall the poem by Wordsworth entitled “Ode to Intimations of Immortality,” which describes a time

“…when meadow, grove, and stream,
the earth, and every common sight,
to me did seem
apparell’d in celestial light…”

Needless to say, this is not yet the decisive and transformative experience that the Zen tradition calls “seeing into one’s true nature” (kenshō), but can be regarded precisely as “intimations” of that Infinite realm that we will be referring to later. This can come to one engaged in a sustained practice of sitting in Zen, who now begins to taste the fruits of this practice: being more centered in one’s daily life, being more aware of the wondrous little things that come into view from day to day, being more able to “smell the flowers along the way,” so to speak. At this stage you may be experiencing consoling thoughts, receiving significant insights about being connected to all, finding a deeper sense of harmony with one’s surroundings and with one’s fellow beings, and so on. All this confirms that you are on the right path, and are inspired to go more deeply into it.

In this connection someone who comes to mind is Satomi Myōdō, a Japanese woman who was married, had two children, and in midlife received the Zen guidance of Yasutani Rōshi, becoming a Buddhist nun. Her story is found in a book in English under the title Passionate Journey, translated from the Japanese by Sallie King.  She recounts an experience as a young woman, pregnant and unmarried, having returned from Tokyo to be with her parents in their farm. As she was with her father working in a field, her father beckoned her to stop and look at a tiny winged ant making its way up a single weed. She describes what she saw at that moment in this way:

“I saw the grass and trees, the hills, river, fields and stones, the hoe and sickle, the birds and dogs, the roofs and windows—all shining brightly under the same sun. For me it was a wonderful breath of fresh air. Both the animate and the inanimate were vividly alive, familiarly addressing me and waving their hands. Struck by the unearthly exquisiteness of this world, I broke into tears and lifted up my face, weeping, in ecstasy. (p.9)

I cite Satomi Myōdō’s account of this experience to make the note that many of us may have experiences of a similar nature, whether we have already formally in the practice of Zen or not at all. Such “uncanny” experiences may have visited us as a child growing up, beholding the wonder of the world of nature, or perhaps in our youth or adult years, as we are thrown off our usual routine of things and are given a “close brush with the Infinite” in the midst of something very ordinary, like stopping on a hike to catch our breath, or leisurely looking at a starry sky at night, or patting our dog gently. But we must not confuse these experiences with what is called kenshō in Zen. They may be a prelude to it, or as indicators that we are not far from it at all. But these “close brushes” need to be distinguished from the transformative experience that actually seeing our true nature is all about.

This is the experience depicted in the third picture in the series, referred to as the sighting of the ox. This time, you know that the ox is really there because now you see it for yourself.  It’s no longer just a matter of believing that “the ox is somewhere there” and that you need to seek for the ox because others have told that they have seen it, or because others whom you trust have told you that there is an ox. Now that darn ox appears right there before your very eyes.

Going back to Satomi Myōdō, it was to take her many more years after that initial intimation of the Infinite, having gotten married, giving birth to two daughters, having been abandoned by her husband and losing one daughter, experiencing a nervous breakdown, and then recovering, and then at midlife entering into the formal practice of Zen under an authentic teacher, to be able to arrive at the decisive experience that turned the her world upside down. Describing this experience that gave her immense joy and freedom, she composed the following verse:

Dew drops, even dust—
Nothing is unclean.
The own-nature is pure. The own-nature is pure.
Kami and Buddha,
I’ve searched for you everywhere.
But you are here, you are here! (p.76)

Reading accounts of individuals who have traversed this path of practice and have arrived at that much-heralded point of “seeing into one’s true nature” (“own-nature” in the translation above) may encourage us and convey to us that we too are not far from it. The Three Pillars of Zen, edited by Philip Kapleau through the cooperation of Yamada Koun Rōshi, includes a section of such accounts of individuals who came under the guidance of Yasutani Rōshi. However, reading such things can also have the opposite effect of discouraging us, saying, “Oh, no, this can never happen in my case.” If this is how you are feeling at this point, my recommendation is for you to just forget about such stories and get back to your breath, and just be there in the present moment, where you are right now. And let me tell you, plainly and simply: it’s right there!

If these words manage to hit the target and trigger an experience, stop reading this, call your Zen teacher and make an appointment for dokusan, and take it from there.

If not, then you may go on reading. But please take note that this third picture is referring only the sighting of the ox.  You now know from your own experience that the ox is there, but the ox may still run away and disappear from your sight. This is because that initial sighting can recede into a simple memory or even “degenerate” into a mere idea or concept or philosophical notion, of “nonduality of absolute and relative” or “emptiness of all form” and or what have you. Or it can remain clouded with some doubt in your own mind, and you ask yourself, “Was that really the ox I was looking for, or was it something else? Or was it only a dream of an ox that I now remember vaguely?” And so it can regress to that level of a concept or memory or can be clouded in uncertainty, if we do not continue to polish the mirror of our mind, or if we do not continue to be alert and pay attention to that ox that is always there before our very eyes.

To express this in Christian terms, we may have been touched by the Infinite and Loving God in unmediated encounter at some point in our life, in a way that is clear and unmistakable to us at that moment when it did happen.  But in the aftermath, our insecure ego keeps trying to recapture that experience, wanting to frame it in our own terms. Having had the experience even make us feel “special” and “set apart” from others because of that precious gift we may have received, an “epiphany of the divine.” But precisely in doing so, the experience has now been downgraded into a mere memory of it, in a way that can bloat our insecure ego even more. We think we have an idea or notion about what God must be like, and so on, that we try to put it in conceptual language in the best way we can. And as we do so, the ox has now vanished from our immediate sight again, replaced only by a mental picture of it.

The initial sighting can be experienced by  many persons in various kinds of circumstances, but it one needs to continually polish one’s mind’s eye if it is not to regress into a mere idea or memory or a hazy image that can be coupled with a lot of delusions or connected with misleading notions. And so, sustained Zen practice what enables one to be always alert and able to keep that ox clearly in sight.

The fourth and the succeeding pictures describe stages of our journey whereby we become more familiar and intimate with the ox, bringing it home, making it part of our own household, and so on.  The main point I wanted to convey in describing this initial experience of seeing the ox is that it is not the be-all and end-all of Zen practice, as some literature may have us believe. It needs to be continually nurtured, through ongoing assiduous practice of sitting in stillness and coming back to the awareness of the here and now in paying attention to the breath. Now, if we maintain this stance of being alert and being totally present in our day to day life, the ox will be there in clearer view, and will not recede into such a mere concept or memory. Instead, it will continue to shed light on everything we think, say and do, and will continue to be an integral feature of who we are.

This initial experience of sighting the ox then can be a veritable turning point in one’s life.  As I noted earlier, in The Three Pillars of Zen, there is a section devoted to accounts of individuals who have seen the ox, in what context and life circumstance they were when they saw it. The account of Yamada Rōshi himself is included, in the section marked as “Japanese executive, age 47.” You may take a look at those accounts to give yourself a mental picture of what kinds of things happen in “seeing the ox.” At another time I would like to share a little more of my own experience.

It need not come only to those engaged in formal Zen practice. Many people might have had something like this early on, in childhood, or other stages of life, and some have recounted such experiences to me. It may come to one even without an explicit intent of looking for it, but just out of the blue. In a teishō I recall given at San-un Zendo in Kamakura, Yamada Rōshi related the story of Japanese woman in her 60s who was in a hospital bed, in terrible pain, and unable to sleep, she could just heard the sound of the clock, tick tock tick tock, all through the night. As she recounted it, she just disappeared in the “ticktock, ticktock,” and that experience was later confirmed by a Zen master as genuine kenshō.

This experience is not something that any one religious group can claim to have a monopoly on. Another example that comes to mind is Fr. Hugo Enomiya LaSalle, who had received guidance in Zen from Harada Daiun (Sogaku) Roshi as early as 1930s. He had continued practice on his own for many years, and then was inspired to come to Yamaha Roshi in the 1960s, and was confirmed in his own kensho experience in the early 70s. In a talk soon after confirming Fr. LaSalle’s experience, Yamada Roshi noted that this was not the first time Fr. Lassalle had “seen the ox” but had had such “sightings” many years back in his life as a Jesuit. Fr. Lasalle himself then responded by recalling his own experience as a young man, seeking God in one’s life, and wishing to do only what God willed for him in his life. This attitude is what predisposed him to the experience of God’s presence in his life. Those who knew him and worked with him through the years can confirm that he was a godly man indeed, marked by deep humility and openness, and you could tell that this was a person whose center of life was not himself, but God.  It was only in the last dozen or so years of his life, through Yamada Rōshi’s astute guiding hand, that his earlier experiences were formally recognized from a Zen perspective.

In the Miscellaneous Kōans given in our Sanbō Kyōdan lineage for those who have been confirmed as having had “sighting of the ox,” a glimpse of that world that the Heart Sutra refers to in saying “Form is no other than Emptiness, Emptiness no other than Form,” the following reminder is given: “Attaining the Way, Realizing the Mind, is just putting your head through the gate.” Now you are invited to open the gate further, come in, and reclaim the vast and infinite territory that opens out before you.

Editor’s Note: This is the first out of three articles on The Three Refuges. Read the Dharma Refuge (part two) and Sangha Refuge (part three) here.

Buddham saranam gacchami
Dhammam saranam gacchami
Sangham saranam gacchami

Part I–The Buddha Refuge

My task in the next three talks is to articulate what happens when we chant the three refuges, that we may be able to realize this and be able to embody it in our being. Incidentally, we also chant the four vows of the bodhisattva, and the fourth goes thus: “The enlightened way is unsurpassable. I vow to embody it.”

What we are hoping to realize here is precisely the intent and content of this fourth vow–to embody the enlightened way in our daily lives.

This chant of the threefold refuge has been chanted from time immemorial in communities that have received the teaching of Gautama Shakyamuni. The literal meaning is: I go (Gacchami) for refuge (Saranam) to the awakened one (Buddham). Buddham is the accusative form, and the nominative form goes without the final m. So what does going to the Buddha for refuge involve? This first talk will address this first part of the chant. The second will address the question of going to the Dharma (or Dhamma in Pali) for refuge, and the third, the Sangha.

Buddha means “awakened one.” Historically speaking, around the fifth century before the Western era, there was a man who was born in the northern part of India in a place which is now under the national territory of the kingdom of Nepal, in a castle named Lumbini. At birth he was given the name Gautama Siddhartha. Gautama’s father was a maharaja (“great ruler”) of this land.

The newborn infant was given a prophecy by one of the sages of that time, saying that this boy was meant to become either a great ruler or great sage. The father of course wanted him to become a great ruler who would expand his own kingdom.. As this boy became of age, he was betrothed in marriage to a young woman of high status, and they were married and had a son.

It was soon after this that he began to be plagued by very basic questions about life. Many Buddhist scriptures were written after the Buddha’s time speculating on the nature of those struggles and questions. One of these is a biographical account called the Buddhacarita, or the Acts of the Buddha. It offers a very good dramatization of how the young man Gautama struggled with the question of suffering. He left his kingdom, family and property, to become a wandering ascetic.

For six years, he went from teacher to teacher in search for answers to his questions. He tried all sorts of yogic practices that were taught at that time. Not finding any satisfaction with what was offered, he went off on his own, and continued in meditative practice. It was at this point that he experienced what is known as the Great Enlightenment.

According to the Buddhacarita, this happened as he sat under a banyan tree, later called the Bodhi tree. As he sat all night on the 7th of December, the following morning of the 8th, his eyes fell upon the morning star. At that instant, it dawned on him, literally, and he was awakened. This experience gave him deep peace and such deep joy that he simply wanted to continue sitting there, relishing it to the full. He could have just stayed there all his life, enjoying the fruits of enlightenment all by himself, but Brahma, one of the divinities in Hindu tradition, appeared and convinced him, so the story goes, that it would be a great loss to humanity if he did not go out and teach others what he realized. So he arose and began to prepare himself to share his enlightenment with the rest of the world.

Thus started his life of teaching the dharma to all those who sought it. His first preaching of the dharma was at a place in Sarnath, known as Deer Park. This preaching is encapsulated in what is known as the Four Noble Truths. His teachings, all arising from his experience of enlightenment, come down to us in written form through sutras, literally, “threads,” that is, threads of wisdom from the Awakened One.

I have just presented a brief outline of the life of the man Gautama, who upon his experience of awakening was called Buddha by those around him. He was about in his mid-thirties at that time and he lived from that point on until his passing at the age of 80. His is what we can look at as a model of the awakened life. What we have are records of what he gave in response to questions to those around him and this has been enshrined in Buddhist scriptures. What comes down to us in written form gives us some picture of what an awakened life is. Let us look at the basic structure of that awakened life as embodied by the first Buddha in history, Gautama, also known as Shakyamuni, the wise one of the Shakya clan.

What are the basic characteristics of the life of an awakened one? One of the earliest collections of sutras that scholars say contain elements of those earlier preachings of the awakened one is called the Sutta Nipata, and among these is one called the Metta Sutta, or the Sutra on Lovingkindness. The word metta literally means oneness, kinship, intimacy. It gives us a picture of the structure of the awakened life that is easily understandable. Let us look at excerpts from this sutra, this thread of wisdom, as one gateway into that world of enlightenment.

“Those who have attained that calm state live thus.
Able, upright, of noble speech, gentle and humble,
contended, easily supported, with few duties, of right livelihood discreet, and not greedily attached to families.
They do not pursue the slightest thing for which otherwise people might censure them.
May all beings be happy and secure. May their hearts be wholesome.
Whatever living beings there be, people are strong, tall, stout or medium, short, small or large without exception, seen or unseen,those dwelling far or near….
May all beings be happy….
Just as a mother would protect her only child over her own life, even so, let them cultivate a boundless heart toward all beings. Let their thoughts of boundless love pervade the whole world above, below and across without any obstruction, without any hatred, without any enmity, whether they stand, walk, sit, lie, as long as they are awake, they should develop this mindfulness. This they say is the noblest living here.
Not falling into wrong views, being virtuous and endowed with insight by discarding attachment to sense desires, never again are they reborn (into this cycle of birth and death) as they are now in that perfect state of peace.”

There are many details that one might get lost in, but based on the above, I would like to point out three basic elements in that life of the awakened one.

First, it is described as a “calm state”—nirvana. This refers to a state of perfect inner peace. An awakened one has attained perfect peace with oneself, with one’s fellow sentient beings, with the whole universe. It is that peace that the world cannot give, that we are able to realize, in becoming awakened. Second, it is accompanied by a sense of humility, realizing one’s bond with all sentient beings, with the whole universe. “Able, upright, of noble speech, gentle and humble.”

That peace is something that one is deeply grateful for, and it also makes one truly humble. And coming out from that peace and humility is the third element, a heart of compassion. “Just as a mother would protect her only child at the risk of her own life, even so let one cultivate a boundless heart toward all beings.” This image of a mother toward her only child is significant. There is no separation here. The mother is ready to give all that she is and all that she has that the child may live the fullness of life that it is meant to live. We are invited to realize in ourselves this heart of a mother toward all sentient beings.

In other words, we are invited to have that boundless heart of lovingkindness toward each one we meet in life…to be as a mother toward each one that we meet. It is an invitation to break through those barriers we have placed between ourselves and others, and simply offer our being as a mother would be there for her only child, ready and able to give all that she is.

But it is not to be considered simply an ethical “ought.” This is an expression of the reality that we are all already steeped in right from the moment of our birth. Having come into this world, we are “kin” with all sentient beings. It is kinship, this kin-dom that one awakens to in the experience of enlightenment.

Realizing that we are kin to one another becomes the basis for that natural outflow of that heart of compassion. It It’s not something that we have to conjure or try to attain, is simply uncovered as something already there at the core of who we are.

We may have actually experienced this reality in certain brief moments of our day to day life. For example, we may be walking in a park looking at children playing, and all of a sudden, a child trips or gets hurts. Our first impulse is to go and try to help the child even though we may not know who that child is. That impulse, that power that drives us on to want to help that child is the most natural thing in the world to feel such a circumstance. But then a second thought comes.”Oh, but I don’t know this child. Or worse, people might think that I am the one who did it.” So we step back, and again, put in that wall of separation between ourselves and the child. So, it is that kind of second or third level of reflection, our ego-based consciousness, that prevents us from embodying that heart of compassion of the mother toward her only child. This is what we are invited to see through, and allow it to be more fully manifest in the way we relate to one another in this earthly life together.

To summarize, peace, humility and compassion are the three marks of an awakened life. These are not things that we need to seek after as if they were something outside of us, but are elements that are already lying deep in our being. They may have been covered with anxieties or extraneous concerns or ego-centered delusions of ours, and so we are prevented from fully partaking in their power, from cherishing their presence as already there at the core of our being.

What happens then as we continue to deepen in this practice of sitting in silence, breathing in and breathing out in the way that Gautama, the awakened one, simply sat in silence, is that these elements that lie deep at the core of our being can become more fully manifest and truly empower us in our daily lives, to become who we truly are. So what we are hoping is that we sit in silence, the treasure that is in us right from the start may be more fully manifest, and that whatever is blocking our view of it may be cast aside, just like letting debris on top of a lake float away so that the water may be clear and enable us to see the treasures at the bottom of the lake.

To live the life of an awakened one is not to strive for something outside of ourselves, to try to attain something that we are not yet. No, enlightenment is not something to be “attained.” It is fundamentally an “uncovering” of that which is already there, enabling ourselves to be who we are already are. So, as we sit here, breathing in and breathing out, we are enabling ourselves to be more fully transparent from the depths of our being, letting that which is preventing it from its full manifestation to be set aside. In other words, we are letting the power of the dharma, the power of “what is,” to be more fully realized in our day to day lives.

If we take our practice in that way, then what we are up to here is not so much a “doing” (of meditation, etc.), but more properly it is an “undoing”–that is, a disentangling of those obstacles that prevent us from being fully who we are. And who are we? We are beings called to realize that perfect peace, deep humility, and compassion, throughout our entire lives.

So, when we say “Buddham saranam gacchami,”or I go for refuge to the awakened one, we are expressing our deepest hope that these aspects of the reality that we are, peace, humility and compassion, may be made fully manifest in the way we live. Let us have that heart when we chant, buddham saranam gacchami. That reality will be truly felt and will become the characteristic of our way of life. Without our being conscious of them, they will simply outflow the way that water flows from a higher place to a lower place or just as an acorn, for example, given the proper conditions, will sprout and come up as a young sapling then grow into a tall oak tree. We are simply cultivating the conditions for that seed of awakening to grow in us and to become that oak that will protect all beings and that will be there to offer itself to the whole community of sentient beings in the way it is meant to be.

Let us continue our practice not as an attempt at any kind of attainment or endeavor at winning something, but simply as our cooperative effort to create the conditions for that which we already are to become fully manifest. The life of the awakened is what we are invited to embody right there in our cushions, right here as we sit, as we walk, as we go to our meals, as we do our daily chores.

These ordinary events of our daily life are the field in which that awakening is meant to manifest itself. Buddham saranam gacchami.

Editor’s Note: This is the second out of three articles on The Three Refuges. Read the Buddha Refuge (part one) and Sangha Refuge (part three).

Buddham saranam gacchami
Dhammam saranam gacchami
Sangham saranam gacchami

Part II—The Dharma Refuge

We are in the process of elucidating the three refuges which we just chanted. Our intent is not just to give an intellectual explanation, but to allow an unfolding of what actually happens as we chant those verses with our whole body, with our whole mind, with our whole being. As we chant, we are manifesting the fullness of reality in that moment. Ti-sarana, refuge in the three treasures, is a way of explicating or unpacking the content of every moment that we are invited to come home to, especially during the time of sesshin.

Sesshin is a special time. We are invited to come home to the present moment. But this invitation is not just for the special period we can take out of our ordinary lives, but applies to every day of our whole life as well.

To make one brief summary remark, the Buddha is not some being out there that we worship when we make our refuge. The act of taking refuge is simply an acknowledgment of the most profound reality that I am, and that I am now hoping to awaken in me. Buddha, literally means “awakened one.” The very act of reciting “I take refuge in the Buddha” draws out this reality of awaken-ing, out of the state of slumber, as it were, that my ordinary consciousness is in.

To round up what was explained in the teisho on taking refuge in the Buddha, the signs, or the marks of the awakened life, can be described with the threefold marks of peace, humility and compassion. A traditional way of describing awakening is in terms of wisdom and compassion. When we say wisdom, we might think it is some kind of intellectual knowledge but it is not that kind of knowledge at all. Wisdom is to know reality as it really is.

A term in early Buddhism which is translated as “equanimity,” or “inner peace,” is Upekkha, which literally means “seeing things as they are.”   When the eye sees things as they truly are, there is no longer a separation between the seer and the seeing. Reality is seen “as it is” without illusion, and that is no other than true wisdom. The word upekkha thereby refers to a way of living based on wisdom that is characterized by equanimity. Inner peace that is grounded on that vision of things as they are. This is what gives peace to our-selves, peace with one another, peace with the whole universe: the realization of things as they really are. That also opens us to a life whereby we no longer need to be swayed by the ego and its delusive directions. This is what ushers in a life of genuine humility, as we see through the ego and its machinations and are no longer deluded by these. So peace and humility are two ways of unpack-ing what is contained by that traditional term, wisdom.

Now, let us look at the second point of refuge. Dhammam saranam gacchami, I go to the Dharma of refuge. Dharma is Sanskrit, Dhamma is Pali, pointing to the same reality, the Truth of who or what we are. Dhamma is again a word that has had a very rich history not only in Buddhism but also in Hinduism. We won’t go into detail on this, but allow me to offer first a general summary of the marks of dharma in the Buddhist tradition.

In the early Buddhist scriptures they talk of the three marks of Dharma as expounded by the awakened one. The three marks of Dharma are anicca, a word in Pali meaning impermanence; anatta, translated variously as no-self, non-self or selflessness, and, thirdly, dukkha. Now dukkha is a richly nuanced word, usually translated as “suffering” or “pain,” but it is misleading to identify it with what we know in English as suffering or pain. The word Dukkha is a compound from “kha”which means wheel and the prefix ìdushî (which becomes duk in Pali), which refers to something being “mal-” or “mis-”placed or “mis-”taken. It functions like the Latin prefix “mal-” as in “mal-”practice. The Italian word for head is “testa,” so “malatesta” is a headache. Going back to dukkha, the word literally means that the wheel is misplaced or is not functioning properly, because it is off center. This refers to the wheel of our ordinary life, characterized by unsatisfactoriness, misplacement, alienation, “angst,” and all those other words the existentialists use to describe our ordinary mode of being. A scholar has come up with the clever translation “dis-ease.”

So those are the three basic marks of Dharma, the three insights of the awakened one as he expounded what he awakened to, to others. Impermanence. Selflessness. Dis-ease.

When we chant “Dhammam saranam gacchami, I go to the dharma for refuge,” we are accepting the invitation to embody that dharma in our lives. At the first level, we are accepting our human condition, characterized by those three marks, impermanence, selflessness and dis-ease.

Let us take these three elements one by one. Every evening at sesshin, we hear the chant solemnly proclaim to us:  “Everything is marked by impermanence.” There are two ways we can take this. The first way is this: Everything is impermanent, so we lament, “Alas, it’s not going to last!” Everything changes. Even that tree which can live hundreds of years will eventually dry up and die. So, what more with human beings? And so, what more with the everyday reality?

Everything moves swiftly like a fleeting arrow, and we can hold on to nothing and say, “I’ve got it forever!” So we may lament this fact. But there is a second way of taking this mark of the dharma. Precisely because of that, namely, that everything is impermanent, the invitation of the Awakened One is live the fullness of this fleeting moment, just as it is. Truly, all that is given, is this moment. The next moment will be entirely different. So every moment is precious precisely because everything is impermanent. Every single moment is precious just as it is.

So we are invited not just to look for the “sweets” of the moment. There are also the sours and the bitters and the different kinds of tastes there, and so they’re all treasures that we are invited to taste in our life. So let us taste the treasure of our life, in each moment, with each moment. If we just look for that which we prefer, and try to expel out what don’t like, our whole life will be a struggle, grasping for one side of reality and trying to avoid the other side. So we will never be at peace.

The secret of peace is take what is and live that fully. This is the invitation of the mark of impermanence. The Japanese have a good way of expressing this in their love for nature. As you know, cherry trees have this very beautiful habit of showing their blossoms for a few days once a year in the spring. In Japan, this usually falls in the first week of April. It is a Japanese custom since time immemorial for people to go to a nearby park or place where there would be cherry trees in full bloom, and celebrate this auspicious time. People bring their jugs of sake and some munchies, and so families or office mates or groups of friends gather together, drinking, singing, dancing. This is the moment to celebrate, as cherry trees are in full bloom, because everybody knows that tomorrow they will just fall and fade away. This sense of celebration of the fleeting moment is ingrained in Japanese culture.

There is a poet who wrote a poem precisely about this, which I can only paraphrase roughly in English: “The cherry blossom falls within a day. Oh, how precious, how holy!” In other words, each moment that we are given in every day of this life is fleeting. So, how precious! How holy! We are invited to celebrate our lives, precisely in its fleetingness. Oh, how precious!

That’s what the mark of impermanence is inviting us to taste. The preciousness of each moment of our life and each moment really is an eternity that we are invited to truly live and realize. This makes us recall William Blake’s poem. “To see the world in a grain of sand, heaven in a wild flower, hold infinity in the palm of your hand and eternity in an hour!” That hour is not 60 minutes of an hour but an hour, moment of time, eternity in this moment.

The second mark of the dharma is related to this, and it is translated in different ways to no-self, non-self, selflessness. The Pali word anatta comes from the Sanskrit an-atman. Atman in Sanskrit is the word which can denote the true self but it also has become simply the term for referring to the ordinary self, the I, Me, Mine. So, an-atman, anatta, simply invites us to realize that which we call “I, Me, Mine” is a delusion.

What does that imply? Again, this has been the topic of many commentaries and dissertations in Buddhist Philosophy through the ages. We cannot go into the complexity of argumentation that this issue has brought out, but what we can do is simply point out a basic insight in all this. When we look at something, or listen to something, for example, and really lose ourselves in that moment of seeing or hearing, really wrapped in the experience of beholding something or hearing some-thing, there is no room for the “I” to come in and say, “Look Ma, I see this!” If we are truly able to encounter beauty at one moment then the I simply dissolves, and we are simply There, wrapped in the glory of that moment.

It is that kind of moment that enables the awakened one to know in ordinary life that what we refer to as the I Me Mine is simply an idea that comes to mind upon second reflection, and therefore, in reality, a delusion. In those most real moments of our lives, when we truly see, hear, taste, touch something, there is no such thing as an “I,” period. It is a gift of the universe simply “to be,” to experience each thing just as it is.

This is just one way of circumventing the philosophical discussions about anatta, pointing out that in the most precious moments of our lives, we find that there is no such thing as an I. We are simply there beholding reality as it is.

I still recall the moment of birth of my first son, Florian, and a year and a half later, of my second son, Benjamin. After Maria struggled through a whole night, pushing and breathing, his head popped out, then his whole body popped out. I can never forget that feeling of indescribable joy and ecstasy, just seeing this new life coming forth. Just that!

And so I can only invite each one to look into your own life. There are those moments that stand out in our lives, in our own journeys, that make us realize that what we call the “I” is really a block to true seeing. When we are truly face to face with reality, there’s no room for anything else. And we can only celebrate, right at that moment. The next moment, when I say, “This is my child,” then the separation begins.  We begin to be possessive, and compare “my” child with those of “others.” This separation brings about conflict, mars true peace. It brings out pride, which blocks humility. It brings out selfishness, which blocks compassion.

So, we see a lot in our lives that militate against awakening to reality. All this is brought by this delusive notion called I Me Mine, with its machinations that get hold of me, and spoil my life. When Shakyamuni awakened to the Dharma, he realized that such a notion is precisely a delusive one. There is no such thing as “I,” at the innermost level of reality. What he then offered to those who wish to follow him in this life of awakening is to see through that I Me Mine, and live in a way that one is not deluded by it. When the I Me Mine idea is set aside, what is true, what is good, what is beautiful, stands out, and can be celebrated for what it is. It can happen in a most ordinary moment like, looking at a flower or perhaps just sitting watching the cars go by. As we lose that sense of “I am watching the people go by” but are simply There. Thomas Merton experienced something like this, as he was standing at the corner of some street, was it Louisville and Knox, and gives an account of it in his “Confessions of a Guilty Bystander.” As I recall in this account, he realizes, “I am they.” Or, “they are me.” In other words, no I Me Mine.

Each one of us may experience intimations of that reality of selfless-ness, at some auspicious or unexpected moment in our lives. If we are in a park, and see a child fall down and burst out crying, for example, the first impulse would be to run and help that child. That is an indication or intimation of that world of selfless-ness, most real reality in us where there is no boundary between this being that I call I, with its proper name, and that other being with another proper name. There is that natural connectedness that calls me to jump out and do what I can for the child. But then, second and third reflection gets the better of us. “But it’s not my child.” Or worse, “what if people think I was molesting the child?” And we are frozen in our tracks, unable to act. Unable to live.

The third mark of Dharma is dukkha. This points out that if we live in our ordinary life under the sway of that idea that butts in with the second and third reflection machination, that idea we call the I Me Mine, then our lives would be in a state of malfunction, dysfunction, disease. So our life will always be unsatisfactory, because we live in a realm separate from reality. We are always separate from those that we are intimately connected with—our fellow sentient beings.

The healing of Dukkha then is the healing of that separation. This healing is called Nirvana. Nirvana is a keyword in Buddhism which has been interpreted to mean, etymologically, “extinguishing of the fire,” that is, extinguishing the fires of delusive passion. Another etymological way of taking nirvana is the un-covering (nir-vrt) of what is. The delusive I Me Mine that covers reality, hides it. The uncovering of reality, then, is Nirvana. What is Nirvana?

The passage that we read from the Metta Sutta gives us a hint. “One who has attained the peaceful state (that is, the state of nirvana) lives thus” so we are referred back to the features of an awakened life. To realize that this life as lived influenced by the I Me Mine places me more deeply into Dukkha, unsatisfactoriness, separation, malfunction, dysfunction, violence, conflict, goads me into turning my life around, to uncover the reality that is hidden by the I Me Mine. In doing so, I am able to live a life in Nirvana, as the truth comes to be uncovered. That uncovering of “what is” enables me to be at peace, humble, compassionate, and consequently, grateful.

The three marks of dharma thus call us back to the basic components of the awakened life. The reality of impermanence invites us to taste each moment as precious. The reality of selflessness invites us to see reality without the machinations of the I Me Mine. Disease, dukkha, invites us turn this I Me Mine around, and see things for what they are, and thereby arrive at peace, humility and compassion.

The term dukkha is also at the heading of another formulation of Dharma, namely, the four noble truths. This is the content of the first sermon of the Awakened One right after his experience of enlightenment.

The first noble truth is the realization that life as we know it in our ordinary consciousness, influenced by I Me Mine, is a way of being that is unsatisfactory. We are always pursuing something that is still “out there,” not yet belonging to “me.” This delusive idea leads us to want more, more, and more. And precisely in all that struggle for more, we are never satisfied. Unless we realize this situation of disease, we will never have the incentive to seek healing. If we simply think that that ís the way it is and we just go like that, which unfortunately is characteristic of the lives of so many of those around us, then we are stuck in our state of unhappiness, unsatisfactoriness. We are not blaming anyone here, but are simply offering a description of what ís going on in our society in general. Our world is run on this principle of this pursuit more and more by the delusive and deluded I Me Mine, taking different forms. But the outcome is to lead people to more and more unhappiness. Those who have, don’t seem to have enough, and want more. Those who don’t have get the little that they have taken away from them by those who do have, in this world of ours where the rich get richer and the poor get poorer.

We see that more blatantly perhaps in places like Latin America or Asia or Africa. But people’s lives throughout the world are inter-twined, and we all are affected by those structures of injustice and violence that deprive so many children of their right to live a decent life as human beings. In short, we live in a structure of violence wrought by the I Me Mine in that reigns in our individual lives and in our society. So the I Me Mine of each individual becomes a corporate, an ethnic, a national I Me Mine, and we are in conflict with one another in all these levels.

The invitation to all of us is to first of all, see through that and then realize that we can turn our lives around. This is the prescription of the Buddha. Once we see that this life based on the I Me Mine is unsatisfactory, not just for myself individually, but for everyone concerned, then we begin to seek healing from that situation.

The next step in healing then is the search for the causes of this disease. The second noble truth is the expression of that cause. It is summed up in one word: craving. Craving again is based on that delusive I Me Mine that wants to aggrandize itself.

The third noble truth is good news for all of us, as it affirms that there is a way to that healing. This is the way of Nirvana, the uncovering of truth that is blocked by this delusive idea of I Me Mine.

And the way to this uncovering is laid out in the fourth noble truth, namely the eightfold path. The eightfold path includes right view, right thought, right speech, right action, right livelihood, right effort, right concentration and right mindfulness.

We will not go into detail explaining every one of these, but only note that the eighth is what we are about in our practice of Zen. What Right Mindfulness invites us to is simply attention in each present moment. It is a mode of being that pre-supposes the other seven, and conversely, enables them.

With our practice of Zen, we are already geared towards that change of life experienced by the Awakened one. So hopefully, as we continue this practice in our daily life, we will be able to see through that I Me Mine that makes our lives unsatisfactory, and in so doing, be able to taste some level of that peace, humility and compassion, that are the marks of the awakened life. That is the fruit of living the dharma.

What I have offered here is just a summary of the presentation of the dharma in early Buddhism. Later developments gave another very important expression of this Dharma. In Mahayana, or Buddhism of the Greater Vehicle, which came about around five hundred years after Shakyamuni, there came about new vitality in the Buddhist tradition. To make a long story short, Buddhist followers came up with a new term to express their experience of enlightenment. The keyword here is Shunyata, translated, unfortunately, as Emptiness. I say unfortunately, because the word emptiness has a negative ring in English, as in “empty feeling” or “my life is empty,” and so on. This is the exact opposite of what the original Sanskrit term conveys.

The term shunya comes from the same word that the Indians use for zero. So perhaps a more direct way of translating shunyata would be zeroness. What is zeroness in this context? The Indians are said to have been the discoverers of the ciphers, the zero that enabled their mathematics to develop in leaps and bounds. The function of zero in the world of integers becomes crucial, as the matrix of all integers. In other words, the mother of all numbers is zero. To describe reality as shunyata, zeroness, gives us a clue as to what the Buddhists are experience about reality.

We can look at zero in the mathematical context for a hint.  Again I have offered it in previous teishos, but I would just like to repeat it because it brings an important message home. That zero is the underlying reality of our lives. To discover, and experience that zeroness is to discover the infinite possibilities of our being. How can we say that? Let’s take integers as examples. One divided by the same number one would result in one. Let us say that this describes a normal human being with a healthy sense of self, with an acceptable way of relating to others grounded in self confidence, yet also with a sense of boundaries with others. Now If we divide that same one with two, the whole becomes just one half. As we increase the denominator, one over ten (1/10), the value of the figure decreases. The denominator becomes a crucial point to look at in looking at the whole.

The bigger the denominator, let us say, analogously, the bigger the ego, the less the person there is. We call someone with a big ego a “puny person,” who gets caught up in small things, and misses what is really important. Someone with a Size Ten ego is only 1/10 of a healthy human being, in this reckoning. Like a little child wanting this toy, and getting sulky if it doesn’t get what it wants, or worse, hitting others in wanting to grab theirs. And unfortunately in our world there are so many such individuals, in government, in business, in institutions of power, that are in positions that determine the way the world is run, affecting the lives of thousands and hundreds of thousands of others. So we have the structure of violence and conflict and injustice, as the world is run by so many people with big egos, puny little beings with 1/10 quotients.

Now let us turn the process around. If the denominator becomes one half, the figure becomes one over 1/2, and the value becomes 2. That ís what we can describe as a generous person, somebody who is “bigger than oneself.” The less the ego, the greater the person. As we diminish the denominator, the person becomes more and more “magnanimous.” Our practice of Zen is what can pave the way for this diminishment of the ego, the I Me Mine, and enable us to become bigger, that is, beings with a greater and greater embrace of reality.

Such is a being who has a big embrace. Let us just try something out of the ordinary here. Let us say that the ego, the denominator, is decreased, to the point of nothing, zero. What becomes of the figure? This would break the rules of mathematics. In other words, we touch that realm we can only call—infinite.

This is the wondrous world that the Awakened One glimpsed on that auspicious morning as he saw the morning star. This is the world we are invited to enter into, right at this very moment, as we chant, Dhammam saranam gacchami.