Living by Vow: A Practical Introduction to Eight Essential Zen Chants and Texts

LIVING BY VOW

Wisdom Publications

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Okumura, Shohaku, 1948–

Living by vow : a practical introduction to eight essential Zen chants and texts / Shohaku

Okumura ; edited by Dave Ellison.

pages cm

Includes bibliographical references and index.

ISBN 1-61429-010-5 (p : alk. paper)

1. Zen literature—History and criticism. 2. Zen Buddhism—Rituals. 3. Buddhist chants. I.

Title.

BQ9273.O58 2012

294.3’438—dc23

2011048873

ISBN 978-1-61429-010-0

eBook ISBN 978-1-61429-021-6

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CONTENTS
Editor’s Preface
Author’s Preface
Introduction
1. Living by Vow: The Four Bodhisattva Vows
2. Awakening to Incompleteness: The Verse of Repentance
3. Final Shelter: The Verse of the Three Refuges
4. Cultivating the Virtuous Field: The Robe Chant
5. Continuous Circle of Offering: The Meal Chants
6. Sound of Emptiness: The Heart Sutra
7. All Is One, One Is All: Merging of Difference and Unity
8. Endless Practice Here and Now: The Verse for Opening the Sutra
Notes
Glossary of Names
Glossary of Terms and Texts

Index

About the Author

EDITOR’S PREFACE

ON THEIR FIRST ENCOUNTER with the sutras many Zen beginners are

perplexed. A few words might look familiar from other reading.

Perhaps the overall gist seems apparent. But on first reading many

sutras are an impenetrable mixture of meaningless foreign phrases

and illogical paradoxes. To the experienced student, sutras can

present another sort of problem. After years of study and practice,

many of us fall into narrow, knee-jerk interpretations of the sutras

we’ve recited so often. This book is aimed directly at both problems.

As an experienced practitioner of Zen, Shohaku Okumura speaks

clearly and directly of the personal meaning and implications of Zen

practice. He uses his own life experiences to illustrate the practical

significance of the sutras to the beginning student. As a scholar of

Buddhist literature he reveals the subtle, intricate web of culture and

history that surrounds the words so familiar to the longtime student.

The net effect is of a sympathetic friend who has practiced Zen for

decades (and also happens to be a Buddhist scholar) patiently

explaining, annotating, and illuminating eight of the most important

sutras. Esoteric Sanskrit terms take on vivid, personal meaning.

Worn-out, empty phrases gain rich new poetic resonance. Both the

neophyte and the experienced practitioner will come away with a

richer appreciation of these sutras.

For instance, take the word “vow.” Many modern readers,

scientists, skeptics, and secular humanists might find this concept

distinctly uncomfortable. Some may feel it carries the taint of ancient

dogma draped in musty, jewel-encrusted robes. It hints of rigid rules

for diet, sexual practices, clothing, and social hierarchies. Okumura

Roshi uses the teachings and poetry of the Buddha, Dōgen, Katagiri

Roshi, Uchiyama Roshi, and others to elucidate the central role of

vow in Zen practice. In the process he gives fresh meaning to the

word. Instead of a static pledge, vow is shown to be a dynamic, day-

to-day expression of the most fundamental aspect of our true nature.

He shows how our sitting practice, our Zen community, and our

livelihood can all be animated and illuminated by vow.

Emptiness, or śūnyatā, like many concepts in Zen, is slippery and

paradoxical. In his chapter on the Heart Sutra, Okumura Roshi uses

the words of masters selected from the twenty-five-hundred-year

tradition of Zen to elucidate this challenging but crucial reality. The

result is multilayered, cross-cultural, philosophical, and at the same

time personal. His interpretation of the five skandhas can be read as

a paraphrase of a modern neuroscience text. He quotes Nāgārjuna,

who lived nearly two thousand years ago, to demonstrate how

awareness of emptiness leads naturally to a more peaceful, stable

life in our modern world. Impermanence and interdependence are

not merely philosophical abstractions. They are fundamental aspects

of our daily existence. Ongoing recognition of this reality leads

naturally to generosity, egolessness, and inner calm. The

appreciation and application of this concept is a very practical

antidote to the pervasive angst of our modern consumer society.

This book offers the thoughtful reader an opportunity to apply the

cumulative insights of twenty-five hundred years of disciplined

spiritual research to their own everyday existence. It is neither a

quick, effortless panacea nor an abstract metaphysical treatise, but

rather a series of signposts to guide and inspire the determined

seeker.

Dave Ellison

AUTHOR’S PREFACE

THIS BOOK IS based on a series of lectures I gave as the interim head

teacher at the Minnesota Zen Meditation Center (MZMC) in

Minneapolis from September 1993 to August 1996. The center was

founded by Dainin Katagiri Roshi. He originally came to the United

States in 1963 to serve at Zenshū Sōtōji, the Sōtō Zen temple for the

Japanese-American community in Los Angeles. A few years later, he

moved to Sōkōji to assist Shunryū Suzuki Roshi, the resident priest

at Sōkōji and the founding teacher of the San Francisco Zen Center.

He practiced and taught there as the assistant teacher until Suzuki

Roshi’s death in 1971. The next year he moved to Minneapolis and

founded the MZMC, where he served as abbot until his death in

March 1990 at the age of sixty-three.

The MZMC is located on the eastern shore of Lake Calhoun in

South Minneapolis near the Uptown neighborhood. The center was

named Kōun-zan Ganshōji by Katagiri Roshi. The mountain (zan)

name Kōun means ‘cultivating the clouds’ and is taken from one of

Dōgen’s well-known poems.

The temple name Gansho means

“living by vow” and alludes to one of the definitions of a bodhisattva:

“Ordinary people are those who live being pulled by their karma

(gosshō no bonpu); bodhisattvas are those who live led by their

vows (ganshō no bosatsu).”

I had the opportunity to practice with Katagiri Roshi for one month

at Daijōji monastery in Kanazawa, Japan, in 1988. He was the head

teacher of the one-month special training period sponsored by

Sōtōshū Shūmuchō for Western Sōtō Zen teachers. I was one of the

assistants during the training period. Katagiri Roshi gave lectures on

the Shōbōgenzō chapter Kūge (Flower of Emptiness) in English to

the Western teachers. When I listened to his lectures, I was

astonished and very inspired. I already had some experience giving

dharma talks in English to Westerners, but until then I did not think I

could give lectures on Shōbōgenzō. Later I had several opportunities

to visit the MZMC to lecture his students while he was sick with

cancer. That was why I was invited to be the interim head teacher

three years after Katagiri Roshi’s death.

When I accepted the invitation from the MZMC I resolved to

continue Katagiri Roshi’s style of practice and transmit the same

essential spirit of bodhisattva practice, or living by vow (ganshō), to

his students. Therefore, when I started to teach, my first seven talks

were on the bodhisattva vows.

Some of the differences and similarities between Katagiri Roshi’s

style of practice and my own can be understood in terms of the

history of our lineages. From Shakyamuni Buddha until the seventy-

fifth ancestor, Gangoku Kankei Daioshō (1683–1767), our lineage is

exactly the same. Katagiri Roshi was the sixth generation and I am

the eighth generation from Gangoku Kankei Daioshō. Soon after he

was ordained as a Sōtō Zen priest, Katagiri Roshi practiced for three

years with Hashimoto Ekō Roshi, who was the godō (instructor for

training monks) at Eiheiji monastery. Hashimoto Roshi was a close

friend of Sawaki Kōdō Roshi, and my teacher, Uchiyama Kōshō

Roshi, was a disciple of Sawaki Roshi. They both emphasized

nyohō-e, traditional sewing of the okesa and the rakusu worn by

priests and laypeople who receive the Buddha’s precepts.

Hashimoto Roshi and Sawaki Roshi practiced together under Oka

Sōtan Roshi’s guidance at Shuzenji monastery. Another student of

Oka Roshi was Kishizawa Ian Roshi, with whom Shunryū Suzuki

Roshi studied in Japan. The lineages of Kishizawa Roshi, Hashimoto

Roshi, and Sawaki Roshi are thus closely related. In the United

States the influence of these three roshis continues through the

lineages of Suzuki Roshi, Katagiri Roshi, and Uchiyama Roshi.

Although Hashimoto Roshi and Sawaki Roshi were good friends,

their styles of practice were quite different. Hashimoto Roshi

emphasized the importance of maintaining the details of Dōgen

Zenji’s monastic practice. Narasaki Ikkō Roshi and Tsūgen Roshi,

the abbots of Zuiōji, retained Hashimoto Roshi’s style in Japan.

Narasaki Roshi and Katagiri Roshi were very close. Katagiri Roshi

also adhered to Hashimoto Roshi’s very traditional monastic practice

and sent some of his disciples to Zuiōji. Together, Narasaki Roshi

and Katagiri Roshi planned to create an international monastery at

Shōgoji, in Kumamoto Prefecture in Kyūshū. Katagiri Roshi was

going to lead the international summer practice period when the

construction of the monks’ hall (sodo) was completed. Unfortunately

he passed away before that happened.

Sawaki Roshi never had his own temple or monastery. He was a

professor at Komazawa University for more than thirty years. He also

traveled throughout Japan to teach. Many laypeople started to

practice zazen because of his efforts. Sawaki Roshi was called

‘homeless’ Kōdō because he did not have a monastery or temple but

instead traveled all over Japan. He called his teaching style a

moving monastery. My teacher Kōshō Uchiyama Roshi was ordained

by Sawaki Roshi and practiced only with him. After Sawaki Roshi

passed away, Uchiyama Roshi became the abbot of Antaiji. He

focused on zazen practice with minimal ceremony, ritual, and

formality. Uchiyama Roshi started five-day ‘sesshins without toys,’

during which we simply sat fourteen fifty-minute periods of zazen. I

was ordained by Uchiyama Roshi and practiced at Antaiji until he

retired in 1975.

After Uchiyama Roshi’s retirement I practiced at Zuiōji, where

Narasaki Ikkō Roshi was abbot. There, for a short period of time, I

experienced Hashimoto Roshi’s style of practice. I learned firsthand

that Katagiri Roshi’s style of practice and the style taught by

Uchiyama Roshi were quite different.

Recently Arthur Braverman, a friend of mine from Antaiji, wrote an

article about Uchiyama Roshi in Buddhadharma magazine. In it he

said:

While Shunryū Suzuki was igniting a Zen revolution in San Francisco

in the late sixties, Kōshō Uchiyama was trying to foster a Zen

reformation in Japan. It was perhaps an even more imposing

challenge when one considers the power of the traditional Sōtō Zen

sect in Japan.

Both masters believed greatly in the power of meditation, and both

did a masterful job of transmitting the importance of zazen to their

students. While Suzuki Roshi was attempting to get his American

students to see the importance of many of the Japanese forms,

Uchiyama was trying to teach his Japanese students not to be

attached to the forms, but to let the forms grow out of the practice.

This is a very clear explanation of both the difference and the

underlying unity of Uchiyama Roshi’s style and that of Suzuki Roshi

and Katagiri Roshi. Katagiri Roshi also put emphasis on traditional

formal Sōtō Zen monastic practice. For me, the decision to follow

Katagiri Roshi’s style was a big one. For all Dōgen Zenji’s

descendants, of course, the basic spirit of the bodhisattva practice is

the same. I feel that the essence of bodhisattva practice and the

common ground of various styles of practice is living by vow.

Katagiri Roshi often spoke about living by vow. In his book Each

Moment Is the Universe, he says that wholehearted practice of

zazen is itself living by vow.

In zazen many things come up: thoughts, emotions, sometimes

anger and hatred. But all you have to do is take care of zazen in

eternal possibility. It’s completely beyond good or bad, right or

wrong, so put aside all kinds of imagination fabricated by your

consciousness. Don’t attach to thoughts and emotions, just let them

return to emptiness. Just be present there and swim in buddha-

nature. This is living the bodhisattva vow to help all beings. Then the

great energy of the universe supports you and you take one step

toward the future with all beings.

Katagiri Roshi wrote his yuige (bequeathed verse) a few weeks

before his death:

Living in Vow, silently sitting

Sixty-three years

Plum blossoms begin to bloom

The jeweled mirror reflects truth as it is.

While my practice and understanding were greatly enriched by my

study of Katagiri Roshi’s style of practice, I also learned from him

how to teach Americans. For that I am very grateful. For twenty

years I practiced Uchiyama Roshi’s style of sesshin with no activities

other than zazen. At MZMC I gave lectures and had dokusan

(private interviews) during sesshins. It was a challenge, but I learned

a great deal.

After lecturing on “living by vow,” I spoke on the verses and sutras

in the MZMC sutra book. Since these are chanted regularly, they are

the Buddhist literature most familiar to Sōtō Zen practitioners, both in

Japan and in the West. Many people memorize them. But the

meaning of these verses and sutras is rarely explained. That is why I

gave lectures on them. I talked about them on Saturday mornings for

about three years until 1996, when I finished my term as the interim

head teacher at MZMC.

Most of the lectures included in this book were transcribed by José

Escobar and Dave Ellison. Some lectures were not recorded and a

few tapes were missing. I rewrote these sections to fill the gaps. My

talks on the Heart Sutra were transcribed and edited by Dave and

printed in the MZMC newsletter. Tom Goodell, one of the

practitioners at MZMC, was the first person who worked on this

project. Since both Tom and I were very busy, especially after I

moved to California to work for Sōtōshū North America Education

Center (currently Sōtōshū International Center), the project could not

be completed. A few years later, Dave kindly took over the project

and patiently continued to work on it for more than ten years. I gave

these lectures more than fifteen years ago, right after I moved to

Minneapolis from Japan. Even though I had lived in the United

States for five years, my English was not fluent. I had a limited

vocabulary with which to express my thoughts. I am sure that it was

difficult for Dave to understand what I wanted to say. I deeply

appreciate his hard work, which ‘translated’ my very Japanese

English into readable English.

I would like to express my appreciation to Jōkei Molly Whitehead,

a disciple of mine at Sanshinji. While she was busy for preparing for

her ordination ceremony, she worked hard on the final stages of this

book and gave us many helpful suggestions. I also express my

gratitude to Andrea Martin, who allowed me to read a draft of her

book Ceaseless Effort: The Life of Dainin Katagiri and gave me

permission to quote Katagiri Roshi’s yuige. Finally I am extremely

delighted to have Eiji Imao’s beautiful painting “Tsukinohikari

(Moonlight)” on the cover of this book. I appreciate his generous

permission to use a painting of his again, as we did on Realizing

Genjokoan.

Katagiri Roshi’s dharma heirs and their students fulfilled his vow to

transmit Dōgen Zenji’s teaching and practice to America. The tree of

Dharma transplanted by Katagiri Roshi continues to grow as its roots

spread and deepen in the soil of American spiritual culture in the

Twin Cities and elsewhere. I deeply appreciate their continuous

efforts and their friendship.

Gassho,

Shohaku Okumura

INTRODUCTION

ALL BUDDHIST SCHOOLS have rituals, services, and ceremonies. At

almost all such formal activities we chant verses, poems, or sutras

and dedication of merit (ekō). Each Buddhist school has a collection

of these writings, often called a sutra book (kyōhon in Japanese),

used in daily practice. This book presents my lectures on some of

the verses and sutras in the sutra book.

In the Sōtō Zen tradition, the official sutra book published by the

administrative headquarters (Shūmuchō) is Sōtōshū Nikka Gongyō

Seiten. This collection was translated into English and published by

Shūmuchō in 2002 with the title Sōtō School Scriptures for Daily

Service and Practice. Before the publication of this sutra book, each

Zen center in the United States created its own book, sometimes

using different translations. Many centers still use their own versions.

The text I used for the lectures in this book is MZMC’s sutra book.

As is often said, there is no perfect translation, especially in the

case of religious scriptures. A translation optimized for meaning is

often difficult to read and chant. But to create a beautiful verse we

may have to sacrifice the exact meaning of the original texts. Each

teacher and translator has a different interpretation and mode of

expression. The translations in the MZMC version, which I use

except for the meal chants, are no exception. Sometimes I offer an

understanding of certain words that differs from the meaning

expressed in the MZMC translations. My interpretation is based on

my study and practice, but it is not the only correct one. My hope is

that this book will help practitioners understand the meaning of the

verses and sutras in the context of their own practice. Perhaps my

commentary will be a foundation for better translations in the future.

I believe that all verses and scriptures in the Sōtō Zen tradition are

based on the Mahāyāna teaching of the bodhisattva vow. That is

why I titled this book Living by Vow. It is meant to be a practical

introduction not only to Sōtō Zen practice but also to Mahāyāna

teaching in general.

Sōtō Zen Buddhism is part of the Mahāyāna Buddhist tradition in

which practitioners are called bodhisattvas. We receive bodhisattva

precepts and take bodhisattva vows. The historical origin of

Mahāyāna Buddhism is not yet clear. In Japan, until the nineteenth

century, all Mahāyāna sutras were considered the recorded sayings

of Shakyamuni Buddha. When modern historical and critical

Buddhist study was established, scholars found that Mahāyāna

sutras were created at least several hundred years after Shakyamuni

Buddha’s death. When they began to study the origin of the

Mahāyāna Buddhist movement, some scholars thought Mahāyāna

developed from Mahāsāṃghika, one of the early Buddhist sects.

Later, scholars such as Akira Hirakawa (1915–2002) proposed that

Mahāyāna Buddhism grew from lay Buddhist movements in various

areas of India, a claim derived from the study of stūpa worship and

biographical literature praising Shakyamuni Buddha’s bodhisattva

practice. Examples are texts such as Mahāvastu, Aśvaghoṣa’s

Buddha-carita, and the Jātaka tales. When I was a university student

this was a new and exciting hypothesis. Many Japanese Buddhist

scholars accepted the theory, although opinions differed on details.

Scholars hypothesized that there were bodhisattva gaṇas (i.e.,

sanghas) that existed independently from monastic sanghas. Today,

some Western scholars criticize this hypothesis and suggest that

Mahāyāna began as a movement of a small number of elite monks

who aspired to live and practice in the forest like Shakyamuni

Buddha when he was a bodhisattva in his previous lives.

Either way, one of the fundamental ideas of Mahāyāna Buddhism

is to take the bodhisattva vow and practice like Shakyamuni to attain

buddhahood. The story that Shakyamuni Buddha took the

bodhisattva vow appears not only in biographies of the Buddha but

also in accounts of his past lives. I think that Shakyamuni’s vow

originated when he rose from his seat under the bodhi tree and

decided to teach. This story, which probably came into existence

several hundred years after the Buddha’s death, was the original

inspiration for bodhisattva practice. I would like to introduce a story

from the Pāli canon. Although it is not a Mahāyāna text, all the

essential points of the bodhisattva ideal are already there. One

important difference is that in the Pāli tradition the term bodhisattva

refers only to Shakyamuni himself before he attained buddhahood.

Only later did tradition create past buddhas such as Vipaśyin

Buddha and the future buddha Maitreya. But Mahāyāna Buddhists

believed that any one of us could become a bodhisattva if we

aroused bodhi-citta (bodhi-mind), took bodhisattva vows, and

practiced the six pāramitās, or perfections.

This story comes from the Khuddaka Nikāya of the Pāli canon.

One part of this Nikāya, the Jātakas, comprises 547 tales of

Shakyamuni Buddha’s previous lives. One of these stories is of

Sumedha (the Buddha in a previous life). When he took a vow to

become a buddha the Buddha Dīpaṃkara predicted that Sumedha

would successfully attain buddhahood in a future life. This story

illustrates the origin of the bodhisattva vow and many of the

important points of bodhisattva practice. It is interesting that the

archetypal image of the bodhisattva already existed in the Pāli

Nikāyas.

This story took place countless eons ago. In a city called

Amaravatī lived a Brāhmin named Sumedha, who was an

outstanding person from a prestigious family. When Sumedha was

still young his parents died. A minister of the state, who was steward

of the family’s property, showed Sumedha the wealth accumulated

for seven generations that he inherited from his parents. The family

treasury was filled with gold and silver, gems and pearls, and other

valuables.

When he saw the treasure he thought, “After amassing all this

wealth, none of my parents and ancestors were able to take even a

penny with them when they passed away. Can it be right that I

should seek to take my wealth with me when I go?” Then he told the

king that he would give all this wealth to the poor and leave home to

become a spiritual practitioner.

He saw that a life transmigrating within samsara—the cycle of

birth, sickness, aging, and death—was suffering and he wanted to

find the path of deliverance into nirvana. Sumedha thought,

“Suppose a man, after falling into a heap of filth, hears about a

distant pond covered with lotuses of five colors. That man ought to

search for that pond. If he does not, that’s not the pond’s fault. In the

same way, there is a lake—the great, deathless nirvana—in which to

wash off the defilements of my harmful karma. If I do not seek it that

will not be the lake’s fault.” So he left home and entered a forest in

the Himalayas to practice as a hermit. Because he was a person of

great capability, he attained superhuman knowledge and

supernatural power.

While he was practicing thus, Dīpaṃkara Buddha appeared in the

world and started to teach. Dīpaṃkara Buddha visited a city not far

from where Sumedha was living. The people of that city invited the

Buddha and his assembly of followers for a meal. In preparation they

began to fix the road, which was flooded, and decorate it with

flowers. Sumedha flew there by means of his supernatural power. He

asked why they were working so hard and were so excited. They

explained that Dīpaṃkara Buddha was coming. Sumedha was

delighted and offered his help. Because people knew that Sumedha

had supernatural powers, they asked him to fill the muddy part of the

road with soil. But Sumedha, although he could easily have filled the

muddy road using his supernatural power, wanted to use his own

hands instead. He started to carry soil by hand. Unfortunately,

Dīpaṃkara Buddha and his assembly arrived before his work was

completed.

Sumedha did not want the Buddha to walk through the mud, so he

loosened his matted hair, lay down on the ground, and asked the

Buddha to walk on him—a dramatic expression of his commitment to

take refuge in the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha. Even

today, some Buddhists make prostrations by laying their bodies full

length on the ground. When we make prostrations in the Sōtō Zen

tradition, we place five parts of our bodies—both knees, both elbows,

and forehead—on the ground. We place our hands palm up at the

level of our ears as if to accept the Buddha’s feet on our hands. This

is the form we use to express our respect and gratitude to the

Buddha.

When Sumedha, lying in the mire, looked up at Dīpaṃkara

Buddha, he made a vow: “If I want I could now enter the Buddhist

sangha and by practicing meditation free myself from deluded

human desires and become an arhat. Then at death I would at once

attain nirvana and cease to be reborn. But this would be a selfish

course to pursue, for thus I should benefit myself only. I want to help

all beings as Dīpaṃkara Buddha is doing now. I am determined. I

vow to attain what Dīpaṃkara Buddha attained and benefit all

beings.” Upon seeing Dīpaṃkara Buddha, Sumedha abandoned his

earlier intention to escape from samsara. Now he aspired to live like

the Buddha, staying in samsara to help all living beings.

Dīpaṃkara Buddha, seeing Sumedha lying in the mud, understood

that the young man had vowed to become a buddha. He told his

assembly that in the distant future Sumedha would become a

buddha named Gautama. Hearing this prediction, Sumedha was

delighted and believed his vow would be realized. Having praised

Sumedha for his vow, Dīpaṃkara Buddha and his assembly

departed. Thus Sumedha became “the Bodhisattva,” which in this

case means “the Buddha-to-be.” This is an early example of the path

called bodhisattva practice chosen by Shakyamuni Buddha.

Sumedha then realized that to become a buddha he should

practice the ten pāramitās: the perfection of giving (dāna), the

perfection of moral practice (śīla), the perfection of renunciation

(nekkhamma), the perfection of wisdom (paññā, known more

commonly by the Sanskrit prajñā), the perfection of diligence (viriya),

the perfection of patience (khanti), the perfection of truthfulness

(sacca), the perfection of determination (adhitthāna), the perfection

of loving-kindness (mettā), and the perfection of equanimity

(upekkhā). This list of ten pāramitās is found in the Pāli canon. It is

interesting to note that five of them (giving, moral practice, patience,

diligence, and wisdom) are present in the Mahāyāna list of six

pāramitās. The sixth pāramitā, missing in the Pāli version, is

meditation (dhyāna). But in some Mahāyāna sutras, for instance the

Ten Stages Sutra, ten pāramitās are mentioned: the six pāramitās

just mentioned and these four: skillful means (upāya); vow,

resolution, or determination (pranidhāna); spiritual power (bala); and

knowledge (jñāna).

The image of Shakyamuni as a bodhisattva is broadly similar in

early Buddhism and Mahāyāna. One significant difference is that

Mahāyāna Buddhists have always held that anyone, even ordinary

people like us, can be a bodhisattva if they arouse bodhichitta, take

the bodhisattva vow, and practice the six pāramitās. None of us can

expect to receive a prophecy assuring us of attaining buddhahood,

but since all beings intrinsically have buddha-nature, it is certain that

we will complete our vow and attain buddhahood.

The archetypal image of the bodhisattva in this story suggests that

all Mahāyāna Buddhist practice is based on the bodhisattva vow.

The vow has two aspects: becoming a buddha and helping all beings

become buddhas. These two cannot be separated. We vow to

become buddhas together with all beings. That is, we vow not to

become a buddha until all beings become buddhas. We vow to stay

in samsara on purpose to walk with all beings. This explains why the

Zen master Guishan Lingyou (Isan Reiyū) said he would be reborn

as a water buffalo, for the water buffalo, which walks in muddy water

to help farmers grow rice, symbolizes bodhisattva practice. The

bodhisattva vow is an essential point in Mahāyāna teachings and

practice. All the verses and sutras discussed in this book are based

on or relate to this concept.

Repentance, or atonement, is intimately connected to vow. My

teacher Uchiyama Kōshō Roshi always emphasized that vow and

repentance are two sides of one practice. Because our vow is

endless, our practice is never complete. This awareness of

incompleteness is repentance. In The Hungry Tigress Rafe Martin

tells the story of the beginning of Shakyamuni Buddha’s search for

truth. In this story Shakyamuni was a king named Suprabhasa. One

day the king asked his elephant trainer to bring his great white

elephant for him to ride. The trainer said that the elephant had

escaped to the jungle but it would return because he had trained it

well. The king did not believe him, grew angry, lost all self-control,

yelled at him, and told him to leave. Next morning, the trainer

reported that the elephant had returned. “The training was good,” he

said. “We have conquered his old, wild ways.” When he heard this

the king thought, “Though I am a king holding great power over

others, I have as yet failed to conquer what is closest—myself. I was

unable to control my own anger. This will not do.”

Such a reflection and realization of one’s own incompleteness is

repentance. It is the origin of Shakyamuni Buddha’s search for the

Way. This same realization gives us the energy to study and practice

diligently.

The verse of the Triple Treasure clearly states the connection

between refuge and vow. When Sumedha, lying on the muddy road,

asked Dīpaṃkara Buddha to walk on him, he took refuge in the

Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha. Dīpaṃkara noticed

Sumedha’s gesture and vow and predicted that he would be a

buddha. By taking refuge, we make clear the direction we intend to

follow. Taking refuge in the Buddha, we vow together with all beings

to walk his path of wisdom and compassion; taking refuge in the

Dharma, we vow to share the teachings and wisdom as boundless

as the ocean; taking refuge in the Sangha, we vow to create

harmony without hindrance.

In the Mahāyāna tradition, people become Buddhists when they

take the bodhisattva vow, repent their previous way of life, and take

refuge in the Triple Treasure. Some of them choose to leave home

and practice at monasteries. In the traditional Sōtō Zen monasteries,

monks in training live in the monks’ hall where they share their entire

time and space with other practitioners. Their practice of vow

includes not just the study of Dharma teachings and meditation

practice but all the activities of daily life, including sleeping, eating,

working, washing the face, and shaving the head. In addition to

shelter, food and clothing are the most important elements of the

monks’ lives. The robe chant and the meal chants originate from this

way of life dedicated to the bodhisattva vow.

In the robe chant verse, sometimes called the “Verse of the Kesa,”

we affirm our aim to practice with the same vow that Shakyamuni

Buddha and all other bodhisattvas including Dōgen Zenji took—to

save all beings. Dōgen Zenji himself took a vow when he first saw

Chinese monks venerate the robe (okesa/kesa) by putting it on their

heads and chanting. His vow was to introduce the okesa and

encourage Japanese people to venerate it as a part of bodhisattva

practice.

In Shōbōgenzō “Kesakudoku” (Virtue of the Kesa) Dōgen Zenji

quotes a Mahāyāna sutra, the Sutra of Compassion Flower (Hige-

kyō), in which Shakyamuni Buddha, when he was a bodhisattva in

one of his past lives, took five vows regarding the okesa (or kaṣāya).

One of his vows was that he would help students put on the okesa

with respect and veneration. Then Dōgen Zenji commented on these

vows:

Truly, the kaṣāya is the buddha robe of all the buddhas in the past,

present, and future. Although the virtues of the kaṣāya [from any

buddha] are boundless, attaining the kaṣāya within the Dharma of

Shakyamuni Buddha must be superior to getting it from other

buddhas.

This is because when Shakyamuni Buddha was in the causal

stage [of practice] as the Great Compassion Bodhisattva, he took

five hundred vows in front of the Jewel-Treasury Buddha. He

particularly took vows regarding the virtues of the kaṣāya.

Even mundane daily activities like eating are related to vow. In the

Zen tradition, monks sleep, meditate, and eat in a building called a

sōdō (monks’ hall). When we have formal meals in this hall, we

chant verses to remind ourselves that eating is also a bodhisattva

practice. We remember Shakyamuni Buddha’s life and give praise.

Then we vow to receive the food that comes to us from the network

of interdependent origination, share it with all beings, and fulfill the

bodhisattva vow to attain buddhahood together with all beings.

The Heart Sutra explains the practice necessary to achieve this

vow. After Sumedha received Dīpaṃkara Buddha’s prediction, he

decided to practice the ten pāramitās. In Mahāyāna Buddhism the

sixth pāramitā, meditation (dhyāna), is considered to be a

bodhisattva practice. The Heart Sutra, one of the early Mahāyāna

Prajñāpāramitā Sutras, emphasizes the pāramitā of prajñā, or

wisdom, as the most essential of the six. Without prajñā, the other

five practices cannot be pāramitās (perfections). Although a

relatively recent sutra, the Heart Sutra is considered the essence of

the large collection of Prajñāpāramitā Sutras. It points to the

essential role of prajñā in our efforts to fulfill our vows. To follow the

bodhisattva path, we study and practice prajñā-pāramitā, the wisdom

that sees impermanence, no-self, emptiness, and interdependent

origination. When we clearly see this reality; that we and other things

exist together without fixed independent entities, our practice is

strengthened. We understand that to live by vow is not to accept a

particular fixed doctrine but is a natural expression of our life force.

Zen Buddhism originated in China. “Sandōkai,” a poem written in

the ninth century by the Zen master Shitou Xiqian, is a Chinese

expression of Buddhist wisdom that sees emptiness. In the very

beginning of “Sandōkai,” the author clearly states that the mind of

the Buddha has been intimately transmitted through ancestors in the

Zen tradition. “Intimately” means from person to person, not through

written words and concepts. When the first ancestor of Chinese Zen,

Bodhidharma, traveled from India to China, he was practicing his

bodhisattva vow: to transmit and share the true Dharma, the mind of

the Buddha, with Chinese people. Dōgen Zenji commented on

Bodhidharma’s practice in Shōbōgenzō “Gyōji” (Continuous

Practice), “This way of protecting and maintaining practice [gyōji]

stemmed from his great compassion and his vow to transmit the

Dharma and save deluded living beings. He was able to do it

because he himself was the dharma-self of transmission and for him

the whole universe was the world of transmitting Dharma.” In the

same way, transmission of Buddha Dharma from Asian Buddhist

countries to the West is the result of many Buddhist monks and

laypeople who live by vow. Shitou, the eighth-generation ancestor

from Bodhidharma expresses prajñā as the merging of the two

truths, ultimate (ri) and conventional (ji). At the end of “Sandōkai” he

encourages us to practice wholeheartedly and not waste time.

The “Verse for Opening the Sutra” explicitly points to the

importance of vow. When we chant it before a dharma talk (open the

sutra), we vow to listen, understand, digest, and apply the teaching

to our practice. This is another expression of the third bodhisattva

vow. Not only written texts and Dharma lectures but everything we

encounter is a sutra that shows us, day by day and moment by

moment, the true reality of all beings, continuously deepening our

understanding and practice.

In the Sōtō Zen tradition, our practice is based on Dōgen Zenji’s

teaching of continuous practice and the identity of practice and

verification. The bodhisattva Way is not linear. It’s not a path that we

move along from a starting point to a finish, as in a board game. In

Shōbōgenzō “Gyōji,” Dōgen explained that we practice together with

all buddhas, bodhisattvas, and ancestors.

In the great Way of the buddhas and ancestors, there is always

unsurpassable continuous practice which is the Way like a circle

without interruption. Between the arousing of awakening-mind,

practice, awakening, and nirvana, there is not the slightest break.

Continuous practice is the circle of the Way. Therefore, [this

continuous practice] is not [activities that we are] forced to do by

ourselves or by others [buddhas and ancestors]. It is the continuous

practice that has never been defiled [by our three poisonous minds].

The virtue of this continuous practice sustains ourselves and others.

The essential point is that, in the entire earth and throughout heaven

in the ten directions, all beings receive the merit of our continuous

practice. Although neither others nor ourselves know it, that is the

way it is. Therefore, because of the buddhas’ and ancestors’

continuous practice, our continuous practice is actualized, and our

own great Way is penetrated. Because of our own continuous

practice, the continuous practice of all buddhas is actualized, and the

great Way of buddhas is presented. Because of our own continuous

practice, there is the virtue of the circle of the Way. Because of this,

each and every one of the buddhas and ancestors dwells as a

buddha, goes beyond Buddha, upholds Buddha mind, and

completes buddhahood without interruption. Because of continuous

practice, there are the sun, moon, and stars; because of continuous

practice, there is the great earth and empty space. Because of

continuous practice, there is the self and its environment, and body

and mind; because of continuous practice, there are the four great

elements and the five aggregates. Although continuous practice is

not something worldly people love, nevertheless it is the true place to

return for all people. Because of the continuous practice of all

buddhas in the past, present, and future, all buddhas in the past,

present, and future are actualized.…Therefore, the continuous

practice of one day is nothing other than the seed of all buddhas and

[is itself] the continuous practice of all buddhas.

All aspects of our practice—zazen in the monks’ hall, chanting of

verses and sutras during services, ceremonies in the Dharma hall—

and all our other activities in daily life are the practice of the

bodhisattva vow actualized moment by moment. We chant these

verses and sutras as an expression of this interpenetrating reality

with all beings throughout endless time and boundless space.

Sentient beings are numberless; I vow to save them.

Desires are inexhaustible; I vow to put an end to them.

The dharmas are boundless; I vow to master them.

The Buddha’s Way is unsurpassable; I vow to attain it.

THIS VERSE, which states the four bodhisattva vows (shiguseigan-

mon), is one of the shortest we recite. It is also one of the most

important and challenging to understand. It is difficult in part because

the meaning of vow in this verse departs from the usual English

meaning of “solemn promise” or “personal commitment.” In

Buddhism vow has a much larger and more complex meaning. To

understand it we need to consider Japanese Buddhist culture.

One of my experiences with the difficulties involved in translating

from one cultural tradition to another took place in Kyoto, where I

lived for a year in a Catholic convent. Although we were not part of

the community, my family and I were given a small house inside the

monastery. One day the abbess of the convent, Sister Cleria, visited

our house. She was a very elegant old woman, an American. She

had been in Japan for more than thirty years as a missionary and

spoke fluent Japanese. She asked me to speak on the role of prayer

in Buddhism at a gathering of the nuns in the convent. Because they

had been so generous to us I couldn’t refuse. I began to think about

prayer in Buddhism and realized that there is no prayer in

Buddhism.

That was how I started my talk for the Christian nuns.

We don’t have prayer in Buddhism, but vow holds the same

importance for Buddhists as prayer for Christians. So I talked about

the four bodhisattva vows.

Prayer, inori in Japanese, is a Christian term that means

communion, communication, or oneness with God. Today there are

many Catholic priests who practice zazen. Before becoming a

Catholic priest, Ichirō Okumura (no relation to me) practiced with the

famous Rinzai master Sōen Nakagawa Roshi. Nakagawa Roshi

encouraged him to become a Catholic priest, and he has continued

to practice zazen. At sixty he was the head of a Carmelite order in

Japan. He traveled the world giving meditation instruction to Catholic

communities and wrote a book about meditation practice in the

Catholic faith. The title of his book is Inori (Prayer). An English

translation (Awakening to Prayer) has been published.

Father Okumura uses an expression from the Old Testament, “to

be quiet in front of God,” to describe silent sitting practice. This

communion with God without language is, he believes, the purest

form of prayer. I think this is true in a Christian context, but for me,

zazen is not a communication with God or with anything else. I don’t

think of zazen as a form of prayer. This is a major difference

between Buddhism and Christianity. There is no object in our zazen.

We just sit.

When I looked in a dictionary of Japanese Buddhist terms, there is

no entry for prayer (inori). There is a word, kitō, which can be

translated into English as “prayer” but is actually quite different. Kitō

is a Buddhist practice of the Shingon school, a Japanese Vajrayāna

school. In India, Vajrayāna Buddhists adopted the practice of kitō

under the influence of Hinduism. Hindu gods have an interesting

habit. When priests recite special mantras and perform certain

rituals, the gods are obliged to grant their requests. In Vajrayāna or

Shingonshū there is a similar practice. Believers sit in lotus posture,

chant mantras, and enact rituals. The practitioner can then become

one with the buddha or bodhisattva enshrined in front of him and his

requests will be granted. This is the Shingon practice of kitō. Many

Japanese temples practice kitō to insure traffic safety, success in

school entrance examinations, easy childbirth, recovery from

sickness, or success in business. This is one of the ways Japanese

Buddhist temples make money. Sōtō temples are no exception.

Originally, Buddhism had no such practice. From the beginning,

however, especially in Mahāyāna Buddhism, vow is essential for all

bodhisattvas. In fact, part of the definition of a bodhisattva is a

person who lives by vow instead of by karma. Karma means habit,

preferences, or a ready-made system of values. As we grow up, we

learn a system of values from the culture around us, which we use to

evaluate the world and choose actions. This is karma, and living by

karma. In contrast, a bodhisattva lives by vow. Vow is like a magnet

or compass that shows us the direction toward the Buddha. There

are two kinds of vow: general vows, taken by all bodhisattvas, and

particular vows for each person. Each bodhisattva makes specific

vows unique to his or her personality and capabilities. The four

bodhisattva vows are general vows that should be taken by all

Mahāyāna Buddhist practitioners. We must live by these vows. That

is our direction. Our sitting practice should also be based on these

vows.

When I explained the four bodhisattva vows to the Christian nuns,

I told them that I see a basic contradiction between the first and

second half of each sentence. “Sentient beings are numberless; I

vow to save them”: but if sentient beings are numberless, we cannot

possibly save them all—this is a contradiction. “Desires are

inexhaustible; I vow to put an end to them”: if they are inexhaustible,

how can I put an end to them? That’s logically impossible. “The

dharmas are boundless; I vow to master them”: if they are

boundless, then we cannot completely master them. The

“contradiction” in the fourth vow is subtler: “The Buddha’s Way is

unsurpassable; I vow to attain it”: if it’s so transcendent, can we

really expect to realize it? These contradictions are very important

and have a profound practical and also religious meaning. But before

I discuss them, I will explain each sentence of the verse.

Originally these four vows were connected to the four noble truths.

The older version of the verse of four vows is as follows.

I vow to enable people to be released from the truth of suffering.

I vow to enable people to understand the truth of the origin of

suffering.

I vow to enable people to peacefully settle down in the truth of the

path leading to the cessation of suffering.

I vow to enable people to enter the cessation of suffering, that

is, nirvana.

The four noble truths are the basic teachings of Shakyamuni

Buddha. The first is the truth of suffering or dissatisfaction (duḥkha in

Sanskrit; dukkha in Pāli). Human life is full of duḥkha. The second is

the truth of the cause of suffering: thirst or delusive desires. The third

is the truth of the cessation of suffering: nirvana. The fourth is the

truth of the path that leads us to nirvana.

The first bodhisattva vow is related to the first noble truth: “I vow to

enable people to be released from the truth of suffering.” Perhaps

“truth” is unnecessary. “I vow to enable people to be released from

suffering.” “Suffering” here is the specific kind of suffering mentioned

in the four noble truths. The Buddha said that our life is full of

suffering, and so his teaching is often interpreted as being

pessimistic. The suffering referred to here is not limited to the pain,

suffering, unhappiness, or sadness brought about by the

circumstances of our lives. The deeper meaning of duḥkha or

suffering is related to impermanence or egolessness. Everything is

impermanent and always changing. As a result there is nothing

substantial that we can grasp. And yet we continue to try. But since

everything continues to change, we suffer. This suffering arises

because we cannot possess or control anything. As long as we try to

do so, we suffer and feel dissatisfaction. The fact that we cannot

control the reality of our lives is the root of the suffering described by

the Buddha, which is based on our delusions about and attachment

to the ego. This is the second of the four noble truths.

The second bodhisattva vow is “I vow to enable people to

understand the truth of the origin of suffering.” The origin of suffering

is our delusive desire, which in this context is called bonnō. This

Japanese word is a Chinese translation of the Sanskrit kleśa, often

rendered in English as “delusion,” although it actually refers to the

hindrances, troubles, defilements, or passions that drive us to

unwholesome action. According to the Yogacāra school, there are

four fundamental bonnō or delusive ideas that defile our minds and

our lives. The first, gachi, is ignorance of the Dharma, of the reality of

impermanence and egolessness. The second is gaken, or egocentric

views based on ignorance. We cling to established views of things

around us. The third one is gaman, or arrogance. When we justify

ourselves or try to be righteous we become arrogant. We put

ourselves above others. The fourth is ga-ai, or self-attachment. Ai in

Japanese is often used as a translation for “love,” with a positive

meaning. But in Buddhism ai is more often a kind of attachment and

carries a negative connotation. Gachi, gaken, gaman, ga-ai—

ignorance, egocentric view, arrogance, and self-attachment—are the

four basic desires (kleśa). Perhaps “desire” isn’t the best word to

characterize these things, but they are the cause of suffering and

unwholesome karma. The second vow relates to this truth.

Bodhisattvas vow to help people understand the truth of the origin of

suffering. This is what the second vow means when it says, “Desires

are inexhaustible; I vow to put an end to them.”

The third vow in the older verse is “I vow to enable people to

peacefully settle down in the truth of the path leading to the

cessation of suffering.” This is about the fourth noble truth, the truth

of mārga, the path leading to nirvana. (The order of truths is different

in the two versions.) The path referred to is our practice of the

eightfold noble path: right view, right thinking, right speech, right

action, right livelihood, right effort, right mindfulness, and right

meditation. The third vow has to do with the fourth noble truth, to

enable people to settle in the way of practice. It begins with “The

dharmas are boundless.” Here the original word for “dharmas” is

hōmon (dharma gate), which means teachings about reality and

about reality-based practice. “The dharmas are boundless; I vow to

master them” means that we vow to study and settle down in the

way of practice. That is the fourth noble truth and the third vow.

An older version of the fourth vow, “The Buddha’s Way is

unsurpassable; I vow to attain it,” is “I vow to enable people to attain

nirvana.” This vow is related to the third noble truth. In this context,

“Way” is a translation of bodhi, or awakening, not of mārga, or path.

“The Buddha’s Way” refers to the Buddha’s awakening or nirvana.

So this vow says, “The Buddha’s awakening is unsurpassable, but I

vow to attain it.”

This is the meaning of the four vows. It is important to understand

that they are directly connected with the four noble truths, the

fundamental teaching of Shakyamuni Buddha.

It is interesting to compare the older version of the four vows with

the version we usually recite. Again, the older version is:

I vow to enable people to be released from the truth of suffering.

I vow to enable people to understand the truth of the origin of

suffering.

I vow to enable people to peacefully settle down in the truth of the

path leading to the cessation of suffering.

I vow to enable people to attain nirvana.

In this version of the four bodhisattva vows, “I” refers to a

bodhisattva who has taken vows, been released from suffering, and

understood the truth of the origin of suffering. This is someone who

has already settled down in practice, in the four noble truths:

someone who is already in nirvana. These vows are for someone

who is already enlightened. However, the verse we usually recite is,

once again:

Sentient beings are numberless; I vow to save them.

Desires are inexhaustible; I vow to put an end to them.

The dharmas are boundless; I vow to master them.

The Buddha’s Way is unsurpassable; I vow to attain it.

This person still has inexhaustible desires or delusions, and so still

has something to study, something to learn. The person has not yet

attained the Way. The person him/herself still has inexhaustible

delusive desires, and therefore the person vows to eliminate them.

This is not a vow to help others to be released from inexhaustible

desires. The older version is the vow made by an already

enlightened bodhisattva, someone who is above all deluded sentient

beings, making a vow to help all people.

In the newer version, the one we now chant, we still suffer but vow

to save all beings. We have inexhaustible desires but vow to put an

end to them. “The dharmas are boundless….” There are so many

things to learn, and yet we vow to master them. We must make an

effort to study the dharmas, the teachings, and practice, but we

realize that practice is endless and so we resolve to practice

endlessly. “The Buddha’s Way is unsurpassable.” We are not yet

enlightened, but we vow to attain it. We are ordinary human beings

and yet, if we take these four vows, we are bodhisattvas. In reality,

we are ordinary human beings with inexhaustible desires. We have

to study the teachings and practice endlessly, day by day, moment

by moment, to attain the Buddha’s enlightenment. That is our vow. In

making these four vows, we are bodhisattvas.

As we said, there is a contradiction inherent in these vows: we

vow to do things that are impossible. This means that our practice is

endless and that we cannot completely fulfill the four vows. Our

practice and study are like trying to empty the ocean with a spoon,

one spoonful at a time. It is certainly a stupid way of life, not a clever

one. A clever person cannot be a bodhisattva. We are aiming at

something eternal, infinite, and absolute. No matter how hard we

practice, study, and help other people, there is no end to it all. When

we compare our achievement with something infinite, absolute, and

eternal, it’s like nothing.

We shouldn’t compare our practice, our understanding, or our

achievements with those of other people. When we do, we become

competitive. We think, “I’m better than them” or “I’m practicing

harder.” Our practice becomes a competition based on egocentricity,

something totally meaningless as a practice of the Buddha’s Way.

We cannot peacefully settle down in such a competitive practice. No

matter how hard or long we practice, if our practice is based on ego,

we are totally deluded. Such practice leads to a selfish view,

arrogance, and self-attachment. Even though we think we are

practicing the Dharma, we are against the Dharma completely. When

we understand that our goal is eternal, infinite, and absolute, no

matter how hard we practice, no matter how many things we master,

no matter how deep our understanding of Buddha’s teaching,

compared to the infinite, we are zero. We cannot afford to be

arrogant.

There is another side to this. Even if we cannot practice as hard,

sit as long, study as much, or understand as deeply as others, we

don’t need to feel guilty or inferior. Compared to the eternal, the

absolute, or the infinite, we are all equal to zero. There is something

deeply meaningful in our comparison with the absolute.

Understanding ourselves in this way frees our practice from

competition based on selfishness. This is a most important point. We

cannot be proud of our practice, and we don’t need to be too humble

about our lack of practice or understanding. We are just as we are.

Our practice is to take one more step toward the infinite, the

absolute, moment by moment, one step at a time.

According to Dōgen Zenji this one step, or even a half-step, in our

practice is the manifestation of absolute enlightenment. This is what

he meant when he spoke of “just sitting,” or shikantaza. When we sit,

we just sit. That doesn’t mean we don’t need to do anything else. It

doesn’t mean we are all right only when we are sitting. It means that

when we sit, there is no comparison. We are right now, right here,

with this body and mind, awakening to reality. This is the complete

manifestation of absolute, infinite, eternal enlightenment. Even a

short period of sitting is bodhisattva practice. And our practice is not

only sitting. All of our day-to-day activities should be based on the

four vows and the four noble truths, which are the basic teaching of

Shakyamuni Buddha.

When I explained all this to the Christian nuns, they liked it! They

felt that the teachings of Catholicism are the same as those of

Buddhism. In Christianity the absolute, the infinite, is God. Being in

front of God, no one can be proud of their achievement. Therefore,

believers have to be still in front of God. The philosophical or

doctrinal basis is different, but the attitude toward our everyday lives

is the same. When we talk to people of other religions, we don’t need

to discuss the differences in theory. Of course, it is important to

understand the differences, but we don’t need to argue about which

are true.

The four bodhisattva vows are an essential point, not just in our

practice of zazen but also in our day-to-day lives. Each of us has a

job or a family and in each situation we try to practice the four noble

truths and the four bodhisattva vows. Our practice is the whole of our

life, not something special that we do only in the monastery or at a

sesshin or retreat. Those are important parts of our practice, but the

Buddha taught us to just awaken to the reality of our lives and live on

the basis of that reality. We have to live right now, right here, with this

body and mind, and in the company of others. The guiding force, the

compass that leads us to live out this reality, is the bodhisattva vows.

SHAKYAMUNI BUDDHA’S VOW

According to the Sanskrit literature, Shakyamuni sat alone under the

bodhi tree and was enlightened. He saw that beings suffer in

samsara—in the six realms of the world: the realms of hell, hungry

ghosts, animals, asuras, human beings, and heavenly beings. This is

the meaning of suffering as the first noble truth. The Indian folk belief

was that we are born into one of these six realms, and when we die

we are reborn into another realm according to our deeds in this life.

The transmigration continues endlessly until we are free from twisted

knots of karma created by the three poisonous minds of grasping,

aversion, and ignorance.

I don’t know if these realms actually exist after death, but I see that

they exist in human society and inside each of us. Hell is when

people live together and make each other suffer. Everything each

one does irritates the others. This sort of thing often happens even

within ourselves: two conflicting parts of us argue and fight. We have

a constant internal struggle. That’s hell.

Hungry ghosts are beings consumed by unsatisfied craving. In this

realm we always feel something is lacking. We consume or try to

obtain things we desire but are never satisfied.

Animals are happy when they are fed; they feel content and go to

sleep. Some animals, like cows or elephants, work from birth to

death; they just work, work, work. Many Japanese people live like

this. Some of my friends who work in Tokyo leave their homes at

seven in the morning and start work at eight thirty or nine. It may

take them two hours to get to their jobs. They work until nine in the

evening and then return home and go to bed around eleven or

twelve. That’s their life. When I heard this, I was amazed. Their lives

are much harder than intensive sitting practice during sesshin! I can’t

imagine how a person could live that way. It’s living in the realm of

animals.

Asuras are fighting spirits. Asura was a mythical Indian god of

justice. When we believe we are right, we criticize others based on

our own concept of justice. If necessary we fight with others until we

win. Exterminating people who oppose us becomes the purpose of

our lives. Such people cannot be satisfied without enemies. They

can’t live without something against which they can struggle. We all

have this sort of attitude sometimes. When we have someone to

criticize, we feel safe, righteous, and good.

Human beings seek fame and profit. Animals are satisfied when

their stomachs are full, but we with our human minds are never full,

because we think of our future. I want to make sure I will be fulfilled

tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, and for the rest of my life, and that

my children will live long, happy lives. Even if we don’t have any

problems at this moment, we are not satisfied because we worry

about the future. Animals don’t worry about safety or security in the

future. Only human beings save something extra for tomorrow.

Heavenly beings are those whose desires are completely met.

They need nothing; they seem happy, and yet they are not. Since

they have everything, they don’t need to seek anything and are

unable to find motivation to do anything. These people become lazy

and also worry about losing what they already possess. It can be

difficult for them to find truly intimate friends because they think

others befriend them only to take something. Even if they live

successful lives, they lose everything when they die. When such

people face death, they might question the meaning of their hard

work and achievements. Even someone who has it all cannot be

happy in an absolute way as long as the goal in life is to satisfy ego-

centered desires. This is the insight the Buddha attained under the

bodhi tree.

The Buddha contemplated the causes of these forms of suffering

and tried to find their root cause. Later in Buddhist history people

assumed that the Buddha contemplated the twelve links of causation

—the way our lives become suffering and how we can be liberated

from suffering. He found that the ultimate cause of suffering is

ignorance and delusive desires based on that ignorance. This

ignorance is mumyō in Japanese, avidyā in Sanskrit. Myō means

“brightness” or “wisdom,” and mu means “no.” Mumyō means that

we cannot see the reality of life. As we try to fulfill our desires, we do

things that are good or bad. As a result of our deeds, we

transmigrate through the various realms of samsara and we suffer.

This is the teaching of causality based on our karmic deeds. Our

desires and the actions that arise from them are based on our

ignorance. The consequences of our deeds cause suffering. When

we clearly see our ignorance it disappears. When we see with the

eye of wisdom that ignorance causes our suffering, we are free from

both ignorance and suffering. This is called nirvana or

enlightenment.

Shakyamuni Buddha remained sitting for several weeks to savor

his enlightenment. He was released from all ignorance and suffering

and he enjoyed it. He felt that what he now saw, the causes of

suffering, was very difficult to understand. He feared that if he tried to

teach others what he had discovered, no one would understand. He

thought, “The content of my enlightenment, the concept of

interdependent origination, is extremely difficult to comprehend.

Those who enjoy clinging take pleasure in attachment and are fond

of their ties of dependence, and they will never be able to

understand it.” He expressed this thought in verse:

That enlightenment which I have attained through many hardships

Should I now teach to others?

Those who hold fast to greed and hatred

Cannot easily understand this Truth.

Against the common stream,

Subtle, profound, fine, and difficult to perceive,

It cannot be seen by those

Who are lost in desire, cloaked in darkness.

Pondering thus, he was not inclined to teach the Dharma.

Here “the common stream” refers to the cycle of birth and death

within samsara. The Buddha initially thought that people would find it

too difficult to understand what he had discovered. In the Sanskrit

story Brahmā Sahāmpati, a god, divined what the Buddha was

thinking. (Perhaps this is not a description of real events but an

account of what was happening in the Buddha’s mind.) When he

saw that the Buddha had decided not to teach, he asked him to

reconsider. “In this world there are some people who bear only a

small amount of hindrance and whose wisdom is outstanding,” he

said. “Please preach your Dharma to them.” Still the Buddha

hesitated. Brahma repeated his request, and again the Buddha did

not consent. After the third request he accepted. Then he said, “The

gateway of ambrosia (deathlessness) is thrown open for those who

have ears to hear.”

The Buddha’s hesitation to teach is understandable. When I first

studied the Buddha’s teaching I had difficulty accepting it. It was not

so hard to understand it intellectually. It’s easy to understand as an

abstract theory that the cause of suffering is ignorance and desire, or

to see examples in other people. But it’s difficult to see when we

ourselves suffer and are ignorant. It’s also hard to accept that we are

deluded. We believe that we are special, important, and valuable. It’s

really not a matter of intellectual understanding, not a set of abstract

hypotheses. If we agree with the Buddha’s teaching, we need to

practice it and make an effort to transform our lives.

Because of Brahma’s request, the Buddha went to Benares and

taught a group of ascetic monks who had practiced with him. These

monks accepted his teaching. The Buddha’s determination to start

teaching was the origin of the vow in Buddhism. After that the

Buddha traveled all over India by foot and continued teaching for

over forty-five years. He lived by his vow from his enlightenment until

his death at the age of eighty.

The Buddha’s vow was to help people awaken to reality and save

them from suffering. This is the vow we take as a bodhisattva:

“Beings are numberless, we vow to free them.” A bodhisattva is a

disciple or a child of the Buddha, a person who aspires to learn the

Buddha’s teaching and follow his example. Vow is essential for us as

Buddhist practitioners. It is a concrete and practical form of wisdom

and compassion. This is the important point to understand when we

think about vow.

KATAGIRI ROSHI’S POEM ON VOW

Katagiri Roshi, the founding teacher and abbot of the Minnesota Zen

Meditation Center until his death in 1990, named the center

Ganshōji, which means “temple born of vow.” After I became the

head teacher there, I used his office. In it was a cabinet holding his

writings. Since I wanted to understand his goals, attitude, and

teaching, I read much of his work. I found a poem he wrote in 1988

that is quite wonderful.

PEACEFUL LIFE

Being told that it’s impossible,

One believes, in despair, “Is that so?”

Being told that it is possible,

One believes, in excitement, “That’s right.”

But whichever is chosen,

It does not fit one’s heart neatly.

Being asked, “What is unfitting?”

I don’t know what it is.

But my heart knows somehow.

I feel an irresistible desire to know.

What a mystery “human” is!

As to this mystery:

Clarifying

Knowing how to live

Knowing how to walk with people

Demonstrating and teaching,

This is the Buddha.

From my human eyes

I feel it’s really impossible to become a Buddha.

But this “I,” regarding what the Buddha does,

Vows to practice

To aspire

To be resolute,

And tells me, “Yes, I will.”

Just practice right here, now

And achieve continuity

Endlessly

Forever.

This is living in vow.

Herein is one’s peaceful life found.

This is a poem about vow. I also found his original poem in

Japanese. When I read it closely, I saw that it is a lucid explanation

of the four noble truths. The first stanza expresses the truth of

suffering. “One believes in despair … one believes in excitement …

whichever is chosen; it does not fit one’s heart neatly.” This is the

reality of our lives. In Japanese this stanza reads, Hito ga dame da

to ieba / gakkarishite so dana to omoi / Hito ga iinda to ieba

hashaide so o nanda to omou. The phrases he used for “possible”

and “impossible” are dame da and iinda. Dame da means both

“impossible” and “not good.” Iinda can be interpreted as “good.” We

encounter many such judgments in our lives. Sometimes people say

you are good, sometimes not good. Each time we are judged we feel

despair or excitement. We live based on opinions, not just other

people’s but also our own. When we are successful, we think, “Yeah,

this is great.” When we’ve had a hard time, we feel small. We may

even feel that life is not worth living. This up and down is samsara,

the reality of our life that is described as transmigration through the

six realms.

This is our life as human beings. We always feel somewhat

unsatisfied. “Whichever is chosen; it does not fit one’s heart neatly.”

Happy or sad, there is some dissatisfaction. We feel that there is

something unsettled in ourselves and in our way of life. We are

moved by others’ expectations, by the situation, or even by our own

self-image. We can’t find a peaceful, steady, absolute foundation for

our life. As we move in samsara. We always feel somewhat unsafe,

somewhat unsettled. Something is lacking even if we are in the

heavenly realm and all our desires are fulfilled. Of course, if we are

in hell, we really suffer. This is our life. So we start to question:

What’s wrong? What’s the problem? What causes this feeling of

emptiness? We want to understand this feeling. In the second stanza

Katagiri says, “Being asked what is unfitting; I don’t know what it is.”

Our motivation to question and understand is called bodhi-mind.

Katagiri writes, “My heart knows somehow. / I feel an irresistible

desire to know.” We want to know the real cause of the problem.

This is unique to human beings. We alone ask who we are and how

we should live. Other animals don’t have this problem.

Dōgen Zenji said that “to study the Buddha Way is to study the

self.” I think a human is a being that has to study the self. Other

living things do not have to do this; they have no questions. But for

us, this self is a big question. We humans are troublesome,

mysterious creatures. We need to understand this mystery. This

questioning, this need to understand, is our bodhi-mind—a mind that

awakens to the reality of our life.

Katagiri continues, “As to this mystery: / Clarifying / Knowing how

to live / Knowing how to walk with people / Demonstrating and

teaching, / This is the Buddha.” The Buddha understood or clarified

this mystery. He saw the answer to the questions: What are human

beings? What is the cause of human suffering? He awakened and

understood how we can live in a wholesome way with peace.

The reality that the Buddha found in his enlightenment is

interdependent origination. Katagiri’s phrase “knowing how to walk

with people” refers to this interdependence. It means that we can’t

live without other people and things. For Buddhists, studying the self

means studying how to walk with others. That’s why the Buddha

emphasized the importance of the sangha, a place where people live

and practice together.

Katagiri’s comment in the last stanza, “From my human eyes / I

feel it’s really impossible to become a Buddha,” reminds us that even

though we study the Buddha’s teaching we are still human. The

Buddha’s achievement is so great that it’s almost impossible for us

as humans to follow his Way. Even so, one “vows to practice.” In the

Japanese version, the word for “vow” is negau, which means “to

wish.” We wish to practice and aspire to become buddhas. Katagiri

uses the word “aspire” as the translation for inori. Inori, we’ve seen,

is usually translated as “prayer,” but here it means “deeply wish for

something that doesn’t seem possible.” Even though we know that it

is impossible to follow the Buddha’s Way, we deeply wish to make it

possible. Then Katagiri says he vows “to be resolute.” Here the

Japanese version has kesshin, which means “to make up one’s

mind, to be fixed and determined.” Next, he says he tells himself,

“Yes, I will.” Even though he feels it’s impossible, he cannot help but

say this. That vow comes from the deepest part of the self.

Intellectually it seems impossible. But from our deep life force we

can’t help but say, “Yes, I will.” That is vow. A vow should not be

made by our intellect or an emotional impulse. It should come from

the deepest part of us.

“Just practice right here, now” means that we start practicing

immediately. We can’t postpone it because the wish is so deep.

Somehow we have to start searching for our own self. There is no

time to wait. “And achieve continuity” means to practice continuously.

Because it’s impossible to achieve what Buddha did, we have to

practice forever. There is no end, no goal, and yet we take small

steps one by one, moment by moment. We try to walk along the

Buddha’s Way one step or just half a step in all situations.

Sometimes we are happy because we feel we are good practitioners

and doing the right thing. Sometimes sitting in this posture every

morning is boring or painful, and yet we do it. In any situation we try

to adopt the attitude Katagiri describes. “Being told that it’s

impossible / One believes, in despair, ‘Is that so?’ / Being told that it

is possible, / One believes, in excitement, ‘That’s right.’” Even in our

practice we need to work with this attitude of up and down.

Sometimes sitting in our zazen we feel great; we feel that we are

enlightened. Sometimes we feel we are in hell. In either situation we

just go through it endlessly, forever.

Katagiri Roshi said, “This is living in vow.” It means to sit, to try to

help others, to live and work with others each day of our lives. When

we are living in vow, in our emotion, in our human sentiment, there

are good times and hard times. Like all people in samsara, we are

still in the six realms. And yet, we can find a peaceful basis, a

foundation for our life which is never moved by human sentiment.

That is vow. That is the reality of our life.

The last line of his poem is “Herein is one’s peaceful life found.”

When we vow, we feel we have a duty. Usually, taking a vow is like

making a promise: if we don’t keep it, we feel bad or fear that we

might be punished. But vow in Buddhism is not like that. It’s not

something we do with our intellect or shallow emotion. We vow

toward the Buddha, toward something absolute and infinite. As a

bodhisattva, we can never say, “I have achieved all vows.” We

cannot be proud of our achievements, because in comparison with

the infinite anything we achieve is insignificant. Each of us has

different capabilities, of course. If we cannot do very much, we

practice just a little. There is no reason for us to feel small or to say

we’re sorry. We just try to be right here with this body and mind and

move forward one step or just half a step. This is our practice in a

concrete sense.

Katagiri Roshi used the expression “living in vow” because it

sounds natural in English. I like “living by vow,” perhaps because D.

T. Suzuki has this expression in his book Living by Zen.

In the

Japanese translation of this book he says something like “All living

beings are living in Zen but only human beings can live by Zen.”

Saying that all living beings—dogs, cats, plants, flowers—are living

in Zen doesn’t mean they abide in meditation or samādhi, but rather

that they are living the reality of life as it is, or tathātā in Sanskrit.

Everything lives in the reality of life, in Zen; but only human beings

have to make a conscious effort to do so. We devote ourselves to

the study and practice of Zen and consciously live by Zen. As Suzuki

says, only human beings do this, but that doesn’t mean that we are

superior to other beings. Because of our doubts and delusions we

cannot simply live in reality. We have to consciously return to reality

and make an effort to live on that basis. That, according to Suzuki, is

living by Zen.

A life led by vow is a life animated or inspired by vow, not one that

is watched, scolded, or consoled by vow. These verbs create a

separation between the person and the vow. The simple phrase

“living by vow” emphasizes that the person and the vow are one. Our

life is itself a vow.

D. T. SUZUKI’S VOW

The Japanese translator of Living by Zen, Sōhaku Kobori, wrote

about a conversation he had with Suzuki when he was young. Kobori

asked a question that had popped into his mind: “What is your

kenshō?” In Rinzai Zen, kenshō means enlightenment. Suzuki

replied, “Well, my kenshō is shujō mu hen sei gan do.”

The

Japanese expression means “Living beings are numberless; I vow to

save them.” That was his enlightenment. I was surprised when I first

read this conversation, but I now believe Suzuki was a real

bodhisattva. His many books in English have introduced Zen around

the world. He worked continuously until he died at the age of ninety-

six. The basis of his effort was the vow “Sentient beings are

numberless; I vow to save them.” In this respect there is no

distinction between Rinzai and Sōtō. We are all Buddhists or

bodhisattvas. Zen in the West began with D. T. Suzuki’s bodhisattva

vow, just as Buddhism began with the Buddha’s vow.

In his writings Suzuki elaborated on the bodhisattva vow:

Let me remark … that “vow” is not a very appropriate term to

express the meaning of the Sanskrit pranidhāna. Pranidhāna is a

strong wish, aspiration, prayer, or an inflexible determination to carry

out one’s will even through an infinite series of rebirths. Buddhists

have such a supreme belief in the power of will or spirit that,

whatever material limitations, the will is sure to triumph over them

and gain its final aim. So, every Bodhisattva is considered to have

his own share in the work of universal salvation.

Suzuki’s kenshō was his strong determination and vow to help

liberate all living beings from a delusive way of life. He carried out

this vow till death.

UCHIYAMA ROSHI AND VOW

Uchiyama Roshi placed great emphasis on living by vow. Although

we didn’t chant much at Antaiji, before and after each of his lectures

we chanted the four bodhisattva vows verse instead of the “Verse for

Opening the Sutra.” In fact, the bodhisattva vows verse was the only

verse we regularly chanted in our practice life at Antaiji. Uchiyama

Roshi felt that the vows were essential to our practice. He writes:

A classic Mahāyāna text says, “The true mind of every sentient being

itself teaches and leads each sentient being. This is the vow of

Buddha.” Vow is not a special speculative approach to something

outside us. The true mind of sentient beings—that is, universal self—

itself is vow. Thus, when we consider universal self from the vantage

point of the personal self, we realize that we cannot live without

vow.

As human beings living at the intersection of the universal self and

the ego-centered self, we cannot live without being led by vow as the

direction of our lives. Uchiyama Roshi took two personal vows based

on the four general bodhisattva vows. One was to study the truth of

life from not only Zen or Buddhism but also other spiritual traditions,

to digest it through his own way of life, and to share it through his

writings with Japanese and Westerners alike. His other vow was to

produce determined practitioners of zazen who are thoroughly

settled in the life of zazen practice.

Uchiyama Roshi often used the expression ichiza nigyō sanshin.

The first word, ichiza, means “one sitting,” referring, of course, to our

practice of zazen. Nigyō means “two practices,” vow and

repentance. Sanshin, “three minds,” refers to three mental attitudes

described by Dōgen Zenji: joyful mind, parental mind, and

magnanimous mind. “One sitting,” Uchiyama Roshi says, is the

center of our zazen practice. By “one sitting” he doesn’t mean one of

many. In this context “one” means absolute. In the chapter of

Shōbōgenzō titled “Zammai ō zammai,” Dōgen Zenji writes:

That which directly goes beyond the whole world is kekkafuza (full-

lotus sitting). It is what is most venerable in the house of the

buddhas and ancestors. That which kicks away the heads of non-

Buddhists and demons and enables us to be inhabitants of the

innermost room of the house of the buddhas and ancestors is

kekkafuza. Only this practice transcends the pinnacle of the buddhas

and ancestors. Therefore, the buddhas and ancestors have been

practicing zazen alone, without pursuing anything else.

This is the meaning of “one sitting.”

According to Dōgen Zenji, our sitting is not part of our practice, but

rather other activities are part of our zazen. This is what is meant by

the phrase “our zazen is absolute.” This is a very important point. In

Bendōwa, Dōgen Zenji said, “Even if only one person sits for a short

time, because this zazen is one with all existence and completely

permeates all time, it performs everlasting Buddha guidance within

the inexhaustible dharma world in the past, present, and future.”

this sense, sitting is absolute. This means that we become

awakened to the reality that we are one with all beings, all times, and

all space. This too is the meaning of “one sitting.”

According to Uchiyama Roshi zazen has two aspects. One is vow

and the other is repentance. In this context “aspect” doesn’t mean

that there are two parts to our zazen. It means that the whole of

sitting is the practice of vow and, at the same time, the practice of

repentance. Whether or not we aware of it, we are living out the

reality of life. Unfortunately, we lose sight of this reality. Our life is like

a hand. When we see it as a hand, there is no distinction between

the fingers. But when we see it as a collection of fingers, each finger

is independent and has its own name and characteristics. Each has

a unique shape and function. They can act independently and are

not interchangeable.

In the same way, human beings are individuals. If we cut off a

finger, it can’t function as a finger anymore. A finger always works

with other fingers. This is the reality of human life as well, but we

often forget and think of ourselves only as individuals. This is a

fundamental delusion for us. We have to wake up to the reality that

we can be a finger only in relationship to other fingers working as

one hand. The hand can be a family, a sangha, a society, or the

whole universe. Yet if we think of this community as an entity in itself,

it can become just another, bigger ego. We shouldn’t consider either

the hand or the finger to be a separate, independent thing. Both are

like a bubble. The bubble doesn’t exist as a separate thing, but only

as a condition of water and air: it is air trapped inside a film of water.

But we can’t deny that the bubble exists. The bubble is there.

“Bubble” is just a name for a condition of air trapped in water. So we

can say neither that the bubble doesn’t exist nor that the bubble

exists independently. Air and water are themselves the same in that

they are merely collections of atoms. In the same way, atoms are

aggregates of even smaller particles.

Although this is the reality of our life, we are almost always

unaware of it. We think of this person which is ourself as most

important, as the center of the universe. We need to return to the

reality that exists before egocentricity arises, before the separation of

this body and mind from the rest of the world. This is what Uchiyama

Roshi meant when he said we are living at the intersection of the

universal self and the ego-centered self.

To vow to save all beings doesn’t mean that we believe that we

have the power to help all those who are in trouble. Imagining that

were so would truly be quite arrogant. To save all beings means to

be one with all beings. We cannot become one with others by means

of our individual efforts. But we can wake up to the reality that from

the beginning we are one with all beings. That is why we study the

obstacles that prevent us from seeing this reality. That is how we

become free from delusion. To become free from delusion, we have

to study the Buddha’s teachings. Reality itself is also a teaching. All

beings in this universe—trees, leaves, and animals—teach us to

awaken to the reality that is impermanent and egoless. We are not

sensitive enough to hear this teaching without effort, so we must

actively listen and study. In our practice together, we vow to attain

the Buddha’s Way, the Buddha’s enlightenment, and to be one with

all beings. As the Buddha said in the Lotus Sutra, “But now this

threefold world is all my domain, and the living beings in it are all my

children.”

That is the Buddha’s attitude, and we vow to attain such

an attitude. We know it’s almost impossible, but we vow to do so.

Each of the four bodhisattva vows is a kind of a paradox or

contradiction. It is impossible to accomplish or completely achieve

the vows. Since we are working at something infinite and absolute,

it’s important to reflect on the fact that we can never accomplish it.

We cannot be perfect. This awakening to our own imperfection is

repentance.

In Buddhism repentance does not mean saying “I’m sorry”

because of some mistake I have made. That kind of repentance is

relevant, but as Buddhists repentance means awareness of our

imperfections and limitations. Vow and repentance are two kinds of

energy that enable us to continue our practice. Zazen is itself the

practice of vow. Zazen is itself the practice of repentance.

When we sit, we face the absolute, the infinite, and we let go of

thought. This means that we don’t judge things by our own

yardsticks, but instead we are measured against the absolute. That

is our practice of vow and repentance. Facing the infinite or absolute,

we are really nothing. No matter how long we practice zazen, we

cannot be proud of what we have accomplished. At the same time,

we don’t need to feel guilty or inadequate because we cannot

practice enough, or because we cannot help others so much. No

matter how great or small our accomplishments, they are all the

same compared to the infinite. The important point is that even if it is

only a small thing, we just do it. We don’t need a fancy way to attain

perfect enlightenment or a means to help all living beings. Just sit a

little more, or help others a little more. We should be down to earth.

This is our practice.

THE THREE MINDS

As we have seen, our practice of zazen has two aspects. One is

vow, to resolve to take one more step ahead. The other is

repentance, to be aware of our imperfection. This zazen has to be

applied to our day-to-day lives. According to Dōgen Zenji, the

attitude we should maintain toward the things we encounter in our

everyday lives is “three minds.” He discusses this in “Tenzokyōkun”

(Instructions to the Cook). In this text, he talks about the attitude the

person who is in charge of cooking in the monastery must have. Of

course, he is recommending this for all people who are working as a

community. Three kinds of mind are mentioned in the final part of

“Tenzokyōkun.”

Joyful Mind

On all occasions when the temple administrators, heads of monastic

departments, and the tenzo are engaged in their work, they should

maintain joyful mind, nurturing mind, and magnanimous mind. What I

call joyful mind is the happy heart. You must reflect that if you were

born in heaven you would cling to ceaseless bliss and not give rise

to Way-seeking mind.

Heaven is the realm in samsara in which people’s desires are all

fulfilled; only pleasure and happiness remain. There is no suffering.

But if we don’t encounter some hardship or difficulty, we don’t arouse

bodhimind. We won’t seek after the Way when our life is full of

happiness and joy. Heaven is not a good place to practice.

This would not be conducive to practice. What’s more, how could

you prepare food to offer to the three jewels? Among the ten

thousand dharmas, the most honored are the three jewels. Most

excellent are the three jewels. Neither the lord of heaven nor a

wheel-turning king can compare to them. The Zen’en Shingi says,

“Respected by society, though peacefully apart, the sangha is most

pure and unfabricated.”

The Zen’en Shingi is a collection of regulations for monastic life in

the Chinese Zen tradition. It recommends that the community of

Buddhist practitioners should be pure and unfabricated. Here

“unfabricated” is a translation of mui, which can mean “nondoing,” or

“nonaction.” In this context it means free of artifice. The Buddhist

sangha or community is a place where people can escape from

artificial ways of thinking and return to reality. This passage means

that the sangha should be pure and free from attachment, delusion,

and egocentricity.

The great importance of the Buddhist sangha isn’t of course

restricted to the Zen center as an institution. If we think of “sangha”

as referring to a specific group of Buddhists, it becomes a sort of

group ego. We should see sangha as more inclusive. The

community of people living in this area is a sangha. This country, the

community of all countries, and the society of all human beings

should also be considered sanghas. Anywhere we go to return to

reality or live according to reality is a sangha and is therefore most

precious.

Dōgen remarks further, “Now I have the fortune to be born a

human being and prepare food to be received by the three jewels. Is

this not a great karmic affinity? We must be very happy about this.”

His expression “great karmic affinity” is a translation of dai innen.

Here innen means the causes and conditions that enable us to

practice and participate in a sangha. The conditions cannot be taken

for granted:

Consider that if you were born in the realms of hell, hungry ghosts,

animals, fighting gods, or others of the eight difficult births, even if

you desired refuge within the sangha’s power, you would never

actually be able to prepare pure food to offer the Three Treasures.

Because of suffering in these painful circumstances your body and

mind would be fettered. However, in the present life you have

already done this [cooking], so you should enjoy this life and this

body resulting from incalculable ages of worthy activity. This merit

can never fade.

The sangha has power because in community we encourage one

another to practice in the Buddha’s Way. When we can work as a

tenzo or in any other position to support others’ practice we should

appreciate this good fortune.

Furthermore, “You should engage in and carry out this work with

the vow to include one thousand or ten thousand lives in one day or

one time.” Here he is alluding to the oneness of this moment, this

day, and all eternity. As far as our attitude is concerned, eternity and

this moment are one. This means that what we do this moment is not

a step to the next stage. We cook not to feed people but to cook.

When we cook, cooking itself should be our practice. It should not be

preparation for something else. Cooking is in itself a perfect action if

it is cooking just for the sake of cooking. When the food is ready, just

offer it. Offering is not the result of cooking as preparation. Offering is

just offering. Eating is just eating. Each moment is perfect in itself,

not a step to the next one. Each moment is one with eternity. This is

the attitude we should maintain.

The same is true of zazen. When we sit in this posture, we are one

with all beings, all time, and all space. It’s all very dynamic, not

limited to one single person or one moment of work. Even though we

and our work are small, they are connected with the whole universe.

When we are without a limited attitude or purpose, our work has no

limits.

“This will allow you to unite with these virtuous karmic causes for

ten million lives,” says Dōgen Zenji. “The mind that has fully

contemplated such fortune is joyful mind.” This positive attitude we

can sustain even in hard times. As a tenzo, if we don’t have fancy

ingredients, we just work with what we have. Dōgen Zenji uses the

expression “Pick a single blade of grass and erect a sanctuary for

the jewel king; enter a single atom and turn the great wheel of the

teaching.”

We pick up just one small piece of bread and build the

loftiest of the Buddha’s temples. That’s our practice.

Whatever we accomplish, it cannot be just for ourselves. “Truly,

even if you become a virtuous wheel-turning king but do not make

food to offer the Three Treasures, after all there is no benefit. It

would only be like a splash of water, a bubble, or a flickering flame.”

If we do things for our private gain or personal benefit, then no

matter how hard we work, no matter how much we achieve, it will

come to an end. Instead we dedicate our work to all beings. That is

our attitude toward work and toward other people. That is joyful

mind.

Parental Mind

The second aspect of sanshin is nurturing or parental mind. “As for

what is called nurturing mind,” Dōgen continues, “it is the mind of

mothers and fathers. For example, it is considering the Three

Treasures in the way that a mother and father think of their only

child.” We try to care for the Three Treasures, the Buddha, Dharma,

and Sangha, as if they were our only child. It is especially important

to have this attitude when we practice in a community. The attitude

of parents is to take care of others. When we live together, caring

and being cared for are the same. The reality of what is happening is

the same. The inner attitude of the caregiver, however, is very

different from that of the one who expects to be cared for. This

difference determines the quality of the community. A place where

people want to be taken care of is very different from a place where

people care for others. We should understand that this small

difference in our inner attitude has very large effects on the world

around us.

Even impoverished, destitute people firmly love and raise an only

child. What kind of determination is this? Other people cannot know

it until they actually become mothers and fathers. Parents earnestly

consider their child’s growth without concern for their own wealth or

poverty. They do not care if they are cold or hot but give their child

covering or shade. In parents’ thoughtfulness there is this intensity.

People who have aroused this mind comprehended it well. Only

people who are familiar with this mind are truly awake to it.

When we are small, we are not capable. We can’t survive without

being taken care of by our parents or society. We should be grateful

for the support and help we receive from our parents and others.

When we become mature enough, we should take care of things

around us, the way parents take care of their children. When you

have this attitude you understand what it is.

For Dōgen this attitude is one of “watching over water and over

grain.” Here he is talking about the tenzo’s work. When the tenzo

cooks, he must take care of water, grain, fire, everything that

happens in the kitchen. We have to pay careful attention to

everything. When we prepare meals, many things are going on at

the same time. As we cook the rice, we have to prepare soup and

other side dishes. It’s even more difficult when you cook with

firewood. It’s very easy to forget about the fire when you’re doing

something else. You have to be very careful, attentive to each thing.

Even when we are caught up with several different things, we must

remember the fire.

This attitude, concentrating on a particular thing while remaining

aware of everything else, is the same as in our zazen. We don’t

concentrate our mind on a certain object in our zazen. Our mind is

nowhere and at the same time everywhere. It’s the same as when

we are driving. We don’t focus our attention on a particular object

like the steering wheel but are just awake. Our mind is really

nowhere, which means everywhere. When our mind is nowhere and

everywhere, we can react very naturally to whatever happens. That

is our zazen. Our minds should not be fixed in one place but rather

be nowhere and everywhere. That is our awakening. That is parental

mind. Dōgen Zenji continues:

Therefore, watching over water and over grain, shouldn’t everyone

maintain the affection and kindness of nourishing children? Great

Teacher Sakyamuni even gave up twenty years of a buddha’s

allotted life span to protect us all alike in these later times. What was

his intention? It was simply to confer parental mind. Tathāgatas could

never wish for rewards or riches.

According to Buddhist scriptures, the Buddha could have lived one

hundred years, and yet he died when he was eighty in order to

donate twenty years of his life span to all beings. This is how the

Buddha manifests parental mind, the attitude of caring for things and

other people.

Magnanimous Mind

The third aspect of the attitude advocated by Dōgen Zenji is

magnanimous mind. “As for what is called magnanimous mind,” he

said, “this mind is like the great mountains or like the great ocean; it

is not a biased or contentious mind.”

We must try to avoid bias or a one-sided perspective and instead

strive to see the whole situation. If we say, “This is me and that is

them,” our community is divided and our minds become one-sided.

This leads to internal conflict and struggle and our group cannot be

called a community or sangha. A sangha is a peaceful community of

people, a mixture of water and milk, not water and oil. The attitude of

magnanimous mind is no separation.

“Carrying half a pound, do not take it lightly; lifting forty pounds

should not seem heavy.” Here again Dōgen is talking about cooking.

Sometimes we cook for one or two people. Sometimes we have to

cook for one or two hundred people. We should not think that to

prepare a meal for one or two people is easy or that to prepare a

meal for many people is heavy or difficult. We take the same careful,

attentive attitude in either case.

“Although drawn by the voices of spring, do not wander over

spring meadows; viewing the fall colors, do not allow your heart to

fall.” Here spring and fall are used to represent favorable conditions

and adversity. In spring we are happy and we wander around and

forget reality. During the fall we become sorrowful and forget about

reality. Too often we are moved by emotions, by circumstances, by

good times and bad. Magnanimous mind, according to Dōgen,

means that “the four seasons cooperate in a single scene.” Spring,

summer, autumn, and winter are one season. We should accept

them as one reality of life. That is magnanimous mind.

“Regard light and heavy with a single eye,” he goes on to say. “On

this single occasion you must write the word ‘great.’ You must know

the word ‘great.’ You must learn the word ‘great.’” The attitude of

magnanimous mind is the same as that of our zazen. Let go of

thought, resist the pull of discrimination, and accept the situation as

one.

These are the three attitudes or three minds with which we want to

practice as a community, as a sangha. Our vow functions as the

three minds, to nurture the Dharma, to practice with others, to create

a situation or place to practice with other people. To do this we have

to maintain these three attitudes, especially magnanimous mind. We

must not be fettered by circumstance. We try to keep practicing

steadily. That is the attitude we learn from our sitting practice.

Whatever happens, whatever the situation, we just keep sitting.

Sometimes we are busy, sometimes we are tired, sometimes we are

involved in things. But we always come back to the zendo and sit

down quietly. This is our practice.

VOW AS SANGHA

Sangha, or community, is an important manifestation of the concept

of vow. We see this in the life of Guishan Lingyou, a famous Chinese

Zen master who established a large and influential sangha in

China.

How he accomplished this is instructive.

Guishan was instrumental in the establishment of Zen

monasteries. Before his time there were no formal Zen Buddhist

orders. People simply came together to practice. But then Zen

monks started to create their own unique form of monastic practice.

It was the beginning of Zen as a distinct school of Chinese

Buddhism. This at least is the traditional view of the history of

Chinese Zen.

Guishan was tenzo, the chief cook in the monastery where he

practiced with his teacher, Baizhang Huihai. One day Guishan was

standing near the abbot’s room where Baizhang was staying.

Baizhang asked Guishan, “Who is it?” and Guishan replied, “It’s

me, Lingyou” (Guishan’s dharma name). Baizhang said, “Would you

dig in the firepot and see if there is fire or not?” It was winter and the

firepot was their source of heat. Guishan stirred the firepot and said,

“No fire.” Then Baizhang got up and came over, dug deep into the

ashes, and found a tiny ember. He showed it to Lingyou and said,

“What is this? Isn’t this fire?” Guishan was enlightened.

The fire in this story refers to the buddha-nature. Buddha-nature is

not something solid or immovable, but rather an energy that

motivates us to practice—and not just zazen or Buddhist practice.

Buddha-nature is the fire of the life force that enables us to aspire to

be better persons, to be more helpful to others, to settle into a

healthy way of life, and to practice the Way. It’s difficult to find the fire

of buddha-nature inside ourselves, but we must. It’s there. We are

alive, so we have this force that drives us to practice and wake up to

the reality of life. It may be only an ember, but all of us without

exception have it. When we practice with other people, we gather

together small fires. If we try to build a fire in a hibachi or firepot with

a single piece of charcoal, it soon dies out. But even one tiny ember,

if fed with charcoal, becomes a big fire. This is the meaning of

sangha. We practice together with other people in a sangha. Each

one of us has a small fire, which alone will die out sooner or later.

Together we become bigger than ourselves. This was Guishan

Lingyou’s enlightenment.

Baizhang sent Guishan to Mount Gui, an isolated, precipitous, and

awe-inspiring mountain suitable for a great monastery. He practiced

there alone for several years. Dōgen Zenji comments on Guishan’s

practice, which he greatly admired, in a chapter of Shōbōgenzō titled

“Gyōji.” Gyōji means continuous or ceaseless practice. Here Dōgen

talks about many Chinese Zen masters and their practice, Guishan

being one of them. For Dōgen, Guishan’s practice offered an

important example of how to establish a monastery or sangha. He

remarks:

After the bestowal of the prophecy (Dharma transmission), Zen

master Dayuan (Daien) of Mount Gui [i.e., Guishan Lingyou] went

directly to the steep Gui Shan. There he made friends with bears and

animals, lived at a thatched hermitage, and kept practicing. He didn’t

avoid hardships with wind and snow. He ate only chestnuts or horse

chestnuts. There were neither temple buildings nor temple

provisions. However, he ceaselessly devoted himself to continuous

practice for more than forty years. Later, his temple became well

known throughout the country and many excellent practitioners

gathered there.

People came to practice with him, and eventually his sangha grew

huge. It is said that he had fifteen hundred students and forty-one

dharma successors. Even though in the beginning he practiced

alone, his practice was not for himself. He vowed to create a

monastery or sangha to practice with others.

Dōgen Zenji discusses the inner attitude we should maintain when

we vow to create a sangha or practice place. He continues, “When

we make a vow to found a temple (a sangha or a monastery) we

should not be motivated by human sentiment, but we should

strengthen our aspiration for the continuous practice of Buddha

Dharma.” Our vow, then, should not be based on the human

tendency to undertake things that we see as good, useful, or

beneficial for ourselves alone—things we expect to bring us fame,

profit, or self-satisfaction. This human sentiment isn’t necessarily

bad, but when we practice Buddha Dharma with others it is a

hindrance. If each person seeks his or her own happiness and holds

his or her own views, opinions, values, and ways of thinking, then

there will be conflict. If we practice with other people on the basis of

human sentiment, it may work for a while, but eventually it will fail.

So our practice should be based not on human sentiment but on an

aspiration for the continuous practice of Buddha Dharma.

Dōgen Zenji continues, “Even if we don’t have lofty temple

buildings, if we practice, the place can be called a dōjō of ancient

buddhas.” Dōjō means a place for practice. We now use the word

dōjō for martial arts like karate or aikido, but originally this term

referred to the place where the Buddha was enlightened under the

bodhi tree. Dōjō is both a place for practice and a place of

enlightenment because practice and enlightenment are one.

“We hear that ancient people practiced on the ground or under a

tree. Such places are sacred forever. A single person’s continuous

practice creates a dōjō for many buddhas.” This is the basic point of

Dōgen Zenji’s practice. We don’t need lofty temple buildings for our

practice. We don’t need a formal zazen hall. When we vow to

establish a dōjō, monastery, or sangha, we should not forget this.

The number of buildings or people is not essential. The critical points

are practice and aspiration. Dōgen said:

Foolish people in this degenerate age should not be vainly engaged

in construction of temple buildings. The buddhas and ancestors

never had desires for buildings. Many people today meaninglessly

construct a Buddha hall or other temple buildings although they

haven’t yet clarified the eye of their own self. Such people build

temples, not in order to offer the buildings to buddhas, but to make

them their own homes of fame and profit.

They don’t understand Buddha Dharma, but they construct lofty

buildings. That’s why there are so many temples in Japan now. They

are monuments to their founders. Today, Japan is prosperous. Even

Buddhist priests have money. They construct gorgeous buildings,

huge Buddha halls, and beautiful zendos. I was surprised when I

visited a big temple in Japan. They had just built a huge two-story

building. The first story had a spacious hall for giving lectures. On

the second floor, there was a zendo with a big Mañjuśrī statue. But

there were no monks practicing there. They used the building only

once a month to have zazen-kai, day-long meditation retreats, and

retreats for laypeople a few times a year. To me this is a waste of

wealth. It has no meaning as Buddha Dharma. Dōgen Zenji made

this same criticism. My teacher, Uchiyama Roshi, was also very

critical of this kind of activity. Many people, sincere practitioners who

would like to practice as Dōgen Zenji did, try to have a formal sōdō

and a statue of Mañjuśrī, and everything Dōgen Zenji described.

These people build a zendō for the sake of human sentiment. They

think that buildings are essential and that they cannot practice

without formal monastic buildings. Uchiyama Roshi said that we can

practice zazen with only three square feet for each person, a zafu

(round cushion) and zabuton (square mat) to sit on, and our

aspiration to practice. That’s all we need. This is a very important

point.

Dōgen Zenji continues:

We have to quietly contemplate Guishan’s continuous practice in

ancient times. To contemplate means to think of it as if we were

living on Mount Gui right now. Listen to the sound of rain at midnight.

The raindrops have power to pierce not only moss but also a rock.

On a snowy night in winter, even birds and animals don’t come to us.

Unless we devote ourselves to continuous practice, valuing Dharma

more than our own lives, we cannot stand such a life.

Guishan practiced alone, but I think this is not just a description of

his solitary lifestyle. This is a description of our zazen. When we sit

in zazen, even if we are with other people in a busy city, we are

totally alone. The sound of raindrops and the sounds of the birds and

animals are the sounds of our life. The snow is the scenery of our

life. We just see it. We don’t need to worry about what we should do

today or tomorrow. Of course, we have a schedules, goals, and

projects. But we just sit, right now, right here. We try to see that this

is the only reality and everything else is the scenery of our life. We

don’t consider this practice as a step to something else. This practice

right now, right here, brings about the next step. We don’t need to

worry about the next step. We should be fully right here, right now, in

this situation, and awake to the reality of this self. That is an

essential point.

So Guishan didn’t hurry to cut the grass to prepare the land, or

engage in constructing temple buildings. He only continued to

practice and put his whole energy into cultivating the Way. We

cannot help but have sympathy for the authentic ancestor who

transmitted the true Dharma and who had to undergo such hardships

in a secluded steep mountain. I heard that on Mount Gui there was a

pond and a brook which might be covered with layers of ice and

mist. Although it was too solitary for a human being to tolerate,

practice of the Buddha Way and the innermost truth vigorously came

together there through his continuous practice.

This is the most important point in this chapter. Practice of the

Buddha’s Way is not something abstract but rather our concrete

practice of the innermost truth of Buddha Dharma. This is the

Buddha’s teaching of the reality of our life. Even though our practice

is very small, it merges with the innermost truth—Buddha’s teaching

of the reality of this universal life. This is an important aspect of our

practice. Dōgen Zenji frequently talks about our concrete practice

with our body and mind and that our personal practice actualizes the

boundless, universal truth. Without our small, individual practice with

this body and mind, the Buddha’s teaching, or universal reality, is just

an abstraction, something written in scriptures that we read and try

to imagine. The universal truth or life force can only be manifested

through our practice. If no one practices, Buddhist texts remain only

words. If no one lives the teaching, it’s just another part of our library;

it’s not alive. Even if our bodhi-mind or aspiration is weak, our

practice is the manifestation of the universal truth taught by the

Buddha.

Without the practice of this limited body and mind, temple

buildings and zendos are meaningless. According to Dōgen Zenji,

the meaning of our practice is practice at this moment, right now,

right here, actualizing the Buddha’s teaching. Without our practice

there is no Buddha’s teaching.

KATAGIRI ROSHI’S VOW

In 1988 Katagiri Roshi gave a lecture titled “Twenty-five Years of

Dharma Transmission in North America” in which he spoke about his

experiences in the United States and his vow and vision of his

activities.

One of his experiences in his early time at the San

Francisco Zen Center made him question the attitude of some

American practitioners in the 1960s. At that time there were many

young hippies living in the San Francisco area. Katagiri Roshi invited

them to participate in practice at the center. One of them came to all

the activities there. Katagiri Roshi said to him, “You come so often.

What do you do? What’s your job?” He answered, “I get

unemployment.” After he worked for six months or so, he could

collect unemployment and meanwhile participate in activities at the

center. After his unemployment payments expired, he would find

another job. Katagiri Roshi was surprised by this reply. He had

thought that this person was a good Zen student, but in fact the

young man was engaging in an irresponsible way of life—

irresponsible to his work, his society, and himself. According to

Katagiri Roshi, taking advantage of the social welfare system to fulfill

one’s desire, even a desire to study Dharma, didn’t have anything to

do with the Dharma and was inconsistent with the bodhisattva

practice of vow. Katagiri Roshi felt that a vow entails responsibility to

one’s own life, to other people, and to the whole of society. The most

important point was always to walk together with all living beings.

In the lecture Katagiri Roshi also talked about his plans for the Zen

community of MZMC. He mentioned four projects. I was surprised

that he was so ambitious. First, he wanted to establish a monastery

at Hokyōji,

where people could practice together as a sangha in an

intimate setting. For Katagiri Roshi, Dharma means living beyond our

egocentricity, individuality, and distinctions based on nationality and

culture. It means living together as practitioners. This is the essence

of Buddhism. Second, to educate and train his priest-disciples, he

planned to establish a place where people could practice with

experienced teachers. Finally, within Hokyōji’s compound Katagiri

Roshi wanted to build a separate facility as a retreat center, not just

for monks but for anyone who wanted to experience a quiet life in

nature. Fourth was Ganshōji, the Zen center in Minneapolis. This

center is meant to have a function in the larger community, not just

for the members of this sangha. Katagiri Roshi established a

Buddhist study program that would appeal to a broad group of

laypeople.

THE POWER OF RAINDROPS

In his comments about Guishan Lingyou’s practice, Dōgen Zenji

talks about raindrops. He asks us to contemplate Guishan’s practice

in the mountains. We should try to feel as if we were in Guishan’s

place. “Listen to the sound of raindrops at midnight. The raindrops

have the power to pierce not only moss but also rock.” Guishan sat

by himself in the deep mountain. Our practice of zazen, like his,

resembles a raindrop. We are small and can sit for only a short time.

Each drop alone has little power, but still we continue to practice. As

raindrops eventually pierce not only moss but also rock, continuous

practice of zazen has the power to make a hole in even a rock. This

is an essential point. Our practice doesn’t have a mystical,

mysterious, or magical power to clear away all delusions. But like the

raindrops, we sit moment by moment, day after day, year after year,

and this sitting generates the power to erode a rock. When we think

of our plans to establish a monastery, it’s the same. Our effort is like

raindrops; it doesn’t create change in one day, or a few days, or a

few years. But if we just keep doing it, when conditions are ripe, it

happens.

We should remember Guishan Lingyou’s example. Our actual

practice is most important. We need time to work toward our goals,

but to accomplish any project the appropriate cause and conditions

are essential. The cause may be compared to the seed of a plant,

and the conditions to temperature, humidity, and sunshine. If we put

a seed on a desk, it won’t sprout. It needs the right conditions. But

even when conditions are perfect, if the seed isn’t healthy it won’t

sprout. So we must be careful to keep our practice healthy and

deeply rooted. We should keep the root of our practice wholesome.

The changing of the seasons is similar. When I came to

Minneapolis in August, all the trees had green leaves. It was very

beautiful. After a few weeks, the trees turned many different colors,

and this too was beautiful. If we tried to paint each leaf by hand, it

would take forever. But when autumn comes, all the leaves change

color suddenly, almost at once, because there is a cause inside of

the tree. That’s how things happen. If we don’t have the right

conditions, not even a single leaf will change color. This is important

to consider in the context of vow. Vow is kind of a long-range project

or plan. We don’t need to be in a hurry. Just practice and recharge

our energy in the sangha. Practice, sit, keep the seed alive, and

when conditions ripen, it will grow.

Katagiri Roshi’s vow was huge. This is the same as practice.

Buddha Dharma is something universal, infinite, and absolute. As

individual human beings, we are small and limited. But when we sit

in this posture and let go of individuality, we are one with everything.

We are infinite, absolute, part of the universe. When we give up our

limited attitudes, there is no separation between this small individual

self and the boundless universe. The smallness of individuals and

universality of reality is a main point in Dōgen Zenji’s teaching. It can

also be described as the merging of difference and unity. Difference

is individuality; each person is different. Unity means that everything

is one; there is no separation. This is our reality. We are

independent, small, and limited. Yet when we sit in this posture and

let go of thought and of our limited desires, we are moved by a vow

that comes from the very core of our being, and there is no

separation between us and the whole universe.

Dōgen Zenji often referred to this merging of individuality and

universality. For example, in Eihei Kōroku he quotes Hongzhi

Zhengjue (Wanshi Shōkaku), a famous Chinese Zen master and the

Dharma brother of Changlu Qingliao (Chōro Seiryō). Hongzhi was

asked, “What is the self before discrimination?” He answered, “A

toad in a well swallows the moon.”

A tiny being in a small well

swallowed the moon, a symbol of universality, the reality of our life.

In Eihei Kōroku Dōgen Zenji changed the expression to “A toad in

the bottom of the ocean eats gruel.” This is a strange image, since

there are no toads in the ocean. Here’s how we can understand it.

The toad in the bottom of the ocean symbolizes a practitioner in a

monastery; the gruel is what practitioners eat almost every day for

breakfast, and the ocean represents the sangha. So we are all toads

in the ocean. A well refers to narrow egocentricity, or individuality.

When we practice in a sangha, we are still toads, although we no

longer live in a well but in the ocean.

Dōgen continues, “A jewel rabbit in the sky washes the bowl.”

a child in Japan, I was taught that there was a rabbit in the moon,

because the pattern of the moon’s craters resembles a rabbit, at

least for the Japanese. So “jewel rabbit” refers to the moon. What

does Dōgen mean when he says that a toad in the ocean eats gruel

and a jewel rabbit washes the bowl? I think he means that we are

very limited beings, but when we practice with the sangha and eat

gruel for breakfast, the rabbit, meaning the moon, comes to this

person and washes the bowl. So this practitioner is not a toad

anymore, but the jewel rabbit in the moon. There is a transformation

here. Hongzhi’s expression is poetic, not about day-to-day activity.

But Dōgen Zenji expresses very well the reality of our practice. We

are small living beings like toads, and yet, when we practice with the

sangha, we are not just individuals but part of the ocean of beings, of

all existence. Eating gruel for breakfast is a very concrete activity.

Even a small act by a small person manifests the universal reality,

which is the reality of our life. Any effort, however small, is enough.

We do what we can in this moment, and then in the next moment,

and then tomorrow; one moment at a time. It is the same as our

practice of zazen, and our practice in our daily activities.

MEANINGS OF LIVING BY VOW

Vow is one of the most important aspects of practice as a

bodhisattva. It can be understood from three different perspectives.

First, a vow is a direction for an individual. We live the reality of life

whether we are deluded or enlightened. This reality is called as-it-is-

ness, or tathātā. It is also true that we frequently deviate from this

reality of life because we are deceived by our egocentricity. The

reality of our life is not so simple for us human beings. Enlightened

or deluded, we are living out our as-it-is-ness, and yet we are always

blind to it. This is our life as human beings. First we have to realize

that we are deluded. Then we have to go back to the reality of life

through the practice of this reality. As-it-is-ness for human beings is

dynamic. We live in the reality of life, yet always lose sight of it, so

we must return to it. These three points are the movement, the

actual reality of our lives. To go back to the reality of life in the midst

of this reality is our practice. This practice is based on vow. This vow

is not a special promise we make to the Buddha but rather a

manifestation of the foundation of our being. This is the most

fundamental meaning of taking a vow. We go back to the reality of

life within that reality.

The second aspect of living by vow is to live within a sangha and

practice with other people, that is, to walk together with all living

beings. We do this with the three minds—joyful mind, parental mind,

and magnanimous mind. Our vow is manifest in our day-to-day lives

as these three minds. Finally, we practice as a sangha, not simply as

an individual but as one whole body. The sangha itself needs to have

a direction to grow. That is the meaning of living by vow as a sangha.

By working on the vow as a sangha little by little, one thing at a time,

like raindrops, we meet the challenges and create a new stage in the

history of Buddhism in the West.

All the karma ever created by me since of old

Through greed, anger, and self-delusion

Which has no beginning, born of my body, speech, and thought

I now make full repentance of it

TRADITIONALLY in Chinese and Japanese Buddhism, there are two

kinds of repentance. One is formal and concrete repentance, called

ji-sange, in which we repent concrete offenses by means of rituals

conducted with the help of a particular buddha, teacher, or sangha

member. Another kind of repentance is called risange. Ji and ri are

important concepts in Chinese Buddhism. Ji refers to the relative,

conventional, phenomenal, and formal level, whereas ri refers to the

absolute, supreme, total, and formless level. A verse different from

the one quoted above is used for ri-sange.

Sitting in zazen and letting go of thoughts is formless repentance.

This kind of repentance has been emphasized in the Sōtō tradition

since the Edo period (seventeenth–ninteenth centuries). But in

Dōgen Zenji’s writings, as far as I know, only the verse of ji-sange is

recorded. I think both forms are important. Formal repentance is for

our misdeeds that break the bodhisattva precepts we receive when

we become the Buddha’s students. Formless repentance is to

awaken to the total interpenetrating reality beyond separation of

subject and object, self and others. This is zazen.

The original Buddhist repentance was ji-sange, or formal

repentance. In the original Buddhist sangha in India, when someone

made a mistake the Buddha admonished the person not to repeat

the deed. These admonitions were memorized and compiled in a

category of Buddhist scripture called Vinaya by one of the ten great

disciples, Upāli, at the first council after the Buddha’s death. Since

then, people receiving ordination as monks and nuns took these

precepts as guidelines and vowed to uphold them. Sangha members

held meetings for repentance called uposatha (Jap., fusatsu) twice a

month on new and full moon days. A leader of the sangha recited the

precepts text, called the Prātimokṣa, and people who had

transgressed against the precepts made confession and repentance.

They incurred penalties depending upon the severity of their

violations. Lay Buddhists received five precepts and could participate

in uposatha gatherings.

So the original meaning of repentance is to reflect on one’s

misdeeds and confess them to the sangha. This is a concrete, formal

repentance. In order to make repentance, we first have to receive

the precepts. The precepts are guidelines for our day-to-day lives.

When we become aware of our deviation from these guidelines, we

repent and go back to the precepts. This is the meaning of receiving

the precepts as standards for our lives and making repentance.

Since Mahāyāna Buddhism was initially a lay movement,

practitioners didn’t have their own Vinaya. They received only the

bodhisattva precepts. Later Mahāyāna monks lived in monasteries

and practiced based on the Vinaya.

In China, Mahāyāna Buddhist

monks received both the Vinaya and Mahāyāna precepts: the ten

major precepts and the forty-eight minor precepts. However, in

almost all schools of Japanese Buddhism except the Ritsu (Vinaya)

school, both monks and laypeople receive only the bodhisattva

precepts. This tradition originated with the founder of the Japanese

Tendai school, Saichō (767–822). In the Sōtō Zen tradition founded

by Dōgen, both priests and laypeople receive only sixteen

bodhisattva precepts: the three refuges, the threefold pure precepts,

and the ten major precepts.

In our jukai (precepts-receiving) ceremony, we recite this verse of

repentance before accepting the precepts. Repentance is like

washing a cloth before dying it a certain color. By repenting the way

we have been living, we cleanse our body and mind. This is a

decisive turning point in our lives. We change our direction from the

pursuit of wealth, fame, and success to the bodhisattva Way of living

at one with all beings.

Many recite this verse not just once in a lifetime at the jukai

ceremony but also at bimonthly repentance ceremonies called ryaku-

fusatsu. Katagiri Roshi’s practice at MZMC was to recite it at the

beginning of the morning service together with the verses of the

three refuges and the four bodhisattva vows. Even though we have

received the precepts, we often forget them and lose our direction as

bodhisattvas. So we remember that the precepts are the guidelines

of our lives and renew our aspiration and commitment. This is the

meaning of the recitation of repentance in our daily practice.

There is another, deeper meaning of repentance. We live in the

reality of our life whether or not we observe the precepts. No one

can escape from this reality. Even when we are deluded, we live in

reality as deluded human beings. Ultimately there is no separation

between reality and delusion. In other words, reality includes

delusions. Even though we live in the reality that is beyond

discrimination, we have to discriminate in our day-to-day lives. We

have to decide what is good or bad. Without discrimination we can

do nothing. Even as we practice the Buddha’s teachings, we have to

make choices. This is the unavoidable reality of our concrete lives.

Zazen is the only exception. When we sit in this posture and open

the hand of thought, we are truly free from discrimination. Whenever

thoughts come up, we just let them go. In our daily activities,

however, we have to make choices based on discrimination even

though we practice the reality that is beyond discrimination. For

instance, right now I am thinking, “How can I express the Buddha’s

teachings in the most understandable way in English?” This is my

intention. Even when we try to manifest the reality beyond

discrimination, we have to discriminate and make choices about the

best way to do so. Repentance means that although I think this is the

best thing to do in this situation, I recognize that it might be a

mistake. It might even be harmful to others and to me—I don’t know.

When I was at Pioneer Valley Zendo in Massachusetts, I had to

cut many trees to clear the land and plant a garden. I killed many

small animals, insects, and worms. Once, for example, after I dug a

well the hole filled with rainwater and a skunk drowned. My intention

was to work for the Buddha Dharma and to create a place for

practice. To do so, I harmed other creatures. Even when we try to

work for the benefit of all beings, we may harm others. We cannot

predict the consequences of our actions. All of us have to eat to live.

Even if we don’t eat meat, we have to eat vegetables. This means

we have to kill vegetables. To live as a human being is to be

supported by others’ lives and deaths. Even if we are not conscious

of it, we may create evil karma that can injure ourselves and others.

As bodhisattvas we cannot live without repentance.

“All the karma ever created by me since of old”: This translation

does not specify bad karma, but the original does. Shoakugō means

“bad karma.” Some other translations use words such as

“unwholesome,” “twisted,” or “harmful” to avoid the duality between

good and bad. We practice repentance on the basis of total

interpenetrating reality. We live only with the support of all beings but

recognize that we may harm some. Even when we live as well as we

possibly can, we still need to repent because from our limited

viewpoint we can’t know which acts might result in harm.

“Through greed, anger, and self-delusion”: In Buddhism these are

the three poisons. Self-delusion or ignorance is the cause of the

other two. In this case it refers to ignorance of the reality of

impermanence and ego.

The Heart Sutra tells us that all five

skandhas are empty. The five skandhas make up our body and

mind. This means that we are empty, and yet we don’t often see the

emptiness of our body and mind. It feels as if we have a body and

mind. We assume there is something called an “ego” that owns and

operates our body in the same way a person owns and drives a car.

In reality there is no driver but only this body and mind. There is no

driver, but somehow the car runs. This is really an “auto-mobile.”

When we are unaware of impermanence and egolessness, the

ego appears to be the center of the world. Anger and greed arise

because the ego tries to protect itself. Greed prompts us to

accumulate more and more to satisfy egocentric desires. Anger is

caused by the ego’s need to stay secure and powerful. These three

poisons are the basic causes of our bad karma.

Body, speech, and thought create our good and bad karma. “No

beginning” means we cannot see the origin of our karma. Our body

and mind are influenced even by things that have happened before

we were born. Everything that has happened in the whole universe

since the Big Bang influences our ways of thinking and behaving. It

is all really without beginning.

“I now make full repentance of it”: The original word was sange,

which as we’ve seen means “repentance.” Repentance includes

confession but is not necessarily limited to confession. As the

Buddha’s students, we receive the precepts and vow to live by them.

This is why we have to repent deeds against our vow. In the first line

the Japanese word issai (“all”) means all the misdeeds or mistakes

we have made, even if we are not conscious of them. Vow and

repentance are inseparable. When we closely look at our past

deeds, we cannot help but repent. When we awaken to the total

interpenetrating reality of our being and look to the future, we cannot

refrain from making the vow to live with all beings and to practice

according to the Buddha’s teachings. Vow and repentance are two

sides of the single practice of zazen.

Another important verse of repentance is from the Samantabhadra

Sutra. It addresses formless repentance (ri-sange) and repentance

of true reality (jissō-sange).

The ocean of all karmic hindrances

arises solely from delusive thoughts.

If you wish to make repentance,

sit in upright posture and be mindful of the true reality.

All misdemeanors, like frost and dew,

are melted away in the sun of wisdom.

In this repentance we do not actually say something like, “I’m sorry

because of this or that specific mistake.” Rather, our zazen is itself

repentance.

“The ocean of all karmic hindrances / arises solely from delusive

thoughts”: Here “karma” means all of our activities—not just our

mistakes or misconduct. Even when we do good things we may

create karmic hindrance. Almost all of our actions, good or bad, are

based on self-centeredness. Therefore they are not in accord with

the reality of oneness, impermanence, and interdependent

origination. Any actions (karma) caused by our ignorance of the

reality of life are a hindrance because they prevent us from

awakening to reality and liberating ourselves from self-clinging. Any

activity we do solely for ourselves, for our family, community, or

nation—including Buddhist practices—can be a hindrance to

actualizing total interpenetrating reality.

Even our charitable acts often have egocentric motivations. We

seek satisfaction by trying to be better or more important. To gain

respect from others, we try to be seen as compassionate. When

there is the slightest deviation between our actions and our true

mind, we create karmic hindrances. When we do something evil or

make a mistake, we find it easy to repent. We have no difficulty in

seeing it’s our own fault, and if we don’t recognize our misdeeds,

others will help us by showing their anger. But when we are doing

good things, it is really difficult to notice our karmic hindrances

because people praise us and we feel good. Our good deeds that

generate karmic hindrance make us arrogant and careless. We

become blind to the fact that we are still limited, ordinary, self-

centered human beings.

“If you wish to make repentance, / sit in upright posture and be

mindful of the true reality”: To be bodhisattvas, we have to be free

from the hindrance of even our good deeds. To do that, we just sit

and try to be mindful of the reality of our life. To be mindful of true

reality does not mean thinking about reality. When we sit in the

zazen posture, we keep our body straight and breathe quietly

through our nose, smoothly and deeply, feeling the air as it fills our

chest. We let go of thoughts. Whatever comes up in our mind, we

just let it go. We don’t hide anything, even negative feelings or stupid

thoughts, even thoughts about the Buddha’s teaching. We just let

them come up and go away. Repeatedly we return to zazen, to our

posture and breathing.

In this practice we are mindful of true reality that exists

independent of our thoughts. To be mindful means to settle down

right now, right here, without seeking after or escaping from

anything. We refrain from either affirming or negating anything. We

accept everything as it is, as the reality of our own life. In this sitting

and letting go, true reality manifests itself. We can become intimate

with ourselves as a whole. In this way we can be free from the

egocentricity that makes us do “good” things. In other words, we do

not become attached to what we think is good, meaningful, or

important according to our own system of values.

“All misdemeanors, like frost and dew, / are melted away in the

sun of wisdom”: This is true formless repentance, in which we

liberate ourselves even from Buddhist teachings. This is what Linji

(Rinzai) meant when he said that if you meet the Buddha you should

kill the Buddha. Dōgen Zenji said that sitting Buddha is killing

Buddha. We see the reality of things with ever-fresh eyes, unclouded

by even our good will. We are not caught in one particular place. We

don’t rely on anything inside or outside ourselves.

If we did something good yesterday, we should forget it and face

what confronts us today. What we did yesterday is no longer real.

We cannot be proud of what we did in the past or think we are a

great person because we did such and such. Nor should we be

caught up in our mistakes. We let go of them and start again. We

start right from this posture in silence, from the ever-fresh life force

that is free from any defilement. Moment by moment, we start again

and again. This is not where our human evaluation and

discrimination works. This is true repentance.

A Japanese Sōtō Zen master, Banjin Dōtan (1698–1775),

comments on this verse in his Zenkai-shō (Comments on Zen

Precepts):

The essence of repentance is that delusion and enlightenment, or

living beings and buddhas, are one. Because of this, a person who

practices repentance is endowed with all virtue. We usually think that

delusive thoughts and true reality are separate and distinct, as an

owner and that which is owned. When we are completely liberated,

we see that there is no person who possesses delusions nor are

there delusions that are possessed. This is the true path of Buddha

Dharma. We should not understand this verse to mean that we have

to get rid of delusive thoughts by sitting upright and being mindful of

the true reality. Repentance is another name for the Three

Treasures. To repent is to take refuge in the Three Treasures. When

the dharma of repentance is carried out, it completely includes the

three refuges and the threefold pure precepts. Repentance, the three

refuges, and the threefold pure precepts are not apart from

falsehood caused by delusions. We are, however, able to attain

liberation within delusions. We could say that before delusions leave,

true reality has arrived. This is what is meant by the expression

“Before the donkey leaves, the horse has arrived.” We should learn

that repentance is nothing other than the Dharma, the practice of the

Buddha’s awakening.

Banjin Dōtan says that to awaken to the reality that exists prior to the

separation between delusion and enlightenment, between living

beings and buddhas, is the essence of repentance. Because of

awakening, a person who practices the repentance of sitting in

upright posture in zazen is endowed with all virtues of the Buddha,

the reality of life.

We usually think that delusive thoughts or desires are

incompatible with the enlightenment of true reality. We believe that in

order to attain enlightenment, we have to eliminate delusions. Banjin

Dōtan, however, says that when we are completely liberated, we see

that there is no one who possesses delusions, nor are there any

delusions that are possessed. When we are sitting in zazen and

letting go of thoughts, we are completely liberated. We see that both

persons and delusions are without substance. This is the emptiness

of reality, the true path of Buddha Dharma.

Our practice is not a means to get rid of delusive thoughts. Being

mindful of true reality is not a method to eliminate delusions. In fact,

when we sit in zazen, we sit squarely within the reality before the

separation of delusion and enlightenment. We usually think of

ourselves as deluded human beings and of buddhas as enlightened

beings. We imagine that our practice is a method to transform a

deluded being into an enlightened one by removing delusion. This

idea is itself dualistic and contrary to the reality before separation.

So should we give up practice and pursue our delusions? No,

what we must do is sit in zazen and let go of all dualistic ideas. In

doing so, true reality manifests itself. Delusion and enlightenment

are both here. Neither is negated or affirmed; neither is grasped. We

sit on the ground of letting go. This is the meaning of Dōgen Zenji’s

expression “Practice and enlightenment are one.” There is no state

to be attained other than our practice of letting go. We practice within

delusions and manifest enlightenment through sitting practice and

day-to-day activities based on zazen. These practices enable us to

settle our whole existence on that ground.

Banjin Dōtan also said that repentance is itself the Three

Treasures. When we really repent in zazen and let go of thoughts,

we take refuge in the Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha. Repentance in

Buddhism is not something negative. It is a very positive activity

through which we become true Buddhists. Our practice doesn’t make

us perfect or holy people. In a sense, practice means giving up trying

to become perfect; it means realizing our imperfect nature. We

accept even our delusions and take care of them as if they were as

precious as our children. If we ignore our delusions (or our children),

they can do great harm. When we take good care of them, they can

be quieted. We can be liberated within delusions only if we face and

care for them. If we don’t, they become an impregnable barrier.

There is a path of liberation within delusions and suffering. When we

see reality clearly, we can see delusions as just delusion.

“We could say that before delusions leave, true reality has arrived.

This is what is meant by the expression ‘Before the donkey leaves,

the horse has arrived,’” writes Banjin Dōtan. Donkeys do not run fast,

and we usually consider them lazy and foolish. We think a horse is

better than a donkey. But this expression says that before the

donkey (a deluded human being) leaves, the horse (true reality) has

arrived. This means that right within this moment, our life force, this

body and mind, both donkey and horse, are present, and we don’t

need to hit the donkey to force it to go. We should not, however,

mistake the donkey for the horse. Taking good care of the donkey is

our practice. Within this practice is the horse. We can find

egocentricity deep inside our good deeds. But this doesn’t mean we

should carry out good deeds until we have completely eliminated our

egocentricity. We strive to practice good and keep awakening to

delusions, even those in our benevolent deeds. If we practice in this

way we cannot avoid repentance. This formless, true repentance is

in fact our zazen.

I think this repentance is essential for modern human beings

because we have such powerful technologies. We can kill all the

living beings on the earth. Most of the major problems we face today

are a result of human activities. They are not caused by bad, foolish,

or cruel people. Wars, ecological destruction, and so on have been

caused by sincere, brilliant people under the banners of justice,

liberty, human welfare, and national prosperity. These people are

often respected as great leaders. Many religions cause problems by

encouraging us to cling to doctrines and beliefs. We have to become

aware of our self-delusion and clinging even while we try to

accomplish good. Only in this way can we become free from the

defilements caused by performing good deeds with imperfect

motives. This is the true meaning of repentance.

THE ENGLISH TRANSLATION of the verse of the Triple Treasure in the

MZMC sutra book is:

I take refuge in the Buddha, vowing with all sentient beings,

acquiring the Great Way, awakening the unsurpassable mind.

I take refuge in the Dharma, vowing with all sentient beings, deeply

entering the teaching, wisdom like the sea.

I take refuge in the Sangha, vowing with all sentient beings, bringing

harmony to all, completely, without hindrance.

When we become Buddhists, we first make repentance and take

refuge in the Three Treasures of Buddhism: the Buddha, Dharma,

and Sangha. These refuges are the first three of the sixteen precepts

we receive in the Japanese Sōtō Zen tradition established by Dōgen

Zenji. Without these three there is no Buddhism. Shakyamuni

Buddha, born in India about twenty-five hundred years ago, is our

original teacher. He awakened to the reality of our life. Both his

teachings about this reality and the reality itself are called Dharma.

Sangha is the community of people who study the Buddha’s

teaching and follow his way of life. His first students were the five

monks who had practiced with him before his enlightenment. They

understood, became his disciples, and established the first sangha.

That was the birth of Buddhism. From the very beginning, the

Buddha as teacher, the Dharma as teaching, and the Sangha as

community have been the essential elements of Buddhism.

TAKING REFUGE IN THE BUDDHA

When we become Buddhists, we vow to take refuge in the Buddha,

the Dharma, and the Sangha. When we accept the Buddha’s

teaching as a student of the Buddha, we make this vow with all

sentient beings. It would be better to translate this as “all living

beings.’ The original word in Japanese is shujō. Shu means “many’

or “various”; jō means “life” or “living beings.” The next phrase, taige

taidō, or “acquiring the Great Way,” is an interesting expression. Tai

means “body” and ge means “to understand,” so this can be

translated as “understanding with the body.” We have to understand

the Great Way with our bodies. The Buddha’s teaching is not

something we can understand merely with our intellects; we have to

practice it in our day-to-day lives. To understand and agree with his

teaching is not enough. If we agree with his teaching, we have to

carry it out, to live it. Taige means to embody, study, learn, or

incorporate into our everyday lives. Taidō, or “Great Way,” means

“awakening.” Here the “Way” is a translation of the Sanskrit word

bodhi. This phrase means we have to embody the Great Awakening

of the Buddha in our daily lives.

The first refuge includes the phrase “awakening the unsurpassable

mind.” Unsurpassable mind (mujō-shin) is the same as bodhi-mind

(bodai-shin). Both are abbreviations of the Sanskrit anuttarā-

samyaksambodhi-citta. Anuttarā means “unsurpassable,” “supreme,”

or “highest.” Bodhi means “awakening.” Mujō is the translation of

anuttarā and bodai is the transliteration of bodhi. When we embody

the Great Awakening, we awaken to the awakening mind. It’s a

strange expression, but that is the reality. We awaken the awakening

mind in order to wake up. We usually think we are awake except

when we are asleep at night or napping, but actually we are usually

asleep and dreaming. We imagine this world, our lives, and

ourselves. We create dream-worlds and then believe that they are

reality. And yet, they are only constructs of our mind. We create a

story in which we are the hero or heroine. We think we are the center

of the world, and all other people and things are resources to make a

happy ending for our story. This is how we live in a dream. To

awaken means to drop off body and mind, become free from

dreaming and encounter reality. We try to act based on the reality

that exists before we process the world through the intellect. Our

intellection is based on our education and all our experiences since

birth. But these experiences are a limited way of viewing the world,

so we must wake up to reality.

Another aspect of “unsurpassable mind” is compassion for all

beings. When we awake to the reality that has not yet been

processed by our ego-centered mind, we cannot help having

compassion for all beings. We realize that we live together with all

beings, supported by networks of interconnection. We share air,

water, and life by offering ourselves to each other. We live supported

by all beings. In turn, we must support all other beings. This is

compassion. We have to awaken to the reality that we live together

as knots within Indra’s net. We do not and cannot live independently,

as limited and conditioned individuals. This is the meaning of taking

refuge in the Buddha.

TAKING REFUGE IN DHARMA

The next section begins, “I take refuge in the Dharma.” The Sanskrit

word dharma has many meanings, but two are important here—the

Buddha’s teaching and the reality of all beings. It continues, “Vowing

with all sentient beings, deeply entering the teaching.” The original

word for “the teaching” is kyō zō. Kyō means “sutra,” and zō means

“warehouse,” “storehouse,” or “treasury.” Buildings in Buddhist

temples where sutras or texts are stored called kyō zō. Jin nyū kyō

zō means “deeply entering into the storehouse of sutras.” Another

possible interpretation of this word kyō zō is “sutra piṭaka,” that is,

one of the three “baskets” (piṭaka) of Buddhist scriptures: sutras,

commentaries on the sutras (Abhidharma), and precepts (Vinaya).

Either way, we vow to study the sutras thoroughly. In a chapter of

Shōbōgenzō titled “Sansuikyō” (Mountains and Waters Sutra),

Dōgen Zenji wrote, “These mountains and waters of the present are

the manifestation of the Way of the ancient buddhas.” This implies

that the reality of all beings is itself a sutra. Not only the mountains

and waters but also the birds singing, the sun shining, and

everything happening around us are sutras teaching us the reality of

being. They teach impermanence and interdependence. Nothing

lasts forever, everything is always changing, and there is no fixed

ego or substance. All beings in the universe teach this reality, but we

don’t listen; we don’t really see it. We think, “I want to do this” or “I

wish to do that,” and we are blind to the reality of impermanence and

interdependence. The phrase “deeply entering the teaching” doesn’t

require that we read all the Buddhist texts. Although reading is an

important part of entering the teaching, the deeper meaning is really

to awaken to the reality before our eyes, the reality that we actually

live.

The phrase “wisdom like the sea” refers to an unlimited and

boundless perspective. We are like a frog in a well that can see only

a small patch of sky. Our view is limited, yet we think we are the

center of the world and know everything. We base our actions on our

conditioned understanding, perceptions, and opinions. The

beginning of wisdom is to see that our view is limited. The view we

have at sea is wider than in a well. There is no limitation to

something so vast and boundless. By studying the Buddha’s

teaching we become free from our limited views and open ourselves

to boundless reality. The meaning of taking refuge in the Dharma is

that we value Dharma more than our own limited opinions and views

based on our personal karma.

TAKING REFUGE IN SANGHA

The third vow begins, “I take refuge in the Sangha.” Sangha is a

Sanskrit word meaning an association or union of people. In India at

the time of the Buddha, cities were forming, and some people were

freed from the daily labor of agriculture. Classes of merchants,

craftsmen, warriors, and nobles arose. People established unions or

associations called sanghas (or gaṇas). A sangha is a democratic

community of members who share the same interests and status.

The vow continues with “vowing with all sentient beings, bringing

harmony to all.” The phrase “bringing harmony” is a translation of the

Japanese word tori, which means “unify.” Buddhist sangha members

are unified by the Dharma. To have a community instead of a

collection of individuals, to have harmony, we need something that

unifies. To make soup we chop the ingredients and put them in a pot,

then add seasoning and cook it until the individual flavors blend to

make one taste. Similarly, we need to cook ourselves and make

these individuals into one community with one taste—the taste of

Dharma. Harmony unifies a collection of individuals into a community

in which we can take refuge.

The next phrase is “completely, without hindrance.” With harmony

and unity, there is no hindrance. When individuals think “me first,”

endless problems and obstacles arise. But when we wake up to

impermanence and egolessness, and share the life of this moment,

there is no hindrance. Of course, there are still difficulties to

overcome, but with harmony we can work on them. If we have

discord, we cannot. This is the meaning of sangha and of taking

refuge in the Three Treasures.

THE REASON FOR TAKING REFUGE

Shōbōgenzō is a collection of about ninety-five of Dōgen Zenji’s

independent writings. One of the chapters is called “Taking Refuge in

Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha” (Kie-buppōsōbō). Here he quotes a

section from Kusharon (Abhidharmakośa bhāṣya), chapter 14, about

why we take refuge in the Three Treasures. This text was originally

written in India and translated into Chinese. The Indian text says,

“Many people out of fear take refuge in the deities of mountains,

forests, trees, gardens, shrines, and so on.”

We take refuge in

gods because of fear. We need shelter—in this case spiritual shelter

—because we are weak and afraid. Human beings are not

necessarily the strongest animals. We are not as big as elephants,

as fast as cheetahs, or as strong as gorillas. All phenomenal

elements, such as too much or too little rain, cause suffering in our

lives. Full of fear and uncertainty, primitive people needed something

to worship, to rely on. Even in civilized society it’s dangerous to rely

on things outside of ourselves. Everything outside of us is uncertain,

always changing and unreliable. We worship, pray to, or rely on this

thing that we believe to be eternal and unchanging. This is one of the

reasons we need religion. Buddhism, of course, is one of the

religions. But the Buddha didn’t teach us to take refuge in a deity

beyond this phenomenal world. He taught us to find refuge within

this world, within ourselves. This is the basic teaching of the Buddha

and a difference between Buddhism and other religions.

The Indian text continues, “Taking refuge in such deities, however,

is not excellent and worthwhile. It is not possible to be released from

various pains or sufferings by means of taking refuge in such kinds

of deities.” So we cannot find security through worship of things in

nature or beyond nature. “If people take refuge in the Buddha and

take refuge in the Dharma and the Sangha, they will, in keeping with

the four noble truths, constantly contemplate with wisdom: they know

suffering, they know the cause of suffering, they know eternally

going beyond suffering, and they know the eightfold noble path.”

Shakyamuni Buddha taught that people who take refuge in the

Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha are able to see with the wisdom

expressed in the four noble truths. Wisdom is important in Buddhism,

together with compassion and faith. In other religions, we can’t

understand, so we believe. But in Buddhism we have faith because

we have the wisdom to see. This is an important point. By taking

refuge in the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha, we learn to find

stability, peace, and liberation from fear by examining what’s

happening. We see that the cause of fear is inside us.

With the four noble truths, the Buddha taught the reality of

suffering or duḥkha. In Buddhism it said that there are four kinds of

suffering: birth, aging, sickness, and death. All of us are born crying

with pain. Life is filled with suffering, as is death. Another four kinds

of suffering are often mentioned: separating from beloved people,

meeting with people we don’t like, not being able to gain what we

want, and not being able to control the five skandhas. The first three

are the painful experiences all of us often experience in our social

lives. Sometimes we have to separate from people we love, and at

other times we have to associate with people we don’t like. That is

the reality of our life. Often we cannot acquire something we really

want, and so we suffer. The most fundamental form of suffering is

the last one, which is inherent in human nature. We are collections of

five skandhas or aggregates: form, sensation, perception, mental

formations, and consciousness. These elements, of which we and all

other beings are formed, are impermanent and always changing.

They cannot be controlled because there is nothing to control them.

We cannot control our lives. This body and mind is not a possession

that can be mastered. Therefore, human existence itself is always

unsatisfactory and we feel suffering. This is the meaning of suffering

in Buddhist teachings.

The second of the four noble truths is the cause of suffering. The

Buddha taught that delusive desires and attachments based on

fundamental ignorance are the cause of all suffering. We are always

thirsty and hungry and chase after things to fill our empty stomachs,

and when we can’t find anything we suffer. When we are successful,

we want more, or we fear losing what we have.

Third is the truth of the cessation of suffering, or nirvana. When we

first hear that Buddhism teaches that life is full of suffering, we think

it must be very pessimistic or nihilistic. But the Buddha taught that

it’s possible to be in nirvana, to become free from suffering. This is

because suffering has causes and conditions. If we work on

changing those causes and conditions, we can release ourselves

from suffering. Shakyamuni Buddha’s teaching is not at all

pessimistic.

The fourth noble truth, the way to eradicate the causes of

suffering, is the eightfold noble path. To follow this path we must

view things correctly, base our thinking on reality instead of

egocentricity, speak truthfully, act in accord with the right view,

engage in a wholesome livelihood, make diligent efforts, and practice

right mindfulness and meditation. The Buddha gave us these eight

guidelines for our practice. He taught that we can find the real

foundation for a peaceful life within ourselves, within this

phenomenal world, without relying on a deity. This teaching and

practice of the Middle Way to which the Buddha awakened are the

shelter and foundation of our life.

The Abhidharmakośa text continues, “Therefore, taking refuge in

the Three Treasures is supreme and most venerable.” We take

refuge in various things in this world. In a financial context, taking

refuge might mean trusting money or insurance. We rely on

insurance to provide security when we are unable to work. We do

this to be free from fear, but when life insurance is actually paid you

are no longer there. So it’s really no benefit to you at all. We rely on

many different things, but nothing is really certain; nothing has a truly

stable foundation. The only stable foundation for our life, according

to the Buddha, is the Dharma and the self. In the Dhammapada the

Buddha said:

Your own self is

your own mainstay,

for who else could your mainstay be?

With you yourself well-trained

you obtain the mainstay

hard to obtain.

In another old scripture, the Suttanipāta, the Buddha said:

The independent man does not tremble or get confused. But a man

who is dependent on something is clutching, grasping at existence in

one form or another, and he cannot escape from existences.

The Buddha’s advice to us is not to count on others but depend on

the Dharma and rely on our own self. Neither the Dharma nor the

self is eternal, and everything is changing. We can’t really rely on

anything, yet this reality of egolessness (no-self) and impermanence

is itself the foundation of our life. We can find peace and liberation by

seeing deeply the impermanence and egolessness of life itself. This

is the only possible stable, peaceful foundation of us because it is

the only reality that is here and now. Nothing in the past, nothing in

the future, nothing beyond this reality is reliable. Reality is ever

changing and therefore ever fresh and new. My teacher, Uchiyama

Roshi, urged us to open the hand of thought and awaken to the

reality that is always changing. This is the most reliable foundation of

our life. This refuge is supreme and most venerable.

In Abhidharmakośa the final reason to take refuge in the Triple

Treasure is that “By taking refuge, people are surely released from

various sufferings.” This is why the Buddha and other masters

encourage us to take refuge in the Buddha, the Dharma, and the

Sangha. I think that of these three, the sangha is most significant to

us today. Of course, the Buddha and the Dharma are the basis of

Sangha. However, without Sangha, a living community of people, the

Buddha is someone who lived in the past, and his teaching is

something printed in a textbook. Because there is a community of

practitioners who follow his teaching and manifest reality in their

daily activities, the Buddha and the Dharma come alive right now,

right here. I have been a monk-priest for about twenty-five years. I

don’t think that I could have lived the Buddha’s teaching and

practiced by myself for so long. With the help of my teacher, my

dharma brothers, and the people who practice with me, I can

practice. A sangha of practitioners is most important. We really have

to take refuge there. This vow brings Sangha vividly alive.

THREE MEANINGS OF THE TRIPLE TREASURE

The basic original meaning of the Buddha, the Dharma, and the

Sangha is straightforward. “Buddha” refers to Shakyamuni Buddha,

who was born in India about twenty-five hundred years ago.

“Dharma” is both the reality to which he awakened and his teachings

about that reality. “Sangha” is the community of the Buddha’s

students. As Buddhism evolved, the understanding of the Three

Treasures became more complex. The death of Shakyamuni Buddha

was a great loss for his students. He was not only their teacher, he

was the only teacher. None of his disciples could become a second

Buddha and assume his position in the sangha. They were sad and

also confused as to who could be their teacher. Then they

remembered that Shakyamuni said that people who see the Dharma

see the Buddha. For them, Shakyamuni Buddha was not just a

person who had a physical body and had died. The Buddha was still

there as the teaching and as the reality. They called this the dharma-

body (dharmakāya) of the Buddha, as opposed to the material body

(rūpakāya) that perished with Shakyamuni’s passing away. They

believed that the Dharma, the Buddha’s teaching, was the Buddha

himself.

The Buddha said, “Monks should not take care of the Buddha’s

dead body.” Monks were supposed to concentrate on practice not

the past. Consequently, Shakyamuni Buddha’s funeral was left to lay

students. They performed the funeral, separating his ashes or relics

into eight sections, which were enshrined at eight different sites in

India. Lay followers built stūpas and made pilgrimages to them to

pay homage to the Buddha. The Buddha’s statue or relics enshrined

in a stūpa symbolized Shakyamuni Buddha. So there are three

meanings of Buddha: the historical Buddha, the Buddha as dharma-

body, and the Buddha as a statue, image, or relic.

People also started to think that there were three kinds of Triple

Treasure. Historically “Dharma” meant the Buddha’s teachings, but

in “dharma-body” it refers to reality itself. This reality was there

before Shakyamuni awakened to it. He said, “I didn’t invent the truth,

teaching, or reality. I was like a person who finds an old castle

hidden in a forest.” This reality is the original meaning of dharma. All

beings and all things in this universe are the manifestation of this

original reality. Since all beings manifest this reality, they are always

awakened because they are reality itself. All beings in the universe

can be called members of the universal sangha. Ultimately speaking,

the dharma-body is the Buddha Treasure; the Dharma, the true way

of things as they are, is the Dharma Treasure; and all beings as an

expression of Dharma are called the Sangha Treasure. This very

idealistic interpretation of the Three Treasures is known as Ittai

Sanbō. Sanbō means “three treasures”; ittai means “one body.” In

this context one means “absolute.” So the Three Treasures are one

body, one reality. The Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha are just

one reality. Ittai Sanbō is referred to as the Absolute Three

Treasures or the Unified Three Treasures.

The historical Three Treasures—Shakyamuni Buddha, his

teaching, and his community of students—are called Genzen Sanbō

(Manifesting Three Treasures) because they are historical, real-world

manifestations of the Absolute Three Treasures. After the Buddha’s

death, his followers continued to practice his teaching. For several

centuries the sutras were transmitted as an oral tradition. Eventually

they were written down in Sanskrit or Pāli. In India the sutras were

written on the leaves of tala trees. The Buddha’s teaching was

recorded as a kind of a scripture and called the Dharma Treasure.

The Buddha’s images or relics were considered symbols of the

Buddha, or the Buddha Treasure, and the sangha was called the

Sangha Treasure. These were called jūji sanbō. Jūji means

“maintaining.” In order to maintain the Buddha’s teaching after he

died, the Buddha’s image, sutras, and the communities of

practitioners were considered to be Three Treasures. When we

become Buddhists, we take refuge in the Buddha, the Dharma, and

the Sangha. There are three kinds of Three Treasures and we take

refuge in all of them. There are sanghas, or communities of the

Buddha’s students, throughout the world. The Buddha’s teachings

have been translated into many different languages, and each

translation is a dharma treasure and should be respected.

THE TRIPLE TREASURE AS TEACHER,

MEDICINE, AND FRIENDS

In the chapter of Shōbōgenzō entitled “Taking Refuge in Buddha,

Dharma, and Sangha,” Dōgen Zenji mentions the reason why we

take refuge in those three. He says, “We take refuge in the Buddha

because the Buddha is our great teacher, we take refuge in the

Dharma because the Dharma is good medicine for us, and we take

refuge in the Sangha because the people in the Sangha are

excellent friends for us.”

Dōgen’s word for “excellent friends” is shōyū. Shō means

“excellent,” “superior,” or “good.” We have three kinds of good

friends in Buddhism: teachers, fellow practitioners, and people who

support our practice. According to Dōgen Zenji, the Buddha is a

great teacher, the Dharma is good medicine, and the Sangha is a

community of good friends. Another text says that the Buddha is like

a doctor, the Dharma is good medicine, and the people of the

Sangha are our nurses. The doctor makes a diagnosis and gives a

prescription. To study the Dharma and practice according to the

teaching is taking the medicine. Sangha is the community of co-

practitioners—people who like nurses take care of the practice with

each other. In modern society nurses are professional people, but in

ancient times there were no nurses. Family or friends took care of

the sick. So here “nurse” doesn’t mean a professional but rather a

member of the sangha. The people of the sangha should care for

one another.

To say that the Buddha is a doctor, the Dharma is medicine, and

Sangha members are nurses implies that we are sick. According to

the Buddha’s teaching, all people are indeed sick. We may be sick

physically and are usually sick spiritually. What kind of sickness do

we have? Before Shakyamuni Buddha left home and started to seek

the Way, he was a prince. He was healthy and wealthy, certainly not

sick in the common sense. But he needed something, and so started

to practice. He came to see all sentient beings as sick and practiced

to find a way to release them from sickness. Eventually he realized

that the cause of our sickness is ignorant egocentricity and the

desires that arise from it.

Many religions originate in our weaknesses and fears. Before

civilization conditions of life were very severe. There were many

dangers and people needed something to pray to. In many primal

religions people worshiped natural phenomena: the ocean,

mountains, thunder, or ancient trees. They worshiped things larger,

more powerful, and longer lasting than themselves. Gradually

civilization developed and human beings became better at survival.

We then became each other’s enemies. We started to fight, and at

the time of Shakyamuni, about the fifth century BCE, people had

enough wealth to fight over territory. They fought each other to

establish countries and kingdoms. Stronger nations conquered

weaker ones. We needed some principle to live together in harmony.

This is the second reason for religion: to teach us to live together

with other people. I think this is the point of all religions and

philosophies in the history of humanity. We live in civilizations that

have developed over twenty centuries in America, Japan, and

Europe, and yet we are still spiritually sick. We still don’t know how

to live in peace with people from different national, racial, religious,

or cultural backgrounds. The Buddha’s teaching is a prescription for

curing this sickness.

FINAL PLACE TO RETURN

Dōgen Zenji quotes another phrase from an old Buddhist scripture

titled Daijō-gi-shō about why we take refuge in the Three Treasures.

It says, “We take refuge in these Three Treasures because they are

the final place to return.”

Dōgen’s word for “final place to return” is hikkyō-kisho. Sho means

“place,” ki means “to go back or return,” and hikkyō means “finally,”

“final place,” and “to go back.” Our life is a journey. Childhood is like

our home, where we are born. We don’t need to go anywhere. We

are happy simply to be there. When we grow up, we become

travelers. We search here and there for treasure—something

valuable or meaningful. We yearn for something better. We seek

happiness and satisfaction. Sometimes we are happy, sometimes

sad. Finally, at the end of our lives we face death. Regardless of our

success or failure, each of us has to face it. When we do, we are

afraid. Wealth, fame, and social position don’t help us then. We face

death alone.

Where, then, is the final place to which we return? This is, I think,

the fundamental question we have to keep in mind. In modern

society it’s easy to forget. In the past people were born, lived, got

sick, and died, all at home. Life and death were right there in front of

everyone. But in our modern society people are born at the hospital.

When they are sick, they go to the hospital, and when they die, it’s

usually in the hospital. Life and death are hidden from us. While we

are young and healthy, we can forget about life and death. Suddenly

we are aging or sick; the matter of life and death is in front of our

eyes, and we are afraid. This is the reality of our life. Before we have

to face death, we should try to think about life and death, to awaken

from the dream of success even while dreaming it. We must wake up

to the reality of the impermanence of our lives. Because of

impermanence, our death is inevitable. We must find the best and

most peaceful way of life. Success, wealth, and fame are not

significant in the final stage of our lives. The important point is to

return to the matter of life and death, to wake up to the reality of this

body and mind, and on that basis create a way of life. This, I think, is

the meaning of taking refuge in the Buddha, the Dharma, and the

Sangha.

You don’t have to become a Buddhist and take refuge. Buddhism

is only one of many paths, one way to wake to the reality of our life.

When we become a Buddhist due to various causes and conditions,

we follow the path of the Buddha. We seek to manifest the universal

life force which we have been given. We live on this earth with

everything we need as a gift from nature. It seems that our society

doesn’t live in accordance with nature. It acts like a cancer,

independently, in its own way. When a cancer becomes too strong,

the body dies. When the body dies, the cancer also must die. Cancer

is paradoxical. Modern civilization is similar. We have no direction.

We just try to live in an ever more convenient way. We chase after

prosperity. We live separate from nature and build an artificial world

around us. As we get stronger and stronger, we destroy more of the

environment. When nature dies, we die.

How can we go back to nature, to the vital life force? This is the

essential koan for us, the question we have to work on. In a sense

this whole universe is like a hospital. We are all sick. How can we

recover from this human sickness? The Buddha’s teaching and the

Buddhist Way can be one of the paths to recovery. The Buddha is

the doctor who guides the healing process; dharma practice is the

medicine he prescribes; the sangha, and all living beings in this

universe, are nurses to aid our recovery. This is what the text means

by “These three treasures are the final place to return.” They release

us from the suffering of a life based on egocentricity and return us to

the original, wholesome way of life.

VERSE ON THE KESA

Great robe of liberation.

Virtuous field far beyond form and emptiness.

Wearing the Tathāgata’s teaching

I vow to save all beings.

Dai sai gedappuku

Musō fukuden e

Hibu nyorai kyō

Kōdo shoshu jō

WHEN DŌGEN ZENJI went to China and began to practice at

Tiangtong monastery in 1223, he found that in the sōdō (monks’

hall), the monks rested their folded okesas (the formal term for the

kesa, or monk’s robe) atop their heads with veneration and chanted

this verse after early morning zazen each day. He had read of this

practice in the Āgama Sutra but had never seen it. When he

experienced the traditional chanting of this verse and saw the monks

put on their okesas, he was deeply impressed. Dōgen Zenji wrote

about this experience in the chapter Shōbōgenzō “Kesakudoku”

(Virtue of the Kesa): “At that time, I felt that I had never before seen

such a gracious thing. My body was filled with delight, and tears of

joy silently fell and moistened the lapel of my robe.”

The young

Dōgen vowed to transmit this practice to Japan. As a result, for the

last eight hundred years in Dōgen Zenji’s lineage we have chanted

this verse every morning after zazen when we put on our okesas or

rakusus.

The Buddha himself decided the kesa’s design. A king who was a

lay student of Shakyamuni Buddha went to visit the Buddha one day.

On the way he saw a religious practitioner walking across the road.

He thought this person was a disciple of the Buddha and got off his

cart to greet him. When he found that he was not a Buddhist monk

he felt a little embarrassed. He asked Shakyamuni Buddha to make

a special robe for his disciples so they could easily be recognized as

Buddhist monks.

One day the Buddha, walking in the countryside with his attendant

Ānanda, noticed the beautiful patterns of rice paddies newly planted

with green seedlings and surrounded by footpaths. They are

especially beautiful in the rainy season when the rice is new. The

Buddha remarked to Ānanda, “These are so beautiful. Could you

make a robe like this?” Ānanda agreed. The Buddha conceived the

pattern and Ānanda created the design. Since then, Buddhists have

worn the okesa in all traditions and in all countries.

In Japanese the first words of the verse of the kesa is dai sai. Dai

means “to be great” or “magnificent.” Sai has no meaning by itself

but functions as an exclamation mark: “How great!” The next part of

the verse gives three different names for the okesa. In the chapter

“Virtue of the Kesa” Dōgen Zenji introduced many names for the

okesa. He said, “We should understand that the kesa is what all

buddhas have respected and taken refuge in. The kesa is the

Buddha’s body and the Buddha’s mind. The kesa is called the robe

of liberation, the robe of the field of virtue, and the robe of

formlessness. It is also called the robe of supremacy, the robe of

patience, the robe of the Tathāgata, the robe of great compassion,

the robe of the victory banner (against delusion), and the robe of

unsurpassable enlightenment. Truly, we should receive and maintain

it gratefully and respectfully.”

These are all different names for the

okesa used in various Buddhist scriptures. In this verse, the first

three names are mentioned: the robe of liberation, the robe of

formlessness, and the robe of the field of virtue.

The first name for the okesa is the robe of liberation. The Sanskrit

word kaṣāya refers to a muted or broken color (ejiki). To make

okesas, Indian monks collected abandoned rags from graveyards

and refuse heaps, so that they would have no attachment to the

material. They cut the rags into pieces and washed, dyed, and

sewed them together. They didn’t dye them pure colors—blue,

yellow, red, black, or white—but instead mixed different colors

together to darken the cloth, rendering it valueless by ordinary

standards. The okesa was made out of materials that had no value

and were not attractive to people. Even today if we have new

material from which to make an okesa, we cut it into pieces so that

the material loses its value. No one would want to steal it. This is

why the okesa is free from attachment. In Buddhism, things free from

attachment are immaculate. When we become Buddhists, we

receive the okesa as a symbol of our faith in the Buddha’s teachings.

This means we also become free from ego attachment.

The construction of the okesa symbolizes the emptiness of the five

skandhas. The pieces come from all over, are sewed together, and

stay for a while in the shape of a robe. The okesa is an example of

emptiness or egolessness (anātman), impermanence, and

interdependent origination. So the robe is much more than a uniform;

it embodies the basic teachings of the Buddha.

When I first studied “Kesakudoku” (Virtue of the Kesa), I was

confused because Dōgen discussed the virtue of the okesa in

various ways. He wrote that the okesa had been transmitted from

Vipaśyin Buddha, the first of the seven buddhas. It is said that each

buddha’s life span was shorter than the last. Their bodies also

became smaller and smaller. And yet the okesa transmitted from the

previous buddha perfectly fit all of the following buddhas. I wondered

how Dōgen could say such a thing, since he knew that the okesa

was designed by Shakyamuni Buddha and his disciple Ānanda. How

could all the buddhas before Shakyamuni have worn and transmitted

it?

Dōgen also discusses the fact that Shakyamuni’s okesa was

transmitted to Mahākāśyapa, and then from Mahākāśyapa to the

next ancestor. It was then transmitted through each subsequent

ancestor to Bodhidharma. Bodhidharma brought it from India to

China, and then the okesa was transmitted through six generations

to the sixth ancestor, Huineng. The okesa was used as the symbol of

the Dharma and also of the authenticity of the Dharma’s

transmission.

Dōgen Zenji encourages us to sew our own okesa and venerate it

as the symbol of the Buddha’s vow to save all living beings, the

symbol of the Dharma itself, and the symbol of the authenticity of

transmission in his lineage.

Later I realized that this corresponds to the Three Treasures he

mentions in Kyōjukaimon (Comments on Teaching and Conferring

the Precepts). Here he comments on the precepts of taking refuge in

the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha and on the Absolute

Three Treasures, the Manifesting Three Treasures, and the

Maintaining Three Treasures.

The okesa used by all buddhas in the past, present, and future—

and which perfectly fits all of them despite their differences in size—

corresponds to the Absolute Three Treasures. The okesa designed

by Shakyamuni and Ānanda corresponds to the Manifesting Three

Treasures. And the okesa used as a symbol of transmission and the

okesa Dōgen encourages us to sew, wear, and venerate correspond

to the Maintaining Three Treasures. When Dōgen discusses the

virtue of the okesa, he freely switches among these three meanings

of the word. This is why I was confused. The okesa is the symbol of

the Dharma itself in its various facets.

The second name of the okesa is the robe of formlessness

(musō). In our sutra book, musō is translated as “far beyond form

and emptiness.” This is a questionable translation. It seems to me

that “far beyond form and emptiness” refers to a line in the Heart

Sutra: “That which is form is emptiness and that which is emptiness,

form.” In this case “form” is a translation of the Sanskrit word rūpa,

one of the five aggregates, which means materials that have

physical form and color. The Chinese translation of rūpa is se, and

the Japanese pronunciation is shiki. The Heart Sutra says that

material beings are emptiness and emptiness is material beings. But

here the word used is not shiki but sō, a translation of the Sanskrit

nimitta, which means “appearance,” as opposed to shō, “nature” or

“essence.” Other possible translations of nimitta are “mark” or

“attribution.” Musō is animitta in Sanskrit. This use of “form” does not

imply material beings. Instead, it means temporal form or

appearance. The reality of emptiness has no fixed form. The robe of

formlessness (musō-e) means that this robe has no form (animitta),

not that it is beyond form and emptiness.

In this English translation, the phrase “far beyond form and

emptiness” modifies “virtuous field” (fukuden). This is not a correct

interpretation of the line because musō-e and fukuden-e are the two

different names of the okesa.

The Diamond Sutra says, “To see all forms as no-form is to see

the true form.” What is beyond form and emptiness? Form is

emptiness and emptiness is form. There is nothing beyond form and

emptiness. And in this verse there is no word that refers to

emptiness. Here “formless” means that the okesa has a form and yet

the form itself is formless or empty. Emptiness means moving and

changing moment by moment. In this moment, this robe exists in the

form of the okesa but has no fixed, permanent form. Musō also

means free from attachment. Because it is formless, we cannot

attach ourselves; we cannot grasp it. If we grasp this as the

Buddha’s teaching, as something important and hold on to it, we

miss the point of the Buddha’s teaching. Instead we open our hands.

This is the meaning of formlessness.

It is the same with our lives. Our body and mind are collections of

many different elements that exist in this moment. Because they are

always changing, we cannot grasp them as “my” body, “my” mind, or

“my” property. And yet we attach ourselves to the present, transient

form. But since nothing is substantial, we cannot actually grasp it.

When we try to control it, we diminish our life force. Instead, we open

our hands. This is what we practice in our zazen. The okesa and our

body and mind are the same. This subtle difference in attitude can

change our lives completely. When we grasp something, we lose it.

When we open our hands, we see that everything we need is an

offering from nature. If we have something extra, we offer it to others.

This is the life attitude of a bodhisattva. Just open our hands. The

okesa is a symbol of this attitude.

As noted just now, the third name of the okesa in this verse is the

robe of the field of virtues (fukuden-e). Fuku means “happiness,”

“blessing,” “fortune,” or “virtue,” while den means “rice paddy.” In

Asian countries people consider rice paddies the foundation of

everything good. Rice is the most important product and the basis of

the whole economy. When rice grows we are blessed by nature. The

Buddha’s teachings, the Buddha-mind, and the practice of Dharma

are often compared to a rice paddy.

The Suttanipāta is one of the oldest collections of short suttas in

Pāli. In it we find the Kasībhāradvāja Sutta (The Farmer

Bharadvaja), which records the Buddha’s conversation with an

Indian farmer. When the Buddha was staying in a farming village, he

woke up one morning, put on the okesa, and went out to the village

for takuhatsu (begging for food). The Buddha came across a rich

farmer’s house. The farmer was giving food to his workers. The

Buddha was standing in front of the farmer to receive food.

The farmer said, “I eat after cultivating fields and planting seeds. I

eat after working. Why don’t you work? Why do you beg for food?”

The Buddha replied, “I am a farmer, too. I also work.” The farmer

asked further, “You say you are also a farmer. But I never saw you

farming. I ask you, what do you mean when you say you are a

farmer? Tell me so that I can understand.” Then the Buddha

answered, “Faith is a seed. Practice is rain. Wisdom is my yoke and

plow. Repentance (having a sense of shame) is my plow bar.

Aspiration is a rope to tie a yoke to an ox. Mindfulness is a plow-

blade and digging bar. I behave prudently. I am discreet in speech. I

eat moderately. Truth is my sickle to mow grass. Gentleness is

untying the yoke from an ox when finished working. Diligence is my

ox which takes me to peacefulness (nirvana). I go forth without

backsliding. Once I reach peacefulness, I have no anxiety. My

farming is done in this way. Its result is sweet dew. If you engage in

this farming, you will be released from all kinds of suffering.”

The farmer left home and became the Buddha’s disciple. In the

Buddha’s simile, farming is a practice aimed at freedom from

egoattachment and a peaceful life. When we wear the okesa, we are

also farming. This is the meaning of “robe of virtuous field” (fukuden-

e). This body and mind is the field we work. It is not a field of fortune

from which we can expect to receive blessings without practice. We

have to cultivate our life.

The third line of the verse is “Wearing the Tathāgata’s teaching”

(hibu nyorai kyō). Hi means “to open,” “unfold,” or “uncover,” so I

translate this line as “I unfold and wear the Tathāgata’s teaching.”

First we have to unfold the Buddha’s teaching and cover ourselves

with it. Bu means “humble,” “thankful,” or “respectful.” Then what is

meant by “the Tathāgata’s teaching” (nyorai-kyō)? The Buddha

taught the interdependent origination of all beings. Since no beings

have selfnature, we should not attach ourselves to anything. We

should be free from ego-attachment, transform our way of life, and

choose a path to peacefulness. We unfold this teaching through

practice. We receive the teaching of the Tathāgata, unfold it, wear it,

and are covered by it. This is the meaning of wearing the okesa and

practicing zazen.

Formlessness means the same as emptiness, egolessness, and

interdependent origination. Since we are not substantial, we cannot

live alone without being supported by other beings. We have to live

together with others. This is another essential point of the Buddha’s

teaching. We cannot be completely peaceful unless all living beings

are in peace. We cannot be completely happy if we are aware of

someone who is unhappy. When we awaken to this reality, the

bodhisattva vows arise naturally. The vow to save all beings is not a

duty or a promise to the Buddha. The vow does not mean that we

are great people and we have to save all others, like millionaires who

give money to the poor. When we open our eyes to the reality of our

lives, we simply cannot help but share happiness and sadness,

pleasure and pain with all beings. To be peaceful, we have to do

something for other beings. We live within the Buddha’s vow to save

all beings.

Zen Master Dongshan Liangjie (Tōzan Ryōkai, 802,–869) was the

founder of the Chinese Caodon (Sōtō) school. Dongshan asked a

monk, “What is most painful?” The monk replied, “To be in hell is

most painful.” Dongshan said, “No, it isn’t.” Then the monk asked,

“What do you think, then, is most painful?” Dongshan replied,

“Wearing the okesa yet not having clarified the great matter is most

painful.” Hell is the worst part of samsara and is considered the most

agonizing. But Dongshan said that there is a more painful condition.

When we wear the okesa, we are in nirvana. We are apart from

samsara, and yet when we chase after something, even

enlightenment, our practice becomes an activity within samsara.

When we look for something better through zazen, that striving is

more painful than hell. If you suffer in samsara because you don’t

know the Buddha’s teachings, you can be saved by studying the

Buddha Dharma and practicing zazen. But if you already know the

Buddha Dharma, receive the precepts, wear the okesa, practice

zazen, and still chase after something, there is no way to be saved.

One of the most famous sayings of Kōdō Sawaki Roshi is, “Wear the

okesa and sit in zazen: that’s all.” That’s it. There is nothing else to

search for. There’s nowhere to go. Still, we look for something more

valuable. Even when we sit in the zendo we are often hungry ghosts

in samsara.

Whenever we deviate from where we are now, we immediately

return to what’s right here, right now, by letting go. This is our zazen.

This is the meaning of wearing the okesa after reciting this verse.

DōGEN’S COMMENTS ON THE SIGNIFICANCE

OF TAKING FOOD

MEAL CHANTS are the verses we recite during formal ōryōki meals at

Sōtō Zen monasteries and Zen centers during sesshin. Dōgen

Zenji’s comments at the beginning of “Fushukuhanpō” (The Dharma

for Taking Meals) are a good introduction to these verses. He

describes how to eat, use the bowls, and comport ourselves during

an ōryōki meal. “The Dharma for Taking Meals” is a section of Eihei

Shingi. The word shingi means regulations or standards, and Eiheiji

is the monastery founded by Dōgen Zenji. “The Dharma for Taking

Meals” is one of the six sections of Eihei Shingi; another is

“Tenzokyōkun” (Instructions for the Cook). Dōgen Zenji teaches that

cooking and receiving food are both important parts of our practice.

Eating is an essential part of our practice because it’s a necessary

part of our life. We eat three times every day of our lives but rarely

think about the significance of eating. Both “Tenzokyōkun” and

“Fushukuhanpō” show us how activities in our daily lives can

become spiritual practice.

In “Tenzokyōkun,” Dōgen Zenji describes the attitude we should

maintain toward foods, fire, water, and utensils when we cook.

“When steaming rice, regard the pot as your own head; when

washing rice, know that the water is your own life.”

Everything is

part of our life. As tenzo we should think about the people who eat,

who receive the food, and who practice. According to Dōgen Zenji,

practice itself is enlightenment, so people who practice are

enlightened, and therefore as tenzo we prepare meals to offer to the

Buddha. Through work with food in the kitchen, the tenzo’s energy

becomes part of the Buddha, so the tenzo should be sincere and

careful. This is an important point. Since the tenzo doesn’t sit in the

zendō all the time, the kitchen is the tenzo’s place of practice. When

the tenzo cooks, the food is the Buddha and the cooking is the

tenzo’s zazen. We should receive the food gratefully and with the

same attitude with which it was cooked. That’s the meaning of this

ritual.

It’s difficult when we begin to study the rituals of ōryōki and

memorize the chants because many of us don’t like formality. I

myself don’t like it much, but I try to follow it because it’s our

practice. If we think of the meaning or significance of this practice,

we can appreciate this formality on a deeper level. That is the point

of this section of “Fushukuhanpō” (The Dharma of Taking Meals):

A sutra says, “If you can remain the same with food, all dharmas

also remain the same; if all dharmas are the same, then also with

food you will remain the same.” Just let dharma be the same as

food, and let food be the same as dharma. For this reason, if

dharmas are the dharma-nature, then food also is the dharma-

nature. If the dharma is suchness, food also is suchness. If the

dharma is the single mind, food also is the single mind. If the dharma

is bodhi, food also is bodhi. They are named the same and their

significance is the same, so it is said that they are the same. A sutra

says, “Named the same and significance the same, each and every

one is the same, consistent with nothing extra.” Mazu said, “If the

dharma realm is established, everything is entirely dharma realm. If

suchness is established, everything is entirely suchness. If the

principle is established, everything is entirely the principle. If

phenomena are established, all dharmas are entirely phenomena.”

Therefore this “same” is not the sameness of parity or equality, but

the sameness of awakening to the true sameness [anuttarā-

samyaksambodhi]. Awakening to the true sameness is the ultimate

identity [of all the suchnesses] from beginning to end. The suchness

of the ultimate identity from beginning to end is the genuine form of

all dharmas, which only a buddha together with a buddha can

exhaustively penetrate. Therefore, food is the dharma of all

dharmas, which only a buddha together with a buddha can

exhaustively penetrate. Just at such a time, there are the genuine

marks, nature, substance, power, functions, causes, and conditions.

For this reason, dharma is itself food; food is itself dharma. This

dharma is what is received and used by all buddhas in the past and

future. This food is the fulfillment that is the joy of dharma and the

delight of meditation.

The quote at the beginning, “If you can remain the same with food,

all dharmas also remain the same; if all dharmas are the same, then

also with food you will remain the same,” comes from the Vimalakīrti

Sutra.

Dōgen Zenji comments on this passage, “Just let dharma be

the same as food, and let food be the same as dharma.” This sutra

says that as practitioners of Mahāyāna Buddhism we should

maintain the same attitude toward everything we encounter. We

should not discriminate between things as valuable or worthless on

the basis of conventions. We should not discriminate between good

times and hard times, delusion and enlightenment, samsara and

nirvana, or deluded human beings and buddhas. This is the basis of

the Mahāyāna teaching of śūnyatā. We must go beyond

discrimination and keep the same attitude toward all things because

everything we encounter is the Buddha’s life. The Vimalakīrti Sutra

says that as a practitioner of Mahāyāna Buddhism, we should have

the same attitude toward all food and not discriminate between

something expensive or delicious and something cheap or not so

tasty on the basis of preferences or worldly values.

Subhūti, one of the ten greatest disciples of Shakyamuni Buddha,

was doing takuhatsu, begging for food. Vimalakīrti offered him some

delicious food, saying he could eat it if he didn’t discriminate

between delicacies and the food of the poor. In his comment Dōgen

Zenji twisted the meaning slightly. He said: “Just let dharma be the

same as food, and let food be the same as dharma.” Dōgen Zenji

says that dharma and food are the same. He doesn’t discriminate

between good and bad food. He simply says that dharma and food

are the same.

We have to be careful here about the meaning of the word

dharma. It can be used to mean the Buddha’s teaching. A second

meaning is the truth about which the Buddha taught, the reality of

our life. A third meaning of dharma is all beings or things. The

phrase often used to express this, “myriad dharmas,” means all

beings, everything. In this usage, Dōgen is saying that food, as one

of the “myriad dharmas,” reveals the reality of all beings, and

therefore the food itself is the teaching (Dharma) of the Buddha. The

Buddha awakened to and taught this reality, so his teaching is called

Dharma. His teaching became a kind of law, principle, or basic

standard of morality. In “The Dharma for Taking Meals,” “dharma”

means an etiquette or standard of behavior that we should follow

when we eat meals. In his commentary Dōgen is playing with words.

He uses “dharma” not to designate a kind of ritual but as reality itself

as well as the teachings about that reality. He says that our practice

and the food we eat is dharma, reality, or truth itself. We should

receive our food as we receive the Buddha’s teaching and reality

itself.

He continues, “For this reason, if dharmas are the dharma-nature,

then food also is the dharma-nature.” Dharma-nature is almost

synonymous with buddha-nature. For human beings the term

“buddhanature” is used. For other beings or inanimate objects, all of

reality, the phrase “dharma-nature” is used. Our food is dharma-

nature. Dharma-nature and food are really one, so “if the dharma is

suchness [reality or truth], food also is suchness.” Suchness means

the way all beings, all dharmas, are. So food is nothing but suchness

itself. In the same way, “If the dharma is the single mind,” another

name for Buddha mind, “food also is the single mind,” the One Mind,

or Buddha mind. So we should receive food with the same attitude

we receive the Buddha and his teachings. Dōgen says, “If the

dharma is bodhi, food also is bodhi.” Bodhi means enlightenment or

awakening to the reality of all beings. So dharma is awakening. We

usually think of awakening as something subjective that happens

inside a person, and dharma as the object of awakening. In the

teachings of Mahāyāna Buddhism, there is no separation between

subject and object, between the person who sees reality and the

reality that is seen. When we separate the two, wisdom becomes

delusion. Awakening, beings, and reality are one. The dharma is

bodhi, awakening itself. Awakening is not some special

psychological state or stage of development. When we are one with

all beings we are awake. When we are mindful, right now, right here,

our body and mind completely present in this moment and engaged

with what we are doing, we are awake and enlightened. The dharma

is bodhi, and food is also bodhi. Food and dharma are both dharma-

nature, buddha-nature, and suchness.

Dōgen continues, “They [dharma and food] are named the same

and their significance is the same, so it is said that they are the

same. A sutra says, ‘Named the same and significance the same,

each and every one is the same, consistent with nothing extra.’” This

means that when we receive this body and mind and the things we

encounter in our daily lives as self, we are connected with all beings

in the whole universe. This whole universe is one reality. We should

receive the rituals of meals and universe with the same attitude.

Dōgen quotes Mazu (Baso), “If the dharma realm is established,

everything is entirely dharma realm.” “Dharma realm” is a translation

of dharmadhātu, this dharma universe. This whole universe is

dharma universe; there is nothing extra. Everything is entirely the

dharma world; nothing is outside it. He continues, “If suchness is

established, everything is entirely suchness.” If we see this whole

reality as suchness, everything is entirely suchness. There is nothing

that is not suchness. Within delusion there is suchness as delusion.

The fact that we are deluded is reality. When we see delusion as

delusion, delusion is part of reality and there is nothing to be

eliminated, nothing to be negated. We should accept everything as

the Buddha’s life. Mazu continues, “If the principle is established,

everything is entirely the principle,” and “If phenomena are

established, all dharmas are entirely phenomena.” These two

concepts, principle and phenomena, or ri and ji, are important in the

“Merging of Difference and Unity,” the title of a text by Shitou

discussed below. Ri means reality as a whole regardless of

differences among individuals. A hand has five fingers. If we see it

as one hand it is actually one thing. We cannot separate it into parts.

But we can also see it as five fingers, each with a different shape,

function, and name. So ri refers to the entire totality of a being, and

so does ji. There is nothing that is half-and-half. Ri means all of this

one hand, and so does ji, the five fingers. When we see this as one

hand, there are no separate fingers. When we see it as five fingers,

there is no single hand. This is the way we see reality. We call

principles “absolute” and phenomena “relative.” The absolute and

relative ways of seeing things are reality at work.

Dōgen Zenji continues, “Therefore, this ‘same’ is not the

sameness of parity or equality, but the sameness of awakening to

the true sameness.” “Awakening to the true sameness” is a

translation of the phrase anuttarā-samyaksambodhi. A common

Chinese translation of this phrase is shōtōgaku. Shō means “true,”

“correct,” or “absolute”; tō means “sameness” or “equality”; and gaku

is “awakening.” This “sameness” is a difficult concept. We cannot

use the word “equality” here because Dōgen Zenji said, “Therefore

this ‘same’ is not the sameness of parity or equality.” This is not a

matter of comparing two things and finding them to be the same or

equal, as in one hand and five fingers. This is one thing with two

names. Food and dharma really are the same thing. This sameness,

Dōgen says, is sameness within anuttarā-samyaksambodhi. Samyak

means “sameness,” “equality,” or “identity.” This sameness is not a

matter of comparison: good versus bad food, or like versus dislike.

This sameness means that we should encounter each thing as an

absolute reality, as a whole, as the Buddha. When I drink water,

water is the Buddha. This means that this water is connected with all

beings. Someone brings a glass of water for me. The water came

from a river or lake, and before that from the sky. The water in the

sky came from the ocean. Everything really is connected. This

interpenetrating, connected reality is the Buddha, and we are part of

it. There is no separation between myself and the water. The water

becomes part of me when I drink it. This glass, this body and mind,

and the water are all Buddha. When we see them as Buddha we are

part of the whole universe. When we see them as separate entities,

each of them and each of us is a small, individual thing or ego.

Dōgen Zenji goes on to say, “Awakening to the true sameness is

the ultimate identity [of all the suchnesses] from beginning to end.”

Awakening to the true sameness means accepting all beings as our

own life, as the Buddha’s life. A quote from the Lotus Sutra helps

explain the meaning of the following: “The suchness of the ultimate

identity from beginning to end is the genuine form of all dharmas [the

reality of all beings], which only a buddha together with a buddha

can exhaustively penetrate.” In the second chapter of the Lotus

Sutra the Buddha said, “Concerning the prime, rare, hard-to-

understand dharmas, which the Buddha has perfected, only a

Buddha and a Buddha can exhaust their reality, namely, the

suchness of the dharmas.”

“The suchness of the dharmas” in the

Lotus Sutra and “the genuine form of all dharmas” in

“Fushukuhanpō” are the same word. The reality of all beings can be

understood or seen only by buddhas.

The sutra continues by listing the ten suchnesses: “The suchness

of their marks (form), the suchness of their nature, the suchness of

their substance (body), the suchness of their powers (energy), the

suchness of their functions, the suchness of their causes, the

suchness of their conditions, the suchness of their effects, the

suchness of their retributions, and the absolute identity of their

beginning and end.”

“Ultimate identity from beginning to end” is

another translation for the ending of this quote. In Japanese the

phrase is nyoze honmatsu kukyō tō. Hon (beginning) and matsu

(end) refer to the nine points of reality: form, nature, body, energy,

function, cause, condition (secondary cause), effect, and retribution.

Each being has its own unique form, nature, body, energy, and

function. For example, this glass has a form, round and transparent.

This being has a nature as a glass and as a body that is different

from other glasses. The Japanese word translated here as “body” is

sometimes translated as “substance” or “embodiment,” but “body” is

better. Each being has its own power and energy. Even this glass

has chemical, potential, kinetic, and nuclear energy. Essentially there

is no difference between energy and being. “Being” is nothing other

than various forms of energy in certain conditions. The function of

this glass is to contain liquid. Each being has a different combination

of these five characteristics: a different form, nature, body, energy,

and function. Each being has a cause and a secondary cause as its

conditions. “Secondary cause” refers to the way this glass was

made. Someone works with materials to form glass into this shape.

That person is a secondary cause. In addition to the person who

makes the glass there is electricity, water, and raw materials. The

person who makes the glass eats food, which is also a secondary

cause of this glass. Everything is connected with everything else.

Each being has causes, secondary causes, and effects. This being

has effects because of its function. Because this glass functions to

contain water, I can drink the water. That is an effect of this being we

call a glass. The last of the nine points is “retribution.” This could

also be translated as “secondary effect.” Because this glass can

contain the water, it allows me to drink the water, and the water can

become part of my body, which enables me to continue to talk.

That’s a secondary effect. The first five suchnesses describe the

unique characteristics of each being, each dharma; and the next four

are the interconnections between beings throughout time and space.

A secondary cause is the relationship between this being and its

function and other beings within space at the present moment.

Secondary effect is the connection with other beings in the future

within time.

Each thing also has its own unique characteristics. In this sense, it

is independent. This glass is different from all other glasses. All

beings, including this body and mind, have unique characteristics,

and yet we are interconnected. We live together with each other. All

beings have two aspects: independence and connectedness. This is

the same concept as seeing one hand or five fingers. The tenth

suchness, “absolute identity of their beginning and end,” means that

the other nine—from the first, form, up to the ninth, retribution—are

one. Within this one being, all are included. The universal

interconnection within Indra’s net is manifested in this one being, in

each and every being. It’s really hard to comprehend this reality of

our life, the way we live with both individuality (independence) and

connection (interdependence) at the same time. I have to take

responsibility for whatever I do because I am I, not you or another

person. And yet my personal action influences the entire world.

Without this being, there are no other beings. This is called

wondrous dharma or true dharma. We cannot grasp it with our

concepts, and yet, as a reality, it’s right in front of us. It means: This

is one, this is Shohaku Okumura; and yet, at the same time: This is

not Shohaku Okumura, this is not an individual. When we use the

principles of logic we avoid contradiction, and so we cannot see

reality as a whole. We see only one side of reality, either the

individuality of all beings or their identity. When we think about

ourselves and the reality of our lives, we cannot see both aspects at

once. Sometimes we see five fingers: I am not you, and you are not

me. But at the same time, this is one hand and there is no

separation. If we think logically, it’s contradictory. If we can set our

logic aside, we can see reality as it is, five fingers and one hand at

the same time. That’s the reality of the network of interdependent

origination. And so, getting back to Dōgen’s text, we should accept

food as a part of this reality. There is no separation between the

person eating and the food eaten. Both are part of this wondrous

dharma.

Dōgen Zenji continues, “Therefore, food is the dharma of all

dharmas, which only a buddha together with a buddha can

exhaustively penetrate.” The phrase “only a buddha together with a

buddha” means that no human being can penetrate this dharma. By

human beings Dōgen means individuals. When we see this total

reality, we are Buddha. The words “I see” are not really adequate

because they imply a separation between the person who sees and

the reality which is seen. Because we are born, live, and die within

the network, we can only see the network from inside. We cannot be

an objective observer from the outside. “Accept” is a better word

than “see.” We should accept this reality and make it manifest

through our practice. When we accept food and dharma in this way,

Dōgen Zenji says, “Just at such a time, there are the genuine marks,

nature, substance, power, functions, causes, and conditions.” He

lists seven of the ten suchnesses described in the Lotus Sutra. I

think the other three—effects, retributions, and absolute identity—

should be included. All of them are manifested within the one action

of eating.

He concludes, “For this reason, dharma is itself food; food is itself

dharma. This dharma is what is received and used by all buddhas in

the past and future.” In this context “dharma” means reality itself.

This reality is accepted and used by all buddhas in the past and

future. He said, “This food is the fulfillment that is the joy of dharma

and the delight of meditation.” This joy of dharma and delight of

meditation is part of the verse we chant before informal meals. We

say, “As we take food and drink, we vow with all beings to rejoice in

zazen, being filled with delight in the dharma (Nyaku onjiki ji tōgan

shujō, zennetsu ijiki, hōki jūman).” When we eat, we should be

happy. This happiness is the enjoyment of dharma. We consider the

taste of food to be the taste of dharma. When we receive or eat a

meal, we shouldn’t grasp the taste. Usually when we eat, we

encounter our food with our desires. These desires are the cause of

delusion or samsara. The Buddha and Dōgen Zenji teach us to

become free from the desires caused by objects. This is Dōgen’s

teaching of shinjin datsuraku (dropping off body and mind). Our joy

when we receive food is not the fulfillment of our desire. It is the joy

of dharma and zazen. I think this is the most essential teaching

about food and eating. When we can see this reality that Dōgen

Zenji describes in “Fushukuhanpō,” not only eating but everything we

do becomes our spiritual practice.

Ludwig Feuerbach, a nineteenth-century German philosopher,

once said, “We are what we eat.” In fact, we are not only what we

eat, but what we see, hear, think, and do. When we accept

everything that we encounter as it is, and accept all things and

beings as ourselves, that is jijuyū zammai—samādhi that is self-

receiving and self-employing. The most important thing taught by

Dōgen Zenji is to accept this body and mind and everything we

encounter as our life. Then the self and the entire dharma world

become one seamless reality. We should accept and use everything

we encounter as samādhi, not as a kind of business. Our life as a

whole is samādhi. This means that each and every thing we do in

our daily lives becomes a manifestation of our zazen.

FORMAL MEAL VERSES

Verse upon Hearing the Meal Signal

Buddha was born in Kapilavastu,

enlightened in Magadha,

taught in Vārāṇasī, entered nirvana in Kuśinagara.

At the beginning of each ōryōki meal we chant this verse and

remember the most important events in the life of the Buddha

Shakyamuni.

The Buddha was born at Lumbinī Park, not far from

the palace of his father, King Śuddhodana, at Kapilavastu. The

Buddha attained supreme awakening under a bodhi tree at Uruvelā,

later called Bodhgayā, in the kingdom of Magadha. The Buddha

taught the Dharma for the first time to the five monks at Deer Park

(Mṛgadāva) in Sārnāth near Vārāṇasī (Benares). After that, he

continued to teach for more than forty years, until he was about

eighty years old, when he entered the great nirvana under twin sāla

trees in Kuśinagara. These places have been considered the four

most sacred sites in Buddhism. Following the Buddha’s death,

Buddhists built stūpas at these places to enshrine his relics, and

pilgrimaging there became a common Buddhist practice. People

from all over the world still visit these four places even today.

In the Mahāparinibbāna Sutta, the Buddha’s attendant Ānanda

says, “Lord, formerly monks who had spent the rains in various

places used to come to see the Tathāgata, and we used to welcome

them so that such well-trained monks might see you and pay their

respects. But with the Lord’s passing, we shall no longer have a

chance to do this.” The Buddha answered, “Ānanda, there are four

places the sight of which should arouse emotion in the faithful.

Which are they? ‘Here the Tathāgata was born’ is the first. ‘Here the

Tathāgata attained supreme enlightenment’ is the second. ‘Here the

Tathāgata set in motion the Wheel of Dharma’ is the third. ‘Here the

Tathāgata attained the nibbāna-element without remainder’ is the

fourth. And Ānanda, the faithful monks and nuns, [and] male and

female lay-followers will visit those places. And any who die while

making the pilgrimage to these shrines with a devout heart will, at

the breaking-up of the body after death, be reborn in a heavenly

world.”

It is difficult for me to imagine that the Buddha called himself

Tathāgata, encouraged people to worship his relics, and promised

that if they made pilgrimages they would be born in heaven. But it

seems certain that such a belief and practice was there when the

Nikāyas were written down using the Pāli language several hundred

years after the Buddha’s death.

One of the four bodhisattva vows is “The Buddha’s Way is

unsurpassable; we vow to realize it.” Even though we are in a very

immature stage of the bodhisattva path, because a bodhisattva is a

child of the Buddha, the direction of our practice is to live like the

Buddha. When we receive food, we are reminded why we are here

and why we eat. It is not to satisfy our desire for food but to continue

to practice and walk the path taught by the Buddha. In our minds, we

make a pilgrimage to those four sacred places.

Verse for Setting Out Bowls

To begin the meal we unwrap our bowls and arrange them on the

table before us. As we open the ōryōki bowls we recite this verse:

Now we set out Buddha’s bowls;

may we, with all living beings,

realize the emptiness of the three wheels:

giver, receiver, and gift.

The initial ō in ōryōki means “in proportion to,” ryō means “amount”

or “quality,” and ki means “container.” Ōryōki thus means a container

with which we receive a food offering depending on our need to

maintain our life for practice. We receive only the amount of food we

need. So we have to eat everything we receive without wasting even

one grain of rice. To do so, we need to know how much is enough.

In Zen Buddhist tradition, around the eighth century, after the story

in which the sixth ancestor, Huineng, received the robe and ōryōki

bowl as evidence of his dharma transmission from the fifth ancestor,

the bowl was considered the symbol of continuity of Dharma from

teacher to disciple. We receive a set of ōryōki bowls from our

teacher when we participate in the shukke tokudo ceremony to

become a monk/priest. Our ōryōki is the Buddha’s bowl.

The verse says, “May we … realize the emptiness of the three

wheels.” The emptiness of the three wheels is a crucial teaching

from the Prajñāpāramitā Sutra. The three wheels are the giver,

receiver, and gift; these wheels turn the dāna-pāramitā, the

perfection of generosity. To practice dāna-pāramitā, there should be

no attachment to any wheel.

The Diamond Sutra, one of the earliest Mahāyāna sutras, says,

“When bodhisattvas give a gift, they should not be attached to …

anything at all. They should not be attached to a sight when they

give a gift. Nor should they be attached to a sound, a smell, a taste,

a touch, or a dharma when they give a gift.”

The famous story of the Bodhidharma’s meeting with Emperor Wu

makes the same point. The emperor had put on the robes of a monk

and gave lectures on one of the group of Prajñāpāramitā Sutras. It is

said that when he lectured, people saw heavenly flowers falling and

the earth turning to gold. He studied extensively and supported

Buddhism generously. He issued orders throughout his country to

build temples and ordain monks. People called him the Buddha

Heart Emperor. When Bodhidharma first met him, the emperor

asked, “I have built many temples and allowed many monks to be

ordained; what merit is there in this?”

Bodhidharma answered, “There is no merit.”

“Merit” is a positive

effect of certain actions. Even when doing good actions, if we expect

to receive merit for ourselves, it is off the mark from the ultimate

point of view because it is defiled by our selfish desire.

Ten Buddha Names

After we open the bowls, the inō (director of the zendō) recites:

In the midst of the Three Treasures

which verify our understanding,

entrusting ourselves to the sangha,

we recall: …

Then everyone recites the ten names of the Buddha. This is an

invitation for all buddhas and bodhisattvas to share this offering with

us. And this is also an expression of our awareness that we are

practicing together with all buddhas and bodhisattvas in the past,

present, and future in the ten directions.

… Vairocana Buddha, pure dharmakāya;

Locana Buddha, complete sambhogakāya;

Shakyamuni Buddha, myriad nirmāṇakāya;

Maitreya Buddha, of future birth;

All buddhas throughout space and time;

Lotus of the Wondrous Dharma, Mahāyāna sutra.

Mañjuśrī Bodhisattva, great wisdom;

Samantabhadra Bodhisattva, great activity;

Avalokiteśvara Bodhisattva, great compassion;

All honored ones, bodhisattvas, mahāsattvas;

Wisdom beyond wisdom, mahā prajñā-pāramitā.

These are called the ten Buddha names, but actually there are

eleven. Dōgen Zenji added “Lotus of the Wondrous Dharma,

Mahāyāna sutra.”

The first three names refer to the three bodies of Buddha. Different

masters use Vairocana to refer to either dharmakāya or

sambhogakāya depending upon the context. Here, Vairocana means

the dharmakāya, the Buddha’s body, identical with the entirety of

Dharma and everything existing. Vairocana as the dharmakāya

appears as the main buddha in the Mahāvairocana Sutra (Sutra of

the Great Radiant One; Dainichikyō in Japanese). This is one of the

most important sutras in Vajrayāna (Shingon) Buddhism. Vairocana

literally means the universal illumination of the radiant light and

refers to the light of the sun which illuminates entire world.

Vairocana also appears as the main buddha in the Avataṃsaka

Sutra (Flower Ornament Sutra) and the Brahma Net Sutra

(Bonmōkyō). Here it is sometimes considered to be the

sambhogakāya, the retribution body that is produced upon entering

buddhahood as a result of the vows and practice undertaken while

the buddha was a bodhisattva. The Chinese transliteration of

Vairocana is Pilushena. Locana is another spelling for the shortened

form Lushena. In the Brahma Net Sutra, the shortened form Locana

Buddha is used.

In his commentary on the Lotus Sutra, Tientai Zhiyi said that

Vairocana is dharmakāya, Locana (Lushena) is sambhogakāya, and

Shakyamuni is nirmāṇakāya.

“Myriad nirmāṇakāya” refers to the

Buddha Shakyamuni, the manifestation of the dharmakāya with a

human body in a particular time and space. This expression also

comes from the Brahma Net Sutra:

“I have cultivated this Mind-Ground Dharma Gate for hundred of

eons. My name is Locana. I request all buddhas to transmit my

words to all sentient beings, so as to open this path of cultivation to

all.” At that time, from Lion’s Throne in the Lotus Treasury World,

Locana Buddha emitted rays of light. A voice among the rays is

heard telling the buddhas seated on thousands of lotus petals, “You

should practice and uphold the Mind-Ground Dharma Gate and

transmit it to the innumerable Shakyamuni Buddhas, one after

another, as well as to all sentient beings. Everyone should uphold,

read, recite, and single-mindedly put its teachings into practice.”

Modern Buddhist scholars think the Brahma Net Sutra was not

translated from an Indian text but composed in Chinese. In the

original Chinese text, the Va i in Vairocana is dropped and Vairocana

is written as Locana. It is said that there are innumerable

Shakyamuni Buddhas sitting on the lotus flowers. It seems these ten

Buddha names are created within the tradition based on the

teachings of the Avataṃsaka Sutra (Flower Ornament Sutra) and

Brahma Net Sutra.

Maitreya Buddha is considered to be the future Buddha. He is now

abiding in the Tuṣita heaven, as did Shakyamuni Buddha before he

was born in this world. It is believed that Maitreya Buddha will be

born 5.6 billion years after Shakyamuni’s death.

Dōgen Zenji added the Lotus Sutra to the list of ten Buddha

names because he thought this sutra was very important. In

Shōbōgenzō “Kiebuppōsōbō” (Taking Refuge in Buddha, Dharma,

and Sangha), he wrote, “The Dharma Flower Sutra is the causes

and conditions of the one great matter of the Buddha Tathāgata. Of

all the sutras expounded by the great teacher Shakyamuni, the

Dharma Flower Sutra is the great king and is the great teacher.

Other sutras and other teachings are all the retainers and people or

the family dependents of the Dharma Flower Sutra.”

The next three names are the most well-known bodhisattvas.

Mañjuśrī is the symbol of the Buddha’s wisdom to see the reality of

all beings. Samantabhadra is the symbol of the Buddha’s vow and

practice of skillful means to help all beings. Avalokiteśvara is the

symbol of the Buddha’s boundless compassion toward all beings. In

addition to these three great bodhisattvas, all living beings

throughout time and space who have aroused bodhicitta (Way-

seeking mind) are also bodhisattvas. We are connected with all of

them and we practice together with all of them.

The final name is mahā prajñā-pāramitā, the Buddha’s wisdom

that sees the emptiness of all beings. Prajñā-pāramitā is called the

mother of all buddhas.

Food Offering Verses

After the ten names of the Buddha are chanted, the head monk

(shuso) chants the following verses to praise the virtue of the meal

offering.

(at breakfast)

This morning meal of ten benefits

nourishes us in our practice.

Its rewards are boundless,

filling us with ease and joy.

The ten benefits of rice gruel, the traditional morning meal in Zen

Buddhist monasteries, are mentioned in the Vinaya of

Mahāsāṃghika. They are: making one’s complexion healthy and

lively, maintaining one’s strength, prolonging one’s longevity,

allowing one to feel ease, keeping one’s tongue clean, not upsetting

one’s stomach, preventing one from catching cold, satisfying one’s

hunger, keeping one’s mouth from thirst, and keeping one’s bowels

regular.

(at lunch)

The three virtues and six tastes of this meal

are offered to the Buddha and the sangha.

May all sentient beings in the universe

be equally nourished.

The three virtues of the meal are softness, cleanness, and

accordance with dharma (proper preparation). The six tastes are

sweetness, spiciness, saltiness, bitterness, sourness, and simplicity.

The previous verse is about benefiting the self who eats the food.

This verse is about benefiting others: buddhas, sangha members,

and all living beings.

Verse of Five Contemplations

When the preceding verses have been chanted, the food is

served. Prior to eating, the following verses of five contemplations

are chanted.

We reflect on the effort that brought us this food and consider how it

comes to us.

We reflect on our virtue and practice, and whether we are worthy of

this offering.

We regard greed as the obstacle to freedom of mind.

We regard this meal as medicine to sustain our life.

For the sake of enlightenment we now receive this food.

We chant this verse to remind ourselves that eating is a spiritual

practice, not just a way to fill our stomachs and satisfy our desires.

We acknowledge that we eat “to support our life,” but also affirm the

important spiritual meaning of the meal. We eat to keep this body in

good shape and also to renew our bodhi-mind, our aspiration to

practice according to Buddha’s teaching.

“We reflect on the effort that brought us this food and consider

how it comes to us.” The first of the five contemplations is to

appreciate the immeasurable work of those who produce the food

and prepare the meal. Basically the meal chant is about the practice

of dāna-pāramitā. In India, Buddhist monks neither produced food

nor prepared meals. Every day after morning meditation practice

they went to town to beg for food. Farming was prohibited for monks

because farmers have to kill living beings while cultivating the land.

Monks simply received the food offered by laypeople.

In China it is said that Zen monks began to cultivate grains and

vegetables to support their practice. There are many koan stories in

the Zen tradition about masters and monks working in the fields. One

of these is the story of Guishan Lingyou (Isan Reiyū, 771–853) and

his disciple Yangshan Huiji (Gyōsan Ejaku, 807–883), the founders

of the Guiyang (Igyō) school. One day Yangshan was digging on a

hillside to make a rice paddy. Yangshan said, “This place is so low,

that place is so high.” Guishan said, “Water makes things equal. Why

don’t you level it with water?” Yangshan said, “Water is not reliable,

teacher. A high place is high level. A low place is low level.” Guishan

agreed.

Guishan’s teacher Baizhang Huihai (Hyakujō Ekai, 749–814) was

also famous for his diligent practice of community work. His saying

“A day without work is a day without eating” has been one of the

most popular Zen mottos. In the traditional Zen monastery, the

monks who grew grains and vegetables and prepared the meals

were givers, and the rest of the monks received their offerings. Of

course, none of these monks sustained themselves completely by

their own labor. Zen monasteries became large institutions

supported by the emperor, the government, and the aristocracy, and

laypeople donated food. Many monasteries also owned manors

cultivated by lay farmers.

Today at American Zen centers, practitioners pay to participate in

sesshins and retreats. Food provided during the retreat is purchased

with this money, so participants may not consider the food they eat

as a gift or think of themselves as recipients. Rather, they may think

they are purchasing a service. And yet, if we think carefully about

this matter, we realize that we cannot buy food if farmers do not

work. And if the weather does not support growing plants, farmers

cannot produce crops. Plants need water, air, fertilizer, earthworms,

and microorganisms, etc. All the elements in the network of

interdependent origination support the farmers’ work. All food we

receive is a gift from nature.

After the food is grown, we need people to transport it to the

marketplace and then to factories to be processed and the various

places where consumers shop. On highways we see countless

trucks carrying commercial products. Without all these people’s

work, we could not eat even a single grain of rice.

There are also factors beyond those we can see on the earth.

Because of the distance between the sun and the earth, we receive

just the right amount of heat. If we had more or less, we could not

live the way we live now. This distance is a result of the balance

among the planets in the solar system working together.

When we consider these interconnections, we see that our

existence itself is a gift from the network of all beings. The totality of

this network that enables everything to exist is called the dharma

body of the Buddha, the Buddha’s life, or the Buddha’s compassion.

When we awaken to this reality of interconnection, we cannot help

but express our appreciation and gratitude.

“We reflect on our virtue and practice, and whether we are worthy

of this offering.” When we realize that we are supported by this

network of interdependent origination, we need to reflect on whether

we are worthy of this gift. Since our lives are supported by all beings,

we need to appreciate and support them instead of harming them.

The first of the four bodhisattva vows, “Beings are numberless, we

vow to save them,” arises from this awakening to interconnection.

“We regard greed as the obstacle to freedom of mind.” In

Japanese this line of the original Chinese verse reads as “Shin wo

fusegi, toga wo hanaruru koto wa, ton tō wo shū tosu.” Shin wo

fusegu means “to protect our mind.” Toga wo hanaru means “to keep

away from misdeeds.” Ton tō means “greed,” but here it also means

the three poisonous minds—not only greed but anger/hatred and

ignorance as well. Shū tosu means “it is essential.” So this line says:

to protect our mind, avoid unwholesome deeds, and keep ourselves

in healthy shape, it is essential to be free from the three poisonous

minds.

Shakyamuni Buddha taught that our six sense organs (eye, ear,

nose, tongue, body, and mind), the six corresponding sense objects

(forms, sounds, smells, tastes, tactile objects, and objects of mind),

and the six kinds of consciousness caused by the contact between

these sense organs and their objects (eye consciousness, ear

consciousness, nose consciousness, tongue consciousness, body

consciousness, and mind consciousness) are the elements of our

lives. He taught that these eighteen elements of our lives all burn

with the flames of greed, anger/hatred, and ignorance.

The Buddha taught us to extinguish the flames of the three

poisonous minds with the fire of wisdom. It is said in the teaching of

the four noble truths that the three poisonous minds are the cause of

suffering in samsara. Buddhist practice is the path that leads to the

cessation of suffering. Our practice protects us from the flames of

greed, anger/hatred, and ignorance and so nurtures our virtue.

Because we receive food as part of our Buddhist practice, we

need to free ourselves from the three poisonous minds. And yet,

food can easily be the object of our greed and anger or hatred.

When I practiced at Antaiji, most of the monks and lay

practitioners were young people in their twenties. We were always

hungry. Especially during sesshin, because there is no entertainment

at all except for the three meals a day, I often ate a lot even though

the food was not particularly fancy.

When we have fancy food, we often eat more than we need and

suffer later. When the taste of the food is not what we expect, we

often dislike it, and we may get angry with the person who prepared

it. During a single meal it is possible for us to transmigrate through

all six realms of samsara. When I have to eat something I dislike, I

feel like a hell dweller. When I am hungry, I feel like a hungry ghost.

Sometimes when I eat and become sleepy, I am like an animal.

Sometimes, I am as angry as an asura (fighting spirit) with the

person who cooked the food. Sometimes when I eat fine food I feel

like a heavenly being. These likes and dislikes and transmigration

within my mind are caused by ignorance. The taste of food exists

only while the food is in my mouth. After I swallow it, whether I love

or hate it, it’s all the same. It all becomes nutrition that sustains our

body and mind in practice.

Receiving food in the zendō during ōryōki meals is a very powerful

practice. We cannot complain about the taste, and we receive only

the amount of food we can use. There is no way for us to be pulled

by the three poisonous minds. We simply receive what is offered to

us. This attitude should be maintained throughout our lives.

In the last discourse of Shakyamuni Buddha, recorded in

Butsuyuikyōgyō, the Buddha taught the eight awakenings of the

great being (Jap., hachidainingaku). These are the eight important

points of our practice. The first two are to have modest desires

(shōyoku) and to know how much is enough (chisoku). Dōgen Zenji

writes:

The first is having few desires. (Not pursuing too intensively the

things we have not yet gained among the objects of the five senses

is called “having few desires.”) The Buddha said, “Monks, you should

know that people who have many desires avariciously seek after

fame and wealth; therefore they experience great suffering and

anguish. Those who have few desires, because they have nothing to

pursue and desire, are free from such troubles. Having few desires is

itself worth learning and practicing. All the more so, as it gives birth

to various virtues. Those who have few desires do not flatter to gain

others’ favor. Also, they are not pulled by their desire for gain. The

mind of those who practice having few desires is peaceful, without

any worries or fears. They are always affluent with whatever they

have and never have a sense of insufficiency. Those who have few

desires experience nirvana. This is called ‘few desires.’”

The second is to know satisfaction. Even among things which

have already been given, you set a limit for taking them. This is

called “knowing satisfaction.” The Buddha said, “Monks, if you want

to be free from suffering and anguish, you should contemplate

knowing how much is enough. The dharma of knowing satisfaction is

the place of richness, joy, peace, and calm. Those who know

satisfaction, even when they lie down on the bare ground, still

consider it comfortable and joyful. Those who don’t know satisfaction

are discontented even when they live in a heavenly palace. Those

who do not know satisfaction are poor even if they have much

wealth. Those who know satisfaction are rich even if they are poor.

Those who don’t know satisfaction are constantly pulled by the five

sense desires and pitied by those who know satisfaction. This is

called ‘knowing satisfaction.’”

A meal is an opportunity to practice the Buddha’s teachings about

having few desires and knowing how much is enough.

“We regard this meal as medicine to sustain our life.” Buddhism is

not an ascetic practice. Before he attained final awakening the

Buddha practiced austerities for six years, engaging in extremely

harsh practices such as holding his breath until almost he died or

eating only one grain of sesame or rice a day. It is said that having

nearly died, he realized that this kind of practice is not wholesome or

meaningful for the purpose of awakening. He received some milk

porridge from a young woman named Sujātā, and he bathed in the

river. He gave up ascetic practice and sat down under the bodhi tree.

When he taught the five monks at Deer Park, the very first thing he

said was that he had found the Middle Way.

The Buddha said, “One who has gone forth from worldly life

should not indulge in these two extremes. What are the two? There

is indulgence in desirable sense objects, which is low, vulgar,

worldly, ignoble, unworthy, and unprofitable, and there is devotion to

self-mortification, which is painful, unworthy, and unprofitable.

Avoiding both these extremes, the Tathāgata has realized the middle

path. It produces vision, it produces knowledge, it leads to calm, to

higher knowledge, to enlightenment, to nirvana.”

An ōryōki meal is a practice of the Middle Way. We become free

from the three poisonous minds that lead to indulgence in sensual

pleasures. And yet we receive food to keep our body and mind

healthy and functional.

“For the sake of enlightenment we now receive this food.” The final

contemplation is to confirm our determination to receive and eat the

food in order to attain the Way. This is the same determination the

Buddha made when he received the milk porridge from Sujātā.

Verse of Food for Spirits

O spirits, we now give you an offering;

This food is for all of you in the ten directions.

After we recite the five contemplations at the lunch meal, we offer a

small piece of food on the setsu, the wooden scraper we use for

cleaning ōryōki bowls. This practice is called saba in Japanese. We

leave this small amount of food for all living beings. When we take

food, we are receivers. Before the tenzo obtains the food he will

cook, many people work to produce it. The tenzo collects the

ingredients, cooks them, and makes them into a meal. To a

practitioner who receives, who eats in the zendō, food is an offering

from the tenzo and the many other people and living things involved

in its production. The idea of saba is that we are donors as well as

receivers. We give a small piece of what we have received. This is

temporarily our food, but from this food we take a small piece and

offer it to all beings.

The original Japanese expression for “O spirits” is jiten ki jin shū.

This means “many demons and gods.” Ji is “you,” and ki jin is

Japanese or Chinese for unseen beings such as demons and gods.

A ki is a demon and a jin is a god. This phrase refers to two kinds of

unseen beings, some harmful and some beneficial. Shū means

“group” or “assembly.”

These unseen beings have vanished from our modern society.

Perhaps they live only for a day on Halloween, or in comic books or

horror movies. I grew up in a small town named Ibaraki between

Kyoto and Osaka. I was surprised to learn that Ibaraki is a sister city

of Minneapolis. I lived there from 1952 to 1968. I went to elementary

school, middle school, and high school there. When I was a kid, it

was a small town of maybe thirty thousand people. Today it has

grown tenfold to more than three hundred thousand and has become

a part of the metropolis of Osaka. When I lived in Ibaraki there were

many Shintō shrines. Each block had its own small shrine that felt

like a sacred place, separate from the outside world. When we

played in the precincts of the shrines we felt different from the way

we did outside. We felt something sacred. We felt that we were

protected. In 1970, shortly after I left, they had a World Expo near

Ibaraki. In preparation for it, the town was completely changed. We

call it development, but in a sense it is a destruction of the living

environment. The Shintō shrines were surrounded by houses, shops,

and big apartment buildings instead of woods. I’ve gone back to

Ibaraki several times to visit the shrines, but I didn’t feel any spirits

there or anything spiritually alive. There are just buildings. Today

belief in spirits is called animism and is considered to be left over

from primitive religion. We don’t appreciate it anymore. But we still

have a psychological need for this belief. Natural phenomena still

influence our mentality or spirituality. Without demons, gods, and

natural forces our lives become materialistic, and something is lost.

The Buddha’s teaching doesn’t rely on animistic beliefs; it is rational.

The Buddha taught that our life is full of suffering caused by our

desires and greed. The essence of Buddhism doesn’t rely on

demons or gods. And yet Buddhism never opposed folk religions. In

fact, in many countries Buddhism accepted and assimilated them. In

Japan, for example, Buddhism and Shintoism have coexisted for

centuries. Shintō is an animistic folk religion that worships nature, yet

nature has been nearly eliminated from modern society. This makes

me sad. I don’t worship Shintō’s demons and gods, and I don’t even

believe in them as beings. But I think that as symbols of nature—

symbols of forces that can become very fearsome or harmful—these

spirits can be a kind of blessing. Nature can be frightening and

dangerous, certainly, but it also gives us everything we need: food,

water, and air. Everything we have is given to us by nature, and yet

nature can kill us. Many people believe that beings more powerful

than humans control these natural phenomena. They pray to these

gods or demons to protect them; they make offerings to insure a

good harvest and avoid disasters. Not originally part of Buddhism,

these gods and demons became part of people’s everyday lives.

Early Buddhist scripture abounds with stories, legends, and myths

that mention food offerings to unseen beings. Three are especially

well known. The first is about a demon king’s wife named Hārītī

(Kishimojin in Japanese, which means “mother of demons”).

According to the scripture she had ten thousand offspring, whom she

fed with human children. The Buddha saw what Hārītī was doing, so

he hid her youngest child in the ōryōki. Hārītī was very upset, and

she searched all over the world but couldn’t find the baby. Finally she

came to the Buddha and asked where the child was. He told her,

“You have ten thousand children and still, when you lose just one of

them, you are sad and you suffer. You are in pain. Human beings

have only one child or two. You should consider the parents’

sadness when they lose their children.” After being taught in this

way, Hārītī accepted Buddha’s teaching and received the precepts.

She said that she would not kill human children anymore, but then

she asked how she could feed her own children. The Buddha said,

“From now on I will tell my disciples to offer a small amount of food

for you at each meal so that your children will never starve.” This is

the origin of the offering we make to unseen beings. After this, Hārītī

became the guardian of children and mothers.

The second story, which appears in the Mahāyāna Parinirvana

Sutra, involves a demon who ate one person a day. The Buddha

taught the demon and instructed him in the precept of not killing. The

demon asked the same question as Hārītī and the Buddha gave

almost the same answer.

The third story, in the Vinaya, may be more realistic. When the

Buddha was still alive monks went to town to do takuhatsu—this is,

to beg for food—and returned before noon to have their meal. Dogs

came hoping to find some food to eat, but some disciples didn’t give

them anything. The Buddha taught them that monks should always

offer some of the alms food they received to animals.

These stories convey the original spirit of food offerings made to

birds, animals, and unseen beings. When we receive an offering

from all beings, we should not be the end of this cycle of offering. We

cannot live without the offerings we receive, but we should not keep

them all for ourselves. We should offer a small amount to other

beings. This practice makes the offering a circle. We take from

nature and we also give back.

There is a story about the Chinese Zen master Tianhuang Daowu

(Ten’nō Dōgo, 748–807) and his dharma heir, Longtan Chongxin

(Ryūtan Sōshin, ninth century). Before he became a monk, Chongxin

was a cake seller. Every day he offered ten cakes to the master.

Each time, the master returned one cake to him saying, “I offer this

to you. This is for the sake of your descendants.” One day Chongxin

asked the master, “I brought these cakes to offer to you. Why do you

return one cake to me? Does it have any special meaning?” The

master said, “You bring the cakes, so what harm is there in returning

one to you?” At these words, Chongxin grasped the deeper

meaning. Because of this, he left home and became a monk.

Bowl-Raising Verse

After chanting the Verse of Five Contemplations and the Verse of

Food for Spirits, we put our spoon in the ōryōki bowl and chopsticks

across the second bowl. We return to gasshō and chant the following

verse.

First, this is for the Three Treasures;

next, for the four benefactors;

finally, for the beings in the six realms.

May all be equally nourished.

Then we pick up the ōryōki, hold it with both hands at eye level, and

chant the following:

The first portion is to end all evil;

the second is to cultivate every good;

the third is to free all beings.

May everyone realize the Buddha’s Way.

The Japanese reading of the first Chinese verse is “Jōbun sanbō /

Chubun shi on / Gekyū roku dō / Kai dō kuyō.” Jōbun sanbō means

that the upper portion is for the Three Treasures. Chūbun shion

means that the middle portion is for the four benefactors. Gekyū roku

dō means the lower portion is for all living beings in the six realms.

Kai dō kuyō means to offer this food to support all of them equally.

The expressions jō (upper), chū (middle), and ge (lower) are a

reflection of the vertical social structure in ancient China and other

East Asian countries influenced by Chinese culture. A

correspondence is implied between the upper portion of food and the

Three Treasures, the middle portion of food and the four

benefactors, and the lower portion of food and living beings in the six

realms. Because this vertical idea is not suitable in the modern

society, all English translations of this verse avoid using “upper,”

“middle,” and “lower.” One translation uses “first,” “next,” and “finally.”

Another one has “first,” “second,” and “third.” There is also a

translation which avoids even specifying an order: “This food is for

the Three Treasures, / For our parents, teachers, leaders, and

homeland / And for all beings in the six worlds.”

I think there is no problem with using the phrase “to offer the food

to the Three Treasures and all living beings in the six realms.” But

the use of the phrase “to offer” for kuyō in relation to the four

benefactors needs some explanation.

“Four benefactors” is a translation of shi on (Chi., si en). Shi

means four. As for on (en), this is a difficult word to translate. In a

ChineseEnglish dictionary it is translated as kindness, favor, grace.

Another dictionary has: kindness, goodness, favor, mercy, blessing,

benefit. In Chinese and Japanese morality, this word also connotes a

“debt of kindness.” If we receive a kindness from someone when we

are in need, we have a debt of kindness to that person. It is very

important to repay the debt of kindness with our appreciation and

gratitude. We are indebted toward people who did us favors, and we

have an obligation to return the debt. This is called hōon or ongaeshi

(repaying the debt of kindness). If we fail to repay this debt we are

called onshirazu (ungrateful, thankless), that is, someone who

doesn’t know the importance of repaying the debt of kindness.

According to a Buddhist dictionary, the concept of on as a debt of

kindness is not emphasized in Indian Buddhism. But in Chinese

Buddhism this notion became very important. In Buddhist teachings

all of us have four benefactors to whom we have a debt of kindness.

There are several different sets of four. According to a sutra titled

Daijōhonshō shinchi kankyō (Mahāyāna Original-Life Mind-Ground

Contemplation Sutra), “four benefactors” refers to one’s parents, all

sentient beings, rulers of the country, and the Three Treasures.

According to another sutra, Shōbō Nenjo kyō (True Dharma

Mindfulness Foundation Sutra), the four benefactors are one’s

mother, one’s father, the Tathāgata, and one’s dharma teacher. The

first set is more general, applying to any human being in any society,

while the second is limited to the context of Buddhism.

In both cases parents are included. All living beings have parents.

We have a unique, intimate connection with them. Parents give birth

to us and take care of us until we become independent. In ancient

times parents taught their children all the skills necessary to live.

Farmers learned how to grow grains and vegetables from their

parents. So we all owe much to our parents. We should appreciate

their love and kindness. In East Asian countries a very important

responsibility of children is to take over the family’s work, maintain

the family’s wealth, and care for their aging parents.

As human beings we are supported not only by our parents but by

many other people in society—teachers, friends, and colleagues. We

are also supported by many other things—air, water, food, clothes,

and houses. We have a debt of kindness toward all beings. This is

the second benefactor in the first set of four.

The third benefactor is rulers, kings, or emperors. In these modern

times we don’t think that presidents or prime ministers have helped

us much, so we have no debt of kindness to them. In ancient times,

however, people thought that a king or emperor owned the whole

country. The king governed people, protected the country from

enemies, and kept it peaceful.

The third line of the Bowl-Raising Verse is gekyū roku dō, “for all

beings in the six realms.” This refers to all living beings

transmigrating in the six realms of samsara: the realms of hell,

hungry ghosts, animals, asuras or fighting spirits, human beings, and

heavenly beings.

We express our gratitude to the Three Treasures and to all beings

that support our life. This eating of food is not an individual action but

rather something we do together with all beings. We can live

because we eat food. When eaten, food becomes our energy and

part of our body. This body and mind is supported by all beings. We

in turn should nurture all beings. That is the idea of on, repaying the

debt of kindness.

The word kuyō is important in Buddhist practice. Unfortunately, in

this translation of the meal chant the final line is rendered as “May all

be equally nourished.”Kuyō has disappeared. This word is usually

translated as “to make an offering.” Ku means “offering” and yō

means “nourish” ot “sustain.” The offering here is not limited to

offering monks something material such as food, drink, medicine,

clothing, shelter, and so forth. The second chapter of the Lotus Sutra

presents a wide range of offerings:

If anyone goes to stūpas or mausoleums,

To jeweled or painted images,

With flowers, incense, flags, or canopies

And reverently makes offerings;

Or if they have others perform music,

By beating drums or blowing horns or conch shells,

Or playing pipes, flutes, lutes, harps,

Mandolins, cymbals, or gongs,

Producing fine sounds and presenting them as offerings;

Or if they joyfully praise

The Buddha’s virtues in song,

Even with just a tiny sound,

They have fulfilled the Buddha way.

If anyone, even while distracted,

With even a single flower,

Makes an offering to a painted image,

They will progressively see countless buddhas.

There are those who worship by prostrating themselves,

Some merely by putting palms together,

Others only by raising a hand,

And others by a slight nod of the head.

All of these,

Honoring images in various ways,

Will progressively see countless buddhas,

Fulfill the unexcelled way themselves.

Save countless beings everywhere,

And enter into nirvana without residue,

As a fire dies out

When the firewood is all consumed.

If anyone, even while distracted,

Enters a stūpa or mausoleum

And even once exclaims, “Hail to the Buddha,”

They have fulfilled the Buddha way.

In Shōbōgenzō “Kuyō-Shobutsu” (Making Offering to Buddhas),

Dōgen Zenji introduced ten kinds of offerings and said:

Such service of offerings we should perform unfailingly with sincere

mind. It has been performed without fail by the buddhas. Stories

about it are evident throughout the sutras and Vinaya. At the same

time, the Buddhist ancestors themselves have personally handed

down its authentic transmission. Days and months of waiting in

attendance and doing work are just times of serving offerings.

There are many ways to make offerings. Our practice of zazen is

one offering. Acting for the sake of the Three Treasures instead of

fulfilling one’s desires is an offering. Because we exist within a

network of support, we need to support others. This is what

“repaying the debt of kindness” and “making offering and sustaining”

(kuyō) mean. How do we practice this? How can we pay our debt to

all beings? The next verse, quoted earlier, explains:

The first portion is to end all evil;

the second is to cultivate every good;

the third is to free all beings.

May everyone realize the Buddha’s Way.

At the end of this verse, we bow with our ōryōki bowls and begin to

eat.

The Japanese interpretation of the Chinese original is “Ikku i dan

issai aku / Niku i shu issai zen / San ku i do sho shu jō / Kaigu jō

butsudō.”Ikku, niku, and sanku mean first, second, and third bites.

The first bite is to end all evil, to stop unwholesome deeds. The

second bite is for he practice of all good things, and the third is for do

sho shu jō. This is usually translated as “to save all sentient beings,”

but the literal meaning of do is “to go across.” So it means to help all

beings to cross the river from this shore to the other. This shore is

samsara, in which all beings transmigrate through the six realms.

The Buddha taught that we should cross the river to the other shore,

nirvana. “To help people” means, in this case, to help all beings

cross over to nirvana. This is the first of the four bodhisattva vows.

These three points are the same as the threefold pure precepts, one

category of the sixteen precepts we receive at the jukai (precepts-

receiving) ceremony. The first is the precept of embracing moral

codes, the second is embracing all good actions, and the third is

embracing all living beings. We receive the threefold pure precepts

to become Buddha’s children or bodhisattvas. These precepts

become our vow. We vow to live with this guidance, to refrain from

unwholesome deeds by embracing moral codes, to practice only

wholesome deeds, and to live together with all living things, doing no

harm to any.

A question we should ask now is, What is good or wholesome,

and what is bad or unwholesome? The definition of good and bad in

Buddhism is clear. Any action we take (or karma we make) that

causes suffering to self or others is bad (unwholesome). Actions that

reduce suffering or bring joy or happiness to self and others are

good (wholesome). The original Sanskrit word for pain or suffering is

duḥkha, while joy or happiness is sukha. So the definition of good

and bad in Buddhism has to do with the relation between cause and

effect. It is difficult to tell whether one action is good or bad by

observing it in isolation. We need to look at the consequences of

many related actions. Depending on its results, an action can be

good or bad. We can never be entirely certain whether an action is

good or bad. An action with good intentions may cause either a

beneficial or harmful result. The best we can do is try to do good.

This aim to do good is our vow. If our action based on good

intentions causes an unwholesome effect, we have to make

repentance and try to avoid repeating the mistake. This is our

practice of vow and repentance. Vow and repentance together with

the precepts are very important aspects of bodhisattva practice. The

precepts we receive are the guidelines for our life as the Buddha’s

children.

The final line is “May everyone realize the Buddha’s Way,” or in

Japanese “Kai gu jō butsu dō.” Kai gu means “together with all

beings.” We should not accomplish or complete Buddha’s Way alone

but with all beings. It’s not possible for one person alone to attain

buddhahood. When we recite or chant these verses during meals,

we renew our vows and reflect on our deeds, our incompleteness,

and try to be better. Our practice is to see reality as prajñā, the

wisdom that sees the impermanence and egolessness of all beings.

In Mahāyāna Buddhism this is called emptiness. We may practice

zazen to pacify or calm ourselves, but that is not enough. We have

to engage in the activity of our day-to-day lives. Precepts supply

guidance for these activities outside of the meditation hall. Precepts,

meditation, and wisdom are called the three basic studies of

Buddhism. All our activities, all the parts of our lives, should become

our practice to accomplish the Buddha’s Way with all beings.

Verse of the Rinse Water

When the preceding verses have been chanted, we begin eating.

When finished, we wash our bowls. After washing, we offer water

and chant the following verse.

The water with which we wash our bowls

Tastes like ambrosia.

We offer it to the many spirits;

May they be satisfied.

On ma ku ra sai so wa ka.

After we eat food, we clean the ōryōki bowl and other small bowls

with a setsu, or scraper. To avoid wasting any food, we clean the

bowls with water that we then offer to the various spirits. The

meaning of this verse is almost the same as the verse of offering the

food before eating, discussed above: “O spirits, we now give you an

offering; / This food is for all of you in the ten directions.” Here the

verse says, “The water with which we wash our bowls / Tastes like

ambrosia.” I don’t know what ambrosia tastes like. The original word,

however, is kanro, which literally means “sweet dew.” Often this word

is used as a symbol of Buddha’s teachings, the Dharma. Food is

Dharma, and Dharma is food. When we offer food, we offer Dharma;

and this water tasting like sweet dew is Dharma too.

“We offer it to the many spirits; / May they be satisfied.” The

original word for spirits is ki jin, the same word we saw in the Verse

of Offering Food. Although Buddhist philosophy claims there is no

soul, Buddhism never negates unseen beings or “spirits.” The

Buddha never denied reincarnation or transmigration, according to

which there is something that never dies and transmigrates when

this body dies. Philosophically, reincarnation and the Buddha’s

teaching of no soul, no ego, or anātman appear contradictory. This

contradiction has been an important issue in many philosophical

arguments within Buddhism and between Buddhism and other

philosophies in India as well as in China.

But since a majority of common people believed in ghosts, spirits,

demons, and gods, Buddhism didn’t try to eliminate these beliefs but

rather accepted them as part of the Buddha’s teaching. Many Indian

gods, like Indra, were accepted within Buddhism as guardians or

protectors of the Dharma. If you think logically, this may strike you as

strange. However, when traditional peoples accept the existence of

souls and gods, this is not a philosophical concept for them, but

rather a feeling, which we share, that we live together with all beings

in nature.

We feel an intimacy with nature and we can communicate with it. If

we negate these beings, all nature becomes merely a collection of

matter, and there is no way to communicate or live together with

immaterial things. And if we think of material things as nothing more

than objects of our desire, we will use and misuse them in any way

to satisfy ourselves.

The next line is a mantra. In Japanese we pronounce this as On,

makurasai, sowaka. In Sanskrit it goes Om mahorase svāhā. We

don’t know much about this mantra. Om and svāhā appear in almost

all mantras. Om is a word that begins the mantra. It is a holy word in

India. Vajrayāna Buddhism, in particular, accepted many practices of

this kind from Hinduism. According to a commentary on Chanyuan

Qinggui (Zen’en Shingi), mahorase is a compound of mahā (big) and

urase (abdomen). Probably this refers to hungry ghosts.

Verse of Purity While Abiding in the World

Abiding in this ephemeral world

Like a lotus in muddy water,

the mind is pure and goes beyond.

Thus we bow to Buddha.

In “The Dharma for Taking Meals” (Fushukuhanpō) Dōgen Zenji

wrote that, in Eiheiji, “hearing the tsui chin, the ino chants the

‘Existing in the world’ verse. This is the traditional ritual of Sōjō

(Bishop) Yōjō [Eisai], so we are following it for now.”

Dōgen Zenji

basically followed the procedure of formal ōryōki meals described in

Chanyuan Qinggui (Zen’en Shingi), but he added this verse, chanted

at the end of the meal, from the tradition of Eisai, who was the first

Japanese master to introduce Zen to Japan. Eisai was a Rinzai Zen

master. Dōgen Zenji first practiced Zen in Japan with Eisai’s disciple

Myōzen at Keninji, which was founded by Eisai. However, the verse

itself is much older than Eisai. It appears in the precepts-receiving

ceremony in fascicle 9 of Chanyuan Qinggui.

The meaning of this verse is important for us as the Buddha’s

children. The English translation is a bit different from the original.

This is a verse praising the Buddha’s virtue. My literal translation of

this verse is “Dwelling in this world like empty space, and like a lotus

flower without being stained by muddy water. Purity of the mind goes

beyond. Therefore we make prostration to the most venerable one.”

In the English translation, kokū (empty space) is an adjective

modifying “world,” yielding the meaning “this ephemeral world.” In

the original, however, empty space modifies “abiding.” The way the

Buddha abides in the world is like empty space and also like a lotus

flower.

Like empty space, the Buddha dwells in this world. Empty space

or kokū is a symbol of perfect interpenetration. In Buddhism it has

three meanings. In a cup, there is a certain amount of water, and

above the water there is empty space as a conditioned phenomenal

thing. This is a very common meaning of empty space—the space

where nothing exists. And yet this space is not really empty. It is

filled with air. Empty space in the common sense is not really empty.

Another meaning of empty space in Buddhism is the space that

does not disappear even when it is occupied by something. This is

considered unconditioned; it never arises or perishes. If a glass is

here, the space the glass is occupying doesn’t actually disappear.

This space allows all beings to exist, and it doesn’t disappear even

when beings disappear. This space never changes, never appears,

and never disappears. It’s always there. And this empty space is

never defiled or pure. If the space is occupied by dirty things, it is not

defiled.

The third meaning of the word kokū is empty space as a metaphor

for prajñā or wisdom, the emptiness of all beings. Emptiness means

the way the Buddha sees all beings—without self-nature or

substance, impermanent, and always changing. This way of being is

different from the empty space in the cup, which is a lack of being. It

is also different from the space that allows all things to exist. This

third kind of emptiness is the way all beings exist without self-nature.

Since everything is connected with everything else, the reality of all

beings, which is emptiness, pervades and penetrates the whole

universe. There is no discrimination, no attachment, and nothing to

grasp. This meaning of kokū is used as a metaphor for the

emptiness that is the reality of our life. In this verse, kokū means the

emptiness of all beings. The Buddha dwells in this world of the five

skandhas as emptiness.

Kokū appears in the Verse of the Wind Bell, composed by Dōgen

Zenji’s teacher, Tiantong Rujing.

The whole body is like a mouth hanging in empty space.

Not questioning the winds from east, west, south, or north,

Equally with all of them, speaking of prajñā:

Ding-dong-a-ling ding-dong.

Dōgen’s teacher wrote this poem about a wind bell hanging under

the temple roof. In the Hōkyōki, Dōgen recorded his conversation

with Rujing about this poem.

Dōgen made one hundred prostrations and said, “In your poem

about the wind bell, I read in the first line, ‘The whole body [of the

wind bell] is like a mouth hanging in empty space’ and in the third

line, ‘Together expressing prajñā equally to all beings.’ Is the empty

space referred to one of the form [rūpa] elements? Skeptical people

may think empty space is one of the form elements. Students today

don’t understand Buddha Dharma clearly and consider the blue sky

as the empty space. I am sorry for them.”

Rujing replied with compassion, “This empty space is prajñā. It is

not one of the form elements. The empty space neither obstructs nor

not-obstructs. Therefore this is neither simple emptiness nor truth

relative to falsehood. Various masters haven’t understood even what

the form is, much less emptiness. This is due to the decline of

Buddha Dharma in this country.” Dōgen remarked, “This poem is the

utmost in excellence. Even if they practice forever, the masters in all

corners of the world would not be able to match it. Every one of the

monks appreciates it. Having come from a far-off land and being

inexperienced, as I unroll the sayings of other masters in various

texts, I have not yet come across anything like this poem. How

fortunate I am to be able to learn it! As I read it, I am filled with joy,

and tears moisten my robe, and I am moved to prostration because

this poem is direct and also lyrical.”

When my teacher was about to ride on a sedan-chair, he said with

a smile, “What you say is profound and has the mark of greatness. I

composed this poem while I was at Chingliang monastery. Although

people praised it, no one has ever penetrated it as you do. I grant

that you have the Eye. You must compose poems in this way.”

Rujing said that this kokū is not the empty space that disappears

when it is occupied by something, which is one of the rūpa elements.

Neither is it the second meaning. He clearly says this is prajñā itself.

Therefore, I am sure that Dōgen Zenji interprets this kokū in the meal

chant as meaning prajñā.

The Buddha dwells in this world with prajñā, which sees the true

emptiness of all things as neither having form nor being without form.

This line echoes the line in the verse for setting out the bowls:

Now we set out Buddha’s bowls;

may we, with all living beings,

realize the emptiness of the three wheels:

giver, receiver, and gift.

The Buddha dwells in this world like a lotus flower. The lotus flower

emerges from muddy water. It is a beautiful flower which mud does

not defile. It symbolizes the Buddha’s virtue, compassion, and

wisdom. It is a sacred flower and an important symbol in Buddhism

and Hinduism.

According to a Hindu creation myth, when the god Vishnu was

asleep in water a lotus flower grew from his navel. Another god,

Brahma, was sleeping on this lotus. Brahma created this world while

Vishnu was asleep. The yogic cross-legged posture is called the

lotus position because of this myth.

In Buddhism many Buddha statues are sitting or standing on lotus

petals. This is for a reason. Right after the Buddha attained

awakening, he hesitated to teach because he thought the truth he

found was too deep and subtle for anyone to understand. Then

Brahma asked the Buddha to teach. Then the Buddha, out of

compassion for living beings, surveyed the world. He saw that there

are many different kinds of people.

Just as in a pond of blue or red or white lotuses, some lotuses might

be born in the water, grow up in the water, and thrive while

submerged in the water, without rising up from the water; some

lotuses might be born in the water, grow up in the water, and stand at

even level with the water; some lotuses might be born in the water

and grow up in the water, but would rise up from the water and stand

without being soiled by the water—so too, surveying the world with

the eye of a Buddha, the Blessed One saw beings with little dust in

their eyes and with much dust in their eyes, with keen faculties and

with dull faculties, with good qualities and with bad qualities, easy to

teach and hard to teach, and a few who dwelt seeing blame and fear

in the other world.

After this survey, the Buddha made up his mind to teach the five

monks at Deer Park. In this example, the lotus flower signifies the

different capacities of living beings. In another sutra, however, it also

represents the Buddha himself. In this sutra the Buddha elucidates

the nature of dharma teachings. He said, “I do not dispute with the

world; rather, it is the world that disputes with me. A proponent of the

Dharma does not dispute with anyone in the world. Of that which the

wise in the world agree upon as not existing, I too say that it does

not exist. And of that which the wise in the world agree upon as

existing, I too say that it exists.”

The Buddha did not teach some fabricated dogmatic theory with

which wise people did not agree. He taught the truth everyone can

see if their eyes are open. In another sutra, the Buddha said:

And what is it, bhikkhus, that the wise in the world agree upon as not

existing, of which I too say that it does not exist? Form that is

permanent, stable, eternal, and not subject to change: this the wise

in the world agree upon as not existing, and I too say that it does not

exist. Feeling—Perception—Volitional formation—Consciousness

that is permanent, stable, eternal, and not subject to change: this the

wise in the world agree upon as not existing, and I too say that it

does not exist.

And what is it, bhikkhus, that the wise in the world agree upon as

existing, of which I too say that it exists? Form that is impermanent,

suffering, and subject to change; this the wise in the world agree

upon as existing, and I too say that it exists. Feeling, perception,

volitional formations, consciousness—that is impermanent, suffering,

and subject to change: this the wise in the world agree upon as

existing, and I too say that it exists.

Here the Buddha talks about the reality of the emptiness of all

phenomenal things emphasized in Mahāyāna teachings. Nothing is

substantial or permanent; therefore everything is subject to change.

If we think that this body is permanent, we attach to it, and from this

attachment spring our desires. This mistaken idea comes from

ignorance, and from ignorance greed, anger, and hatred arise.

According to the Buddha, this is the source of suffering in samsara.

Not only the body, but feelings, perceptions, formations, and

consciousness—all five skandhas—are impermanent and without

any fixed self-nature. To see the five skandhas (our body and mind)

as impermanent and unstable, subject to change and decay, is the

way we free ourselves from attachments and liberate ourselves from

the three poisonous minds.

According to the Buddha, to see all beings as fixed is the delusion

that causes suffering. On this point there is no difference between

early Buddhism and Mahāyāna Buddhism. So we should see the

reality of all beings as impermanence, the way the Buddha sees all

beings.

Then the Buddha goes on: “Bhikkhus, just as a blue, red, or white

lotus is born in the water and grows up in the water but having risen

up above the water, it stands unsullied by the water, so too the

Tathāgata was born in the world and grew up in the world, but having

overcome the world, he dwells unsullied by the world.”

The Buddha was born in this world as the lotus was born in the

muddy water and grew in this world as the lotus grows in the water.

But the Buddha “rises to the surface.” This is a metaphor of the

Buddha’s teaching and way of life. The Buddha was never separated

from the muddy water, from this world, and yet he was not defiled by

the worldly way of doing things or mundane, selfish desires.

The verse we are discussing says, “The mind is pure and goes

beyond.” The mind goes beyond the muddy water of the dusty world.

The Buddha does not escape the world, but the purity of the

Buddha’s mind goes beyond the world. It is said that the Buddha and

bodhisattvas do not stay in this world because of wisdom and never

leave this world because of compassion. The Buddha is here and at

the same time not here because of wisdom and compassion. So we

venerate the most venerable one.

One of the basic teachings of the Avataṃsaka Sutra is that there

are no differences between the Buddha, the mind, and living beings.

These three are one, and there can be no discriminating between

them. This is a verse of praise for Buddha. In this verse “the mind”

also refers to the nature of bodhisattvas. In the not-yet-matured

stages, bodhisattvas are, like us, ordinary human beings. Even

though we have aroused bodhicitta, received the bodhisattva

precepts, and taken the four bodhisattva vows, we live in the muddy

water. We harbor many delusions and fundamental ignorance, and

we are not yet completely free of greed, anger, and hatred. We are

still defiled in many ways. Our perception is defiled and conditioned.

Each of us usually thinks, “I am most important.” We judge things to

be good, useful, or valuable to the extent that we find them

important, useful, or attractive to us. This is the worldly, conditioned

way of viewing things, which is contrary to the Buddha’s teaching.

Our individual perspective is empty, so we cannot use it as a

yardstick to measure the value or meaning of things. But we do. This

is our basic delusion, and we cannot live without it.

Because all of us measure things with our own yardsticks, we get

into arguments. If I think something is important, and you don’t, we

have to argue about who is right. If both of us think an object is

important, we might fight about who owns it. When we live based on

our own yardstick, this becomes a world of competition and

argument.

If we cannot depend on anything man-made or conditioned, how

can we live within this society with other people and their yardsticks?

One way is to see that my own yardstick is limited. When I recognize

my limitations, I create the space to consider that other people have

other yardsticks and measure things differently. I can open my heart

to them. This is how we can live in muddy water with other people in

peace and harmony. This is our practice of letting go of self-centered

thoughts. When we live in this way without attachment to objects or

to our conditioned way of viewing and judging things, the lotus flower

can bloom in our lives.

For me, this is the meaning of our practice of zazen: letting go of

thought. Letting go of thought is letting go of my yardstick. But this

doesn’t mean I should discard this yardstick, because it’s all I can

use. Letting go doesn’t mean it disappears; it is still there, but we

know that it is relative and limited. That is the way we can see things

in a broader perspective. Our minds become more flexible. The

Buddha is the model for us bodhisattvas, children of the Buddha,

and we make prostrations to this Buddha. This means we give up

clinging to our own personal yardsticks. To make prostrations to the

Buddha means to let go of our system of values and to trust in the

reality of all beings.

The verse ends with “Thus we bow to Buddha.” The original

expression is “Ki shu rin bujōson.” Ki shu rin is the deepest bow or

prostration, called gotai-tōchi (lit: gotai, five parts of the body; tōchi,

are cast on the ground) We place our forehead and both knees and

elbows on the floor. We hold our hands upward at the height of our

ears. This means we receive the Buddha’s feet on our hands. This is

a most humble way to show respect to the Buddha. Our head is the

highest point of ourselves, and the Buddha’s foot is the lowest point

of the Buddha, bujōson, the most venerable one. We make

prostrations to the Buddha to become free from our egocentricity, our

clinging, and our selves. We open our hands and venerate the reality

of all beings that is the Dharmakāya Buddha.

When we understand the meaning of these verses in the meal

chants and wholeheartedly practice, our meals become an essential

practice of the Buddha’s teaching.

MAHĀPRAJÑĀPĀRAMITA HṚDAYA SUTRA

Avalokiteśvara Bodhisattva

When practicing deeply the prajñā-pāramitā

Perceived that all five skandhas are empty

And was saved from all suffering and distress.

“O Śāriputra, form does not differ from emptiness;

Emptiness does not differ from form.

That which is form is emptiness;

That which is emptiness, form.

The same is true of feelings, perceptions, impulses, and

consciousness.

“O Śāriputra, all dharmas are marked with emptiness;

They do not appear or disappear,

Are neither tainted nor pure,

Do not increase or decrease.

“Therefore in emptiness, no form,

No feelings, no perceptions, no impulses, no consciousness;

No eyes, no ears, no nose, no tongue, no body, no mind;

No color, no sound, no smell, no taste, no touch, no object of mind;

No realm of eyes and so forth until no realm of mind consciousness;

No ignorance and also no extinction of it, and so forth until no old

age and death and also no extinction of them;

No suffering, no origination, no stopping, no path;

No cognition, no attainment.

With nothing to attain

The bodhisattva depends on prajñā-pāramitā

And the mind is no hindrance.

Without any hindrance no fears exist;

Far apart from every perverted view the bodhisattva dwells in

nirvana.

“In the three worlds all buddhas depend on prajñā-pāramitā

And attain unsurpassed, complete, perfect enlightenment.

“Therefore know the prajñā-pāramitā

Is the great transcendent mantra,

Is the great bright mantra,

Is the utmost mantra,

Is the supreme mantra,

Which is able to relieve all suffering

And is true, not false.

So proclaim the prajñā-pāramitā mantra,

Proclaim the mantra that says:

Gate, gate, pāragate, pārasamgate! Bodhi, svāha!”

THE Mahāprajñāpāramita Hṛdaya Sutra, one of the most well known

sutras, is commonly called the Heart Sutra. Most people who are

interested in Buddhism have heard of it and many recite or chant it

regularly. More than a hundred commentaries have been published,

and many are available in any Japanese bookstore. Despite its

popularity, I think the Heart Sutra is very difficult to understand.

I first read this sutra when I was sixteen years old. I was interested

in everything related to religion, philosophy, and literature, and so I

was interested in Buddhism. One of my uncles, a Shingon Buddhist

priest, lent me a commentary on the Heart Sutra from his library. I

read it but couldn’t understand it. Even so, I found it very attractive,

so I learned it by heart, memorizing all 268 Chinese characters.

School didn’t interest me, so during class I would write out the sutra

although I didn’t really understand what it meant. When I took a walk,

I enjoyed chanting this sutra without thinking about the meaning.

That was my first encounter with the Heart Sutra.

When I studied the teachings of early Buddhism at Komazawa

University, I was surprised by what I learned about this sutra. It says

that Avalokiteśvara saw that the five skandhas—the five mental and

material elements of which we are composed—are empty and do not

exist. It also says that the eighteen elements of our consciousness

do not exist. This refers to the six sense organs, their six objects

(color and shape, smell, sound, taste, touch, and objects of mind),

and the six perceptions that arise when the six sense organs interact

with their objects.

The sutra continues, “No ignorance and also no extinction of it,

and so forth until no old age and death.” Ignorance is the first of the

twelve causes of suffering, and old age and death is the last. The

sutra denies the existence of all twelve. Next it says, “No suffering,

no origination, no stopping, no path.” It claims that these four noble

truths, the basic teachings of the Buddha, do not exist. The Heart

Sutra denies the existence of the five skandhas, the eighteen

elements of our experience, the twelve links of dependent

origination, and the four noble truths. Yet it claims to be the true

teaching of the Buddha. I was amazed and confused. How could the

author of this sutra negate the Buddha’s teachings and still call

himself a student of the Buddha? After studying Mahāyāna

Buddhism as a philosophy I understood the meaning of this sutra in

an abstract sense. Only in the last few years have I understood its

significance for my own practice. This question of why the Heart

Sutra negates the teachings of the Buddha is essential to its

understanding.

While I was in Japan, I had a chance to give a series of lectures

on Dōgen’s Shōbōgenzō to a group of Japanese Catholic laymen. I

intended to talk first on “Genjōkōan” (Actualization of Reality), the

first and most popular chapter of Shōbōgenzō. The second chapter

of the seventy-five-volume version of Shōbōgenzō is “Maka Hannya

Haramitsu” (Mahā Prajñā Pāramitā), a commentary by Dōgen Zenji

on the Heart Sutra. Since my audience knew nothing about

Buddhism, I needed to talk about the Heart Sutra before discussing

Dōgen’s commentary. While preparing these lectures I studied

“Genjōkōan,” “Maka Hannya Haramitsu,” and the Heart Sutra

together. It was then that I first realized that the Heart Sutra is very

important to an understanding of Dōgen Zenji’s “Maka Hannya

Haramitsu” and “Genjōkōan.” If we have a deep understanding of the

Heart Sutra and “Maka Hannya Haramitsu,” we can see that

“Genjōkōan” is a clear and practical expression of prajñā-pāramitā.

The sutra’s full title is Mahāprajñāpāramita Hṛdaya Sutra. Mahā

means “great” or “vast.” It also means “absolute” in the sense of

beyond comparison or discrimination.Mahāyāna means “great

vehicle,” which can transport not just one person but many.

Mahāyāna is also used as a synonym of “one vehicle” (eka yāna),

which includes the three vehicles (śrāvaka-yāna, pratyekabuddha-

yāna, and bodhisattva-yāna).

Prajñā means “wisdom.” Wisdom

and compassion are the two main aspects of Buddhism and must

always go together. Without wisdom, compassion doesn’t work, and

without compassion wisdom has no meaning; it’s not alive. This

sutra is about the wisdom that sees emptiness.

Hṛdaya means “heart.” In this context it means a part of our body

and also the essence or most important point. The heart is the most

important part of our body. If it stops, everything stops, and the

whole body dies. Today many consider the brain to be more

important. They believe that when the brain stops a person is dead,

and their organs can be transplanted. But historically for Buddhists

the heart is the basis for judging whether a person is alive or not. In

Japan brain death is not recognized, and so heart transplants are

still very uncommon. To remove a heart before it has stopped has

been considered murder. There is a serious controversy among

Japanese doctors over the proper way to determine death.

Since

“heart” means the most important or essential point, the Heart Sutra

is very short. The Prajñāpāramitā Sutra cycle is a six-hundred-

volume collection of sutras. It’s said that the Heart Sutra is the

essence of those six hundred volumes.

Sutra means scripture or written expression of the Buddha’s

teachings. Pāramitā, usually translated as “perfection,” is a word that

is vital to an understanding of Mahāyāna Buddhism. The title of this

sutra is usually translated as “Perfection of Great Wisdom.”

According to Chinese Buddhist philosophers, perfection or pāramitā

means to cross the river to the other shore. It implies that we are

living on this shore of samsara, and there is a river we must cross to

reach nirvana. On this shore we transmigrate through the six realms

of samsara: the realms of hell, hungry ghosts, animals, asuras

(fighting spirits), human beings, and heavenly beings. We

transmigrate according to our deeds. Nirvana is beyond these

realms. Pāramitā, reaching the other shore, is a transformation of

our way of life. The six pāramitās are commonly considered to be the

method for transformation, but sometimes they are considered to be

the transformed way of life instead of the means to reach there.

In samsara, our lives are based on desires. We chase after

happiness. We want satisfaction, so we pursue our desires. We run

after things we want and away from things we dislike. Sometimes we

succeed and we are happy. Sometimes we fail and we are unhappy.

This constant upand-down is samsara.

Many people believe in transmigration from one lifetime to another.

I don’t believe in this, but I know we transmigrate within this life.

Sometimes we feel like heavenly beings, sometimes like hell

dwellers. Often we are like hungry ghosts, craving satisfaction,

constantly searching for more. When our stomachs are full and we

have nothing to do, we become sleepy and lazy like animals.

Sometimes we are like asuras or fighting spirits. As human beings

we work to acquire fame and profit. Even when our stomachs are

full, we are not satisfied. We need something more, such as fame or

wealth. Heavenly beings are like millionaires whose desires are

completely fulfilled. They look happy but I think such people are

rather bored. There’s no challenge for them because all their desires

are fulfilled.

Within this constant transmigration there is no peaceful basis for

our lives. This way of life is a vain attempt to satisfy our egos. A life

based on this constant search for satisfaction is filled with

meaningless suffering. Suffering means not just physical or mental

pain but also meaningless effort. This is what the Buddha meant

when he said, “Everything is suffering.” This is the first of the four

noble truths.

According to the Buddha, the reality of our life is impermanence

and egolessness. Nothing is fixed, and there is nothing that doesn’t

change. In Buddhism, ego refers to the idea that there is something

that is changeless. Our bodies and minds change continually from

birth, and yet we believe there is something that doesn’t change.

When I was born in 1948, I was a tiny baby; since then I have gone

through many different stages of human life: a boy, a teenager, a

young adult, a middle-aged person, and then a senior citizen. The

conditions of my body and mind have changed in each stage and yet

I think, “That was me and this is me. There is something that doesn’t

change.” For Buddhists, the ego as an unchanging entity that is the

owner and operator of the body and mind is an illusion. The Buddha

taught that there is no such thing, that ego is an abstract fabrication.

Buddhism is not pessimistic nihilism, because the Buddha also

taught that there is a way to become free from this kind of life. There

is a path that leads to liberation from this continual transmigration

through samsara. We can make a peaceful, stable foundation for our

lives. It’s called nirvana. It is not a particular state or condition of our

minds but rather a way of life based on impermanence and

egolessness. In every moment we must awaken again to the

impermanent reality of our lives. Everything is always changing, and

there is no substance. In Mahāyāna Buddhism, this is called

emptiness. The Buddha taught that there are two different ways of

living. If we are blind to the reality of egolessness and

impermanence, our life becomes suffering. If we waken to this reality

and live accordingly, our life becomes nirvana. This awakening is

called bodhi or enlightenment. The way of transformation from the

life of suffering in samsara to the life of nirvana is the eightfold noble

path. This path is our practice. It is a change in the basis of our life

from egocentricity to egolessness. This transformation is called

pāramitā, or “reaching the other shore.” This eightfold path taught by

Shakyamuni Buddha consists of right understanding, right thinking,

right speech, right action, right livelihood, right effort (diligence),

mindfulness, and samādhi (meditation). Instead of the eightfold path,

the Mahāyāna practice for bodhisattvas emphasizes the six

pāramitās or perfections. The first of the six is generosity (dāna). We

are generous because we understand there is no one who can

possess and nothing to be possessed. Generosity should be based

on the realization of emptiness, egolessness, and impermanence.

The second pāramitā, the precepts (śīla), is the same as right

livelihood in the eightfold path. We base our day-to-day lives on the

Buddha’s precepts or teaching. When we become Buddhists we

accept the precepts as guidelines for our lives. We regulate our

activities with the Buddha’s precepts—no killing, lying, stealing, and

so forth. The third, patience (kṣānti), is emphasized in Mahāyāna

Buddhism because it is a practice designed for laypeople. In a

monastery patience is not considered so important because monks

are assumed to have similar values and aspirations. Laypeople are

in greater contact with people who have different philosophies and

ways of thinking. For this they need patience. For a bodhisattva,

patience is one of the most important practices.

The last three

pāramitās are diligence (vīrya), meditation (samādhi), and wisdom

(prajñā). The Heart Sutra and all the other Prajñāpāramitā Sutras

say that prajñā is the most important of the six pāramitās to the

practice of bodhisattvas.

Without prajñā the other five pāramitās don’t work. For example,

generosity without wisdom can be harmful. We must understand

what is really needed before we can help someone. If we give

money or assistance without wisdom, the person may become

dependent and have more difficulty as a result. This is also true of

raising children. Too much protection will spoil a child. We need

prajñā or wisdom to really help people grow. Without prajñā the

precepts become no more than a lifeless set of rules. We may even

discriminate between people on the basis of a particular set of

precepts or customs. Each nation or religion has its own set of

precepts and taboos. It’s easy to see people who follow our precepts

as friends and to believe that all the others will go to hell. This is an

example of precepts without wisdom, a type of egocentricity of a

group instead of an individual.

We need a deep understanding of a situation to see what is most

helpful to everyone involved. Dōgen Zenji said in Shōbōgenzō

“Bodaisatta Shishōbō” (Bodhisattva’s Four Embracing Dharmas) that

as bodhisattvas we should aim at activities that benefit both others

and ourselves. We should try to see the whole situation and do what

is best for everyone. If we aim only for patience, we may harm

ourselves or others. Patience alone can be a kind of poison. It can

make the situation worse.

The same is true of diligence. If diligence is misdirected, the

harder we work, the farther we deviate from the correct path. Without

the wisdom to see which way to go, our diligence is meaningless

effort.

Wisdom is also essential to meditation. If we don’t understand the

significance or meaning of meditation, our practice of zazen

becomes no more than an escape from a noisy society. It becomes a

meaningless method to simply calm our minds and reduce our

stress. If our life is harmful to others and we practice meditation to

relax and gain more energy for self-centered activities, our practice

has nothing to do with Buddhist teachings. So wisdom, real wisdom,

is essential. This is the meaning of pāramitā. According to the Heart

Sutra, prajñā-pāramitā is the essence of Buddhist teaching. It is

necessary to the transformation of our life from samsara to nirvana.

THE SITUATION IN WHICH

THE HEART SUTRA IS EXPOUNDED

One reason the Heart Sutra is difficult to understand is that it’s not

clear who is speaking. There are two versions of the sutra. The one

we usually chant, which is printed at the beginning of this chapter, is

the shorter of the two. The longer version describes the situation

more completely. The opening lines of this version, translated from

Sanskrit by Edward Conze, are:

Thus have I heard at one time. The Lord dwelled at Rājagṛha, on the

Vulture Peak, together with a large gathering of both monks and

bodhisattvas. At that time, the Lord, after he had taught the

discourse on dharma called “deep splendor,” had entered into

concentration. At that time also the Holy Lord Avalokita, the

Bodhisattva, the great being, coursed in the course of the deep

perfection of wisdom; he looked down from on high, and he saw the

five skandhas, and he surveyed them as empty in their own-being.

Thereupon the Venerable Śāriputra through the Buddha’s might

said to the holy Lord Avalokita, the Bodhisattva, the great being:

“How should a son or daughter of good family train themselves if

they want to course in the course of this deep perfection of

wisdom?”

“Thus have I heard,” is the traditional beginning of a Buddhist sutra.

The “I” is Ānanda, a longtime attendant of Shakyamuni Buddha who

memorized all of his sutras.

The Lord dwelled at Rājagriha, on the Vulture Peak, together with a

large gathering of both monks and bodhisattvas. At that time, the

Lord, after he had taught the discourse on dharma called “deep

splendor,” had entered into concentration.

“Lord” refers to the Buddha. I question the use of this word. The

Buddha never called himself Lord. In fact, he said that he owned

nothing. The original word used in the sutra is “Bhagavat,” which is

usually translated into English as World-Honored One.

“Concentration” means zazen or samādhi. After he gave a talk on

“deep splendor,” he stopped speaking and started to sit zazen. This

sutra takes place within the Buddha’s zazen. This is a very important

point.

At that time also the Holy Lord Avalokita, the bodhisattva, the Great

Being, coursed in the course of the deep perfection of wisdom; he

looked down from on high, and he saw the five skandhas, and he

surveyed them as empty in their own-being.

In this translation the name Avalokiteśvara is divided into two parts,

“Avalokita” and “īśvara.” Avalokita means “to see.” Īśvara is usually

translated as “freely.” This is what the Chinese translation Kanjizai

means. Here īśvara is translated as “lord,” a free person who does

not belong to anyone. “Great Being” is a translation of Mahāsattva,

another word for bodhisattva. To “course in the course” is a Sanskrit

expression for practice. So Avalokiteśvara was practicing deep

prajñā-pāramitā. And from within his practice of deep wisdom, he

looked down on this world in which all sentient beings are living.

“Looked down” is a translation from Sanskrit. In Japanese this is

shōken. Shō means “to illuminate,” and ken “to see” or “view.” So

shōken means “see very clearly,” as if a scene were illumined with a

bright light. The Sanskrit expression is “he looked down from on

high.” When we are on the same level as all other human beings we

can’t see distinctly, but from a high place like a mountain, one can

see the whole clearly.

“And he saw the five skandhas”: From his practice of deep prajñā,

that is, zazen, he saw that all beings are collections of the five

skandhas and nothing but the five skandhas. The skandhas are the

elements that comprise all beings. The first, form or rūpa, refers to all

material things. For human beings, this means our bodies. The other

four are the functions of our mind. So Avalokiteśvara saw that

everything in this world is an accumulation of the five skandhas.

“And he surveyed them as empty in their own-being”: The

bodhisattva further saw that these skandhas are empty.

“Thereupon the Venerable Śāriputra through the Buddha’s might

said to the holy Lord Avalokita, the Bodhisattva, the great being”:

Śāriputra was one of the ten greatest of the Buddha’s disciples. It is

said he was the most sharp-witted. Śāriputra asked Avalokiteśvara

through the Buddha’s might, so it’s really the Buddha, not Śāriputra,

who is speaking. Śāriputra’s question was “How should a son or

daughter of good family train themselves if they want to course in the

course of this deep perfection of wisdom?” His question was how

people should practice if they aspire to prajñā-pāramitā.

Avalokiteśvara’s answer to Śāriputra’s question is the teaching of the

Heart Sutra. The person who gives this speech is Avalokiteśvara, but

this question and answer both take place within the Buddha’s

samādhi, that is, zazen. This is a description of the Buddha’s zazen

and of ours. This teaching in the Heart Sutra is not a philosophical

discussion between the Buddha’s disciple Śāriputra and a

bodhisattva about the philosophy of emptiness in Mahāyāna

Buddhism. It is about our practice of zazen.

This description of how the conversation begins helps us to

understand what Avalokiteśvara says in this sutra.

WHO IS AVALOKITEŚVARA?

When I first visited MZMC in 1989 I attended morning service and

we chanted the translation of the shorter version of the Heart Sutra. I

was surprised by the translation of the last line of the following

paragraph.

Avalokiteśvara Bodhisattva

When practicing deeply the prajñā-pāramitā

Perceived that all five skandhas are empty

And was saved from all suffering and distress.

This line was completely different from my understanding. The

translation implies that Avalokiteśvara was suffering and distressed,

but through the practice of prajñā-pāramitā he was saved and

released.

It is important to understand who Avalokiteśvara is. According to

Mahāyāna Buddhism there are two kinds of bodhisattvas. We

ordinary humans, who aspire to study, practice, and follow the

Buddha’s teaching are one kind. We are all called bodhisattvas. The

other kind of bodhisattva is not an ordinary human being. Great

bodhisattvas like Avalokiteśvara, Samantabhadra, or Mañjuśrī are

the symbol of some part of the Buddha’s virtue. They choose not to

enter nirvana, or not to stay there, in order to help other beings cross

over to the far shore.

In the chapter of Shōbōgenzō titled “Kannon,” Dōgen Zenji said

that Avalokiteśvara is the father and mother of buddhas. In a past life

Avalokiteśvara was a buddha called Shōbōmyō Nyorai (True

Dharma Wisdom Tathāgata). Shōbō means “true dharma.” Myō is

“light,” the symbol of wisdom. So he was a buddha called “the light of

true dharma.” But because of his vow to save all beings, he became

a bodhisattva and appeared in this world. He wasn’t in trouble. So I

don’t think the translation quoted above is accurate. I found Katagiri

Roshi’s translation of the Heart Sutra in a magazine. He translates

this paragraph: “Avalokiteśvara Bodhisattva, when practicing the

profound prajñā-pāramitā, by virtue of illuminated vision, saw the five

skandhas as empty and passed beyond all sufferings.”

He wasn’t

saved from suffering but rather passed beyond it. The original

Chinese words are Do issai ku yaku. Do is a verb and is sometimes

translated as “to save.” Another meaning of the Chinese character

do is “to cross over from this shore.” This do is not passive. So he

wasn’t saved, but rather he saved (others) or crossed over. He

saved all beings in trouble, all who are suffering and in distress. This

meaning is quite different. In the Sanskrit version we have today, this

final part of the sentence is missing. In that version the point is that

Avalokiteśvara came to the realization of emptiness, and that was it.

There’s no statement as to whether this realization relieved his

suffering or that of others. This sentence may have been added by

the Chinese translator, Xuanzang (Jap., Genjō), who lived in the

seventh century. He may have been working from a different Sanskrit

version from the one we have. In any case, the text seems to me

clearer and simpler without the last phrase. Avalokiteśvara saw the

five skandhas are empty. This is prajñā-pāramitā, the perfection of

wisdom.

As noted above, in the Chinese translation of the Heart Sutra,

“Avalokiteśvara” is translated as Kanjizai Bosatsu. Avalokiteśvara is

also called Kanzeon Bosatsu in Chinese. Kanjizai and Kanzeon have

different meanings. Kan means “to see” or “observe.” Jizai is the

translation of the Sanskrit word īśvara, a person who can see freely

without obstruction. This means one who is free from egocentricity

and ignorance, one who sees things as they are without distortion by

intellect, desire, or expectation. This is the meaning of

Avalokiteśvara.

Kanzeon Bosatsu as a translation appears in the twenty-fifth

chapter of the Lotus Sutra, “The Universal Gateway of the

Bodhisattva Perceiver of the World’s Sounds,” translated by

Kumārajīva. In this case the name “Avalokiteśvara” is interpreted as

“Avalokita” (to see) and “svara” (sound). The name Kanzeon means

“one who hears the sound of the world.” Human beings make

sounds when they suffer. Avalokiteśvara hears these sounds of

suffering and appears in various ways and tries to help. Kanzeon

Bosatsu represents the aspect of compassion and the work of

helping others. Kanjizai Bosatsu emphasizes the aspect of wisdom

or prajñā—seeing things exactly as they are, free of distortion. In the

Heart Sutra the bodhisattva is called Kanjizai Bosatsu. As a symbol

of the wisdom of seeing the reality of our life clearly, he/she is, of

course, a creation of the imagination of Mahāyāna Buddhists, not a

historical being.

This bodhisattva, although a buddha, yet came back to this world

of delusion and suffering in order to help people, vowing not to

become Buddha until all sentient beings are saved and become

Buddha together. So Avalokiteśvara will remain in this world, on this

shore, as long as there are deluded human beings. To the extent that

we are deluded Avalokiteśvara is here now. This is a very important

point. Avalokiteśvara is not a person but rather a force that reminds

us to awaken.

Today you have come to the Zen Center to sit and to listen to my

talk. It’s not necessarily fun. But you’re here. You could have gone

anywhere. This is a beautiful morning and you could be having fun,

but you decided to come here and sit in this posture. It’s not

necessarily a comfortable posture and my talk is not necessarily

interesting. But you made a decision to come here. What made you

decide to come to the Zen Center and sit zazen? Avalokiteśvara.

This is the power that keeps us practicing and tells us to awaken.

Avalokiteśvara is a power not just inside us but all around us, which

leads us to awaken to the impermanence and egolessness that is

the reality of our lives.

New leaves are coming out on the trees. They show us that time

passes and everything changes; now winter to spring and soon

spring to summer. Life always changes, is always new and always

fresh. We see everything around us change and yet we believe that

we do not. We believe that “I am”: “I am the same person I was forty

years ago, twenty years ago, or yesterday.” “I will be the same

person tomorrow.” But the reality is that we are always changing.

Our bodies and minds constantly change. So in the spring the leaves

appear and birds sing to tell us, “Awake, awake to this reality.

Everything is moving and changing.” Everything is ever fresh each

moment. That is Avalokiteśvara helping us see things clearly as they

are.

Everyone we encounter is Avalokiteśvara. Our parents who took

care of us, our friends, our competitors, or even enemies can be

Avalokiteśvara. They are here to show us the reality of life. We

should be thankful. We should appreciate ourselves, all people we

encounter, and all things in this universe. All of this is Avalokiteśvara

telling us to wake up and not be caught in egocentric delusion,

encouraging us to become free from illusion and see our life force

straight on. That is Avalokiteśvara. This sutra is speaking from our

life force.

In “Kannon,” a chapter of Shōbōgenzō, Dōgen Zenji wrote about

Avalokiteśvara.

He quotes a very interesting koan, or question and

answer between two Chinese Zen masters, Yunyan (Ungan) and

Daowu (Dōgo).

The two practiced together for forty years with

various teachers at different monasteries. Many of their

conversations have been recorded. This koan begins with Yunyan

asking Daowu, “What does the Great Compassion Bodhisattva do

with so many hands and eyes?” (Yunyan refers to Avalokiteśvara or

Kanzeon Bosatsu. It is said that Avalokiteśvara had one thousand

eyes and one thousand hands. Eyes symbolize wisdom, and the

hands work with compassion to help others.) In answer to Yunyan’s

question Daowu replied, “It is like a person groping behind his head

for his pillow at night.”

We all turn over during the night as we sleep. Sometimes we lose

our pillows. Daowu describes looking for his pillow in the dark with

his hands behind his back. Complete darkness is rare these days.

Even if we switch off all the lights there is usually some artificial light

from outside. But in ancient times nighttime was completely dark.

Once I had the experience of walking in complete darkness. There is

a famous mountain outside of Kyoto called Mount Hiei, where Dōgen

Zenji was ordained. There is a huge Tendai monastery there. I was

staying at Antaiji in the northwest part of Kyoto. We had a party after

a five-day sesshin and drank lots of sake and beer. After the party I

had a lot of energy and decided to hike up the mountain to see the

sun rise from the top. It took me three or four hours to walk up to the

top. Since it is near the city of Kyoto most of the path was dimly lit by

the lights of the city. But there was one stretch of several hundred

meters covered by evergreens that was completely dark. I couldn’t

even see my hand. It was very frightening. My feet and hands

became my eyes. I took each step very slowly and carefully because

at the edge of the path was a cliff.

Perhaps blind people have this experience frequently. It’s amazing

to me to see blind people walking with a white cane. Their feet,

hands, and even their canes are their eyes. Their whole body is their

eyes. At night our entire body serves as our eyes. When we try to

find a lost pillow our whole being, our whole body and mind,

becomes our eyes and hands. Darkness has a special meaning in

Buddhism. It means nondiscrimination. In the dark we can’t see

anything, and so we can’t discriminate between things. We see only

one darkness.

This is a metaphor for our zazen. In complete darkness there is no

discrimination. Our body and mind work together as one. The Heart

Sutra says there are no eyes, no ears, no nose, no tongue, no

anything. Because they are not independent, they work together as

one, and there is no distinction between eye or nose or tongue. The

whole body becomes an eye in the darkness. The whole body

becomes a tongue when we eat. We don’t eat and taste with our

mouths and tongues alone. We see the food with our eyes, we smell

it with our noses, we touch it with our hands. The whole body

functions together as one in all our actions. So there are no eyes or

ears independent of other organs—all work together. That is the

reality of life. This is how our life functions like a person groping for a

pillow in the night.

Yunyan said, “I get it, I get it. I understand what you mean.”

“How do you understand it?” asked Daowu.

“The entire body is hands and eyes.”

Since eyes don’t work in the darkness of nondiscrimination, the

whole body becomes eyes and hands.

Daowu answered, “Good, you expressed reality almost

completely. But only 80 to 90 percent. There is something

lacking.”

Yunyan asked, “That is my understanding. What about you?”

Daowu replied, “The whole body is hands and eyes.”

Yunyan used the Chinese “hen shin.” Hen means “entire.”

Daowu’s wording was “tsū shin.” Tsū means “whole.” “Entire body”

and “whole body” mean the same thing. Their answers were exactly

the same. This is Avalokiteśvara. We have many hands and eyes

besides our own. Our hands and eyes are universal. Our hands and

eyes, our entire body, is part of the whole universe. The whole

universe works as one, just like our whole body. There are

innumerable hands and eyes. What is this whole universe doing for

us? It’s telling us to awaken from our dream of egocentricity and

open our eyes. Whether Yunyan’s and Daowu’s expressions are the

same or not and why Daowu said Yunyan’s answer was only 80 to

90 percent complete are the points of this koan.

Avalokiteśvara is like a person groping for a pillow in the darkness,

with body and mind working as one. There is no distinction between

eyes, hands, tongue, ear, or nose. The universe functions as one.

This is the meaning of egolessness and impermanence. Everything

is always changing, but we are blind to all of this. We dream that “I”

am here, and unless my desires are fulfilled, my life is meaningless.

We try to be successful. We build a fence between our body and

mind and other beings in the universe. We say, “This is me. This is

my territory. This is my house.” We try to keep things we value inside

our territories and things we dislike outside. If we own a lot of

valuable things, we consider our lives successful. Our lives are a

constant struggle to increase our income and decrease our

expenses. This is our way of life. It works because human society is

based on artificial conventions to which we all agree in order to make

our lives more convenient.

But outside social conventions this framework doesn’t apply. When

we face our death, strategies of accumulation and avoidance don’t

work. No matter how successful your life, when you face death, you

have to leave everything. Your property, your fame, and all your

accomplishments disappear. Avalokiteśvara helps us awaken. Until

we wake up to reality our life is like a building without a foundation.

The Heart Sutra is about transforming our way of life. It is about

waking up to reality and creating a life based on the reality that exists

before convention. For us, the practice of zazen is the turning point

of this transformation. According to Dōgen Zenji, zazen itself is

enlightenment or awakening. Of course, even in our zazen we have

delusive thoughts, desires, and emotions. And so we let go of them.

This letting go is transformation. Our life is no longer personal, and

we live out the universal life force. This is the meaning of zazen.

BOTH SIDES

Avalokiteśvara Bodhisattva

When practicing deeply the prajñā-pāramitā

Perceived that all five skandhas are empty

And was saved from all suffering and distress.

Avalokiteśvara was practicing prajñā-pāramitā. We must be careful

to remember that prajñā-pāramitā is something to be practiced.

Prajñā (wisdom) is not simply a matter of how our brain works. In

Shōbōgenzō “Maka Hannya Haramitsu,” Dōgen Zenji refers to the

“whole body’s clear seeing.”

He is reminding us that this wisdom

should be practiced with our whole body and mind. Seeing with the

whole body and mind means we become one with the emptiness of

the five skandhas. These five skandhas are nothing other than our

body and mind. When we sit zazen our whole body and mind

becomes nothing other than the whole body and mind that is empty.

The five skandhas become five skandhas that are completely empty.

Zazen is itself prajñā. The five skandhas (whole body and mind)

clearly see the five skandhas (whole body and mind). There is no

separation between subject and object.

In early Buddhism body and mind are described as being made up

of the five skandhas (aggregates) to emphasize that there is no fixed

ego. The five skandhas are form (Skt., rūpa; Jap., shiki), sensation

(vedanā, ju), perception (saṃjñā, so), impulse or formation

(saṃskāra, gyo), and consciousness (vijñāna, shiki). The first, form,

refers to material things that have shape and color. In the case of

human beings, form is body. The other four skandhas are mental

functions. When we encounter an object we receive sensory

stimulation, which may be pleasant, unpleasant, or neutral. This

stimulation caused by objects we call sensation. The Chinese

character for ju means “reception.” This received sensation creates

images or representations in our mind. We call this perception.

Impulse (saṃskāra) is the power of mental formation, that is, will or

volition. Based on sensation, perception, and impulse, the object is

recognized and judgments are formed. This is the function of the fifth

skandha, consciousness.

The Buddha taught that since we are made up of these five

constantly changing skandhas, there is no fixed ego, and we are

impermanent. Later, in Abhidharma philosophy, Buddhist scholars

believed that we are egoless but that these five skandhas exist in an

independent, fixed way. Mahāyāna Buddhists criticized this theory.

The Prajñāpāramitā Sutras said that these five skandhas are also

empty. This emptiness is another way of describing impermanence

and egolessness.

We can be saved from suffering because the cause of suffering is

our selfish desire based on an ignorance of impermanence and

egolessness. We cling to our body and mind and try to control

everything, but we cannot. When we truly see the emptiness

(impermanence and egolessness) of the five skandhas of our body

and mind, we see that there is nothing to cling to. So we open our

hands. This is liberation from the ego-attachment that causes

suffering.

The sutra continues:

“O Śāriputra, form does not differ from emptiness;

Emptiness does not differ from form.

That which is form is emptiness;

That which is emptiness, form.

The same is true of feelings, perceptions, impulses, and

consciousness.”

The five elements of our life are all empty, and emptiness is those

five skandhas. The phrases “form is emptiness” and “emptiness,

form” say that “since A is not different from B, and B is not different

from A, then A is B, and B is A.” This is very simple. But this sutra

has a more complex meaning. The longer version of the Heart Sutra

reads:

“There are the five skandhas, and those he sees in their ownbeings

as empty.

Hear, O Śāriputra, form is emptiness and the very emptiness is form;

emptiness is no other than form, form is no other than emptiness;

whatever is form, that is emptiness, whatever is emptiness, that is

form.”

The first sentence says that there are five skandhas, and they are

empty. This sentence is very important to our understanding of the

Heart Sutra. The Āgama Sutras, a collection of early Buddhist

discourses similar to the Pāli Nikāyas, say that all phenomenal

beings are aggregates of causes and conditions without any fixed

entity. According to the Āgama Sutras, the Buddha affirmed that

there is no ego, and we are merely collections of five skandhas.

“Ego” means something unchanging and singular that owns and

operates this body and mind. The Buddha taught there is no such

thing. In Sanskrit “ego” is called ātman. To express the reality of no-

ātman (anātman) he stated that only the five skandhas exist, and

these various elements form the temporal being that is a person.

Later, Abhidharma philosophers believed that the ego or ātman

doesn’t exist but that the five skandhas exist as substance. They

analyzed these five skandhas into seventy-five elements. A

particular combination of elements enables this being to exist as a

unique person, and when one of the elements changes, this body

and mind changes or even disappears. It’s like atomic theory.

Science says this body, desk, or notebook can be divided into

smaller and smaller pieces until we eventually come to something

that cannot be divided. Greek philosophers called this the atom. The

conventional concept of the individual is analogous to the Greek

concept of the atom. In the last century we learned that the atom can

be split. It is no longer the ultimate particle. The Heart Sutra says the

same thing about people. It says that each being is made up of five

skandhas, five categories of elements, and these are empty. This

line in the sutra is a criticism of the Abidharma philosophy that

maintained the five skandhas exist as fixed substance.

Mahāyāna Buddhists criticized the Abhidharma idea of the

selfnature of the skandhas. They believed the five skandhas or

elements are empty, that they don’t really exist. The skandhas are

dependent on cause and conditions and have no existence

independent from other things. In fact, nothing exists except in

relationship with all other beings. This fundamental teaching of the

Buddha is called interdependent origination.

Nāgārjuna was one of the greatest Mahāyāna philosophers. His

Examination of the Four-Fold Noble Truth in Mūlamadhyamakakārikā

is helpful in understanding these lines. He identified two levels of

truth. The Dharma as taught by the Buddha is not some kind of

objective reality. It is the reality of our own lives based on two truths,

relative and absolute. He said, “Those who don’t know the distinction

between the two truths cannot understand the profound nature of the

Buddha’s teaching” (24:9).

The profound nature of the Buddha’s

teaching is prajñā, the Buddha’s wisdom. In order to understand the

Buddha’s wisdom, we have to clearly understand this distinction

between absolute and relative truth.

Nāgārjuna continues, “Without relying on everyday common

practices (i.e., relative truths), the absolute truth cannot be

expressed. Without approaching the absolute truth, nirvana cannot

be attained” (24:10). Here “common practices” means relative truth,

the way we usually think in our day-to-day lives. For instance, “I am

a man. My name is Shohaku Okumura. I am a Buddhist priest. I was

born in Japan and came to America. I have two children.” This is our

everyday way of explaining who we are. As a teacher, I have

responsibilities and now I’m giving a talk. This is common practice, a

relative truth. When I say I am Japanese that means I’m not an

American. “My name is Shohaku Okumura” means I’m not someone

else. “I’m a man” means I’m not a woman. These definitions are

relative.

Nāgārjuna says that the absolute truth cannot be expressed

without relying on relative truth. The absolute truth is beyond words,

which are relative. That is śūnyatā or emptiness. That is prajñā.

Without approaching the absolute truth, nirvana cannot be attained.

As long as we stay only in the relative truth, in conventional ways of

thinking, we cannot move toward nirvana. Nirvana is the most

peaceful foundation of our life. In the realm of relative thinking, this

body and mind change with each new encounter or situation. We are

always thinking about how to behave in this situation, always

adjusting ourselves. Often a situation is competitive, and we have to

be careful, either to defend ourselves or become aggressive. It’s a

restless way of life. Nirvana is beyond the relativity of subject and

object, teacher and student, customer and shop clerk.

Nāgārjuna continues, “We declare that whatever is relational

origination is śūnyatā. It is a provisional name [i.e., thought

construction] for the mutuality [of being] and, indeed, it is the middle

path” (24:18). “Relational origination” is a synonym for

interdependent origination. Everything is interconnected, and

because of certain linked causes and conditions this person or this

thing exists for awhile. This is not a substance; it is called śūnyatā or

emptiness. Because of relational origination, nothing exists

independently. The elements of this provisional existence are called

the five skandhas. The idea of the five skandhas as fixed and the

idea of emptiness contradict each other. If the five skandhas exist

independently and permanently, there is no emptiness; if all is really

emptiness, there are no fixed five skandhas. This simple sentence in

the Heart Sutra is important to understand.

Form, as we’ve seen, is one of the five skandhas. In the case of

human beings, it means our bodies. To say this body is empty

means it doesn’t actually exist. In a sense, “form is emptiness”

means that form is not form. “Emptiness” means there is no form,

and “form” means there is form. So this is not a simple logic at all.

Nāgārjuna says that whatever is relational origination is śūnyatā.

Emptiness, like all words, is a provisional name without substance

that can exist and has validity only in relation to other words.

Form, feelings, perceptions, impulses, and consciousness—all five

skandhas—are provisional names: names without substance. They

are thought-constructions created by our minds. Everything is simply

a provisional name. “Shohaku” is a provisional name. “Priest” is a

provisional name. “Japanese” is also a provisional name. All of these

are simply provisional names for “the mutuality of beings.” This

mutuality of beings means that nothing can exist by itself, but only in

relationship with other elements. This means everything is empty;

everything is merely a provisional name that exists temporarily as a

collection of the five skandhas. This way of viewing things, beyond

the duality of “independent being” and “nonbeing,” is the middle path.

Nāgārjuna stated there are two levels of truth: absolute truth

(śūnyatā) and conventional truth (provisional being). He said we

must see reality from both sides. We must see it as śūnyatā and as a

provisional name. This is the middle path. By seeing reality from both

sides we can see without being caught up in either side. The Heart

Sutra says, “Form is not different from emptiness.” This means form

is a tentative or a provisional name. This person Shohaku Okumura

is just a provisional name and doesn’t actually exist. That means

emptiness. So form is not different from emptiness. This is one way

of seeing. This is negation of form, negation of this being. This being

looks like existence but isn’t.

By negating independent being, we become free from attachment

to this body and mind. This is a most important point. If we don’t see

the reality of emptiness, we cannot become free from clinging to this

tentative being that is defined by relative concepts. Through the

wisdom of seeing this being as empty and impermanent, we can free

ourselves from clinging. This is the meaning of “form is emptiness.”

To see that form is emptiness means to negate attachment to this

collection of five skandhas. Even though we cling to this body and

mind, sooner or later it is scattered. If we really see the reality of

emptiness, we are free from ego attachment. This is the meaning of

the sentence “Form does not differ from emptiness.” This is the way

to negate our relative perceptions and open our eyes to absolute

reality.

However, freedom from attachment to this body and mind is not

enough. Once we see the absolute reality that is emptiness, we must

return to tentative reality. This is the meaning of “Emptiness does not

differ from form.” When we really see the emptiness, we become

free from this body and mind. That’s okay, but then how shall we

live? We cannot live within the absolute truth because without

distinctions there is no way to choose. Without making choices we

cannot live. To choose a path, we have to define who we are and

what we want to do. To accomplish things, to go somewhere, we

have to make distinctions. If we have no direction, there is no way to

go. So to live out our daily lives we have to return to relative truth.

Nāgārjuna also said, “A wrongly conceived śūnyatā can ruin a

slowwitted person. It is like a badly seized snake or a wrongly

executed incantation” (24:11). If we don’t understand emptiness as

the middle path, we can become irresponsible. Freedom and

irresponsibility can be the same thing. But the Buddha’s compassion

means to be free and yet responsible to everything. It is compassion

without attachment. Through wisdom we see that everything is

empty. Through compassion we return to relative truth. We must

think, “How can I take care of this body and mind to keep them

healthy so I can help others?” This is what the Buddha taught. To be

responsible to whatever situation surrounds us, we have to become

free from emptiness. We have to come back to the relative truth of

everyday activities and take care of things. So this is not just a

formal, simple logic, A is B and B is A. When we say form is

emptiness, we negate this body and mind. When we understand that

emptiness is form, we negate emptiness. Negate means to let go. To

let go of thought means to become free from both sides. Then we

can see reality from both perspectives without being attached to

either. The wisdom of Avalokiteśvara is the Middle Way that includes

both sides. It is not something in between this side and that. From

the middle path we see reality from both views, relative and

absolute. We simultaneously negate and affirm both sides. To let go

of thought means to become free from both perspectives and simply

be in the middle (reality).

According to Dōgen Zenji, sitting in zazen posture and letting go of

thought is itself the Buddha’s wisdom, prajñā. So prajñā is not a

particular state of mind or way of thinking. To express this Middle

Way, Dōgen Zenji paraphrased the Heart Sutra in the chapter of

Shōbōgenzō called Mahāprajñāpāramita. He said, “Form is

emptiness, emptiness is form. Form is form, emptiness is

emptiness.” When we say, “Form is emptiness,” there is still

separation between form and emptiness, between relative and

absolute. When we really see the middle path we don’t need to say,

“Form is emptiness” or “Emptiness is form.” When we see form,

emptiness is already there. We don’t need to say, “Form and

emptiness are the same.” When we say so, we are still comparing

form and emptiness and thinking these two are one. This is still a

relative way of thinking. So Dōgen Zenji said, “Form is form and

emptiness is emptiness.” This is our practice of zazen based on

Mahāyāna philosophy.

For us as practitioners, a mere understanding of this philosophy is

not enough. We must apply this understanding in our everyday

activities. We see that we cannot do anything completely by

ourselves. We cannot live alone; we are always living with other

people and other beings. To work together and live together with

other people and beings, we have to negate ourselves. We have to

negate this person to see what other people are doing or thinking.

This means that we negate the five skandhas and see śūnyatā as it

is. When we interact with our environment, we have to express the

things happening inside us through our lives. We have to do

something. We have to respond to situations and make choices. As

Dōgen Zenji said in “Genjōkōan,” “To study the Buddha’s Way is to

study the self. To study the self is to forget the self.” To forget the self

means to negate this one. By negating this one we see others more

clearly. When we negate our egocentricity or personal point of view,

we can see things more objectively. We can see the situation as a

part of ourselves, and at the same time we see ourselves as a part

of the situation. We can choose what to do right now, right here, as

this person who is a part of the total situation. That’s how we can be

responsible to the situation.

This attitude applies to more than our daily lives. Dōgen Zenji said

in Shōbōgenzō “Shōji” (Life and Death), “To clarify life and death is

the most significant point of practice of the Buddha’s students.” We

see our life and death from both sides and see reality as the Middle

Way. Our body and mind is just a collection of five skandhas that is

empty and will someday disappear. Sooner or later we will die. To

negate the five skandhas is to see emptiness, egolessness, and

impermanence. And yet if we see only in this way we may become

nihilistic, pessimistic, or irresponsible. We will not live with

compassionate hearts. We might think that if sooner or later it will all

disappear, why should we strive to accomplish anything? That is the

sickness of emptiness.

Then we must return to the relative truth. Although we are empty

and sooner or later we disappear, right here and now we are living

as reality. We exist right now as a tentative collection of five

skandhas. We choose to be responsible to this life at this moment.

So there must be some way to live. There must be some direction to

follow. This is an important point of our practice. We see reality, the

middle path, from both sides and become free from attachment to

either. Therefore Dōgen Zenji said in Shōbōgenzō “Shōji,”

When we speak of life, there is nothing other than life; when we

speak of death, there is nothing other than death. Therefore, when

life comes we just face life. When death comes we just face death.

We should not be used by them or desire them. This present life-

and-death is the Life of buddha. If we dislike it and try to get rid of it,

we would lose the Life of buddha. If we desire to remain [in life-and-

death] and attach ourselves to it, we would also lose the Life of

buddha.

This is almost impossible for an ordinary person. But that is the

path the Buddha or Avalokiteśvara saw and tried to show us. It is

very difficult simply to become free from ego attachment. To become

free from emptiness is even more difficult. Yet to follow this way of

life is our direction as Buddhist practitioners. This is our vow.

Somehow I cannot help but follow this way of life. It is my practice.

And when I see another person living this way I feel encouraged. If

even one person is inspired or encouraged by my practice, I am

really happy.

EMPTINESS IN THEORY

The third paragraph of the Heart Sutra says:

“O Śāriputra, all dharmas are marked with emptiness;

They do not appear or disappear,

Are neither tainted nor pure,

Do not increase or decrease.”

First I will discuss the philosophical aspects of this passage and then

its practical meaning. This passage is very important to Mahāyāna

Buddhism. If we read it superficially, we might think there is

something that neither appears nor disappears, is neither tainted nor

pure, and neither increases nor decreases. We might think that this

passage refers to something that exists beyond the phenomena we

see. We think the purpose of our practice is to realize this something

beyond phenomena. But this is not Buddhism. There is nothing

beyond this phenomenal world in which things are always changing,

appearing and disappearing. There is nothing that never appears or

disappears. That is the Buddha’s teaching.

What does this mean? To understand these lines I think it’s helpful

to look at Nāgārjuna’s dedicating verse in the

Mūlamadhyamakakārikā. Here he elaborated and refined the

philosophy of emptiness. At the very beginning of this piece he

wrote:

I pay homage to the Fully Awakened One,

the supreme teacher who has taught

the doctrine of relational origination,

the blissful cessation of all phenomenal thought constructions.

(Therein, every event is “marked” by):

non-origination, non-extinction,

non-destruction, non-permanence,

non-identity, non-differentiation,

non-coming (into being), non-going (out-of-being).

The fully awakened one, the supreme teacher, refers to Shakyamuni

Buddha. “Buddha” literally means “awakened one.” Relational

origination, we’ve seen, is the same as interdependent origination. It

means nothing exists independently, but only in relationship with

other things, causes, and conditions. Nothing has substance, self-

nature, or independent being. Everything is impermanent, egoless,

and always changing. These teachings of Buddha are the same in

early Buddhism and Mahāyāna Buddhism.

“Thought constructions” means idle discussion or argument about

metaphysical philosophy, the meaning of life, or of this world. The

teaching of relational origination, according to Nāgārjuna, puts an

end to all idle arguments. “Non-origination” has the same meaning

as “not appear” (fushō) in Chinese. “Non-extinction” is the same as

“not disappear” or, for human beings, birth and death. Nothing can

be destroyed and nothing is permanent. Nāgārjuna lists five pairs of

dichotomies: birth and death, one and many, identity and

differentiation, coming and going, delusion and enlightenment. We

could add any dichotomy to the list, and Nāgārjuna would put a “no”

in front of it.

This is because we can only think about one side of things. When

we think about something we take a point of the view. We form an

opinion. We think, “This exists,” or “This doesn’t exist.” We may

think, “I am deluded” or “I am enlightened” or “There must be

something eternal” or “There is nothing eternal.” These are opinions.

To form our way of thinking we have to take a side. We cannot

function in society without a point of view. If we adopt different points

of view at the same time, we are seen as inconsistent and

untrustworthy. But according to Nāgārjuna these are all phenomenal

thought constructions, idle or meaningless arguments. Whichever

side you take it’s only a half of reality. Reality is there before taking a

view.

According to Nāgārjuna things do not appear or disappear, are

neither tainted nor pure, do not increase or decrease. This means

we should not think that these things appear at a certain time in the

past and stay in this moment and then disappear sometime in the

future. For instance, I was born on June 22, 1948. Before that day I

didn’t exist. On that day I started to exist. I will exist for a certain

period of time and then I will disappear. This is a very common way

of thinking. It’s not a mistake on a conceptual level. But in reality if

we look closely at this being, there is nothing that can be called

Shohaku. I am no more than a collection of five skandhas, different

elements.

This body and mind is like a waterfall. A river flows past a place

where there is a change of height, and a waterfall is formed. Yet

there is no such thing as a waterfall, only a continuous flow of water.

A waterfall is not a thing but rather a name for a process of

happening. This body and mind is like a waterfall. We cannot

distinguish where the waterfall starts and ends because it is a

continuous process. Since there is no “I,” no substance called

Shohaku Okumura, I cannot say “I” will disappear. This is the

meaning of “do not appear or disappear.” It refers to this body and

mind and to all beings. It is not about mysterious beings beyond the

phenomenal world. This is very clear, ordinary reality, and yet we

cannot define it, so it is strange and wondrous. We see things

happening every moment, and yet we cannot grasp them. That is the

meaning of wondrous dharma. We cannot grasp it, and yet it is not

mysterious. It is ordinary things happening every day. For instance,

this is a book, this is a desk, this is my robe, and this is Shohaku

Okumura. These are like definitions we can find in the dictionary. We

think these things exist in a fixed way because they are defined in

the dictionary, but it’s not true.

In another part of Mūlamadhyamakakārikā Nāgārjuna says,

“Those of low intelligence [i.e., inferior insight], who see only the

existence and nonexistence of things, cannot perceive the wonderful

quiescence of things.”

By “low intelligence people” he means

people who lack wisdom. Existence and nonexistence is the same

kind of dichotomy he referred to in the dedicatory verse and in the

Heart Sutra. This is our usual way of thinking: good or bad, right or

wrong, rich or poor. But wonderful quiescence is the reality of all

beings before being processed by our conceptual thinking.

Pingala, a late third- or early fourth-century Indian scholar, wrote a

commentary on Mūlamadhyamakakārikā. We know nothing about

who Pingala was, but Kumārajīva translated Nāgārjuna’s

Mūlamadhyamakakārikā together with Pingala’s commentary and

gave it the title “Zhonglun” (Jap., Chūron, The Thesis of the Middle).

In it he says, “When people have not yet attained the way, they don’t

see the true form of all beings. Because of causes and conditions of

attachment to their own limited views, they engage in various

meaningless arguments.”

Our views are always shaped and limited

by our experiences, and we are very attached to them. For example,

if we have an experience with someone that leads us to believe this

person is not honest or trustworthy, we make a judgment and decide

this is not a good person. We then cling to this definition or

preconception. We form stereotypes about people, countries,

everything. These stereotypes are the basis of our usual way of

seeing things. Nāgārjuna believed that these phenomenal thought

constructions were the basis for meaningless arguments.

Pingala continues, “When they see something appear they call it

‘being’ and take it as existence. When they see something disappear

they think it perishes and call it nonexistence.” When we encounter

something we form a view, idea, or conception. This is our usual way

of life. It is not a matter of good or bad, but rather the way we are. So

it follows that “When a wise person sees something appear, he

extinguishes the view of nonexistence. When a wise person sees

something disappear he extinguishes the view of existence.” We

usually form a view when we experience something. But Pingala

says that when a wise person meets someone or experiences

something he extinguishes, or lets go of, his preconceptions. So

each encounter becomes an opportunity to transform our preexisting

ideas and to set aside our biases and preconceptions. Each

experience becomes an opportunity to see a fresh new world. This is

an important point. The difference between ordinary and wise is not

a difference in the quality of a person’s intelligence. It’s a difference

in the attitude with which they meet things in their daily lives. We

form ideas that become fixed as the basis of our identity. This

identity, this way of thinking or system of values, becomes a

limitation and we are imprisoned by it. It’s difficult to open our

perception again because it becomes very stiff, and we become very

stubborn. To be a wise person, according to this commentary, we

must negate, break, or open up our premade system of values every

time we experience something. This is not something mysterious. It’s

very clear.

“Therefore, although a wise person sees all beings, the person

sees them as phantoms or dreams,” says Pingala. Ordinary beings

and wise people see things in the same way, but their attitude is

different. Nothing is fixed. No one is necessarily a bad person

(always bad) or a good one (always good). There is no fixed nature

because we are always changing. In a sense, each time we meet a

person, we meet a different person. Because I am changing, and the

other person is also changing, we can appreciate each meeting as a

fresh new one.

An important phrase that conveys the spirit of having tea together

in the tea ceremony is “Ichi go ichi ye.” The phrase ichi go means

“one time,” “one occasion,” or “one life.” Ichi ye means “one

meeting.” Each meeting or encounter happens only once. We cannot

meet with the same person twice. Each meeting, each moment, is

very significant and precious because it is unique. To see things as

phantoms or dreams doesn’t mean they are not important. Because

reality is like a phantom or dream, we have to appreciate it. Since

everything is changing, since nothing stays forever, this is the only

time we can meet. We have to savor each moment.

Pingala says, “A wise person extinguishes even a view of the

undefiled way.” “Undefiled way” refers to the Buddha’s teaching. A

wise person extinguishes, negates, and goes beyond any view,

opinion, or understanding of the Buddha’s teaching. This point is

crucial to an understanding of the next part of the Heart Sutra, which

appears to negate almost all of the Buddha’s teaching. To negate

means to free oneself from any view, even a Buddhist one. If we take

the Buddha’s teaching as an opinion or view, it’s no different from the

preconceptions we have about other things. In Buddhism it’s said

that ordinary people are bound by iron chains. If we liberate

ourselves from these iron chains, we are still bound by the gold

chain of Buddhism. We are still not free. We have to become free

even of the Buddha’s teaching, even of enlightenment. That is the

Buddha’s teaching.

This is the reason Dōgen Zenji says we shouldn’t seek after

enlightenment. In “Fukanzazengi” (Universal Recommendation of

Zazen) he says that when we sit, we should give up even our

aspiration to become a buddha. This is important. It’s not a matter of

delusion or enlightenment but attitude. It’s a matter of whether we

are caught by our desires, expectations, and fixed ideas. To become

free from these things is our zazen. To extinguish our views is to let

go of thought.

Pingala’s conclusion is that “unless one sees the Buddha’s

peaceful dharma by extinguishing views, we see being and

nonbeing.” The Buddha’s peaceful dharma is reality itself free of all

dichotomies. This reality is blissful and precious. We don’t usually

see reality itself but only our preconceptions: things we like or dislike,

something useful or useless, something desirable or undesirable.

We divide reality into categories, running after things we desire and

trying to avoid those we detest. Our life becomes a matter of chasing

and escaping. That is our usual way of life. In this kind of life there is

no stable foundation, no peace, because we are always escaping

from or chasing after something. There’s no time to rest, to just calm

down and be right here. Letting go of thought in zazen for ten

minutes or for a day or for five days is very precious. The blissful

dharma, true reality, is revealed when we let go and become free

from our fixed views. When the Prajñāpāramitā Sutra says things do

not appear or disappear, are neither tainted nor pure, do not

increase or decrease, the sutra doesn’t refer to things outside us. It

means that when we refrain from viewing and judging things in

dualistic ways, our attitudes toward external things are transformed.

The relation between things inside of us and our perception of the

world is changed. The perceptions of the external things cease to be

the objects of our desires and self-centered views. We are released

from the habitual association between subject and object. Then

things begin to reveal themselves as they are. When our attitude

toward each thing in the world is shifted as Pingala described, our

way of life is transformed. The Heart Sutra does not say that there is

something mysterious which neither appears nor disappears, is

neither tainted nor pure, neither increases nor decreases.

My teacher, Uchiyama Roshi, wrote a poem about life and death

when he was about seventy years old and very sick. For fifty years

he had tuberculosis. He’d been living with sickness almost all of his

life. Several times a year he bled from his lung. He was facing death.

He felt that was his practice. Facing life and death is the most

important challenge for the Buddhist practitioner. This is one of his

poems.

SAMĀDHI OF THE TREASURE OF RADIANT LIGHT

Though poor, never poor.

Though sick, never sick.

Though aging, never aging.

Though dying, never dying.

Reality prior to division.

Herein lies unlimited depth.

Radiant light is a metaphor or symbol of the Buddha’s life.

Uchiyama Roshi was poor. He never worked just to earn money. He

contrasts dichotomies—life and death, poverty and wealth, sickness

and health—with the unlimited depth of reality prior to division. Our

practice is to deepen our understanding and experience. This is what

we do in zazen by letting go of thought. Our sitting practice is the

practice of prajñā-pāramitā, which enables us to actually transform

our way of life. If our lives are based on dichotomies like good and

bad, we chase after good things and run from bad things. We are

concerned about whether we are good or not. If we think we are

good, then life is worth living. If we think we are bad, then life is just

a mistake. This dualistic thinking makes our life rigid and narrow.

No matter what mistakes we make, we can start over because

everything is impermanent. We can change. We can change the

direction of our life. That is the way we transform our life, our

thinking, and our views. According to Dōgen Zenji, sitting in zazen

and letting go of everything is the key to shifting the basis of our life.

By sitting and letting go we become free, even from the Buddha’s

doctrine. We are not deluded, and we are not enlightened. So we

just keep practicing. That is the meaning of shikantaza, or just sitting.

If you feel good or enlightened in certain conditions, and you cling to

this experience, you are deluded. You are already stagnating in

enlightenment. So we open our hands and keep practicing. This is

the meaning of just sitting, of continuous practice. There is no one

who is deluded or enlightened. Sitting is itself enlightenment. This is

why Dōgen Zenji said that we need to arouse bodhi-mind, moment

by moment, billions of times.

EMPTINESS IN PRACTICE

“O Śāriputra, all dharmas are marked with emptiness;

They do not appear or disappear,

Are neither tainted nor pure,

Do not increase or decrease.”

This paragraph was discussed above in relation to Nāgārjuna’s

sayings in Mūlamadhyamakakārikā. It refers not to something

outside ourselves but rather to the way we see things, the way we

grasp things using our intellect. Nāgārjuna says that our usual way of

seeing and thinking is based on mental formations or thought

constructions that he describes as meaningless argument. This is an

important point in Mahāyāna philosophy that is difficult to

understand. I will discuss it from the perspective of my own

experience.

Buddhist teachers from Shakyamuni Buddha to Nāgārjuna to

Dōgen Zenji address the reality of our life, the true form of all beings.

The problem is that when we think about this reality, when we try to

grasp it, we lose it. We live inside reality. We are never apart from it,

and yet we almost always lose sight of it. To discuss something we

have to take a particular point of view. This is the problem.

A long time ago I read a book on logic that included many famous

paradoxes. One of the most interesting was a story about a king who

told his retainers that no liars should be allowed into his kingdom. He

built a barrier at the border. The guard asked everyone who wanted

to enter the kingdom whether he was a liar or an honest person.

Since everyone wanted to get into the country, they all said they

were not liars, except for one who admitted, “I am a liar.” The guard

didn’t know what to do. If this person really was a liar, then his

statement was true; he was telling the truth and therefore he was not

a liar. If he was not a liar, his statement was false, which meant he

was a liar. Either way there could be no conclusion. Our usual way of

thought presents a similar paradox. It doesn’t really fit reality, so we

often make poor decisions.

This story is an example of emptiness. Before we decide whether

someone is a liar or an honest person, we have to define these

terms. A liar is a person who tells lies, of course, and yet this is not

enough. A liar is a person who always lies, and an honest person

always tells the truth. This is the basic definition of a liar and an

honest person. When we use these definitions, we should be

consistent. A liar always lies. If a liar tells the truth, “liar” doesn’t

apply. But in reality there is no one who always tells lies. We tell lies

to deceive other people but if we speak only lies, we cannot deceive

anyone. If someone always lies, I’ll know that the opposite of what

he says is true. In fact, there is no one so honest he never tells a lie.

If we think someone is weird, we don’t say, “You are weird.” We

might say instead, “You are unique.” No one speaks only lies or only

the truth.

In reality there are no liars and no completely honest people.

Thinking based on such definitions is an example of a thought

construction, or meaningless argument. Such thinking misses the

reality that we all lie to some degree. And yet there are some really

honest people, and there are some liars. As Buddhists, we have to

try to avoid lying because it is one of our precepts. If we interpret the

precept of not lying with strict logic, we cannot be Buddhists. We can

never completely follow the Buddha’s precept. So we have to inquire

deeply into reality. This is not a matter of pure logic but of our

attitude. This is our way of life, the Buddha’s truth, and the true form

of human beings. In Buddhism the true form of all beings, the reality

of our lives, is not based on simple logic. The wisdom of seeing

emptiness is to see both sides. There are no liars and no honest

people, and yet we try to avoid lying. There are two sides, and to see

things from both is prajñā.

Our thoughts, values, and attitudes are based on our work,

education, and experiences. We must have some yardstick to live in

society. But this yardstick is not absolute. I was born in Japan and

grew up in Japanese society and cannot be completely free of a

Japanese way of thinking and behaving. I don’t think that I have to

become American, or that you should become Japanese. We have

to understand that neither the American nor the Japanese way of

thought is absolutely right. There is another way of thinking, of

acting, of valuing things. It is the way of letting go of thought.

This is what we do in our zazen. We become flexible. We have to

let go of our evaluations and discriminations, or we cannot really

connect with people from other traditions or cultures. In the past

there were separate cultures that didn’t meet on a daily basis. Our

modern world is becoming one society. Here in the United States

many different kinds of people live together. If we hold on to our

yardsticks and negate other people’s ways of doing things, we will

fight. We will feel that we have to eliminate those who don’t agree

with us. But when we let go of our way of thinking and become even

a little bit free of our yardsticks, we have room to accept other ways

of thinking. Our lives become broader and richer.

The United States is the only foreign country I have lived in so far.

Japan and America are special countries for me. My ideas about

America have changed many times. I was born three years after

World War II. My first memory of America is when I was about four or

five years old and was told that my family lost all its wealth when the

Americans bombed Osaka in March 1945. My family had lived in the

center of Osaka for three hundred years, and they had accumulated

some wealth. In one night we lost everything. I remember the only

thing we had after the bombing was a statue of the Buddha, quite a

large one for a lay family to own. I heard that my family had a shrine

for this statue. I never saw it, but it must have been a large building. I

also knew that my uncle was killed during the war. In my mind these

memories created anger, hatred, and fear. In elementary school I

heard that Japan was very poor and survived only because of help

from America. America was a very prosperous country, while ours

was very poor. America seemed like paradise, and we hoped to

follow the American way. I then had two completely different, almost

opposite views of America. America became something very

positive, something we had to study as an ideal of democracy,

science, technology, and materialistic consumer culture.

My generation studied the American way of life, production, and

system of values. Japan became much too American, almost more

American than America. When I was a high school student during

the Vietnam War, the Japanese mass media presented American

imperialism as the enemy of humanity. This was another completely

different idea. Later, when I studied history, I learned that the

Japanese army did terrible things in China, Korea, Taiwan, and other

Asian countries during World War II. My understanding deepened.

Anger, hatred, and fear turned into a kind of sadness about

humanity. All human beings have the same problems. America,

Japan, all nations, and all individuals have the potential to do terrible

things. To see things from different points of view is good. Finally I

came to America to live in 1975. I lived in Massachusetts for about

five years and experienced the American way of life. I found that

there are many kind people and some who are not so kind, just as in

Japan. People smile, laugh, cry, and scream the same ways in

Japan and America. I think there is no big difference.

To deepen our understanding we must negate our concepts. When

we negate our beliefs and preconceptions we can see things from

other points of view or a wider perspective. We should try to avoid

grasping with our ready-made preconceptions or prejudices. If we

open our hands and perceive things carefully, closely, then we can

see other perspectives. This is opening the hand of thought. This is

what we do in our zazen.

This practice of letting go of thought enables us to see people and

things with fresh eyes. Right now we have many flowers outside.

When we see them we think they are beautiful. But when we look

closely at a flower, it’s more than beautiful, it’s something really

wondrous. Why is this flower so beautiful? Why does this flower

bloom like this? Why is it that I can appreciate this beauty? There is

surprise when we encounter things with fresh eyes. When we see

the flower without thinking “This is beautiful” or “What is this flower

called?” we really meet the flower itself. When we see the flower

without thinking, we find that our life, this body and mind, and the life

of the flower are the same life. There’s no separation. We can say, “I

am blooming there as a flower.” To extinguish our views, to let go of

thought, or to negate our own way of thinking is not negative. It

makes our life very vivid and dynamic.

To return to the passage:

“O Śāriputra, all dharmas are marked with emptiness;

They do not appear or disappear,

Are neither tainted nor pure,

Do not increase or decrease.”

If we read this carelessly, we may think dharma is somehow beyond

appearance and disappearance, beyond taint and purity, or increase

and decrease. We might assume there is something formless

beyond phenomena. But the passage shouldn’t be understood in this

way. For example, this bookstand was made in the past by someone

using pieces of wood and today it exists as a bookstand. Someday it

will break and disappear. This is a temporal form, a phenomenon.

When we hear “since all dharmas are marked with emptiness, they

do not appear or disappear,” we might imagine there is “something”

beyond the phenomenon, in this case, the bookstand. We might

believe this something is a noumenon which does not either appear

or disappear, something that is permanent. We imagine this

something beyond form is the true nature of this tentative

phenomenon, and that to see this true nature of emptiness is

enlightenment. In other words, we think emptiness is separate from

form. This is not what is meant by the Heart Sutra. Emptiness is

simply how form is. This bookstand is itself emptiness. We should

not seek emptiness beyond this concrete bookstand.

“Neither tainted nor pure, do not increase or decrease” should be

understood in the same way. This bookstand is neither tainted nor

pure. We should not think that there is something neither tainted nor

pure that exists beyond this bookstand. Some people think that

enlightenment is to see and become one with something formless

and permanent beyond concrete things which have form and are

impermanent. But the Heart Sutra says, “Form is emptiness,

emptiness is form.” We should not look for emptiness beyond form.

There is nothing beyond phenomena. Phenomena are emptiness.

In “Genjōkōan,” Dōgen Zenji says, “Conveying oneself toward all

things to carry out practice-enlightenment is delusion. All things

coming and carrying out practice-enlightenment through the self is

realization.”

Delusion and enlightenment depend on the

relationship between ourselves and other beings. We cannot say this

individual person is either enlightened or deluded because there is

no person without relationship to others. Practice-enlightenment is

not some mysterious experience. It is as clear and obvious as

everyday reality.

“Genjōkōan” continues, “When the Dharma has not yet fully

penetrated body and mind, one thinks one is already filled with it.

When the Dharma fills body and mind, one thinks something is [still]

lacking.”

When we are not filled completely with Dharma we grasp

our self as the center of the world. We think this self is an absolute

person who can see things objectively and understand them as they

are. This belief occupies some part of our being, so the Dharma

cannot completely permeate this body and mind. Therefore, we have

to empty ourselves. Then the Dharma suffuses us and starts to fill

the Dharma itself. When the Dharma completely pervades this body

and mind, we feel something is lacking. Our way of thinking, our

yardstick, is not complete or absolute, so we feel inadequate. We

search more deeply. This is prajñā, to become free from our own

yardstick and see things from a broader or deeper perspective. This

is the wisdom that sees emptiness. There is nothing we can hold on

to, nothing we can grasp. We open our hearts.

Dōgen Zenji used an analogy: For example, when we sail a boat

into the ocean beyond sight of land and our eyes scan [the horizon

in] the four directions, it simply looks like a circle. No other shape

appears. This great ocean, however, is neither round nor square. It

has inexhaustible characteristics. [To a fish] it looks like a palace; [to

a heavenly being] a jeweled necklace. [To us] as far as our eyes can

see, it looks like a circle. All the myriad things are like this. Within the

dusty world and beyond, there are innumerable aspects and

characteristics; we only see or grasp as far as the power of our eye

of study and practice can see. When we listen to the reality of myriad

things, we must know that there are inexhaustible characteristics in

both ocean and mountains, and there are many other worlds in the

four directions.”

The ocean is not merely round. It has many other characteristics

and aspects. In Buddhism it is said that the heavenly beings see

water as jewels. There are many ways to perceive a single thing.

The ocean is just one example of the myriad things we encounter in

our lives. All people and things exist in ways other than how we see

them. The phrase Dōgen Zenji uses is san gaku gen riki, meaning

the power of the eye attained through practice. We develop the

ability to see things clearly, closely, and deeply through the practice

of letting go of thought. In Dōgen Zenji’s writing, practice means

zazen.

This is a very concrete description of emptiness in our practice.

According to Dōgen Zenji our practice of zazen is the practice of

prajñā that sees emptiness. Empty means ungraspable. We open

our hand and see things from other perspectives by letting go of our

own personal yardsticks. The Mahāyāna Buddhists who wrote the

Prajñāpāramitā Sutras considered the Heart Sutra to be a sutra of

transformation of the self. This is the way we transform ourselves,

transform our way of life, enabling us to be flexible and see things

without attachment. It is not mere insight or wisdom but rather a

practice. Practice in the form of zazen is the foundation of our life.

But since we cannot sit twenty-four hours a day, we have to learn

how to encounter all things in our daily lives. We have to learn about

the self, about our body and mind. We have to practice together with

others. To live and practice together with all beings is the bodhisattva

Way. This practice enriches our lives.

DONGSHAN’S NOSE

“Therefore in emptiness, no form,

No feelings, no perceptions, no impulses, no consciousness;

No eyes, no ears, no nose, no tongue, no body, no mind;

No color, no sound, no smell, no taste, no touch, no object of mind;

No realm of eyes and so forth until no realm of mind consciousness.”

This is one of the most popular parts of the Heart Sutra. It says there

is nothing. I started to study Buddhism when I entered Komazawa

University. The first thing we had to do was to memorize the dharma

numbers. For instance, there are the five skandhas: form, sensation,

perception, impulse, and consciousness (in Japanese, shiki ju sō

gyō shiki). Also, there are six sense organs—eyes, ears, nose,

tongue, body, and mind. The eye senses shape and color; the ear

hears sound; the nose smells; the tongue tastes; with our skin we

touch. Each of these six sense organs has sense objects, and these

two sets of six are called the twelve sense fields.

When sense organs encounter objects, something happens within

our mind. These interactions are called the six consciousnesses,

roku shiki. The sutra uses the word “realm.” For instance, the realm

of the eyes is eye-consciousness, or genshki. I think “realm” is not a

good word here. The word used is dhātu, which in this case means

element, not realm. When the eye encounters shape or color, eye-

consciousness arises but initially no judgment is made. It’s just a

sensation, which then becomes a perception. Impulse or formation is

a process of making definitions, conceptions, and judgments, which

finally become consciousness. Each sense organ and object gives

rise to a corresponding consciousness. These are called the

eighteen dhātu, the eighteen elements of our lives. So there are five

skandhas, twelve sense fields, and eighteen dhātu.

In the next sentence the Heart Sutra says, “No ignorance and also

no extinction of it, and so forth until no old age and death and also

no extinction of them.” These are the twelve links of causation.

“Ignorance” is the first link, “old age and death” is the twelfth, and the

phrase “and so forth until” simply means that all the intervening links

are likewise negated. Next, “No suffering, no origination, no

stopping, no path.” This refers to the four noble truths.

These dharma numbers were the first things I learned when I

began studying Buddhist teachings at the age of nineteen. But the

Heart Sutra seemed to contradict what I had learned. It said there

are no such things. I was surprised and confused. What did this

mean? If the people who wrote the Heart Sutra wanted to negate the

Buddha’s teaching, they should have said they were not Buddhists.

But they claimed to be true Buddhists. Now I realize that this was a

childish opinion. If you study the history of Buddhism, especially

Mahāyāna Buddhism, you see that this really is the Buddha’s

teaching. But as a nineteen-year-old I didn’t understand at all.

Later I read the biography of a Chinese Zen master, Dongshan

Liangjie (Tōzan Ryōkai). Dongshan was the founder of the Caodong

(Sōtō) school in China. This is a translation from Denkōroku (The

Record of Transmitting the Light) by Keizan Jōkin.

While still young, [Dongshan] read the Heart Sutra with a teacher.

When he reached the place where it said, “There is no eye, ear,

nose, tongue, body, or mind,” he suddenly felt his face with his hand.

He asked his teacher, “I have eyes, ears, nose, tongue, and the rest.

Why does the scripture say that they do not exist?”

That was Dongshan’s original question. His biography says that

Dongshan’s first teacher was amazed by his question and knew

immediately that he was an unusual person. The teacher knew he

couldn’t be this boy’s teacher and sent him to a better instructor. I

was happy to know that Dongshan had the same question that I did.

It’s true we have a nose, eyes, and so forth. Why does the Heart

Sutra say we have no such things? This is a very simple, childish

question, but if you don’t understand this point the Heart Sutra is

incomprehensible.

The longer version of the Heart Sutra I introduced above begins:

At that time also the Holy Lord Avalokita, the Bodhisattva, the great

being, coursed in the course of the deep perfection of wisdom; he

looked down from on high, and he saw the five skandhas, and he

surveyed them as empty in their own-being.

So the five skandhas exist. Avalokiteśvara saw them. But he didn’t

see the self or ego. In our everyday lives we think, “I have a body

and mind.” But what is this “I”? Where is this “I” that thinks it is the

owner and operator of this body and mind? Avalokiteśvara saw that

there is no “I,” only the five skandhas. When the Heart Sutra says

Avalokiteśvara saw only the five skandhas it means there is no ego,

no “I,” no self. Only the body and the functions of mind exist.

The Heart Sutra also said that Avalokiteśvara saw that the five

skandhas are empty. To understand this statement we have to

understand something about the history of Buddhism. Three or four

hundred years passed between the life of Shakyamuni Buddha and

the beginning of Mahāyāna. During this period Buddhist monks

studied Buddhist philosophy and established the system called

Abhidharma. In Abhidharma philosophy there is no ego, no “I,” only

the five skandhas and the other elements. There are several ways to

categorize these elements. One way is into twelve sense fields,

another is into eighteen dhātu. The system of Abhidharma

philosophy established in the school known as Sarvāstivādin

categorizes dharma into seventy-five elements. As a student of

Buddhism, I had to memorize this system. There is another system

called Yogācāra that analyzes the dharma into one hundred

elements. I tried to memorize them all, with their definitions.

Traditionally that’s how we studied Buddhist philosophy in Japan.

In the Abhidharma philosophy there is no ego, no substance. Only

the dharmas or elements exist, and they never change. The ego or

self is just a collection of elements. Abhidharma philosophers

believed that the seventy-five dharmas, which cannot be further

divided, have existed in the past, exist in the present, and will exist in

the future. In the Heart Sutra or Prajñāpāramitā Sutra, Mahāyāna

Buddhists said that even those elements are empty. That is a

philosophical way of understanding this passage. There are no eyes

because eyes are empty. The objects of eyes, such as color and

shape, are empty. Empty means they cannot be grasped. There is

no self-being or self-nature, so we cannot grasp the self.

For instance, we think there is something in front of our eyes when

we see a notebook. But our eyes are limited. We can see light waves

only between ultraviolet and infrared lengths. This is a small part of

the spectrum, but other animals can see a broader range. To them

this world looks totally different. Our ears can hear only sounds of

certain frequencies; dogs hear higher ones. What we think is quiet

could be very noisy for dogs. What we see and hear really depends

on our capabilities. We believe that what we see exists just the way

we see it, but this is an illusion.

Our picture of the world is our reality, but we should understand

that it is distorted. This is the meaning of emptiness. Our mind is

emptiness. Our sense organs are emptiness. Things outside us are

also emptiness. Everything is just illusion. The fact that we live with

illusion is our reality. When we really understand this and see how

illusion is caused, we can see reality through the illusion. Whatever

we see, whatever we grasp with our sense organs and

consciousness, is illusion. When we see this we are released from

attachment to our limited view, to what we have, to what we think we

own. We may not become completely free, but we become less

restricted by our limitations.

In our zazen we sit in an upright posture and breathe quietly,

smoothly, and deeply into our abdomen. We let go of whatever

comes up in our mind. In front of our eyes is nothing but a white wall.

This letting go of thought means to become free from what we are

grasping, from the objects to which we attach ourselves. This letting

go is prajñā or wisdom. It means to become free of our picture of the

world caused by our karma. In this way our view becomes a bit

broader and deeper. We keep practicing this zazen, sitting and

letting go of thought, trying to see things in the most flexible way.

This doesn’t mean we negate our delusions. We can never negate

them; they are our life. But so long as we fail to see that they are

illusory and grasp them as reality, we cannot be free. When we really

see the emptiness of subject and object, we can be free from

grasping, clinging, and greed.

Dōgen Zenji described zazen as shin jin datsuraku, or dropping off

body and mind. He recorded his conversation with his teacher, the

Zen master Rujing (Nyojō), about shin jin datsuraku since it was

originally Rujing’s expression. Rujing explained that “dropping off

body and mind” means to become free from the five desires caused

by the five objects (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, and body)—he didn’t

mention mind.

When the five senses encounter an object, desire arises to grasp

or hate it. We think, “I want this,” “I don’t like this,” or “I don’t care.”

These are all desires caused by an object contacted through the five

sense organs. We are like kids. We see something good, something

attractive, and we want it. We try to grasp it. When I go to the

supermarket with my kids they run to the toys and take whatever

they want and just put it in the cart. When I try to take it back to the

shelf, they scream. They are very honest.

We are not so honest. We pretend that we are not attached to

things, but deep in our hearts we cling to what we encounter. We are

still childish. We cling not to toys but to wealth, reputation, or to very

subtle things in our minds. We want to get these things. Sawaki

Roshi called this grasping our thief-nature. We also have buddha-

nature. All human beings have both buddha-nature and thief-nature.

Depending on our actions, we become a thief or a buddha. When we

let go of thought and become free from the five desires, we are

buddhas.

We must see the emptiness of the subject, of things outside us, of

our sense organs, our minds, and the delusions or desires caused

by the encounter between the sense organs and objects. When we

really truly see the emptiness of all this, we become free from the

five desires. We don’t get rid of delusion or illusion, but we

understand that illusion is illusion and delusion is delusion. We see

that we don’t have to satisfy all our desires.

Even if we are dissatisfied, that’s okay. Just let it go. We can still

live. We don’t need to satisfy all our desires. We think that when all

our desires are satisfied we will be happy, but if not, we can still be

happy if we feel oneness with other people and other beings. Other

people’s happiness then becomes my happiness, other people’s

pleasure my pleasure, other people’s sadness my sadness. Together

we can feel a synthesis called in Japanese hōraku, joy or delight in

the Dharma. It is not a pleasure caused by fulfillment of our

individual desires.

Dharma embraces the reality that we are living together with all

beings. We are all connected, so there is nothing to gain and nothing

to lose. Everything is coming and going in a natural circulation. But

human beings create fences or walls between themselves. We

calculate how much we gain for our side and how much we lose.

When income is greater than expenses, we feel happy. This is a

fiction, but in human society it works. We don’t need to break or

destroy these rules. They’re okay. In human society each person

should be independent. But in reality all beings are interdependent.

Our life has two layers.

We usually see only the surface, where we appear independent.

We should keep our record of income and expenses. That’s all right.

But if we see only this level, our life is no more than a calculation of

how much we acquire, how much we lose, and whether we get more

or less than others. On a deeper level we are all living together.

There are no walls that separate us from other beings. This is seeing

emptiness, no separation. The wall is a useful illusion in human

society, so we shouldn’t negate or destroy it. Still, we should see that

this barrier is just a useful fiction, a means to live together with other

people. I think this is a practical definition of seeing emptiness.

In his “Maka Hannya Haramitsu” (Mahā Prajñā Pāramitā)

commentary on the Heart Sutra, Dōgen Zenji quotes his teacher

Rujing’s poem about a wind bell hung in a Japanese or Chinese

temple. I included it in

chapter 5, but here it is again:

The whole body is like a mouth hanging in empty space. Not

questioning the winds from east, west, south, or north, Equally with

all of them, speaking of prajñā: Ding-dong-a-ling ding-dong.

This whole body of the wind bell is ourselves. The winds come from

all directions, yet the wind bell never discriminates among them.

There are many kinds of wind. Spring brings pleasant breezes. In

winter a cold north wind blows. In summer the wind is hot. Wind has

a different meaning in each situation, each season. All different kinds

of wind come to the wind bell, yet the wind bell never discriminates.

It abides “Equally with all of them, speaking of prajñā.” The wind bell

expresses the prajñā or wisdom that sees the reality of our life. The

empty wind bell is hanging in emptiness. When wind comes it makes

sound that is prajñā. The last line of the poem, “Ding dong a ling ding

dong,” is the sound of the bell. This is our practice of zazen. We are

empty, but when we encounter others we make a sound that is

prajñā. Together with all beings we express prajñā. This poem is an

expression of the reality of our zazen and our lives.

NO BUDDHISM

“No ignorance and also no extinction of it, and so forth until no old

age and death and also no extinction of them;

No suffering, no origination, no stopping, no path.”

As we saw above, these lines refer to the twelve links of dependent

origination, the four noble truths, and the eightfold noble path.

Dependent origination is one of the essential teachings of the

Buddha. It can be expressed as follows:

All things arise from a cause.

He who has realized the truth has explained the cause,

And also how they cease to be:

This is what the great samana has taught.

The twelve links of dependent origination are the final and most

complete form of the teaching of dependent origination. This

teaching does not refer to objective beings in the phenomenal world

around us, but rather to the causes and extinction of suffering in our

lives. In early Buddhism, it is called dependent origination, but in

Mahāyāna Buddhism after Nāgārjuna, it is called interdependent

origination. This is for a reason. In the early Buddhist teachings

cause and result flow in one direction only. Ignorance is the cause of

action, action is the cause of consciousness, and birth is the cause

of old age and death. Old age and death depend on birth, but birth

does not depend on old age and death. In Nāgārjuna’s and other

Mahāyāna teachings, however, all things are interdependent on each

other.

This teaching does not refer to the objective beings in the

phenomenal world around us but rather to the causes of suffering in

our own lives and the extinction of them. In the Heart Sutra only the

first cause (ignorance) and the last condition (old age and death) are

mentioned. The other ten causes and conditions are referred to by

the words “and so forth until,” as we saw above. The phrase “No

ignorance and so forth until no old-age and death” is therefore a

negation of all twelve causes and conditions. They are listed in an

order that parallels transmigration through samsara. The sutra also

negates the extinction of all twelve causes from ignorance to old age

and death, a progression that parallels movement toward nirvana. In

one phrase, “No suffering, no origination, no stopping, no path,” the

Heart Sutra denies the causes and conditions of both samsara and

nirvana!

The Heart Sutra thus appears to deny the core of the Buddha’s

teaching. This negation of Buddhism points beyond Buddhism. In

other words, Buddhism negating Buddhism is still Buddhism. The

Heart Sutra says that to truly live the Buddha’s teaching, we must

negate it. A true student of the Buddha must go beyond the study of

his teachings as recorded in the scriptures. When we directly see

and experience the Buddha’s truth in our own lives, his teachings

and the scriptures are irrelevant. The truth becomes a vivid reality.

Seeing the reality of our lives with our own eyes through our practice

is the wisdom that sees emptiness. This is the wisdom that is called

prajñā. This is why prajñā is called the mother of buddhas.

What did the Buddha teach with the twelve links of dependent

origination and the four noble truths? Why does the Heart Sutra

negate all of them? We will start with the four noble truths. The first

truth is that everything in samsara is suffering. Suffering (Skt.,

duḥkha) is categorized into eight kinds. The first four are birth, aging,

sickness, and death. The fifth is the suffering we feel when we meet

someone we don’t like. The sixth is what we feel when we are

separated from people we like. The seventh results when we can’t

get what we want. These don’t need explanation because we all

experience them often in our daily lives. The last kind of suffering is

a result of the fact that our life, a collection of the five skandhas, is

itself suffering. This is different from the usual sorts of suffering

which are the opposites of pleasure, joy, and happiness. It occurs

because we can never make the world completely conform to our

desires. Because of continually changing causes and conditions, the

world around us must change. These constant changes in the world

and our lives are not designed to fulfill our desires. Reality is

impermanent and egoless, but we are blind to this and strive to

satisfy our egocentric desires. Often reality doesn’t cooperate with

our plans. We cannot really control even our own bodies and minds.

Even if we are very lucky and successful, eventually we die and lose

everything. This is simple reality.

The second truth is that the basic cause of suffering is desire or

“thirst” (Skt., tṛṣṇā). It’s as if we are thirsty and looking for water.

There is always a feeling that something is lacking, and we try to fill

that emptiness. We believe that if we get the right thing, we will be

satisfied. We constantly search for and run after the things we

desire. There is no end to our desires. Even when they are

temporarily fulfilled, we suffer because we are afraid of losing what

we have. The Buddha’s teaching doesn’t make sense until we

realize that this constant search for satisfaction is itself suffering.

When we see that a life spent in pursuit of something better is empty

and meaningless, we begin to seek a spiritual path; we begin to

practice.

For those who have begun this search, the Buddha taught a third

truth—the cessation of suffering. We can live without being pulled

about by egocentric desires. How? The fourth truth is the path that

leads to cessation of suffering, or nirvana. It is called the eightfold

noble path and consists of right view, right thinking, right speech,

right action, right livelihood, right effort, right mindfulness, and right

meditation.

The lessons of the four noble truths are straightforward. We spend

our lives trying to fill the emptiness we feel. When we succeed we

are happy and feel as if we are in heaven. When we fail we are

miserable as if we are in hell. Our life is a continuous transmigration

through the six realms of samsara. The Way leading to release from

this suffering is the eightfold noble path.

The twelve links of dependent origination explain the first two of

the four noble truths in more detail. In short, our lives become

suffering because we act (create karma) based on ignorance and

desires. This is the teaching of the four noble truths and the twelve

links of dependent origination. Why does the Heart Sutra seem to

negate all of them? A serious Buddhist practitioner might be

offended by this. I don’t think the early Mahāyāna Buddhists wrote

this to insult other Buddhists. They felt they had to negate these

things to sincerely practice the teachings of the Buddha.

There are two reasons for this. First, this negation is a criticism of

the Buddhist monastic orders of the first century CE, when Mahāyāna

Buddhism emerged. These monks believed that to eliminate

ignorance and desire, they had to study and practice in quiet

monasteries. In ordinary society they would encounter difficult

situations that could cause anger, hatred, or competition. This could

lead to transmigration through samsara. To become emancipated

from ignorance and desire, monks primarily lived apart from the rest

of society. They made no great effort to help laypeople who needed

their spiritual guidance. To Mahāyāna Buddhists these monks who

studied and practiced the Buddha’s teachings only for their own

liberation may seem somehow selfish because they appeared to do

little for others who were seeking the Way. Mahāyāna Buddhists felt

this selfish attitude contradicted the spirit of Shakyamuni Buddha’s

practice. Many of the Jātaka stories say Shakyamuni Buddha

practiced as a bodhisattva for many lifetimes for the sake of all living

beings. And the historical Shakyamuni Buddha walked all over India

for forty years teaching.

Mahāyāna Buddhists referred to the monks who practiced for their

own sake as Hīnayāna (the smaller vehicle). Mahāyāna Buddhists

believed that practice for the sake of others was more important than

eliminating one’s own desires. The theoretical basis for this belief is

the prajñā of emptiness. “No ignorance and no extinction of it”

means the same as “Ignorance is emptiness and emptiness is

ignorance.” The latter expression is used to negate the five

skandhas. Since ignorance and other causes are empty from the

beginning, there is no possibility of eliminating them. We should not

think of them as enemies and spend our lives trying to kill them. The

bodhisattva vow to save all beings is more important. Eliminating the

negative is less important than nurturing the positive. We can be free

from selfish desires without fighting against them when we are trying

to help others. This is a more joyful way to practice.

The second reason is more existential. If we seriously practice the

four noble truths and the twelve links of dependent origination, we

are faced with a self-contradiction. We begin to study and practice

Buddhism when we realize that a life spent pursuing our desires is

meaningless. We set forth with an aspiration to find a better way of

life and achieve emancipation from the suffering of samsara. This

aspiration is called bodhi-mind. When we practice with this Way-

seeking mind we are confronted with a terrible contradiction. The

aspiration that motivates us to find a way of life free of suffering is

merely another selfish desire. We substitute a desire for

emancipation or enlightenment for the desire for fame and wealth.

The object of desire is different but what is happening inside us is

the same. We feel dissatisfaction and are driven to find something to

remedy it. Spiritual ambition may be a more sophisticated form of

desire, but it’s the same principle. When we seriously devote

ourselves to practice this becomes a crucial question: Isn’t the desire

to eliminate ignorance caused by ignorance? In the practice of zazen

we have to ask ourselves, “Isn’t this practice like pulling the cushion

on which we sit from under us?” We can’t quit practice and go back

to our earlier life of chasing worldly desires because now we know

it’s useless and hollow. We can go neither forward nor backward. We

are at a dead end.

I faced this problem when I returned to Japan in 1981 from the

Valley Zendo in Massachusetts. I was thirty-three years old. I had

been ordained by Uchiyama Roshi when I was a university student in

1970. After graduation I had practiced with Uchiyama Roshi at Antaiji

until 1975 when he retired. There our practice was focused on

sitting. We sat nine periods daily for more than a year. We had a five-

day sesshin each month except February and August. During

sesshin we sat fourteen periods a day for five days. We had no

ceremony, no chanting, and no lecture. We just sat.

In 1975 I went to Massachusetts. We bought about six acres of

land to establish a small practice center in the woods of western

Massachusetts. We built a house and zendo by ourselves. When I

first went there the house was still incomplete. We survived the

winter with a wood stove but had no electricity on the second floor.

We sat and studied by the light of a kerosene lamp. For the first

three years three Japanese monks from Antaiji lived there together.

We sat four periods daily. We had a one-day sesshin every Sunday

and a five-day sesshin each month. We cut trees, pulled out stumps,

and made a green garden, all with hand tools. We dug a well with

shovels. We used a huge amount of firewood for cooking and

heating. Since we had no financial support from Japan, we

harvested blueberries and potatoes for local farmers. Later we

worked in a tofu factory to support our practice. After five years, I

had pain in my neck, shoulders, elbows, and knees from the hard

physical labor. I couldn’t work, and sitting sesshin was very difficult. I

had no health insurance or money for medical treatment. I had to

return to Japan.

When I got back I was completely alone. My body was half broken.

I had no money, no job, and no place to live or practice. I stayed at

my brother’s apartment in Osaka for several months while he

traveled in the United States. Then I moved to Seitai-an, a small

temple in Kyoto, where I lived as a caretaker for three years. Seitai-

an is near Antaiji’s original site. There I had a monthly five-day

sesshin with one of my dharma brothers and cotranslator, Rev.

Daitsu Tom Wright, and a few other people. I couldn’t practice as I

had before because of my physical condition. This was the first time I

had lived and practiced alone after ten years at Antaiji and Valley

Zendo. I had to give up medical treatments. Initially I did takuhatsu

(begging) to raise money for them. But during takuhatsu we hang a

zudabukuro (a bag) from our necks. This aggravated my neck injury,

and my chiropractor said it wouldn’t get better if I continued to do

takuhatsu. It was a vicious circle. Finally I gave up both takuhatsu

and the treatments. I did takuhatsu only a few times a month to

survive. When I had extra income I spent it on books.

I had a hard time for several months while I was staying at my

brother’s apartment before moving to Seitai-an. I was bewildered

and didn’t know what to do. My biggest problem was that I couldn’t

practice as I had for the last ten years because of my physical

condition. In my twenties I had committed my entire life-energy to

practice. Nothing else had seemed important to me. I didn’t know

how to live outside that way of practice.

While in this situation I read a Japanese translation of Buddha-

carita, a biography of the Buddha written by the famous Indian

Buddhist poet Aśvaghoṣa. When describing the Buddha’s

experience of seeing the old, sick, and dead outside the gates of his

palace, the author refers to the “arrogance of youth and health.” This

expression hit me. I realized that my belief that practice was the best

and most meaningful way of life was nothing more than the

“arrogance of youth and health.” That’s why I was at a loss when I

could no longer practice that way because of my health. My previous

practice had been an attempt to satisfy a need for status and benefit.

I wanted to live a better life than ordinary people. Ever since I read

Uchiyama Roshi’s book as a high school student and began

practicing according to Dōgen Zenji’s teachings, I knew that I should

not practice zazen for gain. Sawaki Roshi, Uchiyama Roshi’s

teacher, said that zazen is good for nothing. Dōgen Zenji says that

we should practice Buddha Dharma only for the sake of Buddha

Dharma, with no expectations. That is shikantaza, or just sitting. I

knew all of this and thought I had been practicing with the correct

attitude.

Now, when I found myself unable to continue that practice, I was

perplexed and depressed. I didn’t know what to do. I discovered that

I had relied on a practice that was possible only for the young and

healthy. I used the teachings of the Buddha, Dōgen Zenji, Sawaki

Roshi, and Uchiyama Roshi to fulfill my own desires. This discovery

completely broke my “arrogance of youth and health.” I saw clearly

that my practice had not been for the sake of Buddha Dharma but for

my own self-satisfaction. I knew I couldn’t continue to practice with

this attitude. Nor could I stop practicing and go back to an ordinary

life. I was stuck in this situation for some time.

One day something made me sit on a cushion. I had no desire, no

reason, no need to sit, but found myself sitting at the apartment by

myself. It was very peaceful. I didn’t sit because of the Buddha’s

teaching. I didn’t need a reason to sit; I just sat. There was no need

to compete with others or with myself. Thereafter I didn’t need to sit

as often as I had before. I could sit just as much as my physical

condition allowed. Finally I felt free of my understanding of the

Buddha’s teachings and my desire to be a good monk. I felt free to

be myself and nothing more. I was still a deluded, ordinary human

being with ignorance and desires. But when I just sat and let go of

thoughts, I was—or more precisely, my zazen was—free of

ignorance and selfish desires.

Even though we may understand all this intellectually, we cannot

sit without hope for gain unless our “arrogance of youth and health”

is completely broken. This is what Dōgen Zenji meant when he said

in “Genjōkōan,” “Conveying oneself toward all things to carry out

practice-enlightenment is delusion. All things coming and carrying

out practice-enlightenment through the self is realization.”

Was my previous practice meaningless? I don’t think so. In

“Sesshinsesshō” (Expounding Mind, Expounding Nature), a chapter

of Shōbōgenzō, Dōgen Zenji wrote:

After we arouse bodhi-mind and wholeheartedly practice the difficult

practice, even though we practice, we cannot hit the mark even once

out of one hundred times. And yet, we can hit the mark while we

practice with our teachers and with scriptures. Hitting the mark at this

present moment is enabled by the strength of the one hundred

attempts which were off the mark. One hundred practices which

were off the mark enable us to become mature.

As we continue to practice wholeheartedly, even with a shallow

understanding, we become mature enough to see our own

shallowness and stupidity. As we see our shallowness, we go deeper

into the dharma. To the extent that we struggle to eliminate our

ignorance and desires, we are still within our karmic self based on

ignorance and desire. We create an endless feud between two sides

of ourselves. If we think we can become completely free from

ignorance and desire as a result of an enlightenment experience, we

have not yet thoroughly seen ourselves. As we awake to the reality

of ourselves, we see more clearly that we are deeply deluded.

“No ignorance and also no extinction of it, and so forth until no old

age and death and also no extinction of them,” the Heart Sutra tells

us. From the beginning, ignorance does not exist as a fixed entity,

and yet it will never die out. This expression arises from a profound

understanding of the reality of ourselves and the dharma.

And then: “No suffering, no origination, no stopping, no path.” This

denial of the fundamental beliefs of Buddhism is the expression of a

truth that can be seen only by those who actually practice these

teachings, instead of merely understanding them intellectually.

NO ATTAINMENT

“No ignorance and also no extinction of it, and so forth until no old

age and death and also no extinction of them;

No suffering, no origination, no stopping, no path;

No cognition, no attainment.”

After listing the twelve links of dependent origination and the four

noble truths, the Heart Sutra negates each of them. It then

concludes, “No cognition, no attainment.” No cognition means no

person. No attainment means there is nothing to attain. There is no

one to realize or understand the dharma. There is no dharma or

enlightenment we can attain. This is the meaning of “No cognition

and no attainment.”

When we start to practice we almost always have a problem.

Something is bothering us. We want to find a better way of life. We

feel something is lacking or not quite right. That’s why Shakyamuni

Buddha left his home. He was a crown prince, and yet he left his

palace and became a beggar to search for the truth of life. When we

start to practice or study we have the same problem. We are looking

for the truth. This is good. This is called bodhi-mind or Way-seeking

mind. We are seeking after the truth or reality of our life. We are

trying to find the best way of living. Without this bodhi-mind, the mind

that seeks the Way, we cannot practice.

Shakyamuni Buddha found that the cause of suffering, of the

trouble we have in our worldly lives, is clinging or thirst. He found

that thirst, clinging, greed, and hatred resulted from ignorance of the

reality of our lives. This is what the Buddha discovered and what he

taught. He showed us the way to become free from clinging, greed,

hatred, and ignorance. He showed us the four noble truths. The

Buddha’s students devote themselves to this very difficult practice.

We have to see deeply inside of ourselves, both the positive and

negative sides of our psyches. We have to control our desires and

delusions. This is the Buddha’s practice. It is called nirvana. We

practice to become free of self-delusion and ego. For many

hundreds of years the first Buddhists practiced in this way. But

Mahāyāna Buddhists felt there was a problem with this type of

practice. Our usual way of life based on delusion, likes and dislikes,

is samsara. We transmigrate in the six realms from hell to heaven,

always moving up and down, up and down. This is our usual way of

life. We want to find a more peaceful, stable way of life. The four

noble truths are the way to transform our life in samsara to a life of

nirvana. And yet if we really practice in this way we discover a deep,

basic contradiction. Without bodhi-mind or a desire to practice, we

cannot practice. But this desire is itself a cause of suffering.

The desire for truth and the desire for fame or profit are not so

different. We feel something is lacking, so we try to get it. When we

are poor we want more money. We want to become famous, and we

want to become free from desire. These are different goals but the

inner thirst is the same. We feel emptiness and we try to fill it with

something. Life in samsara is characterized by the first two noble

truths: suffering and desire (the cause of suffering). The Buddha

taught the third and fourth noble truths: transformation is possible

through practice. We try to transform our lives from samsara to

nirvana, a life based on the Buddha’s teaching. This is our practice.

Yet if we separate samsara and nirvana, we miss the path. If we

imagine that we are here in samsara and desire to get over there to

the path or the Buddha’s Way, this desire or aspiration itself creates

another type of samsara. It is almost impossible to become

completely free from our desires, so we have to put our whole

energy into practice. We have to pay attention to each of our

activities. We have to examine our motives. Even when we help

other people, we have some egocentricity. If we really practice hard

and sincerely, we cannot ignore this egocentricity. Even in our

practice, even in our good deeds, we have some delusion and self-

clinging.

To the extent that we try to negate life in samsara and live in

nirvana we create a deep separation. We perceive a chasm between

samsara and nirvana, and no way to cross it. Mahāyāna Buddhists

felt that because of emptiness, the division between samsara and

nirvana is a dream. The five skandhas have no self-nature. Suffering

is caused by the five skandhas, so suffering, ignorance, clinging,

greed, and hatred are all delusions. They don’t exist as substance.

Mahāyāna Buddhists found that egocentricity itself is illusion.

There’s no separation between samsara and nirvana, or between

delusion and enlightenment. “No ignorance and no extinction of it”

means that ignorance and extinction are both without substance.

Ignorance is always there, but it’s an illusion. This means there is no

separation between samsara and nirvana. It’s a contradiction, and

yet that is our life. We have to practice life within samsara. Samsara

and nirvana are one. There are no steps, no separation between our

usual, ordinary, deluded, material life and an enlightened, Buddhist,

sacred, holy life. We are living in a single reality, and within this one

reality, many things are happening. The continuous interaction

between the self and the conditions surrounding the self creates our

life and our karma.

Our practice is not to escape from delusion or samsara but to

practice right in the middle of them. We try to manifest nirvana within

samsara. Ignorance, greed, hatred, all negative emotions,

intellection, and misunderstanding exist. We want to be free of all

this. But to become free of something and to eliminate it are two

different things. Our bodhisattva practice is not to eliminate delusion

or the three poisons of ignorance, greed, and hatred. We shouldn’t

negate anything. We should accept everything and try to work with it.

This is how to make our world nirvana.

Our world always has the potential for both samsara and nirvana.

We are responsible for what we create. It all depends on our attitude

toward life. There’s no objective samsara and no objective nirvana.

We create our own world. Delusion never disappears. Delusion is

delusion; it never exists as substance, and it never disappears.

Delusion is like a movie. Different scenes appear on the screen, but

they are not reality. Seeing the scenes as a movie is reality. Delusion

remains delusion, and yet the fact that we are deluded, that we are

living in delusion, is reality. Our brain is always producing something,

perhaps a totally deluded projection or maybe a very pure, lofty,

peaceful illusion of the Buddha land or enlightenment. These are all

delusions or illusions. We don’t need to destroy them. What we have

to do is see them as illusions. This is the meaning of letting go of

thought. Thought is delusion, but it is a necessary part of the reality

of our lives.

When we sit we let go of all illusions, good and bad, all emotions,

and all philosophical understanding. We just let them go. We just

open our hands. This is the way we accept reality without separating

it into negative or undesirable parts and positive or desirable parts.

When we stop this escaping and seeking, reality is right there. We

are living in reality. We never left. This is what we do in our zazen.

This is the basis upon which we have to create our way of life. We

must be free from the illusions that arise from both sides, samsara

and nirvana, and just work right here and now.

In bodhisattva practice we try to see the reality before separation.

When we see the reality of our life, we find that we are not living as

an individual substance but are more like a phantom, a bubble, or a

flash of lightning, as the Diamond Sutra says. We are phenomena

caused by many different elements and factors. We live with the

support of all beings. This dynamic interpenetration works constantly.

Nothing exists independently. We live together in this universal

movement. Our existence is movement. We have to accept this

ever-changing reality as our self.

When we see this reality it’s very natural to try to be kind, friendly,

and helpful to others. This is the bodhisattva vow. It’s not something

special. This way of life arises spontaneously from a realization of

the reality of our life. It’s not an order from the Buddha or God. When

we see this reality we cannot avoid taking the bodhisattva vow.

Mahāyāna Buddhism identifies three kinds of nirvana. In

Japanese, the first is uyo-nehan. An example of uyo-nehan is

Shakyamuni Buddha. After he became enlightened and attained

nirvana he lived forty years. He still had his physical body and mind

and could suffer. The second type of nirvana is muyo-nehan. Muyo

means “without anything extra,” specifically, without body or mind.

Muyo-nehan means that at the moment of his death, Shakyamuni

became free of his physical body. This is called parinirvana, or

perfect nirvana.

Lastly, Mahāyāna Buddhism names a nirvana called mujūsho-

nehan for bodhisattvas. Mu, again, means “no.” Jūsho means “place

to live or stay.” Mujūsho thus means “no dwelling” or “no place to

stay” and refers to nirvana. This means that a bodhisattva doesn’t

stay in samsara because of wisdom and doesn’t remain in nirvana

because of compassion for others. A bodhisattva always practices in

this world of desires and helps others but never dwells on either

side. It is said there is a river between this shore of samsara and the

other shore of nirvana, and a bodhisattva operates the ferry,

traveling freely between shores but not abiding on either.

This third kind of nirvana is the basis of our practice. We don’t

practice to reach the other shore. We always practice on this shore.

In fact, we don’t separate this shore from the other. Both shores are

right now, right here. If we separate this shore from the other, we

generate dualism and contradiction. There’s no way to escape this

shore and attain the other. In reality there is no separation. We

practice in this world, in this society; to carry out the bodhisattva vow,

to walk with all living beings, to help and support each other. Then

we can find nirvana right here within samsara. We vow eventually to

transform samsara into nirvana without escape.

Our practice is not an escape from a worldly life of desire and

delusion. It is not a method to “attain” enlightenment or wisdom. We

just sit in the absolute reality that is before separation into

enlightenment and delusion. They are both here. We negate nothing.

We accept everything as reality and work together with it. There is

no one to attain enlightenment and no enlightenment to be attained.

The Heart Sutra says this is wisdom or prajñā. To see that there is

no separation between delusion and enlightenment or between

ignorance and wisdom is true enlightenment, true wisdom. This

prajñā is often called the wisdom of nondiscrimination. It means to

see both sides as a whole and create our own way of life based on

this absolute reality. This is what Dōgen Zenji called shikantaza, just

sitting.

Shikantaza doesn’t mean that we are okay as long as we are

sitting or that we don’t need to do anything else. Just sitting really

means just sitting, with no attempt to escape from or chase after

anything. Just settle down right now, right here. This is just sitting. It

doesn’t mean we should sit exclusively, without doing anything else.

Just sitting means just settling down right now, right here, and

working on the ground of this absolute reality before the separation

of samsara and nirvana. Samsara and nirvana are one. That is

prajñā. That is wisdom before separation or discrimination. It’s easy

to talk about but very difficult to practice.

I first studied Buddhism at Komazawa University. I liked studying,

but studying books about Buddhism is like studying recipes without

cooking or tasting. When I decided that was not what I wanted to do,

I visited Uchiyama Roshi and asked to become his student. Since I

had studied hard in school, I knew a lot about Buddhism. When I

started to practice at Antaiji we sat a lot. We sat three fifty-minute

periods in the morning and two in the evening. We had five-day

sesshins every month. During these sesshins we sat fourteen

periods each day. We did nothing but sit—no chanting, no lecture, no

working, nothing but sitting. I believed that this practice of just sitting,

taught by Dōgen Zenji, was the Way. I kept up this practice for many

years until eventually I was unable to continue. Zazen became very

painful for me. I had no money. I was thirty-one years old. I had no

place to live. My body was broken so I couldn’t work. I had no group

to practice with. I was completely alone.

It was a really good situation in which to see myself. It was a very

hard time, and I thought a lot about what I had been doing. I could no

longer devote myself to practice as before. Dōgen Zenji taught

there’s nothing to attain. Sawaki Roshi said our practice of zazen is

good for nothing. I knew that I shouldn’t expect anything from

practice. I had thought I was practicing without expectation, but when

I couldn’t practice in the way I had, I felt I was good for nothing. I

thought I had been doing things without desire, but when I was

unable to continue I felt useless and empty. I finally realized that I felt

worthless because I was unable to fulfill my desire to practice in a

certain way. I finally understood that the purpose of our practice is

not to fulfill our desires, even our desire for the dharma.

If we practice in order to fulfill our desires, sooner or later we lose

those things that fulfill our desire. We all lose our youth and

eventually our health. If we believe that a certain style of practice is

the Buddha’s true practice and makes a person a real Buddhist, we

are not good Buddhists. This is samsara. Sometimes we are good,

sometimes we are not. I realized that to the extent my practice was

based on a distinction between good and bad, there was no nirvana

for me. The way I practiced before I was thirty really was good for

nothing. I was practicing in samsara, not nirvana. I was unable to

continue practicing, but if I stopped and started doing something

else, I would create another samsara. So I tried to just stop

everything. I started doing takuhatsu to survive. I lived on about

three hundred dollars a month, just enough for food. I had to give up

any treatment for my body. I quit everything. I also quit practice

based on desire, on my idea of what practice should be. I practiced

as much as my physical and financial situation allowed. I found that I

didn’t need to compete with other people or with myself. I didn’t need

to compete with who I was or who I thought I should be. I had to

accept reality with a half-broken body in a very hard situation. When

I did, there was nothing to seek after, nothing to escape from. I didn’t

need to sit fourteen periods a day for five days. I simply had to settle

down in the present moment.

This was the turning point of my practice. I became free of my own

practice. I became free of my teacher’s teaching and the Buddha’s

teaching. I just settled down in the reality where I was and practiced

as much as possible. This is a really peaceful practice. You don’t

need to compete. Just settle down. If I hadn’t had physical problems,

I don’t think my practice would have changed. I thought I was a great

Zen master, but fortunately or unfortunately that didn’t happen.

Adverse experience gave me a broader perspective on the dharma. I

am really grateful for that. This is bodhisattva practice. Although our

capability is sometimes severely limited, we can find the

compassionate Buddha that allows us to practice, even if only a little.

That is enough. I think this is real nirvana. We don’t need to find

nirvana in a special place or state of mind. Nirvana is right now, right

here.

This nirvana is not something special, just an ordinary way of life. I

think the Heart Sutra is trying to show us this way of life. Just accept

the reality of this body, mind, and world as it is and practice as much

as possible. This is bodhisattva practice.

NO HINDRANCE

“The bodhisattva depends on prajñā-pāramitā

And the mind is no hindrance.

Without any hindrance no fears exist;

Far apart from every perverted view the bodhisattva dwells in

nirvana.

“In the three worlds all buddhas depend on prajñā-pāramitā And

attain unsurpassed, complete, perfect enlightenment.”

The sutra up to this point has talked about the emptiness of all

beings. Emptiness means everything is impermanent, so there is no

unchanging self-nature. Seeing impermanence and egolessness is

the wisdom called prajñā-pāramitā. A consequence of this prajñā is

there is no one to see reality. No one is there. There is nothing we

can gain through wisdom. Actually there is no wisdom. If wisdom

existed, our practice wouldn’t be really empty. The conclusion of

wisdom, of prajñā, is that there is no one who gains and nothing to

be gained.

This section of the Heart Sutra talks about our wisdom and the

practice of that wisdom. It says, “With nothing to attain, the

bodhisattva depends on prajñā-pāramitā.” The present translation

says “the bodhisattva” but doesn’t specify a particular bodhisattva.

Rather, it refers to each one of us as a bodhisattva. As we see in the

longer version of the Heart Sutra, Avalokiteśvara here is responding

to Śāriputra’s question about how people who wish to practice

profound prajñā-pāramitā should train themselves. And this sutra is

Avalokiteśvara’s answer. Therefore, “the bodhisattva” refers to any

person who has aroused bodhi-mind, including ourselves. Originally,

“the Bodhisattva” referred to Shakyamuni before he became the

Buddha. Shakyamuni aroused bodhi-mind, Way-seeking mind, or

aspiration to find the truth. When he attained the Way or

enlightenment, he was called the Buddha. Before he became the

Buddha he was called the Bodhisattva, the person who is seeking

the truth. Later in the Buddhist literature, especially in Mahāyāna

Buddhism, there are many bodhisattvas, such as Mañjuśrī and

Avalokiteśvara. They are very great bodhisattvas. Avalokiteśvara,

who is preaching this Heart Sutra, is not seeking to attain

enlightenment, and not choosing to become a buddha. Out of

compassion for others Avalokiteśvara stays in this world as a

bodhisattva and yet is considered the teacher of buddhas. So in

Mahāyāna Buddhism “bodhisattva” doesn’t necessarily mean a

person who is practicing to become a buddha. There are

bodhisattvas who vow not to become buddhas because of their

compassion.

The important point in Mahāyāna Buddhism is that all of us, not

just great bodhisattvas like Mañjushrī, Avalokiteśvara, or Maitreya,

are bodhisattvas if we awaken the bodhi-mind that seeks the Way or

reality. As bodhisattvas we try to see the emptiness in which there is

no one who sees reality and nothing to be seen. No wisdom: this is

the meaning of “nothing to attain, no one who attains, and nothing

which is attained.” The Japanese for “with nothing to attain” is

mushotoku. Mu means “no” or “nothing” and shotoku means

“income,” so mushotoku means “no income.” We have no income.

This is prajñā—no gain and no loss. There’s nothing coming in or

going out because there is no place where anything can come to or

go from. There is no border, no separation, just a flow of energy. This

is reality beyond our conceptual and calculating way of thinking.

We are born as human beings and we gain nothing. We will die

sooner or later and lose nothing. We are born with nothing but this

body and mind. While we are living we think we attain, gain, or

accomplish something. But when we die we leave everything behind,

so only this body and mind die. We really attain nothing and lose

nothing. This is the reality of our life. But we don’t see this because

we are always calculating our income and expenditures. When we

have more coming in than going out we think our life is secure and

successful. But if we understand that nothing comes in and nothing

goes out, we actually have a much more secure foundation for our

lives. We don’t need to worry so much about income and expense,

success and failure, poverty and wealth. It’s not a real problem. As

bodhisattvas we rely on this wisdom.

A bodhisattva’s mind has no hindrance. “Hindrance” here means

something that covers our mind, or an obstacle that prevents us from

seeing reality as it is. A hindrance is something that makes it

impossible for our mind to be natural. The Chinese expression is

keige. Kei and ge both mean difficulties through which we can pass.

These impediments are within us. Something covers or constrains

our mind so we cannot be free. We are limited and made rigid by our

knowledge and ways of thinking. Life is always moving. It’s soft and

flexible. When you put a big rock on a plant it tries to move through

or around the obstruction and continue to grow. This is the flexibility

of the life force. If we have an idea that we have to be this way or

that, we have something very heavy sitting on our life. We cannot

grow. We think our life is a failure and that we’re in trouble. But the

life force is flexible. There is always some other way to live, to grow,

and to manifest our life force.

We should try to see the hindrances in our minds, the obstacles

that block our free growth. As bodhisattvas we are freed from

hindrances by seeing emptiness. We see that nothing exists as

substance, so there is nothing to prevent our growth. Obstacles are

illusions, delusions, and creations of our thought. We fear because

of our desires. We think they must be fulfilled, and we’re afraid that’s

impossible. We think there is only one way to live even though there

are many ways. So our desires, our ideas, our values become

hindrances, and we are not free. This is the meaning of fears. But if

we remove our imagined obstacles we can grow in many different

ways.

The sutra tells us that the bodhisattva dwells “far apart from every

perverted view.” The expression in Japanese is ten dō musō. Here

mu means “dream” and sō means “thinking.” Musō then literally

means “thought in dream.” Tendō means “upside-down.” Our

attitude, or understanding of our thought, is upside-down. We cannot

wake up. We are thinking in a dream. We create our own picture of

the world depending on our karma or experience. Our experience is

very limited, and yet we think it is the whole world. So we are like the

frog in the well. We can see only a small circle of sky, but we think

we are seeing the whole universe. Even seeing emptiness doesn’t

allow us to see the whole universe, but it enables us to realize that

our view is limited.

In our zazen we see that we are deluded. This is enlightenment.

We see that we are deluded and limited, so we let go of thought. We

become free from our limited views. This doesn’t mean we can see

the whole universe. That’s impossible because we always have a

particular position or point of view. When I look in this direction I can

see this side of the world. I cannot see the half behind me. I know it’s

there because of my memory. But it’s just a memory. We are seeing

only half the world, but because of our assumptions and memory we

think we can see the whole. We even think that we can see how

other people see the world. But since we each have a unique

perspective, we can never see the world in the same way. In fact,

each of us has a different perspective, a unique way of seeing,

thinking, feeling, and valuing things. We become flexible when we

free ourselves from our fixed views. This is prajñā.

“Perverted” literally means “upside-down.” We usually assume that

our thoughts operate our body and mind. Our body and mind serve

the emperor, thought. This is really upside-down. Thought is just one

part of our life, but we so often live on the basis of our thinking. This

is really an upside-down way of seeing things. If we turn it over, then

we are living. We all have life force. Part of it is our power of thought.

We don’t need to discard this power, but we should realize that what

we think is not reality. Once we really accept that thought is only a

part of our life, most of the fear and other problems caused by our

thoughts will disappear. We want to be secure. If we can’t support

ourselves we are afraid. It’s very natural. But we can think too much.

We can think about ten, twenty, or thirty years in the future. We even

worry about the world after our death. It’s okay to think about the

future, but if worrying about it prevents us from living in this present

moment, it’s too much. Bodhisattva practice is about this present

moment.

Within this present moment there is a direction to the future. We

usually think what we are doing right now is a preparation for the

future or a step to accomplish something. But this is an upside-down

way of seeing things. Our effort, work, or study at this present

moment brings about the future. We can think about it but we don’t

need to worry. Worry dilutes our effort and it’s not healthy. So just be

right now, right here, and put your whole energy into what you are

doing. This is prajñā. It is very difficult. Moment by moment we have

to let go of worry and fear and return to this moment. That is our

practice of mindfulness, sitting in zazen, letting go, and coming back

to this moment. This letting go is the practice of prajñā.

The next two lines of the sutra are:

“In the three worlds all buddhas depend on prajñā-pāramitā

And attain unsurpassed, complete, perfect enlightenment.”

The three worlds here are the past, present, and future. The

Japanese for “three worlds” is sanze. San is “three” and ze means

“generation” or “time.” “Unsurpassed, complete, perfect” means

“absolute.” There is nothing relative. There is no separation between

self and others or between self and all beings. That is enlightenment.

Here the Heart Sutra tells us that through prajñā-pāramitā we can

liberate ourselves. We can transform ourselves from slaves of

thought, slaves of the ego, into bodhisattvas. We use our thoughts,

delusions, and desires as the seeds of prajñā, which we nurture with

our practice. We make them function as the Buddha’s work. Prajñā is

called the Buddha’s mother. This is the way of life the Heart Sutra

and Mahāyāna Buddhism encourage us to follow.

To become free from all perverted views or upside-down ways of

seeing things means to turn the foundation of our life over, to see

reality and live based on it. Reality means impermanence and

egolessness. Nothing stays forever unchanged. There is nothing

substantial. Everything is changing, and everything is supported by

everything else. We are all connected, one universal life force.

As we’ve seen, in Dōgen’s teaching mushotoku—no income, no

attainment—is essential. In Shōbōgenzō “Zuimonki,” a record of his

informal talks, he says:

Now if you wish to practice the way of the buddhas and ancestors,

you should practice the way of the previous sages, as well as the

conduct of the ancestors with no (expectation of) profit; expect

nothing, seek nothing, gain nothing. Although you should quit

seeking and give up expectations of buddhahood, if you stop

practicing and continue engaging in your former evil deeds, you will

still be guilty of seeking and will fall back into the old nest.

Without having the slightest expectation, maintain the prescribed

manner of conduct. Think of acting to save and benefit living beings,

earnestly carry out all good deeds, and give up former evil ones. Do

this solely for the sake of becoming the foundation of happiness for

human and heavenly beings. Without stagnating in good deeds of

the present, continue practicing your whole lifetime. An ancient

called this practice “breaking the bottom of the lacquer pail.” The way

of the life of the buddhas and ancestors is like this.

Here Dōgen admonishes us to be mushotoku, without expectation of

income. It’s very strict. Our zazen, study, work, all the activities of our

daily lives are our practice. We should do them as the practice of this

moment without expectation of result or reward in the future. Just put

our whole energy into this moment and results or fruits will grow

naturally. We simply need to trust the life force itself.

When we hear this teaching we might think to practice is to seek

after enlightenment. If so, it sounds like Dōgen Zenji is saying you

shouldn’t practice. He, however, continues, “Although you should

quit seeking and give up expectations of buddhahood, if you stop

practicing and continue engaging in your former evil deeds, you will

still be guilty of seeking and will fall back into the old nest.” Evil

deeds mean karmic deeds, activities based on our personal desires.

So if we stop practice to avoid seeking buddhahood, we are still

seeking. We become just ordinary human beings. So we have to

continue practicing without expectation. It’s really difficult.

“Without having the slightest expectation, maintain the prescribed

manner of conduct.” Here he’s talking about monks living in a

monastery. They should follow the schedule and devote their whole

energy to daily practice. In the case of laypeople, taking care of our

families, living in communities, and working is what we do.

“Think of acting to save and benefit living beings, earnestly carry

out all good deeds, and give up former evil ones. Do this solely for

the sake of becoming the foundation of happiness for human and

heavenly beings.” In each activity we should think of how we can

benefit all living beings. That is our vow. We try to practice skillfully to

create a foundation of happiness for all beings. That means we try to

make this world better, even if only in small ways. We have many

problems in this world today. We should do what we can to make it a

better place for those who follow us. That too is our vow. Each of us

has different capabilities and each of us can do something, even

something small to improve this world. That is true bodhisattva

practice.

“Without stagnating in good deeds of the present, continue

practicing your whole lifetime.” If we think we are doing good, we

already have a problem. If we think we are good people because we

try to make the world better, we have a problem. This is a judgment.

We think that we are good and that those who don’t follow us are

bad. This is a problem. If we think in this way we ignore emptiness.

Even though we are doing good deeds, we should not think of

ourselves as good people. We are doing what we choose to do or

feel we should. It’s just a natural function. This is a subtle point. Our

good deeds can make us arrogant. Fighting is often caused by this

kind of arrogance. We think, “We are doing good and they are not,

so they are our enemy. We have to eliminate them to make the world

a better place.” Then we really have a problem. Many wars are

caused this way. The wisdom of emptiness is a way to avoid conflict

based on concepts of justice.

Just keep doing. This is the meaning of shikan. Dōgen Zenji’s

most famous phrase is “just sitting,” or shikantaza. We may think that

just sitting means it’s okay if we merely sit, that we don’t need to do

anything else. But shikantaza doesn’t mean that. It means just sit for

now, without any expectation for the future, without thinking that we

are doing good or practicing well. Just sit.

“An ancient called this practice ‘breaking the bottom of the lacquer

pail.’” This is a common expression for becoming enlightened. For

Dōgen Zenji enlightenment means just sitting or just doing good.

Just keep practicing without any expectation.

“The way of the life of the buddhas and ancestors is like this.” This

is the way buddhas and ancestors practiced. When he mentions just

sitting, Dōgen Zenji is talking about the practice of prajñā. He’s

talking about becoming free of even the Buddha’s teaching. This is

the Buddha’s practice, or prajñā-pāramitā.

Nāgārjuna says something very similar in

Mūlamadhyamakakārikā: “Those who delight in maintaining, ‘Without

the grasping, I will realize nirvana; nirvana is in me,’ are the very

ones with the greatest grasping” (16:9).

We believe that we are

letting go of thought, opening our hands, and grasping at nothing; we

think that we are completely free from self-clinging and that we are in

nirvana or nirvana is within us. Nāgārjuna says that those who think

this way are the very ones with the greatest grasping. We must open

our hand even concerning our practice, even about opening our

hand. Nāgārjuna continues, “Where nirvana is not (subject to)

establishment and samsara not (subject to) disengagement, how will

there be any conception of nirvana and samsara?” (16:10). We don’t

have to establish nirvana or eliminate samsara. There is no

separation between them. This is a koan. There is no answer, so we

have to keep opening our hands. If we think we are okay because

we open our hands, then we are grasping. So what? This is our

practice.

GREAT BRIGHT MANTRA

“Therefore know the prajñā-pāramitā

Is the great transcendent mantra,

Is the great bright mantra,

Is the utmost mantra,

Is the supreme mantra,

Which is able to relieve all suffering

And is true, not false.”

In this section the sutra says that prajñā-pāramitā is the wisdom to

see impermanence and interdependence. This body and mind exist

as a result of many factors. When these elements change, we

change. Consequently, there is no fixed self-nature within us, nothing

substantial. To see this reality is prajñā-pāramitā. It is a difficult

reality to face moment by moment. We often forget about it because

our way of thought in daily life is very different.

In our usual thinking we use concepts and words. Each word has

a certain meaning or definition that doesn’t change. A word should

always mean the same thing. If the meaning changes, we have no

basis for consistent communication. I’m always Shohaku Okumura,

always Japanese, always a man, always a Buddhist priest. But in

reality my body and mind are always changing. On a conceptual

level, however, I’m always Shohaku Okumura, and it’s difficult to see

these changes. When the two levels of our life, conceptual thought

and life force, harmonize, we have no serious problems. But

sometime our thinking contradicts reality.

For instance, I still think of myself as a young man when in fact I

am getting older every day. One of my son’s favorite games was to

sit on my shoulders and beat my head like a drum. He did this

often.

One day I was sitting on the sofa when he jumped onto the

back of my neck. I had no pain that day but the next morning I

couldn’t move my neck. I was in bed for two days and missed

Thanksgiving dinner. Pain is so realistic, always fresh. It’s very

difficult to accept the reality that I am getting older and unable to do

some things and that my son is getting bigger every day. If I try to

move something too heavy, it’s difficult. These are examples of how

our conceptual thinking and self-image often diverge from the reality

of our lives. When there is too great a gap between reality and our

thinking we run into trouble. Prajñā-pāramitā is the wisdom to see

both sides. It’s not simply a negation of our thought or a particular

way of thinking. It is seeing the limitations of our usual logic. Our

day-to-day thought is unable to see the reality of constant change.

The Heart Sutra says that this prajñā or wisdom which sees the

reality of impermanence, egolessness, and interdependence is a

mantra. Mantra was originally a term used in the Vedic tradition of

ancient India commonly called Brahmanism, and later it became an

essential part of Hinduism. The practice of chanting mantras was

much older than Buddhism. One of the oldest of the many sacred

scriptures of ancient India is called the Rig Veda. In the Vedas there

are many gods much more powerful than human beings. The basic

idea of a mantra was that if Brahman priests uttered the proper

words and conducted the right rituals, the gods would comply with

their requests. These mantras supposedly had the supernatural

power to move the gods. Originally Indian Buddhist monks didn’t use

mantras. But Mahāyāna Buddhism was strongly influenced by

Hinduism and began to use them. The word “mantra” is used

commonly in Vajrayāna Buddhism, which arose around the seventh

century as the final development of Indian Buddhism. In the

Vajrayāna school (such as the Shingon school in Japan), prayers

serve a particular purpose. For example, on certain occasions the

priest builds a fire inside the temple, sits in full lotus, makes a

particular mudra, and chants mantras. Then Vairocana, the main

Buddha in Vajrayāna, is supposed to help them. This is the basic

idea of the Vajrayāna or Shingon school of Buddhism.

On Shikoku, one of the major Japanese islands, there are eighty-

eight destinations for pilgrims. As Shingon practitioners visit each

temple, they often chant the Heart Sutra. This sutra is also used as a

mantra in Vajrayāna Buddhism. For Zen Buddhists, however, reciting

the Heart Sutra doesn’t mean that we believe it’s a mantra that can

influence the gods. For instance, right now I have pain in my neck,

but I don’t believe that reciting the Heart Sutra will relieve it. Although

the sutra has the phrase “relieve all suffering,” I don’t believe it works

as a kind of painkiller. Instead it enables us to change the way we

view our lives and ourselves. It allows us to see the deeper meaning

and broader reality of our life. Our way of thinking is limited by our

experience, education, culture, and values. Our picture of the world

is narrow. This wisdom of prajñā-pāramitā enables us to break

through these fixed systems of value and see reality from a wider

perspective.

The Heart Sutra concludes:

“So proclaim the prajñā-pāramitā mantra,

Proclaim the mantra that says:

Gate, gate, pāragate, pārasamgate! Bodhi, svāha!”

Since this is a mantra, the words themselves are believed by some

to have divine power and so are not translated. Depending on the

translator, the meaning is, “Gone, gone, gone beyond” or “Gone

altogether beyond. Oh, what an awakening!” Bodhi means

“awakening” and svāhā means “all hail.” “Gone” points to a reality

beyond our system of values, beyond the boundary of our ready-

made picture of the world and ourselves. This mantra enables us to

break through our internal limitations and see a deeper reality inside

us. The Buddha taught us to wake up to this deeper meaning in our

daily lives.

Some of my time in Japan I lived on takuhatsu, religious begging.

Usually I walked the street and stopped in front of each shop. I would

stand there and say, “Hō.” In Japanese this literally means “bowl,”

and figuratively it means “dharma.” In Osaka there is a large temple

called Shitennōji.

Here, on the twenty-first of each month, people

observe en’nichi, a kind of a memorial day for Kōbō Daishi, the

founder of the Japanese Shingon school. Thousands of people visit

the temple. Whenever possible I went to that temple on the twenty-

first and did standing takuhatsu. I stood from about ten o’clock in the

morning until about four in the afternoon. For six hours I didn’t move.

I just stood with a begging bowl and recited the Heart Sutra. It takes

about three or four minutes to recite the whole sutra, so I would

chant it more than a hundred times. Usually when people do

takuhatsu they chant Enmei-jukku-kannon-gyō. This is a very short

sutra, too short to repeat for six hours, so I recited the Heart Sutra

instead. Chanting kept my mind from darting here and there in

distracted thinking.

The people who visit the temple are mostly older people who are

very religious in the traditional sense. They are very sincere

Buddhists and give generous donations, sometimes a small amount

of money, sometimes ten yen or a hundred yen, about one dollar.

When they made a donation they did gasshō and bowed to me. I

also bowed while I was chanting. I saw many people who were poor

but more generous than the rich. It was apparent to me that they

were suffering. Some were in wheelchairs. Chanting the Heart Sutra

was a very powerful practice. I could see people’s suffering. It’s not

something mysterious, but there was a special realm in which we

were living together, sharing our suffering. Although we didn’t talk we

communicated on a profound level. I felt dharma joy. The Heart

Sutra was a mantra that enabled us to relieve suffering.

Suffering is more than just pain. Suffering is pain plus something

mental. Pain alone is not such a big problem because it will end

sometime. For example, I had pain this morning and knew I had to

give a talk. That made my pain suffering. Still, I was able to come

and speak. Chanting this mantra, this Heart Sutra, enables us to

communicate with each other deeply without speaking. For this

reason chanting is a really good practice.

At some Zen centers in the United States, we chant in both

Japanese and English. Some ask me why we chant in Japanese.

They think it doesn’t make sense. Chanting is first of all a practice of

breathing. When you chant you use your hara. In a Japanese

monastery one is taught, “Chant with your hara, your abdomen, not

with your mouth.” Chanting is a practice of deep breathing with your

abdomen. Next we are taught, “Chant with your ear, not with your

mouth.” That means we should listen to what other people are

chanting. We should be together with all beings when we chant. We

shouldn’t chant alone. When we chant with others, the chanting of all

people should be one, like a chorus or orchestra. Chanting enables

us to be right now, right here at this moment. We have to put our

whole body and mind into chanting and let go of other things. When

we are chanting we should not think about sitting or eating or

errands we have to do. Just be right now, right here, 100 percent. In

this way chanting is a mantra. The meaning is not so important. Of

course, it’s better to understand the meaning, but the meaning is not

really the point. Chanting can be prajñā-pāramitā if we put our whole

time and being into it. It can open our eyes to reality, not to an

intellectual reality but rather to our life energy. When we chant

wholeheartedly, our voice is the sound of emptiness, exactly like the

sound of the wind bell in Rujing’s poem. It is the sound of the wind,

the bell, our ears, our mind, the entire universe.

SANDŌKAI

The mind of the great sage of India

Is intimately communicated between east and west.

People’s faculties may be keen or dull,

But in the path there are no “southern” or “northern” ancestors.

The spiritual source shines clearly in the light;

The branching streams flow in the darkness.

Grasping things is basically delusion;

Merging with principle is still not enlightenment.

Each sense and every field

Interact and do not interact;

When interacting, they also merge—

Otherwise, they remain in their own states.

Forms are basically different in material and appearance,

Sounds are fundamentally different in pleasant or harsh quality.

“Darkness” is a word for merging upper and lower;

“Light” is an expression for distinguishing pure and defiled.

The four gross elements return to their own natures

Like a baby taking to its mother;

Fire heats, wind moves,

Water wets, earth is solid.

Eye and form, ear and sound;

Nose and smell, tongue and taste—

Thus in all things

The leaves spread from the root;

The whole process must return to the source;

“Noble” and “base” are only manners of speaking.

Right in light there is darkness, but don’t confront it as darkness;

Right in darkness there is light, but don’t see it as light.

Light and dark are relative to one another

Like forward and backward steps.

All things have their function—

It is a matter of use in the appropriate situation.

Phenomena exist like box and cover joining;

Principle accords like arrow points meeting.

Hearing the words, you should understand the source;

Don’t make up standards on your own.

If you don’t understand the path as it meets your eyes,

How can you know the way as you walk?

Progress is not a matter of far or near,

But if you are confused, mountains and rivers block the way.

I humbly say to those who study the mystery,

Don’t waste time.

THE TITLE of this poem, “Sandōkai,” is composed of three

characters. The first, san (cen in Chinese) means “difference,”

“diversity,” “variety.” In this poem it is used as a synonym for ji, which

indicates the concrete, phenomenal aspect of our life. The second

character, dō (tong in Chinese), means “sameness,” “equality,”

“commonality.” Here it is used as a synonym of ri, the absolute or

ultimate reality of emptiness beyond discrimination. Kai (qi in

Chinese) means “promise,” “agreement,” or “tally.” In ancient times

when merchants made a contract, they wrote it on a tally (a wooden

board), which they then broke into halves. When they actually

exchanged goods, they put the two halves of the tally together to

confirm the agreement. San-dō-kai refers to both aspects of our

lives: the concrete, comprised of many specific situations, ideas,

evaluations, and things; and the absolute, based on universality,

emptiness, and nondiscrimination. These are like the halves of a

tally. These aspects work together as one seamless reality. Hence,

“Sandōkai” can be translated as the “Merging of Difference and

Unity.”

THE MIND OF THE GREAT SAGE OF INDIA

The mind of the great sage of India

Is intimately communicated between east and west.

People’s faculties may be keen or dull,

But in the path there are no “southern” or “northern” ancestors.

The first four lines of this poem by the Zen master Shitou Xiqian

(Sekitō Kisen) are an introduction to what follows. To understand

this, we need to know the situation in Shitou’s time.

“Southern” and “Northern” Ancestors

Shitou lived in eighth century China, from 700 to 790. He practiced

with the sixth ancestor, Dajan Huineng (Daikan Enō, 638–713) when

he was young, perhaps as a teenager. After Huineng died he

practiced with one of Huineng’s disciples, Qingyuan Xingsi (Seigen

Gyōshi, 660–740). Shitou became Qingyuan’s dharma successor,

thus a second-generation disciple of the sixth ancestor. It is said that

earlier, under the fifth ancestor Doman Hongren (Daiman Kōnin,

602–675), Zen had divided into two schools, Southern and Northern.

Huineng’s lineage was called the Southern school, while the

Northern school was founded by Yuquan Shenxiu (Gyokusen Jinshū,

606–706), one of Huineng’s dharma brothers. There is a famous

story about the dharma transmission from the fifth ancestor Hongren

to Huineng.

According to the Platform Sutra of the sixth ancestor, Huineng was

practicing at the fifth ancestor’s monastery. He had not yet been

ordained and was still a lay practitioner working at the monastery.

Shenxiu, the founder of the Northern school, was the head monk and

a very experienced practitioner. He was the oldest student of the fifth

ancestor. The fifth ancestor was getting old and looking for a

successor. He assembled his students and asked them to write a

poem to show their understanding of the dharma. All the other

monks, convinced that Shenxiu would be chosen as the fifth

ancestor’s successor, declined to compose poems. Shenxiu alone

wrote one, as follows:

The body is the bodhi tree,

The mind is like a bright mirror’s stand.

At all times we must strive to polish it

And must not let dust collect.

This body, our human body, is the bodhi tree. Bodhi, as we’ve seen,

means “awakening,” so this body is the tree of awakening or

enlightenment. Original wisdom is like a clear mirror. But there is

usually dust on the mirror, so it doesn’t reflect things as they are. We

have to continually polish the mirror of our mind to keep it clean. This

was Shenxiu’s understanding of the dharma, human beings, and the

meaning of practice. Our body and mind is original enlightened

reality itself, but the dust of desire and ignorance cover it. When we

polish it, the mirror becomes bright and functions as wisdom.

Huineng couldn’t read or write. Even though he was not well

educated, when he heard people reciting Shenxiu’s poem he must

have thought, “That is not deep enough.” So Huineng asked one of

the students to transcribe a poem for him, which he posted next to

Shenxiu’s poem. His poem was:

Bodhi originally has no tree.

The bright mirror also has no stand.

Fundamentally there is not a single thing.

Where could dust arise?

Huineng said that enlightenment has no tree and the mirror no shape

or form. Nothing exists. Since everything is completely empty, there

is no place for dust to land. There is nothing that can be called desire

or delusion. Our enlightenment or reality is always clear. There is

nothing we have to polish and nothing we have to eliminate. That

was Huineng’s understanding.

The fifth ancestor secretly gave dharma transmission to Huineng

in the night and let him leave the monastery. Shenxiu’s teaching, the

Northern school, was called “gradual” enlightenment because

Shenxiu held that we become enlightened after a long period of

practice, polishing the mirror. In this school people practice to

eliminate delusion based on ignorance. Huineng’s teaching was

called “sudden” enlightenment. According to the Southern or

“sudden” school realization is attained suddenly, without any stages

of gradual practice. People realize reality beyond the discrimination

between delusion and enlightenment. For example, the story of

Huineng’s first realization experience—which happened before he

began to study Zen when he heard someone chanting the Diamond

Sutra—was taken to illustrate the idea of sudden enlightenment.

The two schools separated under the fifth ancestor, and Shitou

was a dharma grandson of Huineng. This is what Shitou refers to

when he says that in the path, the Buddha’s Way, there are no

“southern” or “northern” ancestors. Even though he was a dharma

grandson of Huineng, the founder of the Southern school, he says

that there is no distinction between southern or northern, which

means between sudden or gradual enlightenment. Shitou wrote this

poem to show the fundamental reality and go beyond the distinction

between the factions of schools. This is a traditional understanding

of the history of Chinese Zen in the eighth and ninth centuries.

Historical Reality

To understand Shitou’s position in the history of Chinese Zen

Buddhism and also what he wrote in “Merging of Difference and

Unity,” it might be helpful to understand the historical background of

Zen in the eighth and ninth centuries. The actual reality was probably

much more complex than we usually imagine. Guifeng Zongmi

(Keihō Shumitsu, 780–841) was a famous Zen master and Buddhist

philosopher who was born eighty years after Shitou. He was a

scholar of the Kegon School, a Buddhist philosophical school based

on the Kegon Sutra (Avataṃsaka Sutra or Flower Ornament Sutra).

Feixiu (Haikyū, 797–870), a government minister, was very

interested in Zen but was confused because there were so many

different Zen groups at that time. He couldn’t understand how such

diverse groups could have a common origin. When he questioned

Zen practitioners, their answers were paradoxical. They said nothing

logical. Since Zongmi was a scholar as well as a Zen practitioner, the

minister asked him to explain the origin, tradition, and history of Zen,

and how the many different methods of teaching related to this

tradition. Zongmi explained the lineages of Zen from Bodhidharma in

a short treatise. He wrote that at the time there were six schools of

Zen, not just the Southern and Northern.

The first one was called Niutou (Gozu, or Oxhead) school, named

for the mountain where the founder lived. This school was headed by

Niutou Farong (Gozu Hōyū, 594–657), who is said to have been a

disciple of the fourth ancestor. So there was a division in Zen even

before the fifth ancestor.

The second, the Northern school, was Shenxiu’s school. It was

particularly popular in the imperial court. Shenxiu himself and a few

of his disciples became teachers of the emperors. This school was

attacked by Heze Shenhui (Kataku Jinne, 668–760) in the first half of

the eighth century and lost popularity within a few generations.

The third and fourth were two smaller groups, the Jingzhong

(Jōshū) school founded by Jingzhong Wuxiang (Jōshū Musō, 684–

762) and Baotang (Hotō) school started by Baotang Wuzhu (Hotō

Mujū, 714–774). Those were the streams that branched from the fifth

ancestor. Zongmi did not say much about these two minor schools.

The fifth and sixth were “Southern” schools derived from

Huineng’s lineage. The fifth was called the Hongzhou (Kōshū) school

founded by Mazu Daoyi (Baso Dōitsu, 709–788). Nanyue Huairang

(Nangaku Ejō, 677–744) was a disciple of Huineng, and Mazu was

Nanyue’s disciple and of the same generation as Shitou. Mazu was

also Huineng’s dharma grandson.

The last school, the Heze (Kataku), was founded by one of

Huineng’s disciples named Heze Shenhui, who attacked the

Northern school and claimed that his teacher, Huineng, was the

legitimate dharma heir of the fifth ancestor.

Zongmi didn’t talk about Shitou’s group at all, probably because it

wasn’t big enough. He did discuss the similarities and differences

between the Niutou school, the Northern school, and the two

divisions of the Southern school, Hongzhou and Heze. Zongmi

himself claimed that he belonged to the Heze school, whose

teaching he considered the highest of all. However, modern scholars

think Zongmi had no connection with this lineage. Shenhui was one

of the most active of Huineng’s disciples and probably created the

story of the dharma transmission from the fifth ancestor to Huineng.

As Huineng’s disciple, Shenhui wanted him to be seen as greater

than Shenxiu and recognized as the sixth ancestor. Shenxiu’s

Northern school was more powerful and popular in the capital, in the

north of China, whereas Huineng came from the southern

countryside, was not well known, and may have lacked credibility

because of his youth.

In a sense, the history of different groups of Zen before Zen

became established in Chinese Buddhism shows the meaning of

“merging of difference and unity.” The groups were different and yet

they were all considered as Zen practitioners.

One Mind

Zongmi compared the four schools on the basis of their

understanding of difference and unity. Difference is a translation of ji

and refers to the phenomenal or relative aspect of our life. Unity

refers to the absolute aspect. Originally these two concepts,

difference and unity, the phenomenal and absolute aspects of our

life, are discussed as the two aspects of the One Mind.

Shitou uses the phrase “the mind of the great sage of India.” The

idea of a One Mind originated in the Awakening of Faith in

Mahāyāna, one of the most important texts on the theory of

tathāgata-garbha, or buddha-nature. It begins:

The revelation of the true meaning [of the principle of Mahāyāna can

be achieved] by [unfolding the doctrine] that the principle of One

Mind has two aspects. One is the aspect of Mind in terms of the

absolute (tathātā, suchness), and the other is the aspect of Mind in

terms of phenomena (samsara, birth and death).

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Samsara is the aspect of life into which we are born, live for a

while, and die. It refers not only to the psychological mind but also to

the functions of our lives. During the period between birth and death,

our minds and lives constantly change, and we are limited by our

particular time and place. We are conditioned by our unique

experiences, education, and culture. Delusive desires function within

this aspect because we can’t perceive reality as a whole. We have to

make choices based on our limited perspectives.

The Awakening of Faith continues, “Each of these two aspects

embraces all states of existence. Why? Because these two aspects

are mutually inclusive.” They completely interpenetrate each other.

According to the text, we live a universal, eternal life as the absolute

aspect of the Mind, and yet, as the phenomenal aspect of the same

Mind, our life is individual and limited by that individuality. The

Buddha addressed the relationship between these two aspects. He

taught that life is suffering and the cause of this suffering is our

desire, which arises out of ignorance. He taught that we have to

transform our way of life into nirvana. This is the Buddha’s basic

teaching. To realize nirvana we have to practice, to walk the eightfold

noble path leading out of samsara. In the Awakening of Faith,

samsara and nirvana are really two aspects of One Mind. The basic

idea here is that both are embodied in the reality of our individual

lives. Even though the reality of one life is beyond discrimination and

delusion, from a relative or phenomenal perspective we are deluded

and egocentric. We have delusive desires that bring suffering to our

lives. So what should we do? How can we live in nirvana? The

various answers to this question are the basis of the many different

teachings and schools.

Zongmi’s Comments on the Four Schools

Zongmi discussed the four schools, although he wasn’t completely

objective because he felt that his was the best form of practice. He

used the interesting analogy of a mani jewel, the bright, transparent

gem that symbolizes buddha-nature or One Mind. He explained that

this jewel has no color, so when it is illuminated by light of a

particular color, it takes on that color. A transparent jewel placed on a

black sheet of paper becomes black. On a red sheet it appears red.

These apparent changes were used as an analogy for individual or

relative aspects of situations in our lives. If our life becomes really

black, full of delusion and desire, the jewel of One Mind appears

black. The bright jewel takes on the color of each situation. Yet the

jewel itself is transparent and does not change.

Zongmi said the Northern school taught that the black color is

false. To become enlightened, to reveal the bright jewel, we have to

remove the black. Our practice is to erase the darkness of our

delusions. We have to polish the bright jewel to remove the colors

that arise from particular situations. This requires constant practice.

Mazu’s Hongzhou school maintained that everything we do,

whether we are enlightened or deluded, is the function of the bright

jewel. They taught that without color—black, white, or red—there is

no bright jewel. We don’t need to eliminate a particular color to

reveal the jewel. Buddha-nature doesn’t exist independently of

particular situations. Even deluded actions are nothing other than the

function of buddha-nature. So we don’t need to polish anything or

engage in any particular practice. We just accept everything as

reality, as a function or movement of buddha-nature.

Zongmi made another analogy to explain Mazu’s beliefs. He

compared buddha-nature to the flour used in cakes and bread. One

can bake many types of bread and cake with different shapes and

tastes, but the same flour is used to make them all. So it is with

buddha-nature in the myriad situations of our lives. Mazu believed

that there is nothing other than buddha-nature and that we need to

realize that everything is buddha-nature. Zongmi may have

exaggerated Mazu’s beliefs, as a way of criticizing Mazu. We cannot

be sure whether this is what Mazu and his students really thought.

But according to Zongmi, those who followed this form of

practice/enlightenment felt that it is enough to believe that everything

is a manifestation of the absolute. They believed that we don’t need

any particular form of practice and can live freely.

Zongmi explained that while Mazu’s school taught that everything

is a manifestation of buddha-nature, Niutou’s teaching maintained

that everything is empty. Not only the jewel’s color, but even the

transparent jewel itself is empty, like a dream. So we should not

grasp anything. Delusion is empty and without substance, as is the

bright jewel. Our practice then is not to attach ourselves to anything.

This is a complete penetration of emptiness. There is nothing we can

achieve, nothing we have to eliminate. We must see both delusion

and buddha-nature as empty. We have to realize the emptiness of all

things. Zongmi criticized the Niutou school for its failure to recognize

the permanent essence of One Mind and its mistaken belief that the

One Mind is also empty.

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Finally, the Heze school, as interpreted by Zongmi, believed that

each of the other schools was partially correct. They asserted that

the individual colors caused by various conditions are false, an

imperfect reflection of reality. This means our discriminations are

false, empty delusions. At the same time, they believed that the One

Mind is not empty. We cannot grasp it, but it is here, clear and bright,

and it is not empty. We must realize this oneness and see this bright

jewel covered with delusions and then practice to free ourselves

from delusions through sudden enlightenment. Thus this school

combined the elements of gradual practice and sudden

enlightenment.

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Shitou’s Lineage

Our lineage, the Sōtō school, was also transmitted by the sixth

ancestor, Huineng. Qingyuan Xingsi was Huineng’s dharma heir and

Shitou’s teacher. Shitou transmitted the dharma to Yaoshan Weiyan

(Yakusan Igen, 751–834). Yaoshan taught Yunyan Tansheng (Ungan

Donjō, 780–841). The founder of the Chinese Sōtō school,

Dongshan Liangjie (Tōzan Ryōkai, 807–869), was Yunyan’s disciple.

This lineage was not well known by the other Zen schools at the time

of Zongmi, who was a contemporary of Dongshan. This was perhaps

because Mazu’s Hongzhou school was overwhelmingly larger and

more popular. It was called the “one-stop shop,” like a supermarket

that had something for everyone. Shitou was a contemporary of

Mazu. In comparison with Mazu’s style of practice, Shitou’s school

was called the “real-gold shop.” His form of practice was considered

very pure, and since the school offered only real gold, it was small.

Yaoshan’s sangha was in fact very small, fewer than twenty people.

Yunyan was a very quiet person. He didn’t think of himself as

enlightened. After the time of Dongshan and his disciples, this

lineage finally became popular and the sayings of these five masters

were recorded.

“Sandōkai” is Shitou’s attempt to record his understanding of the

relationship between buddha-nature—the absolute aspect of our life

—and the relative or phenomenal aspect of our life, in other words,

between enlightenment and delusion. He does this by contrasting

the beliefs of the various schools. The Northern school emphasized

difference and tried to transcend it through unity. In Mazu’s

Hongzhou school, unity is found only in difference. Since there is no

unity outside of difference, they believed we must accept difference.

In the Niutou school difference and unity are both empty, and we are

taught to strive to become free from such distinctions. Finally, the

Heze school focused on recognizing that differences are empty,

while unity is not. Shitou suggested that we must try to see the

relationship between difference and unity clearly. He emphasized

neither, but instead tried to see reality as a merging of difference and

unity. I think this is what “Sandōkai” (Merging of Difference and

Unity) expresses.

Shitou says, “People’s faculties may be keen or dull, but in the

path there are no ‘southern’ or ‘northern’ ancestors.” He means there

is no difference between sudden and gradual enlightenment. People

have different capabilities. Some understand suddenly and some

more gradually, but in reality there is no such distinction. For Shitou,

any division of the dharma or discussion of which approach to it is

superior is senseless. Instead he tries to show us the One Mind, “the

mind of the great sage of India” before separation. This One Mind

embraces two aspects: a spiritual source and branching streams.

SPIRITUAL SOURCE AND BRANCHING

STREAMS

The spiritual source shines clearly in the light;

The branching streams flow in the darkness.

Grasping things is basically delusion;

Merging with principle is still not enlightenment.

As we’ve learned, in Shitou’s time Buddhism was separated into

schools that argued about basic issues like the nature of

enlightenment and the best method of practice. Shitou’s response

was to describe the mind of the great sage of India. He wasn’t talking

about psychology, but rather about the reality of life that includes

both the absolute and phenomenal aspects in terms of the relation

between the self and other things as objects.

As Dōgen Zenji said in Shōbōgenzō “Genjōkōan,” “To study the

Buddha’s Way is to study the self. To study the self is to forget the

self. To forget the self is to be verified by all things. To be verified by

all things is to let the body and mind of the self and the body and

mind of others drop off.”

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The study of the Buddha’s teaching is the

study of this body and mind, of who we are. Shitou’s teachings on

difference and unity, two different understandings of the Buddha

Way, are really about seeing our lives from two different perspectives

as one seamless reality.

In Buddhism the concept of seeing one reality from two angles

originated in Nāgārjuna’s teaching. In Madhyamikakarika Nāgārjuna

said, “Without relying on everyday common practices (i.e., relative

truths), the absolute truth cannot be expressed. Without approaching

the absolute truth, nirvana cannot be attained” (24:10).

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Here he

distinguishes between relative truth, our day-to-day way of thinking,

and absolute truth. In this way he introduces the idea of seeing one

reality in two ways, which is the origin of the idea of difference and

unity. The Awakening of Faith says, “The revelation of the true

meaning of the principle of Mahāyāna can be achieved by unfolding

the doctrine that the principle of One Mind has two aspects.”

105

Here

“One Mind” is the same as one reality, or “the mind of the great sage

of India.” This One Mind has two aspects, absolute truth and

relativity or phenomena. One Mind can be seen from two

perspectives. This is the origin of the idea of difference and unity

called ji and ri in Chinese Buddhism. As we’ve seen, ji literally means

“event” or “thing,” something very particular and concrete. It can also

mean phenomenon, material, or something individual and

independent. Ri means “principle” or “law,” something abstract that

has no shape or form, something universal. These two aspects are

not two parts of one thing. Both aspects are included in reality, the

One Mind. From one side, One Mind is a collection of individual

things, and from another side, this whole reality is simply one. There

is no distinction or separation within this one reality. And yet,

individuality does not disappear. Individuality is there without

separation. This means we don’t discriminate between individuals.

One Hand and Five Fingers

For example, if I hold up my hand you might see it as a hand. And

yet you can also see it as five fingers. One hand has five fingers, and

there is no hand beyond these five fingers. Five fingers and one

hand are the same thing: two aspects of one reality. Within this

collection of five fingers, each finger is different and even has a

different name. In Japanese the thumb is called oyayubi, or “parent.”

The index finger is called hitosashiyubi, the finger to point at

something. The middle finger is called nakayubi, which literally

means the finger in the middle. The ring finger is called kusuriyubi

because sometimes a doctor would use this finger to check

medicine. The fifth finger is called koyubi, “child.” Each finger differs

in name, function, and shape. Each is independent, and yet when we

call them a hand, the individuality of each finger disappears. Ji and ri

are two ways of viewing things—as independent beings and as a

whole. In the same way, the hand is a part of our body, which has

many more parts. Each part—hand, head, foot, and billions of cells—

is different, and yet this body works as one thing, a body.

Form and Emptiness

The phrase “the spiritual source” refers to unity or ri; “branching

streams” refers to plurality or ji. The spiritual source is one and the

branching streams are many. In “Sandōkai” ji is first translated as

“things.” Later the same word is translated as “phenomena.” In the

phrase “merging with principle,” principle is a translation of ri. So

“things” is ji and “principle” is ri.

In the Heart Sutra the terms “form” and “emptiness” correspond to

ji and ri. “Form” refers to an individual being with a beginning and

end; it is born, stays for a while, and disappears. Transient beings or

entities without permanent self are said to have form. The Heart

Sutra tells us that form is emptiness. This means that nothing exists

as a truly independent being with a fixed self-nature. We appear to

be independent but in reality are supported by all beings. I cannot

survive as a human body or mind without the support of air, water,

food, and so forth. The Heart Sutra also says that emptiness is form.

Emptiness does not exist outside of form. We are a merging of

difference and unity. From one perspective we are independent, but

at the same time we are completely interdependent. As Buddhists

we try to understand this contradiction by seeing it as two

perspectives on a single reality. This is the basic idea of difference

and unity, or ji and ri.

Light and Darkness

In the sentence “The spiritual source shines clearly in the light,” light

symbolizes ji or difference. The original word for “shines clearly” is

kōketzu. Kō means “white,” and ketzu means “clear and undefiled.”

This evokes an image of a full moon. But the moon shines in the

darkness, not in the light. This sentence confuses us by saying the

moon or the spiritual source shines in the light.

In the phrase “branching streams flow in the darkness,” darkness

represents ri. I didn’t understand these two sentences for a long time

because the spiritual source is ri, unity, and light is ji, or difference.

This sentence means that the spiritual source (or unity) shines

clearly in the light (or difference). Similarly the “branching streams,” a

symbol of ji or difference, “flow in the darkness,” a symbol of ri or

unity. The statement that unity shines in difference and difference

flows in the unity is a paradox. It points out the dynamic

interpenetration of discrimination and nondiscrimination.

We Are Separate but Together

We should try to understand this as a whole. Unity and difference

are not two different things; they merge. From the perspective of ji or

difference, we are independent people, separate individuals. I am

not you; you are not me. Yet we cannot live completely alone. We

live with other people and things; they are part of the reality of our

life. Even so, I can’t feel your pain, and you can’t feel mine. My wife

has pain in her teeth, but I have never had pain in my teeth. I have

never even been to the dentist. I can’t feel her pains, but I have

different pains of my own. I have pain in my lower back that she

cannot feel. The reality is that we are completely separate

individuals. We can’t even share pain. We are born alone, and we

die alone. No one can be born for me, no one can live for me, and no

one can die for me. From birth we are alone: we live alone,

completely independent, and when we die we are really alone.

And yet we can never be completely alone. We cannot be born

without a mother and father. We cannot grow up without support

from our parents, family, and society. There are two aspects of our

lives: independent and interdependent. This is not a matter of

separate parts of our life. Our whole life is individual, and at the

same time our whole life is 100 percent interdependent. There is no

separation of the two. This is an important point. We should see both

aspects of our life at the same time. This is how we wake up to the

reality of our life. This seems contradictory, and it causes problems

when we think about it. These two aspects become separate things,

two principles: individualism and socialism. If we don’t understand, if

we are unable to awake to reality, we become unhealthy. If we cling

to the principle of individuality, we live on the basis of “I am I, I am

not you, and you are not me.” We live in isolation from the rest of the

world. On the other hand, if we cling to the aspect of unity or

wholeness, individuality is ignored. Then the individual lives only to

serve society, and that’s not healthy either.

In American society, individualism is a problem. In Japan,

however, until recently the family was most important, and each

person lived for the sake of the family. Either extreme is unhealthy.

Just Sitting Is Itself Merging of Difference and Unity

Often the practice or study of Zen or Buddhism involves an attempt

to negate or go beyond individuality. We try to become one with

universality, or buddha-nature. I disagree with this approach. For

example, the Chinese master Sheng-yen wrote in a commentary on

“Merging of Difference and Unity,” “The first line of this couplet refers

to light or brightness. The second line refers to darkness. Lightness

represents enlightenment, and darkness represents vexation, or the

condition of sentient beings before enlightenment.”

106

In his

interpretation, darkness is delusion, and we are deluded human

beings because we don’t see the unity. He says that enlightenment

is to perceive the unity. However, Shitou is saying that delusion is

grasping ji, that is, grasping independent things. I believe this is true.

Shitou goes on to say, “Merging with principle is still not

enlightenment.” To merge with principle means to transcend

individuality and become one with unity. It means to see the

emptiness of all things. But Shitou says, “Merging with principle is

still not enlightenment.” Neither individuality nor unity is

enlightenment.

Zen is often understood as a series of steps. We start out

egocentric, completely deluded, clinging to ourselves. Through study

and practice we try to become free from egocentricity. To be free

from ego-clinging, we have to see the emptiness of all beings. This is

called kensho or satori. But this is not final enlightenment. We have

to return to individuality. This is a common way of explaining the

steps of practice, but it is not consistent with my understanding of

dharma or practice based on Dōgen Zenji’s teachings.

Dōgen taught that there are no steps in practice. He said that

practice and enlightenment are actually one. If there were steps,

there would be deluded people and enlightened people, and there

would be a step from the deluded to the enlightened stage of mind.

There would be a separation between delusion and enlightenment,

and between deluded and enlightened people. This separation is

itself delusion, because in the absolute realm there is no such step,

no discrimination between delusion and enlightenment.

Discrimination between enlightenment and delusion only exists in ji;

there is no distinction in ri. In unity or emptiness, delusion and

enlightenment are not different, nor are samsara and nirvana, or

deluded human beings and buddhas. That’s the teaching of

emptiness. Our practice does not proceed step by step. With this

body and mind we sit in both individuality and universality. We are

often pulled by our egocentricity. When we sit in this posture and let

go of thought in our zazen, we have no technique. We have no

object of meditation or contemplation. We don’t concentrate our mind

on anything particular. We don’t even pay special attention to our

breathing. We don’t count breaths. We don’t visualize anything. We

just sit in this upright posture, breathe through the nose, quietly,

deeply, and smoothly, and let go of thought. To let go of thought

means to allow whatever comes in to go out. We let any idea, desire,

or imagination come up and then go free. Nothing stays forever. We

don’t try to control our mind. We simply keep our body straight,

breathe quietly, and let go of thought. This is our zazen based on

Dōgen Zenji’s teachings.

Within this zazen individuality is not lost. This is my practice; no

one else can sit for me. My sitting is mine alone. And yet within this

sitting practice we let go of our egocentricity. To let go of thought

means to let go of our egocentricity. This body and mind is really part

of buddha-nature, not something separate. Within this zazen, both ji

and ri are manifested; neither is negated, neither affirmed. Both

sides arise naturally in this simple practice. That’s the meaning of

Dōgen Zenji’s expression “practice and enlightenment are one.”

Practice is my own individual practice, and enlightenment is

universal. There is no separation between my enlightenment and

your enlightenment, but practice is individual. I cannot practice for

you. Practice is my personal activity, which manifests the universal

reality of life. This zazen is itself the merging of difference and unity,

not a step-by-step meditation practice. When we sit, we just sit. We

express completely difference and unity, individuality and

universality. To let go of thought is, I think, the most important point

of our practice of zazen.

Practice in Day-to-Day Activities

We cannot let go of thought in our day-to-day activities. For example,

when we prepare a meal we have to read the recipe. We have to use

the correct ingredients in the proper way. Since we cannot let go of

thought, we have to practice with our thoughts, with what we are

doing now. We have to be clear about what we are cooking. We

need to discriminate. Salt and sugar look very similar but are

completely different, so we must discriminate between them. We

need discrimination, and yet, as a practice when we are cooking, we

let go of thought. In this case to let go of thought means to let go of

all thought that is not needed for cooking. This means we are

completely mindful of what we are doing right now, right here, at this

moment. We use our whole mind to concentrate on our day-to-day

activities.

Cooking also involves serving others. To prepare a meal for others

is to make an offering. Our life becomes part of another person’s life.

This is the concrete meaning of interdependent existence. Through

our activities we can become one with other beings. Oneness of

subject and object is not a matter of philosophy, contemplation, or

belief but a result of concrete action. Through an activity like cooking

for others, our energy becomes the meal, and the meal becomes

other people’s energy. Our day-to-day activity, not only at the zendo

but also at home and work, should be based on our zazen, on a

merging of difference and unity. Our practice is not to kill our

individuality. Of course, our practice is not to become more egoistic,

but neither is it to simply become one with unity, with all beings. Our

practice is to manifest the merging of difference and unity completely

in every activity, including zazen. We try to live and act on this basis.

We don’t rely on others and yet we practice together with others.

This is difficult but it is the healthiest way of life. We can be

independent and not rely on others but still help them. Yet we often

go astray. To be natural is the most difficult thing for us human

beings.

SUBJECT-OBJECT: INTERACT AND NOT

INTERACT

Each sense and every field

Interact and do not interact;

When interacting, they also merge—

Otherwise, they remain in their own states.

Each line in the original Chinese poem consists of five Chinese

characters. In these four lines Shitou uses only fifteen different

Chinese characters, fifteen words to express the whole of reality.

This is incredible to me. I could write a whole book about these four

lines.

Six Sense Organs and the Six Objects

The first phrase, “each sense,” is a translation of the Chinese

expression monmon. Mon means “gate,” “entrance,” or “exit.” This

expression refers to each of the six sense organs. These are called

gates because stimulation from outside comes to us through them,

and we express our thoughts and emotions through them to the

outside. The next phrase, “every field,” is a translation of issai no

kyō. Issai means “all,” and kyō in a Buddhist context means “objects

or things outside of ourselves.” This refers to the six objects of the

sense organs. The object of the sixth sense organ, the mind, is

something that we cannot touch, see, hear, smell, or taste but can

imagine. Abstract concepts like love, numbers, and things that do not

exist such as “the hair of a turtle” or “the horn of a rabbit” can be

objects of mind. We cannot perceive these things, and yet we can

think about them.

The sense organs and their objects are the totality of our life. Our

life consists of subject (self, body, and mind) and objects (all beings

as the objects of our sense organs). The objects of our sense organs

are outside of our body and do not belong to us. Common sense

tells us that there is a separation between the six sense organs and

their objects. We, with our bodies and minds, relate to the objects

outside us. We consider some things valuable or useful, others we

don’t. So we judge and evaluate, discriminate and categorize. When

we encounter an object, we put it into a category and think we

understand it. That’s our usual way of seeing.

The six sense organs and their six objects appear in the Heart

Sutra: “No eyes, no ears, no nose, no tongue, no body, no mind; / No

color, no sound, no smell, no taste, no touch, no object of mind.” The

sutra says that such categories are not real. In fact, it says there is

no independent thing called “I” to establish these categories. There

are no independent entities called eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, or

mind. Nor are there independent entities called color, sound, smell,

taste, touch, or objects of mind. In reality there are no independent

entities at all, either inside or outside us. Instead, eyes, ears, nose,

tongue, body, and mind work together as one body and mind, as one

self. Color, sound, smell, touch, taste, and objects of mind also work

together. This is the meaning of emptiness or dependent origination.

Everything supports everything else; nothing has independent self-

nature. As a result everything permeates everything else.

We Exist Supported by All Things

Without food, water, and air, we cannot live. We cannot maintain our

bodies and minds. Food is made of other beings; when we digest,

we incorporate them into ourselves, into our bodies. Our life is

supported by all beings. This is the meaning of dependent

origination. We are also supported by things from the past. I can use

this glass to drink water today because someone made it and

someone put water in it and served it to me. Everything in this

present moment, in the past, and also in the future, supports

everything else. It all works together as one function. This is the

meaning of śūnyatā, emptiness, or dependent origination.

Sense Organs Work Together

In the sentence “Each sense and every field interact and do not

interact,” “field” refers to the object of each sense working together

with the sense organ. There is no separation from the universal view.

And yet we cannot say that the eye and ear are the same. Eye is

eye, ear is ear, and nose is nose. They have different functions and

shapes. They cannot replace each other. If we lose our eyes, we

can’t see. If we lose our nose, we can’t smell. But in a universal

sense they are not independent; none of them have self-nature.

They are really interdependent. And yet in our common sense way of

seeing the world, eye is eye, nose is nose, tongue is tongue.

Individuality and universality always coexist, and neither side should

be negated or ignored. We should always try to see reality, all

beings, and our lives from both perspectives.

Interact and Not Interact

In the phrase “interact and do not interact,” the Japanese for

“interact” is e-go. E means “turn around,” and go means “each other”

or “mutually.” So e-go means mutually to turn, to influence, to work

together, or to penetrate each other. Interaction is the aspect of unity

—eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind working together with no

separation. The second half of the phrase, fu e-go, means “do not

interact”; eye is eye, ear is ear, nose is nose, tongue is tongue.

Everything is independent in its own function. This refers to

individuality, independence, and difference, as in the title “Merging of

Difference and Unity.”

Consider an orchestra: Each person plays a different instrument. A

violin is not a piano, and a piano is not a drum. They all make

different sounds. They are independent and cannot replace each

other. Yet when they work together, they make one musical whole.

But even as we listen to an orchestra as one sound, there are still

many independent musicians all playing their own parts. Both sides

are always present. This is true of any community. For example, in

this sangha there are different positions, each filled by a different

person who carries out his or her own duties. But this sangha also

exists as a whole, as one sangha, and in this sense there is no

separation among us. “Interact” refers to everything working together

and “not interact” describes everything having its own individual

shape, function, and practice.

Harmony in Community

Community always includes both aspects. If we ignore either, the

sangha, family, or body becomes sick and functions poorly. If we

think only of one individual and lose sight of the community as a

whole, the community doesn’t work. But it’s not healthy to put too

much emphasis on the community and ignore individuals. When we

go too far toward either extreme, we become sick. We have to try to

find the Middle Way. This is one of the most important concepts in

Buddhism. We find the Middle Way when we sacrifice neither the

individual nor the community. In Shōbōgenzō “Bodaisatta Shishōbō”

(Bodhisattva’s Four Embracing Dharmas), Dōgen Zenji said,

“Identity-action means not to be different—neither different from self

nor from others.”

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This means we have to find a way for both self

and others to be peaceful, harmonious, and beneficial as a whole.

This is called compassion. It doesn’t mean that I sacrifice myself for

the sake of the community but that the community should include

this self. We have to find a way that this community can include this

individual self and be healthy. This is the bodhisattva Way.

Interacting and Not Interacting Interact

The next line of “Sandōkai” says, “When interacting, they also

merge.” “When interacting” as a translation of e-go is not quite

accurate because it implies that things interact only at particular

times. Actually all things are always interacting. The Japanese word

for “merge” here is wataru. The Chinese character for this word has

two parts; one means “water” or “river,” and the other means “to

walk.” Together, the two mean to cross the river, in this case to cross

on foot a river with no bridge. Often Chinese or Japanese villages

are separated by a small river. The river is a boundary that is

crossed only when there is a problem to be resolved. This character

thus means to negotiate, to meet in order to solve problems. It also

means to see around the world, or to walk around the world and see

things. So wataru means to cross borders and work together.

At the same time, it implies some independence, since people

don’t cross the boundaries between villages very often. Especially in

ancient times, people who were born in a village died in the same

village. One family might live in the same village for many

generations. When I lived in a small farming village in Kyoto, Japan,

there were about seventy families, most of whom had lived there

more than five hundred years. In the temple there was a family grave

that dated back to the sixteenth century. The villagers didn’t get out

much. But when there were problems they had to cross the

boundary and meet, negotiate, and work together. That’s the

meaning of wataru. This kanji, or Chinese character, shows both

individuality and collaboration. The interaction it describes is not tied

to a special time or occasion but ongoing, among all beings and

things. And yet at the same time all things have independence.

Not Interacting Within Interacting

The next line, “Otherwise, they remain in their own states,” refers to

noninteraction, which is also an ongoing aspect of reality rather than

a specific time or circumstance. Eye is always eye, nose is nose. I

am I, you are you. The Chinese character translated here as “state”

has two parts. One means “human being or person,” the other

“standing.” Together they describe a person standing in a certain

place, meaning that each person has his or her own place or

position. This refers not only to individuals but to the functions of

each individual. All the senses and their objects are independent.

Each has its own place, stage, rank, and function. They cannot

combine. Both aspects, individuality and interaction, are always

present. This seems contradictory but is in fact the nature of reality.

Wondrous Dharma

Dōgen Zenji’s major work is Shōbōgenzō. Shō means “true,” “right,”

or “correct.” Bō is “dharma.” Gen means “eyes.” A zō is a storehouse

or treasury. Shōbōgenzō thus means “treasury of the true dharma

eye.” This means that this reality, the reality of our life, is a treasury

of the eye. In this case, “eye” stands for the wisdom that sees the

true dharma. The Sanskrit for “true dharma” is saddharma. It is part

of the title of the Lotus Sutra, Saddharmapuṇḍarīka Sutra, where it

means “true reality or true teaching.” The Chinese translation of this

Sanskrit word is myōhō. Myō is an interesting character with two

parts: one means woman and the other young. Literally, myō refers

to the beauty of a young woman. It means beautiful, excellent,

wonderful, strange, and always changing—something we can’t

grasp. Myō is sometimes translated into English as “wondrous,”

meaning excellent and ungraspable. We can’t understand it with

logic. So the reality of our life is excellent, wonderful, and yet strange

and hard to understand. As explained above hō means dharma.

Reality itself is a question for us. There is no way to reduce the

reality of our life to any logical system and completely understand it,

because our life is so complex. Reality is always asking us, “What is

this life? Who are we? What am I doing?” Somehow we have to

answer with our practice. Practice doesn’t necessarily mean sitting

or studying the Buddha’s teaching. Practice can mean the activities

of our day-to-day lives. Even when we try to avoid answering

reality’s questions, that avoidance itself is an answer. If we try to

deny reality, that’s also an answer. So we can’t avoid it. Each one of

us has to engage this reality, including our self, body, mind, and

situation. Our self and our situation work together. We have to

accept this total reality as our self. Self is not a separate part of

reality. Our life is the sum of all the things happening inside and

outside us. We try to be peaceful, not only inside ourselves but

throughout the whole universe. There may be no war within this

country, but if there is fighting somewhere else this country cannot

be peaceful, because everything is connected. We have to work

together with things inside and outside ourselves. This attitude is

bodhisattva practice.

These four sentences express the wondrous reality of our life; a

life that has two aspects, interacting and not interacting, that also

interact with each other. And yet each and every thing stays in its

own dharma position. This expression “dharma position” is originally

from the Lotus Sutra. Dōgen Zenji uses it in Shōbōgenzō

“Genjōkōan,” where he says that firewood stays at the dharma

position of firewood, and ash stays at the dharma position of ash,

and yet “before and after is cut off” by the fire. It’s difficult to

understand, but we have to work through this as a koan. Genjō

refers to whatever is happening in this present moment as the

dharma position. Koan means both “reality” and also “question.”

Reality asks a question, “What is this?” and we must try to answer.

The answer is our practice.

DARKNESS AND LIGHT

Forms are basically different in material and appearance,

Sounds are fundamentally different in pleasant or harsh quality.

“Darkness” is a word for merging upper and lower;

“Light” is an expression for distinguishing pure and defiled.

Differences of the Objects

Here “forms” means the material objects of our sense field. Although

this poem only mentions forms and sounds, it means all six objects

of our sense organs (including mind, which senses mental

formations). All things have varied natures and characteristics. We

are all human beings and yet each of us looks different. Although we

share a common nature or essence, we vary in appearance. All

things have some aspects in common and also some unique

qualities.

Shitou continues, “Sounds are fundamentally different in pleasant

or harsh quality.” There are many different kinds of sound, some

pleasing, some terrible. We feel good when we listen to beautiful

music, but if we are sitting in the zendo and someone turns on loud

rock-and-roll, it’s disturbing. The same song might make us feel

good or bad depending on the situation. The effect of a song

depends not only on the nature of the sound itself but also on the

condition of this body and mind.

The same is true of taste. Delicious food and awful food might

have very similar nutritional value. But we have likes and dislikes.

Each thing has its own unique character, and we also respond to it in

different ways. Sometimes we feel good, sometimes we feel bad.

Even when we have delicious food in front of us, if we are not hungry

the delicious food is the same as junk food. When we are really

hungry, even junk food seems a feast. The appearance, quality,

meaning, and value of things around us all depend on the properties

of each thing and on the condition of our body and mind. Nothing

has a fixed nature or value.

Darkness and Light: Nondiscrimination and Discrimination

Shitou goes on to say, “‘Darkness’ is a word for merging upper and

lower; ‘Light’ is an expression for distinguishing pure and defiled.”

This is the same principle as ji and ri. Ji, it will be recalled, is the

aspect of independence; each thing has its own characteristics. Ri is

the aspect of universality or unity. For example, a hand is made up of

five independent fingers, each with a different shape, function, and

name. We cannot separate the fingers from the hand, and we cannot

separate the fingers from the billions of cells that make them up. A

cell is a collection of billions of atoms that cannot be separated. Each

atom is also a collection of smaller particles. This one hand is a part

of my body, which is a part of the human society, which is a part of

the larger ecology of the earth. Earth is a small part of the whole

universe. Nothing is fixed and yet each thing is really independent.

This is really a wondrous way of being. This is what is meant in the

Heart Sutra when it says, “form is emptiness and emptiness is form.”

Nothing is fixed, yet this hand is this hand. I am I, but this “I” doesn’t

exist independently. I can exist as a part of something or as a

collection of things. Darkness, or ri, is the universal aspect of our life.

Light, ji, is the individual, independent aspect of our life. In the dark,

colors are indistinguishable. In the light, everything becomes clear.

We can distinguish between red and blue, north and south, grass

and water. We should see our life and world from both perspectives,

light and darkness, differentiation and non-differentiation. We usually

see ourselves as individuals, distinct from other people. I say this is

me, and this is my opinion. I like this, I hate that. If someone else has

a different opinion we may feel angry or sad. Many conflicts and

problems arise from this difference. Yet when we see oneness or

universality, we understand that we are living out the same life,

supported by all beings. We realize that without others we cannot

live. When we clearly, deeply understand this, many problems

disappear naturally.

Nondiscrimination Is Not Enlightenment

Because of our upbringing, we can easily see our individuality. So

the first thing we have to learn is to see the universality of our life.

We need to be able to see that we share our life with other people,

with all beings in the whole universe. That is the meaning of

interdependence, one of the main teachings of the Buddha. But if we

cling to that perspective and call it enlightenment, it’s a mistake. The

Buddha taught that we must see the reality of our life from both

sides.

Our zazen practice is to awaken to the reality prior to separation.

Ordinarily we see things from one perspective or the other. When we

sit, we let go of thoughts and all particular perspectives. We don’t

grasp anything. That doesn’t mean that we have to extinguish

thought. Thought is always there as we experience our life, even

when sitting in this posture. Our mind often seems busier than usual

when we sit in a quiet place. In fact, our body and mind are busier

and noisier in everyday life, but since our environment is also noisy,

we don’t notice the commotion inside ourselves. When we come to a

quiet place, however, we hear even the smallest noise. When we sit

in the zendo, we can hear the sound of the clock. The sounds our

bodies make, coming from within us, become more noticeable, and it

seems that our mind is noisier than usual. I think that’s a good sign

of our practice. We hear this noise because our mind is beginning to

calm down. Of course, we should let go of the internal noise. We

should neither cling to nor try to escape from the noise. We should

just be awake and let it go. Let all thoughts, feelings, and daydreams

simply come and go freely. Everything is moving; nothing stays

forever. Just let everything be with you.

In zazen you should keep this upright posture, breathe quietly

through your nose, and let go of everything. We don’t try to control

anything, just keep this posture and let go. That is how darkness and

light manifest. Thought is still there. Yet we don’t think. It’s a difficult

point to explain. It’s like when you are driving a car and shift into

neutral. The engine is moving but the car doesn’t go anywhere. In

our zazen we put our mind into neutral. Thought is there but we are

not moved by it. My teacher Uchiyama Roshi said, “Thought is just a

secretion from our brain.” Thought is not a poison. But if you grasp

and are controlled by it, it becomes poisonous. We actualize both

darkness and light when we open our hand of thought and are not

moved. That is sitting practice. Our zazen is not a method to

contemplate reality which has lightness and dark. It is a way to

manifest both darkness and light. We are not the observer but rather

the reality itself.

FOUR GROSS ELEMENTS

The four gross elements return to their own natures

Like a baby taking to its mother;

Fire heats, wind moves,

Water wets, earth is solid.

Eye and form, ear and sound;

Nose and smell, tongue and taste—

The four gross elements are fire, wind, water, and earth. Here these

four words refer not to the literal elements but to the elements of our

life. For example, fire represents body heat; wind symbolizes

breathing and moving; water denotes blood, tears, or other bodily

liquids; and earth suggests bones, nails, hair, and other solids. In

addition to these four, Mahāyāna Buddhism considers ku, which

means “emptiness” or “space,” the fifth gross element. In Chinese,

space and emptiness are represented by the same character, which

means “sky.” Everything occupies space, so space is, in a sense,

another element.

Each element has its own nature: fire heats, wind moves, water is

wet, earth is solid. These elements cannot be confused. But at the

same time the five elements combine to form one body, one mind,

one person. Not only this one person but everything in this universe

is composed of these five elements. Everything is just a collection of

those elements, and yet each being, each thing, maintains its

independence. It’s really wondrous and yet this is reality.

Shitou continues, “Eye and form, ear and sound; nose and smell,

tongue and taste.” This is a list of some of the sense organs of the

body and mind and their objects. They are independent and yet work

together to create the world. When we sit in this space, the space

and my sitting become one. When I cook in the kitchen, this body,

my self, the ingredients, the water, the fire, the utensils, and the

space called the kitchen become one being working together. When

we play baseball, this whole universe becomes the world of playing

baseball. Our activity and the universe become one. It all works

together. If we become angry, this whole world becomes the world of

anger. Everything around us makes us crazy, angry. When we have

a competitive mind, this entire world becomes the world of

competition. All other beings, all other people, become competitors.

Our body and mind work together with our environment to create one

world. In this sense our mind is very important. A change in our mind

could change the whole world. Our practice is important because it is

not just the practice of our mind; it influences the whole universe.

ROOT AND LEAVES RETURN TO THE SOURCE

Thus in all things

The leaves spread from the root;

The whole process must return to the source;

“Noble” and “base” are only manners of speaking.

The Source Gives Birth to the Root and the Leaves

Here Shitou uses the expression “leaves and root” in the same way

as “spiritual source and branching streams.” This too is a symbol of

individuality and universality. The leaves represent individuality and

the root symbolizes oneness. I question the translation of the next

phrase, “The whole process must return to the source.” The

Japanese word used for “whole process” is hon matsu. Hon means

“original” or “foundation,” and matsu means “twigs and leaves.” Hon

can also mean “root.” From the root or foundation all individual

beings arise. And this sentence says that both hon (root) and matsu

(twigs) must return to the source. A better translation would be,

“Unity and individuality must return to the source.”

This “source” is different from the “spiritual source” mentioned

near the beginning of the poem. “Spiritual source” refers to the root

(oneness). In contrast, this “source” is a translation of the Chinese

word zong (Jap., shū), which means “essence” or “origin.” This is a

very Chinese expression of reality. In Chinese thought, individuality

emerges from oneness. It is often said that Zen Buddhism is a

mixture of Indian Buddhism and Chinese philosophy—in this case

Taoism. The idea that individual beings spring from oneness is a

typically Taoist way of thinking. Lao Tzu said, “Return is the

movement of the Tao. Yielding is the way of the Tao. All things are

born of being. Being is born of nonbeing. The Tao is nowhere to be

found. Yet it nourishes and completes all things. The Tao gives birth

to One. One gives birth to Two. Two gives birth to Three. Three gives

birth to all things.”

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This means that myriad independent things

flow from oneness. This oneness in turn derives from the Tao of

nothingness, or mu. Ultimately both difference and unity return to the

source (shū), which is nothingness (mu).

Unlike the Chinese, Indian Buddhists didn’t believe that emptiness

is the source of form. They believed that form is emptiness and

emptiness is form but not that emptiness is the source of form. In this

poem, we can see a mixture of Indian and Chinese philosophy.

Some modern Buddhist scholars conclude that because Zen is a

mixture of Chinese and Indian thought, it is not true Buddhism. I

think the situation is more complex. Chinese Buddhism is Buddhism

influenced by Chinese culture. Japanese Buddhism is Buddhism

influenced by Japanese culture. We could also say that Japanese

Buddhism is Japanese culture influenced by Buddhism. In the same

way, we can say that Chinese Buddhism is Chinese culture

influenced by Buddhism. We can look at either from two different

directions. We can think of American Buddhism as American culture

influenced by Buddhism or as Buddhism influenced by American

culture. To judge a practice as true Buddhism or not based on the

national and cultural background of the practitioner’s understanding

does not make much sense to me. We need to find our own

expression of the dharma, of reality. This is a simple but at the same

time complex and interesting reality.

Another example of this contrast between Indian and Chinese

thought is the “two truths” in Nāgārjuna’s teaching versus the “three

truths” in the philosophy of Tientai Zhiyi (Tendai Chigi, 538–597), the

most important master in the Chinese Tientai (Tendai) school. To

review, Nāgārjuna’s two truths are absolute truth and conventional

truth. In chapter 24 of the Mūlamadhyamakakārikā, “Examination of

the Fourfold Noble Truth,” Nāgārjuna said:

The teaching of the Dharma by the various Buddhas is based on the

two truths, namely, the relative (worldly) truth and the absolute

(supreme) truth. Those who do not know the distinction between the

two truths cannot understand the profound nature of the Buddha’s

teaching. Without relying on everyday common practice (i.e., relative

truths), the absolute truth cannot be expressed. Without approaching

the absolute truth, nirvana cannot be attained. We declare that

whatever is relational origination is śūnyatā (emptiness). It is a

provisional name (i.e., thought construction) for the mutuality (of

being) and indeed, it is the middle path (24:8–10).

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In these passages, according to Hajime Nakamura, a Japanese

Buddhist scholar, Nāgārjuna only says that relational

(interdependent) origination, śūnyatā (emptiness), provisional

names, and the middle path are all the same thing.

In his interpretation of Nāgārjuna’s passages, Zhiyi creates three

truths. The first is the conventional truth of all beings as provisional

names, the second is the truth of śūnyatā (emptiness), and the third

is the truth of the middle. First we need to negate the conventional

truth and see emptiness. Next, we need to negate śūnyatā and enter

the truth of the middle, because śūnyatā is also a provisional name.

To be free from provisional names including śūnyatā is the truth of

the middle. In this interpretation, provisional names and śūnyatā

oppose each other and yet are the same. Freedom from and

transcendence of both is the truth of the middle. To me, Zhiyi’s

interpretation of the three truths and Shitou’s saying the root (unity)

and twigs (difference) must return to the source show the same

pattern of Chinese thought.

The symbol of yin and yang echoes this pattern. Yin (black) and

yang (white) oppose each other, and yet yin is included in yang and

vice versa. The opposite movements of each are integrated into one

circle. This circle is called the “great ultimate” (Chi., taiji; Jap.,

taikyoku). It is the source in “Sandōkai.”

“Sandōkai” as a Buddhist Text

When we read “Sandōkai” as a Buddhist text, we need to understand

it from a Buddhist rather than Taoist perspective. Forms are not

derived from emptiness. Unity does not give birth to difference. Five

fingers are not born from one hand. Rather, one hand and five

fingers are exactly the same thing.

When Shitou says, “‘Noble’ and ‘base’ are only manners of

speaking,” he is referring to buddhas as noble and other humans as

base. We can substitute any other dichotomy—enlightenment and

delusion, or universality and individuality—for noble and base. He

refers here to our dualistic way of thinking and expression as “only

manners of speaking.” The reality before thought or explanation can

only be experienced. We cannot discuss it. As soon as we try, we

have already missed it. This is an important point. We can talk about

our life or our zazen; but when we talk about our life, our life itself is

already somewhere else. When we talk about zazen, zazen itself is

somewhere else. So when we sit zazen, we should forget about

what zazen is, because we are already doing it. When we think

about zazen, we are not doing it; we are thinking. When we sit, we

should forget what we are doing. We should forget what zazen is

and just sit. That is the meaning of “just sit” or shikantaza.

How Avalokiteśvara Works with Thousands of Eyes and Hands

There is a koan that illustrates this relationship between

independence and interdependence. It is a question and answer

between Yunyan Tansheng and Daowu Yuanzhi (Dōgo Enchi, 769–

835).

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The brothers Yunyan and Daowu were disciples of Yaoshan

Weiyan, who was one of Shitou’s disciples. Yunyan was the younger

brother and became a monk at an early age. Daowu was an official

and became a monk twenty years later. Daowu attained the Way

quickly, while Yunyan was never enlightened. Yunyan’s main disciple

was Dongshan, the founder of the Caodong (Sōtō) school in China.

The relationship between two brothers, actual as well as dharma

brothers, was very interesting.

Master Yunyan asked Daowu, “How does the Bodhisattva of Great

Compassion use his manifold hands and eyes?” The Bodhisattva of

Great Compassion is Avalokiteśvara or Kanzeon Bosatsu. He is a

symbol of the Buddha’s compassion. Some statues of Avalokiteśvara

have a thousand hands and a thousand eyes, one on each hand.

Eyes are a symbol of wisdom. So this bodhisattva has many eyes to

see the differences between beings and many hands to save them.

Yunyan’s question is, how does Avalokiteśvara use so many hands

and eyes?

Daowu replied, “It’s like a man reaching behind himself in the night

searching for a pillow.” Sometimes in the night we lose our pillow,

and have to find it in the darkness. Before electricity the night was

really dark. Somehow we can find the pillow even though we cannot

see it with our eyes. In a way our whole body is our eyes.

Yunyan said, “I understand.”

“What do you understand?” Daowu asked.

Yunyan answered, “There are a thousand eyes all over the body.”

Daowu said “That’s very good, but you express only 80 or 90

percent of it.” He was saying that Yunyan’s understanding was not

yet perfect. This is a very important point in our lineage. If you really

become perfect, there is nothing more to do. Our understanding

should always be 80 or 90 percent, and we need to keep inquiring.

Yunyan said, “That’s my answer, how about you, elder brother?”

Daowu replied, “The whole body is hands and eyes.” In the chapter

on the Heart Sutra I explained that one of the points of this koan is

whether Yunyan’s and Daowu’s expressions are exactly the same or

not. If we think they are different, we could interpret them as follows.

Yunyan said there are a thousand eyes all over the body, and Daowu

said the whole body is hands and eyes. In the original Chinese only

two characters are different, hen and tsū, and they both mean

“whole” or “entire.” It might seem as though Yunyan and Daowu are

saying the same thing. But hen means that there are hands and

eyes all over the body, and in Daowu’s expression, tsū means this

whole body functions as eyes and hands. It’s a subtle difference, but

Daowu’s statement is much more dynamic. He refers to an action or

activity. Yunyan’s expression is more static.

Daowu is saying that our practice, not just our zazen, but our

whole life, should be lived like Avalokiteśvara. We have only two

hands and eyes, and yet when we do something our whole body

should become eyes. When we see something, for instance a

painting in a museum, our whole body should become our eyes. We

appreciate the painting with the whole body and mind, not just our

eyes. When we eat, we taste not only with our tongue but with our

whole body. The color and shape of food is important. The

circumstances or environment of the place where we eat is also

important. The taste of food depends very much on the situation.

When we do something we do it with our whole body. The eye is the

eye. It really is independent. Yet when we actually do something, we

do it with our whole body and mind. All individual sense organs and

parts of our body work together as one body and mind, as one

person. This is a very practical meaning of emptiness. Everything

works together to create each situation. It is our practice to awaken

to this entire reality, which includes the self and all beings, creating

together.

RIGHT IN LIGHT THERE IS DARKNESS

Right in light there is darkness, but don’t confront it as darkness;

Right in darkness there is light, but don’t see it as light.

Light and dark are relative to one another

Like forward and backward steps.

Light and Darkness Interpenetrate

In the beginning of “Sandōkai,” Shitou says, “The spiritual source

shines clearly in the light; the branching streams flow in the

darkness.” This is the way he expresses the interpenetration of

difference and unity, ji and ri, the absolute truth and relative truth.

Here he uses light and darkness again to describe the attitude we

should use to encounter and see the interpenetrating reality.

“Right in light there is darkness, but …” This translation has “but,”

but I think “therefore” is better: “therefore don’t confront it as

darkness.” Light and darkness are always together. We cannot

understand our life through only one aspect. We often see darkness,

unity, or non-discrimination as enlightenment and discrimination as

delusion. From this perspective, enlightenment means to give up

light, differentiation, and discrimination and to live in the realm of

nondiscrimination. Shitou conveys a more complex understanding. In

the phrase “light and dark,” light refers to samsara and dark to

nirvana or nondiscrimination. But these are inseparable aspects of

reality. In Mahāyāna Buddhism, our practice is not to escape

samsara for nirvana. Nirvana is within samsara, which is within

nirvana. We cannot make this life all nirvana or all samsara because

samsara and nirvana always exist together. Right in samsara there is

nirvana.

The next sentence repeats the same idea. “Right in darkness

there is light, therefore don’t see it as light.” We cannot define this

light using only one concept. Delusion and enlightenment always

exist together. Delusion is a product of our mind. The fact that our

brain has the power to produce delusion is reality. We cannot

remove this capability from our brain. Somehow we must live with

our delusions as the reality of our life. But if we forget that our

delusions are created by our own minds and mistake them for reality,

then we are completely caught and our life becomes a mess. We

can’t see where to go. We have to find a way to live with delusion

without being pulled around by it.

Shitou continues, “Light and dark are relative to one another like

forward and backward steps.” There is no light without darkness and

no darkness without light. But what do forward and backward steps

mean? In walking, when the right foot is forward, the left foot is

backward. When the right foot is backward, the left foot is forward. In

this sense, light and darkness are like right and left feet. They are

always together but sometimes we see only light and sometimes

only darkness. Sometimes darkness is forward, sometimes light. But

light and darkness are always together just like our feet when we are

walking.

Darkness Is Negative, Light Is Positive

There are two meanings each for light and darkness. We can

combine them to make three different pairs of meanings. Darkness is

usually used in a negative sense, as ignorance, absence of

discrimination, lack of intellection, or the inability to distinguish good

from evil. Without knowledge we cannot understand what is

happening. This meaning of darkness is negative because it’s

defined as a lack of discrimination. One meaning of light is the

opposite of this first meaning of darkness; light can mean intellection.

We study how to analyze, categorize, and conceptualize things. In

this way we can see things outside ourselves in more detail, more

clearly. This way of interacting with the things around us is called

rationalism. The use of reason to understand our world is the original

English meaning of enlightenment. In eighteenth-century Europe

enlightenment emphasized the accumulation of knowledge. Our

suffering is caused by ignorance, so we must study more and use

our reason. This is still an underlying assumption in education, not

only in the West but also in the rest of the world.

Light Is Negative, Darkness Is Positive

The first meaning of light is the use of our intellect to see things not

only outside of ourselves but inside as well. We call this

discrimination. Abhidharma was a Buddhist form of rationalism, an

attempt to understand things through reason and analysis.

Abhidharma was the mainstream of Buddhist philosophy before

Mahāyāna. The Abhidharma text Abhidharmakośa bhāṣya

categorized all things into seventy-five dharmas or elements. These

philosophers believed that there is no ātman or ego, no body and

mind beyond a collection of elements, and that self has no

substance. That’s the meaning of emptiness or selflessness. They

believed that the seventy-five elements really did exist and that all

beings are collections of those seventy-five elements. They wrote

clear definitions of each element. The five skandhas is another way

to analyze a being into categories.

Mahāyāna Buddhism transcends this rationalism and

conceptualization with the philosophy of emptiness. Mahāyāna

Buddhism taught that the elements themselves are without

substance, that they are empty. That is the meaning of the statement

that the five skandhas are empty. Even the fundamental elements

are empty. This means that eye, ear, nose, and tongue don’t function

separately, but only as a whole. They are all connected with each

other. That is one meaning of emptiness. Nothing can exist as an

independent entity and everything functions as part of a larger

system. This perspective is called nondiscriminating mind or

nondiscriminating wisdom. It is also referred to as darkness in this

poem.

Going Beyond Negative and Positive

If darkness as lack of discrimination or intellection and light as

rational discrimination are paired, darkness is negative and light is

positive. However, we can also make a second pair with light as

negative (discrimination from a limited view) and darkness as

positive (a nondiscriminatory way of seeing).

In Buddhism we commonly think that nondiscrimination is the

answer; that we should try to set aside discrimination and enter the

realm of nondiscrimination, which is enlightenment. That’s true but

it’s not the end of the story. There is another meaning of light called

the Buddha’s wisdom or “later obtained discriminating wisdom,”

which is also based on nondiscrimination. In our daily lives we have

to discriminate to practice and to help others. In this case,

nondiscrimination means nonattachment. This light is called prajñā

and is described in the Heart Sutra as the bright mantra. It’s very

important that we go beyond nondiscrimination. In Zen there are

some people who attain so-called enlightenment and stay in a

condition of nondiscrimination. Sometimes such people cling to that

condition with a kind of greed. These practitioners are called an shō

no zenji. An means “darkness” and shō is “enlightenment.” So the

phrase means “enlightenment in darkness,” a negative condition.

Buddhism and our life itself have many dimensions. We should not

stagnate in one condition. In this poem, it appears that Shitou

discusses only the relationship between light and darkness, between

differentiation and nondifferentiation. But the insight Shitou uses to

describe the relationship between light and darkness is an example

of the Buddha’s wisdom, this third meaning of light. He shows us that

differentiation between darkness and light is just another kind of

discrimination. He discriminates between these two and then

integrates them. This is a very practical wisdom, free from both

discrimination and nondiscrimination. It is a more natural function of

our life.

BOX AND COVER JOINING

All things have their function—

It is a matter of use in the appropriate situation.

Phenomena exist like box and cover joining;

Principle accords like arrow points meeting.

Each Thing Has Its Own Place and Function

“All things have their function.” Everything and everybody has a

unique function. We all have different capabilities, talents,

characteristics, personalities, bodies, and languages. All things have

a function appropriate to some situation. The word in Japanese for

“appropriate situation” is sho, meaning “place.” Each one of us has

to find the best place to use this body and mind. This unique body

and mind exists as an intersection of difference and unity. That is the

place where we can create our own unique way of life. That is our

practice. Our practice doesn’t mean we have to make ourselves into

a particular shape. We are not like cars with certain standard shapes

and qualities. We have a responsibility to accept this unique body

and mind and put it to use. To fulfill the potential of this body and

mind, we have to find an appropriate situation and embrace it as our

own life, as our own work.

Phenomena and Principle Are Like Box and Lid

Next Shitou says, “Phenomena exist like box and cover joining;

principle accords like arrow points meeting.” “Phenomena” is a

translation for ji, meaning particular things or beings. “Principle” is a

translation of ri, the unity or universality of all beings. Shitou says

that phenomena exist in accord with principle, and principle exists in

accord with phenomena. “Phenomena exist like box and cover

joining; principle accords like arrow points meeting” is actually just

one sentence. This is rhetoric used in Chinese poetry to avoid

repetition of the same two subjects. Each of the two clauses is about

the way phenomena and principle exist and work together. We

should read, “Phenomena and principle exist like box and cover

joining; principle accords with phenomena like arrow points meeting.”

Phenomena and principle, ji and ri, difference and unity, exist like

box and cover joining. Each box is a different size with a lid that fits

exactly. So there is no principle other than phenomena. Phenomena

and principle are like box and cover, completely joined.

Arrow Points Meeting in the Air

“Arrow points meeting” is a reference to a classic Chinese story

about two archery masters.

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One was the teacher and the other his

excellent disciple. When the student felt his skill had surpassed his

teacher’s, he challenged him. When they took aim at each other and

shot, the arrows met in midair and fell to the ground. Both lived

because they had equal skill. Shitou says that phenomena and

principle, difference and unity, should meet like the arrows. Our

practice is to actualize this relationship between difference and unity

in each situation. For example, we cannot live by ourselves. We are

part of a community, and yet no matter where I live, I am I. I cannot

be another person, and yet to be a member of a community I have to

transcend “I am I” and see the situation of the whole community. We

have a point of view as an individual and also as a member of the

sangha or community. We also have another “I” who sees the

situation from both perspectives. The viewpoint of an individual

person is in this case an example of difference. It’s very natural that I

have an opinion different from other people. We shouldn’t negate our

individual opinions, but as a member of a community, we have to see

things as a whole. The most desirable condition is when both ways

of seeing meet each other like the arrows shot by the masters. If we

can perceive a situation like that, we can be really peaceful. It

doesn’t happen very often because it’s really difficult. Our way of life

is always like arrows missing each other. That’s why we have pain in

our social lives. There is no way another person or a god can make

these arrows meet. Our practice is to find the “appropriate situation”

in which this person as an individual and this person as a member of

the sangha can meet like a box and cover joining, or like two arrows

in midair.

DO NOT WASTE TIME

Hearing the words, you should understand the source;

Don’t make up standards on your own.

If you don’t understand the path as it meets your eyes,

How can you know the way as you walk?

Progress is not a matter of far or near,

But if you are confused, mountains and rivers block the way.

I humbly say to those who study the mystery,

Don’t waste time.

Words and Reality

This is the final message from Shitou to us. “Hearing the words, you

should understand the source.” We have been reading and studying

his words in this wonderful poem. He gives us the final advice that if

we grasp what he has written as a theory, memorize his words, and

build a system of concepts from his teaching, we will totally miss his

point. All words and concepts are discriminatory. The basic function

of words and concepts is to separate one thing from all other things.

Even when we use the word “absolute,” we have already slipped into

the opposite concept, “relative.” “Nondiscrimination” has meaning

only in a dichotomy with “discrimination.” How can we go beyond the

discrimination between “absolute” and “relative,” or “discrimination”

and “nondiscrimination”? The only way is to see the source, the

reality as it exists before being processed by our thinking mind. To

do so, we need practice. Any theoretical system of concepts or

thoughts is a distorted copy of reality. We can only practice it,

experience it, and nod our head.

All doctrines, theories, and descriptions using words and concepts

are distorted images of reality from our own point of view. When we

realize this, even a distorted copy can be useful. However, if we

mistake the distorted map for the true reality, we stray, making up our

own standards of judgment.

Just Sitting on the Ground of Reality

Shitou asks, “If you don’t understand the path as it meets your eyes,

how can you know the way as you walk?” When we wake up to

reality, the Way is always in front of our eyes. We are born, live, and

die within this reality. We never fall out of reality. And yet, we almost

always lose sight of it. By just sitting and letting go of thought, we

can be within reality. Just sitting allows us to put our entire being on

the ground of reality. But usually, we make up our own standards

and create our distorted version of reality. Therefore, we need to

constantly practice letting go. When we place ourselves on the

ground of reality, we will find the path we need to walk. Otherwise,

we will be lost in the map made by our minds.

Practice Is Moment by Moment

“Progress is not a matter of far or near, but if you are confused,

mountains and rivers block the way.” Our practice is not a race with

others, a competition run from the starting point to the goal. It is not a

matter of far or near. Our practice is moment by moment. When we

awake, we are right in the middle of the Way. At the next moment,

when we lose sight of reality, we are 100 percent off the mark. If we

walk within a distorted map, no matter how long we practice, we

wander far from the Way even though we are always right within the

Way. We are blocked by mountains and rivers within our mind.

“I humbly say to those who study the mystery, don’t waste time.”

No matter how hard we practice, if our practice is not based on true

reality, we are wasting our time.

An unsurpassed, penetrating, and perfect Dharma

is rarely met with even in a hundred thousand million kalpas.

Having it to see and listen to, to remember and accept,

I vow to taste the truth of the Tathāgata’s words.

112

THIS IS A reasonably accurate English translation of the verse

chanted before dharma talks at many American Zen centers. A more

literal translation from the original Japanese is:

An unsurpassed, most profound, subtle, and wondrous Dharma,

even in a hundred thousand ten thousand kalpas, it is difficult to

encounter.

I now see and listen, and I am able to accept and uphold it;

I vow (or wish) to understand the true meaning of the Tathāgata.

This seems to be a very simple verse. It says that since the Dharma,

the Buddha’s teaching, is rarely encountered, now that I have met it,

I want to deeply understand it. I think, however, that it takes some

time to taste and really appreciate this verse.

In Japanese the first line is “Mujō jin jin mimyō no hō wa.” Mujō

means “unsurpassed.” The first jin means “very” or “extremely,” and

the second means “deep” or “profound.” So mujō jin jin means

“highest and also deepest.” Mi means “very small” or “subtle,”

something we cannot see with our unaided eyes. So the first line

means that the Dharma or the Buddha’s teaching is the highest or

ultimate, and also the deepest and most subtle.

Dharma has two meanings: the Buddha’s teachings, and the truth

to which he awakened. So Dharma means both teachings about

reality and the reality itself. This first line says that the Buddha’s

teaching is the highest, deepest, and most subtle and wondrous of

teachings. It also says that the reality to which Shakyamuni Buddha

awakened is the highest, deepest, and most subtle and wondrous.

“Highest” implies upward movement; “deepest” implies downward. In

Buddhism this pair has special meaning. To go up means to see

reality with wisdom or prajñā. To go down means to use skillful

means with compassion for all beings. The Buddha sees reality from

the peak of wisdom and descends to help all beings awaken to and

practice this reality. Mujō jin jin refers at the same time to the highest

and deepest qualities of the Buddha’s wisdom and compassion.

“Subtle and wondrous” describe something we can’t see with our

eyes or our usual way of thinking.

The expression jin jin mimyō no hō is from the Lotus Sutra, one of

the most important sources of Dōgen Zenji’s teachings. For Dōgen

Zenji the Lotus Sutra was essential because it describes the

Mahāyāna Way of the bodhisattva. The expression “most profound,

subtle, and wondrous dharma” is from the second chapter, titled

“Expedient Devices.” The first verse of the chapter in which this

expression appears begins:

The Hero of the World is incalculable.

Among gods, worldlings,

And all varieties of living beings,

None can know the Buddha.

As to the Buddha’s strengths (bala), his sorts of fearlessness

(vaiśāradya),

His deliverances (vimokṣa), and his samādhis,

As well as the other dharmas of a Buddha,

None can fathom them.

113

This passage says that none can know the Buddha; no human being

can understand who the Buddha is. “Fathom” means to measure the

size of something. The English unit of length is the foot, which was

originally based on the length of a human foot. We measure by

comparison to familiar things. To measure means to understand or

grasp. Without something familiar for comparison we cannot

measure anything. When we measure the size of the universe, we

use a unit like the light-year. Since we can’t experience a light-year, it

is an abstraction, something meaningful only to scientists. To make

meaningful measurements we must use our own experience as a

yardstick. The Buddha and the Dharma are limitless and boundless

and therefore cannot be measured. To comprehend something

boundless, something infinite, we have to open our hand and

become free of our yardsticks. We do this in zazen. When we stop

measuring, we can understand something limitless. That is what the

phrase “none can fathom them” means. This doesn’t mean that 99

percent of human beings are unable but that some very superior

people, sages or enlightened ones, can fathom the boundless with

their special yardsticks. No one can measure something limitless

because all yardsticks are limited. We can’t measure without

concepts based on our limited experience. When we open our hand

and stop using our yardsticks, we can encounter something

boundless. That’s our practice. That is the quality of this Dharma.

The Lotus Sutra continues with the passage that is the source of

the expression “profound, subtle, and wondrous Dharma.”

Formerly, following numberless Buddhas,

He fully trod the various paths,

Those dharmas profound and subtle,

Hard to see and hard to understand.

Throughout countless millions of kalpas

He trod these various paths; [then]

On the platform of the Path, he was able to achieve the fruit.

This I fully know.

114

“Kalpa” is an interesting expression. It is a unit of time, something

like a light-year, which is defined in an unusual way. Imagine that a

storehouse with a capacity of ten cubic miles is filled with poppy

seeds. Once every century someone removes a single poppy seed.

A kalpa is defined as the time it would take to empty the storehouse.

The sutra says millions of kalpas, which effectively means never.

The expression “is difficult to encounter even in a hundred thousand

million kalpas” means we can never encounter the Dharma. But then

it contradicts itself and says, “I now see and listen, and I am able to

accept and uphold or maintain it.” The translation in the MZMC sutra

book is “having it to see and listen to, remember and accept.” The

word “having” is not strong enough. We have to uphold, maintain,

and nurture it. It’s not enough to merely have the Dharma; we also

have to cultivate it.

In this translation the important word “now” is omitted. When we

merely think about the Dharma and try to “get it,” we are unable to.

As long as we try to grasp it with our intellect, we are unsuccessful

because it’s impossible. The word “now” means at this present

moment, the only reality. The past is already gone and the future has

yet to come. Neither is reality. Only this moment, now, is reality. And

yet this now is strange and wondrous. We cannot grasp it because it

has no length. If it did, we could cut it in half. Suppose I want to

speak the word “now.” When I make the initial sound na-, the rest of

the sound, ow, still lies in the future; and when I do the ow, the na- is

already past. So when is the present? The present is nothing. It is

empty. So the past and future are never here, and the present is

empty. It’s really wondrous, and we cannot understand it. We

experience reality, actually live our lives and do things, and yet

everything is empty. When we try to grasp it there is no substance.

Reality is empty like a phantom. This is the meaning of “form is

emptiness and emptiness is form.” This is reality. This present

moment, which is zero or empty, is the only reality. It is the only time

we can meet the Dharma by letting go of our limited measurement,

our conventional ways of seeing and judging. To see the Dharma,

the reality, we must open our hand and just accept that reality. There

is no sound, and yet we have to listen for and accept this boundless

Dharma. We cannot discuss the absolute. Argument doesn’t work.

When we discuss the nature of the Dharma, we discuss our insight,

our understanding of reality. Each of us has a different life

experience and different ways of seeing things. Our opinions or

expressions of this reality can differ. We can discuss or argue, and

yet reality itself cannot be the object of meaningful argument.

All we can do is simply accept, maintain, and uphold it. “Maintain”

means to use it. “Use” doesn’t mean I use the Dharma, in the sense

that the Dharma is the object of my activity. Instead it means we are

the Dharma itself. There is no truth or reality outside ourselves. We

cannot be outside reality. We are born into and live in this reality, this

Dharma. Since we are part of the Dharma, we can’t observe it from

outside. Everything we do in our day-to-day lives is a manifestation

of this boundless Dharma. The limitless, unsurpassed, most

profound Dharma should be manifested through practice with our

small, limited, impermanent body and mind. Practice means more

than sitting zazen in the zendō. It includes practice outside of the

zendō. Our practice, our life, is the only way to manifest this infinite

Dharma. The only time we can see, listen, accept, and maintain this

Dharma is right now.

The Lotus Sutra continues:

As to such great fruit and retribution as these,

Such varied doctrines of nature and marks,

I and the Buddhas of the ten directions

Are the only ones who can know these things.

These dharmas cannot be demonstrated;

Words, which are only signs, are quiescent in them.

Among the remaining kinds of living beings

None can understand them,

Except for the multitude of bodhisattvas,

Whose power of faith is firm.

The phrase “nature and marks,” which refers back to what

Shakyamuni Buddha says in the prose section preceding this verse,

is essential to an understanding of Mahāyāna Buddhism. The

Buddha is speaking to Śāriputra, one of his ten great disciples:

“Śāriputra, we need speak no more. Why is this? Concerning the

prime, rare, hard-to-understand dharmas, which the Buddha has

perfected, only a Buddha and a Buddha can exhaust their reality,

namely, the suchness of the dharmas.”

115

“Suchness of the

dharmas” is a translation for shohō jissō. Shohō means “myriad

dharmas” or “all beings.”Ji means “true or real,” and ssō is “form.” So

jissō means “reality” and “all dharmas or beings.” This Dharma is the

reality of all beings, not something abstract that exists outside the

phenomenal world. It is the reality of all phenomenal things, including

ourselves.

The sutra continues, “the suchness of their marks, the suchness of

their nature, the suchness of their substance.” “Marks” is translation

of sō, which means “form.” “Nature” is the characteristics of each

thing. The original word translated here as “substance” is tai. It

means “body,” not substance—something impermanent or egoless.

Each thing has its own body: a book, clothing, water, grass, a person

—all have bodies. The list continues with “the suchness of their

powers, the suchness of their functions.” Each being has its own

power or energy. It’s not a dead thing. And anything with power or

energy has function. Even though it doesn’t move visibly, a mountain

has functions. Dōgen Zenji says that mountains are always moving,

always walking.

Finally, “the suchness of their causes, the suchness of their

conditions, the suchness of their effects, the suchness of their

retributions, and the absolute identity of their beginning and end.”

These “ten suchnesses” were discussed in the beginning of the

chapter 5. As we saw there, the first five suchnesses of all beings

refer to the uniqueness of each being. And the next four imply that

each and every unique being can exist only within relation with

others within the network of interdependent origination throughout

entire time and space.

The tenth suchness is the “absolute identity of their beginning and

end.” “Beginning” refers to the first suchness and “end” to the ninth,

the retributions. These nine points are not independent aspects of

our being but rather only one, because we cannot separate them.

This last, tenth suchness is difficult to understand. Each being is

unique and yet is connected with all beings, from the beginningless

beginning to the endless end. When we take one being, we take all

beings and all times. Nothing is substantial. Everything is empty.

When we try to grasp with our intellect, using concepts, we become

neurotic. When we grasp one aspect, we miss another. When we try

to understand the difference between beings we differentiate and

miss the connections between them. When we focus on the

relationships between all beings, we miss the uniqueness of this

being. These two basically contradictory aspects of the true reality of

all beings are expressed in the Heart Sutra as “form is emptiness

and emptiness is form.” In “Sandōkai” the same reality is expressed

as merging of difference (ji) and unity (ri).

Because it is difficult to fathom and grasp both sides of reality at

once using concepts and intellect, as the Lotus Sutra says, we need

the power of faith. Through our practice based on faith, we can

experience the true reality even though we cannot see and measure

it as an object.

The faith of power derives from taking refuge in the Triple

Treasure. We take refuge, we take the precepts, and we take the

four bodhisattva vows and continue to practice, wearing a buddha’s

robe and receiving offerings with gratitude from the network of

interdependent origination, gifts such as air, water, food, and many

more things. We keep up our effort to hear, understand, and uphold

the teachings of the sutras—through texts, talks, and instructions

from teachers and others—and of reality itself.

Our practice includes all activities of this body and mind—including

our thoughts, which are one way to understand this wondrous

Dharma. We don’t need to cut off our thoughts. Thinking is, in fact, a

function of the Dharma. But we should understand that thought

cannot grasp reality. So we have to open our hands and work with

the reality we encounter daily. When we think about each part in

isolation it’s really difficult to see reality as a whole and explain it. But

the Buddha’s teaching is really simple. It is the reality we always

experience, not something mysterious or mystical beyond the

phenomenal world. It’s not something esoteric. Even so, it is difficult

to fathom the ways all beings exist in this phenomenal world in which

we live. The way we live is actually mysterious. The truth is not

hidden but always here, always manifested. The goal of our practice

is not to experience something different from our day-to-day lives. It

is to see deep into the reality of each being, including this one. This

is really wondrous and difficult to grasp. To appreciate this is to meet

with the Dharma. When we really see, listen to, accept, and maintain

that Dharma, we can’t help but vow to understand it more deeply.

That’s the meaning of the last line of this verse, “I vow to understand

the true meaning of the Tathāgata.” We vow to deeply understand

the dharmakāya into which we are born; the reality that is itself the

Buddha’s body, in which we live and die together with all beings.

NOTES
1. “The ancestral way come from the west I transmit east.
Fishing the moon, cultivating clouds,
I long for the ancient wind.
How could red dusts from the mundane world fly up to here?
Snowy night in the deep mountains in my grass hut.”
Dōgen,  Dōgen’s  Extensive  Record:  A  Translation  of  Eihei  Koroku,  trans.
Leighton and Okumura (Wisdom Publications, 1995), p. 638.
2. Buddhadharma, Spring 2011, p. 25.
3. Dainin  Katagiri,  Each  Moment  Is  the  Universe:  Zen  and  the  Way  of  Being  Time
(Boston: Shambhala, 2007), p. 216.
4. I found this poem in the draft of Ceaseless Effort: The Life of Dainin Katagiri, by
Andrea Martin (Minnesota Zen Meditation Center).
5. The  story  is based  on  the  translation  by Thomas  William  Rhys Davids,  Buddhist
Birth-Stories: Jataka Tales (1880) (repr., Calcutta: Srishti Publishers, 1998). Another
version is found in Rafe Martin,  The  Hungry  Tigress: Buddhist Legends and Jataka
Tales (Berkeley: Parallax Press, 1990).
6. Martin, Hungry Tigress.
7. This is the translation of the verse of four bodhisattva vows in the sutra book used
at  Minnesota  Zen  Meditation  Center.  The  translation  in  Sōtō  School  Scriptures  for
Daily Services and Practice published by Sōtōshū Shūmuchō is as follows: “Beings
are numberless; I vow to free them. / Delusions are inexhaustible; I vow to end them. /
Dharma  gates  are  boundless,  I  vow  to  enter  them.  /  The  Buddha  way  is
unsurpassable; I vow to realize it.” In Japanese: “Shujō mu hen sei gan do, / Bonnō
mu jin sei gan dan, / Hō mon mu ryō sei gan gaku, / Butsu dō mujō seigan gan jō.”
8.  This  does  not  mean  Buddhists  do  not  pray.  Originally  Buddhism  did  not  have
sacred beings to pray to; but later, in Mahāyāna and Vajrayāna Buddhism, buddhas,
bodhisattvas, and some guardian gods came to be considered objects of prayer.

9. Augustine Ichirō Okumura, Awakening to Prayer, trans. Theresa Kazue Hiraki and
Albert Masaru Yamato (Washington, D.C.: ICS, 1994).
10. This is the translation of the verse from Bosatsu-yōraku-hongōkyō (Bodhisattva Jewel
Necklace Sutra), Taisho, vol. 24, p. 1013.
11. This verse appears in the Mahavāgga of the Pāli Vinaya. This English translation is from
Hajime  Nakamura,  Gotama  Buddha:  A  Biography  Based  on  the  Most  Reliable  Texts,
trans. Gaynor Sekimori (Tokyo: Kosei, 2000), p. 228.
12. This poem was published in the MZMC newsletter, Spring 1991, on the occasion of the
first anniversary of Katagiri Roshi’s death.
13. D. T. Suzuki, Living by Zen: A Synthesis of the Historical and Practical Aspects of Zen
Buddhism (London: Samuel Weiser, 1972).
14. D. T. Suzuki, Zen ni yoru Seikatu, trans. Kobori Sōhaku, Suzuki Daisetsu Zen senshu,
vol. 3 (Tokyo: Shunjūsha, 1975), p. 173.
15. D. T. Suzuki, Outlines of Mahayana Buddhism (New York: Schocken Books, 1963), p.
307.
16. Kōshō Uchiyama, Opening the Hand of Thought (Boston: Wisdom, 2004), p. 157.
17.  Shohaku  Okumura,  Shikantaza:  An  Introduction  to  Zazen  (Kyoto:  Kyoto  Sōtō  Zen
Center, 1985), p. 63.
18.  Shohaku  Okumura  and  Taigen  Dan  Leighton,  trans.,  The  Wholehearted  Way:  A
Translation  of  Eihei  Dōgen’s  Bendōwa  with  Commentary  by  Kōshō  Uchiyama  Roshi
(Boston: Tuttle, 1997), p. 23.
19. This saying appears in the third chapter of the Lotus Sutra, “Simile and Parable.” Burton
Watson, trans., The Lotus Sutra (New York: Columbia University Press, 1993), p. 69.
20.  Taigen  Dan  Leighton  and  Shohaku  Okumura,  trans.,  Dōgen’s Pure  Standards  for  the
Zen  Community:  A  Translation  of  Eihei  Shingi  (Albany:  State  University  of  New  York
Press, 1996), pp. 47–49.
21. Ibid.
22. Ibid. p. 48.
23. Ibid. p. 37.
24. Ibid. p. 48.
25. Ibid. pp. 48–49.
26.  Guishan  Lingyou  (Isan  Reiyū)  lived  from  771  to  853  CE  during  the  golden  age  of
Chinese Zen. He founded the Guiyang (Igyō) school, one of the five schools of Zen in
China. Guishan was a dharma successor of Baizhang Huihai (Hyakujō Ekai). Baizhang is
known for his Baizhang Qingguei (Hyakujō Shingi), a compilation of the regulations for a
Zen  monastery.  With  Baizhang’s  regulations,  Zen  monastic  practice  was  formally
established.
27. This is my translation. Another can be found in Gudo Nishijima and Chodo Cross, trans.,
Master Dōgen’s Shōbōgenzō, bk.  2 (BookSurge,  2006), p.  170.  Zen Master  Dayuan  is
the honorific title given by the emperor to Guishan.
28. This lecture at the Sōtōshu Kyōka Kenshūsho (Sōtō School Propagation and Research
Institute) was translated by Rev. Rosan Yoshida and appeared in the MZMC newsletter in
three parts: Fall 1990, Spring 1991, and Summer 1991.
29. Hōkyōji is a country practice center in Southeastern Minnesota established in 1978. In
2007  it  became  independent  from  the  MZMC  and  is  currently  named  Hōkyōji  Zen
Practice Community.
30. This is a part of a conversation between Hongzhi and his teacher Donxia Zichun (Tanka
Shijun, 1074–1117), which appeared in Hongzhi’s biography in The Record  of  Hongzhi
(Chi.,  Hongzhi-lu;  Jap.,  Wanshi-roku).  Originally  this  saying  was  by  Baima  Xingai

(Hakuba Gyōai) and appeared in The Record of the Transmission of the Dharma Lamp
(Chi., Jingde chuandeng lu; Jap., Keitoku Dentōroku), vol. 23.
31. This  expression  by Dōgen  Zenji  appears  in  Dharma discourse  no.  2  in  Eihei Kōroku.
See Taigen Dan Leighton and Shohaku Okumura, trans., Dōgen’s Extensive Record: A
Translation of the Eihei Kōroku (Boston: Wisdom, 2004), p. 76.
32. The translation in the Sōtō School Scriptures for Daily Services and Practice is “All my
past and harmful karma, / born from beginningless greed, hate, and delusion, / through
body, speech, and mind, / I now fully avow.”
33.  This  is  based  on  the  theory  of  the  origin  of  Mahāyāna  Buddhism  held  by  Japanese
scholars  such  as  Akira  Hirakawa.  When  I  lectured  on  these  matters  in  1993  I  did  not
know about Western scholars’ criticism of the hypothesis that Mahāyāna Buddhism was
originally a lay Buddhist movement. Today few scholars support this hypothesis.
34. Here “ego” is used as a translation of the Sanskrit ātman, which is usually translated as
“self ”  or  “soul.” “Egolessness”  is  a  translation  of anātman,  “no-self.”  According  to  The
Shambhala Dictionary of Buddhism and Zen (Boston: Shambhala, 1991), ātman means
“the real immortal self of human beings, known in the West as the soul.” In Mahāyāna
Buddhism, not only the “soul” of human beings, but also the substance of material things
is negated.
35. This  is  my translation  from  Busso-shōden  Zenkaishō  (Essence  of  Buddha  Ancestors’
Authentically Transmitted Zen Precepts), Taisho, vol. 82, no. 2601.
36. This is my translation from Sōtan Oka, Kaitei Busso-shōden Zenkaishō Kōwa (Lecture
on the revised Busso-shōden Zenkaishō) (Tokyo: Kōmeisha, 1931), pp. 44–48.
37.  The  translation  in  Sōtō  School  Scriptures  for  Daily  Services  and  Practice  is  “I  take
refuge in buddha. / May all beings / embody the great way, / resolving to awaken. / I take
refuge in dharma. / May all living beings / deeply enter the sutras, wisdom like an ocean.
/ I take refuge in sangha. / May all beings / support harmony in the community, / free from
hindrance.”  This  verse  was  originally  a  part  of  the  longer  verse  in  chapter  11  of  the
Avataṃsaka  Sutra,  titled  “Purifying  Practice.”  The  English  translation  is  as  follows.
“Taking refuge in the Buddha, / They should wish that all beings / Continue the lineage of
Buddhas, / Conceiving the unexcelled aspiration. / Taking refuge in the Teaching, / They
should wish that all beings / Enter deeply into the scriptures / And their wisdom be deep
as the sea. / Taking refuge in the Community, / They should wish that all beings / Order
the  masses,  /  All  becoming  free  from obstruction.”  Thomas  Cleary,  trans.,  The  Flower
Ornament Scripture: A Translation of The Avatamsaka Sutra (Boston: Shambhala, 1993),
pp. 315–16.
38.  This  is  my  translation.  Another  translation  is  in  Nishijima  and  Cross,  Master  Dōgen’s
Shōbōgenzō, bk. 4, p. 178.
39. Thanissaro Bhikkhu, trans., Dhammapada: A Translation (Barre, Mass.: Dhamma Dana,
1998), v. 160, p. 46.
40. H. Saddhatissa, trans., The Sutta-Nipata (London: Curzon, 1994), p. 88.
41. Dasheng-yi-zhang (Jap., Daijō-gi-shō, The meanings of Mahāyāna Teaching), written by
Huiyuan (Eon) in the Sui dynasty (589–618), Taisho, vol. 44, no. 1851, p. 654.
42.  This  is  the  translation  in  the  MZMC  sutra  book,  p.  1.  The  translation  in  Sōtō  School
Scriptures  for  Daily  Services  and  Practice  is  “How  great,  the  robe  of  liberation,  /  a
formless  field  of  merit.  /  Wrapping  ourselves  in  Buddha’s  teaching,  /  We free  all  living
beings.”  This  verse  also  appears  in  Chanyuan  Qinggui  (Rules  of  Purity  for  the  Chan
Monastery), vol. 8, in the section describing the precepts-receiving ceremony for novices
(shami). There is one character different from the version we chant. The third line reads,
“Wearing the Tathāgata’s precepts.”

43.  This  is  my  translation.  Another  translation  appears  in  Nishijima  and  Cross,  Master
Dōgen’s Shōbōgenzō, bk. 1, p. 146.
44. This story appears in Vinaya texts. See, for example, I. B. Horner, trans., The Book of
the Discipline (Vinaya-piṭaka), vol. IV (London: Luzac, 1951), p. 407.
45. This is my translation. See also Nishijima and Cross, Master Dōgen’s Shōbōgenzō, bk.
1, p. 127.
46. As far as I know, an English translation of Kyōjukaimon has not yet been published. In
Shōbōgenzō Kie-sanbō (Taking Refuge in the Three Treasures), Dōgen introduces four
kinds of Three Treasures, including the three mentioned here. See Nishijima and Cross,
Master Dōgen’s Shōbōgenzō, bk. 4, p. 177.
47.  This  is  a  free  translation  from  Japanese.  The  English  translation  from  Pāli  is  in  H.
Saddhatissa, The Sutta-Nipata, p. 8.
48. Leighton and Okumura, Dōgen’s Pure Standards, p. 36.
49. Ibid., pp. 83–84.
50. Robert A. F. Thurman, trans., The Holy Teaching of Vimalakīrti: A Mahāyāna Scripture
(College Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1988), p. 27.
51.  Leon  Hurvitz,  trans.,  Scripture  of  the  Lotus  Blossom  of  the  Fine  Dharma  (New  York:
Columbia University Press, 1976), p. 22.
52. Ibid., p. 23.
53. The texts of meal chants in 
chapter 5 are from Sōtō School Scriptures for Daily Services
and Practice, p. 75, not from the sutra book of the Minnesota Zen Meditation Center.
54. Maurice Walshe, trans., The Long Discourses of the Buddha: A Translation of the Dīgha
Nikāya (Boston: Wisdom, 1987), p. 263.
55.  Red  Pine,  trans.,  The  Diamond  Sutra:  The  Perfection  of  Wisdom:  Text  and
Commentaries  translated  from  Sanskrit  and  Chinese  (Washington,  D.C.:  Counterpoint,
2001), p. 3.
56. Thomas Cleary, trans. The Blue Cliff Record (Boulder, Colo.: Shambhala, 1977), case 1,
p. 3.
57. Fahuawengou, Taisho, vol. 34, #1718, p. 0128a16.
58.  Translation  by  the  Buddhist  Text  Translation  Society  with  a  few  minor  changes  by
Okumura. http://www.purifymind.com/BrahmaNetSutra.htm.
59. My translation. See also Nishijima and Cross, Master Dōgen’s Shōbōgenzō, bk.  4,  p.
178.
60.  Menzan  Zuihō  (1683–1769),  one  of  the  greatest  Sōtō  Zen  monk-scholars  of  the
Tokugawa  period,  wrote  a  commentary  on  this  “Verse  of  Five  Contemplations”  titled
Jujikigokan-kunmo (Instruction on the Five Contemplations for Receiving Food) in 1720.
He said that these five contemplations were first mentioned in a Vinaya text by Nanshan
Daoxuan (Nanzan Dōsen), the founder of the Chinese Ritsu (Vinaya) School. Later the
verse was rewritten by one of the famous Chinese literati of the Song dynasty who was
also  a  Zen  practitioner,  Huang  Tingjian  (Kō  Teiken,  1045–1105).  It  also  appears  in
Chanyuan Qinggui (Zen’en Shingi, Rules of Purity for the Chan Monastery) by Changlu
Zongze  (Chōro  Sōsaku,  ?–1107).  Dōgen  Zenji  took  the  verse  from  the  Chinese
Standards.  However,  modern  scholars  doubt  Huang’s  authorship  because  the  same
verse is found in a text that precedes his birth.
61. These are parts of my unpublished translation of Shōbōgenzō “Hachidainingaku” (Eight
Points  of  Awakening  of  Great  Beings).  Another  translation  is  found  in  Nishijima  and
Cross, Master Dōgen’s Shōbōgenzō, bk. 4, pp. 233–34.
62. Rewata Dhamma, The First Discourse of The Buddha (Boston: Wisdom, 1997), p. 17.
63. Gene Reeves, trans.The Lotus Sutra: A Contemporary Translation of a Buddhist Classic
(Boston, Wisdom Publications, 2008), pp. 93–94.

64. Nishijima and Cross, Master Dōgen’s Shōbōgenzō, bk. 4, p. 173.
65. Leighton and Okumura, Dōgen’s Pure Standards, p. 98.
66. This is my translation. Another is in Kazuaki Tanahashi, ed., Enlightenment Unfolds: The
Essential Teachings of Zen Master Dōgen (Boston: Shambhala, 1999), p. 23.
67.  Bhikkhu  Bodhi,  trans.,  The  Connected  Discourses  of  the  Buddha,  vol.  1  (Boston:
Wisdom, 2000), p. 233.
68. Ibid., p. 950.
69. Three vehicles are the Mahāyāna categorization of Buddhism. Śrāvaka means “hearer”
and  refers  to  the  disciples  of  the  Buddha.  Pratyekabuddha  means  “solitary  awakened
one” and refers to the practitioners who attain awakening without a teacher and do not
teach others. From the Mahāyāna point of view, both were Hīnayāna, “lesser vehicles.”
70. When I gave this talk in 1993, heart transplants were not yet legal in Japan. In 1997 the
procedure was legalized, but it is still very rarely performed.
71. I live in America as a foreigner and need a great deal of patience. Katagiri Roshi’s name
Dainin means Great Patience. I think it was a very suitable name for him as a teacher in
the United  States,  where the  spiritual  and  cultural  backgrounds are  very  different from
Japan. American Buddhist practitioners who practice with teachers from Japan or other
Asian Buddhist countries must need the same sort of patience. Actually, any two people
who live or work together will sometimes have conflicts and need to practice patience.
72.  Edward  Conze,  trans.,  Perfect  Wisdom:  The  Short  Prajñāpāramitā  Texts  (Devon:
Buddhist Publishing Group, 1973), p. 140.
73.  Katagiri  Roshi’s  translation  appeared  in  Zen  no  Kaze  (Wind  of  Zen),  a  magazine
published  by  Sōtōshū  Shūmuchō.  The  translation  of  this  sentence  in  Sōtō  School
Scriptures for Daily Services  and Practice  is  “Avalokiteśvara Bodhisattva, when deeply
practicing  prajñā  pāramitā,  clearly  saw  that  all  five  aggregates  are  empty  and  thus
relieved all suffering.”
74. Shōbōgenzō “Kannon” is included in Nishijima and Cross, Master Dōgen’s Shōbōgenzō,
bk. 2, p. 211.
75. Yunyan was the teacher of Dongshan (Tōzan), the founder of Chinese Caodon (Sōtō)
Zen. He is mentioned below.
76. If you are interested in the discussion of this koan, study case 54 in the Book of Serenity
and  case  89  in  the  Blue  Cliff  Record.  Thomas  Cleary,  trans.,  Book  of  Serenity:  One
Hundred Zen Dialogues (New York:  Lindisfarne Press, 1990), p. 229. Cleary, Blue Cliff
Record, p. 489.
77.  Shohaku  Okumura,  trans.,  Realizing  Genjōkōan:  The  Key  to  Dōgen’s  Shōbōgenzō
(Boston: Wisdom, 2010), app. 2, p. 207.
78. Conze, Perfect Wisdom, p. 140.
79. Kenneth K. Inada, trans., Nāgārjuna: A Translation of His Mūlamadhyamakakārikā with
an  Introductory  Essay  (Tokyo:  Hokuseidō  Press,  1970),  p.  146.  (Chapter  and  verse
numbers are cited in the text.)
80.  This  is  my  translation.  Another  translation  is  in  Nishijima  and  Cross,  Master  Dōgen’s
Shōbōgenzō, bk. 4, p. 221.
81. Inada, Nāgārjuna, p. 39.
82. Ibid., p. 59.
83.  This  is  my  translation  from  the  Chinese,  which  Kumārajīva  translated  with  Pingala’s
commentary, Taisho, vol. 30, no. 1564, p. 8a07.
84. Okumura, Realizing Genjōkōan, p. 1.
85. Ibid., p. 3.
86. Ibid.

87.  Francis  Cook,  trans.,  The  Record  of  Transmitting  the  Light:  Zen  Master  Keizan’s
Denkōroku (Boston: Wisdom, 1996), pp. 193–94.
88. Conze, Perfect Wisdom, p. 140.
89. Okumura, Realizing Genjōkōan, p. 209.
90. Nakamura, Gotama Buddha, p. 319.
91. My translation. Another is found in Nishijima and Cross, Master Dōgen’s Shōbōgenzō,
bk. 3, p. 55.
92. Shohaku Okumura, trans., Shōbōgenzō-zuimonki: Sayings of Eihei Dōgen Zenji (Tokyo:
Sōtōshū Shūmucho, 1987), p. 124.
93. Inada, Nāgārjuna, p. 103.
94. When I gave this talk in 1994 my son was three years old and I was forty-five. That was
the first time I felt I was aging.
95. One of the oldest temples in Japan, Shitennōji was built by Prince Shōtoku in the sixth
century at the very beginning of Japanese Buddhism. At that time Osaka and Nara were
the two main cities. Nara was the capital, and Osaka was a port for travel to Korea and
China.  The  prince  also  built  a  temple  in  Nara  called  Hōryūji.  Hōryūji  has  the  world’s
oldest wooden structure, almost fifteen hundred years old.
96. This translation, in the MZMC sutra book, p. 8, is by Thomas Cleary and is included in
Cleary, Timeless Spring: A Sōtō Zen Anthology (Tokyo and New York: Weatherhill, 1980),
p. 36. In the sutra book the word “patriarch” in the original translation was changed to
“ancestor.”
97.  The  word  Sandōkai  derives  from  the  title  of  a  Daoist  text  on  the  Yijing  (Book  of
Changes) written during the Han dynasty (206 BCE–220 CE).
98.  John  McRae,  Seeing  Through  Zen:  Encounter,  Transformation,  and  Genealogy  in
Chinese Chan Buddhism (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003), p. 61.
99. Ibid., p. 62.
100.  Yoshito  S.  Hakeda,  trans.,  The  Awakening  of  Faith  (New  York:  Columbia  University
Press,  1967),  p.  31.  This  is  one  of  the  most  important  texts  on  the  theory  of
tathāgatagarbha, or buddha-nature, which is an essential part of Zen teachings.
101. Hakeda says, “Since it has been made clear that the essence of all things is empty,
i.e., devoid of illusion, the true Mind is eternal, permanent, immutable, pure, and self-
sufficient; therefore, it is called “nonempty’” (ibid., p. 35).
102. Zongmi’s discussion about the differences among the four schools appears in “Chart of
the Master-Disciple Succession of the Chan Gate That Transmits the Mind Ground in
China.”  See  Jeffrey  Lyle  Broughton,  trans.,  Zongmi  on  Chan  (New  York:  Columbia
University Press, 2009), pp. 69–100.
103. Okumura, Realizing Genjōkōan, p. 2.
104. Inada, Nāgārjuna, p. 146.
105. Hakeda, Awakening of Faith, p. 31.
106.  Sheng-yen,  The  Infinite  Mirror:  Commentaries  on  Two  Chan  Classics  (Boston:
Shambhala,  1990),  p.  25.  Sheng-yen  translates  Sandōkai  as  “inquiry  into  matching
halves.” “Inquiry” is san, “matching” is dō, “halves” is kai. This is very different from the
Japanese interpretation.
107.  Translation  by  Shohaku  Okumura  and  Hozan  Alan  Senauke,  in  The  Bodhisattva’s
Embrace:  Dispatches  from  Engaged  Buddhism’s  Front  Lines,  by  Alan  Senauke
(Berkeley: Clear View Press, 2010), p. 215.
108. Stephen Mitchell, trans., Tao Te Ching (New York: HarperCollins, 1988), pp. 40–42.
109. Inada, Nāgārjuna, pp. 146–48.
110. This kōan is called Yunyan’s “Great Compassion” in Congronglu (Shōyōroku), case 54.
Cleary, Book of Serenity, p. 229.

111. This story appears in the Chinese Daoist classic Liezi, vol. 5.

112. This verse in the Sōtō School Scriptures for Daily Services and Practice is: “The

unsurpassed, profound, and wondrous dharma / is rarely met with, even in a hundred,

thousand, million kalpas. / Now we can see and hear it, accept and maintain it. / May

we unfold the meaning of the Tathāgata’s truth.”

113. Hurvitz, Scripture of the Lotus Blossom, p. 23.

114. Ibid.

115. Ibid., p. 22.

GLOSSARY OF NAMES

Note: Sources for this glossary include Bukkyōgo Daijiten

(Nakamura Hajime, Tokyo Shoseki), Zengaku Daijiten (Taishūkan

Shoten), Bukkyō Daijiten (Shōgakkan), and The Shambhala

Dictionary of Buddhism and Zen (Shambhala).

Ānanda: One of the ten great disciples of the Buddha. He was the

personal attendant of the Buddha for twenty years and memorized

all the teachings of the Buddha. His exposition of the Buddha’s

discourses formed the basis for the sutras at the first council.

Aśvaghoṣa: Indian monk-poet who lived in the first to second

centuries CE. He wrote Buddha-carita: Life of the Buddha. Another

work, Awakening of Faith in Mahāyāna, was attributed to

Aśvaghoṣa, but some scholars today think the text was written in

China.

Avalokiteśvara: One of the most important bodhisattvas of

Mahāyāna Buddhism, considered to be the symbol of the

Buddha’s compassion.

Baizhang Huihai (Hyakujō Ekai, 749–814): An important Zen

master of the Tang dynasty in China. He was a dharma successor

of Mazu Daoyi and master of Guishan Lingyou and Huangbo

Xiyun. Traditionally he was considered to be the author of the first

rules of purity (Qinggui, Shingi).

Baotang Wuzhu (Hotō Mujū, 714–774): The founder of the Baotang

school of Zen in the Tang dynasty.

Bodhidharma (Bodaidaruma): The twenty-eighth ancestor after

Shakyamuni Buddha in the Indian lineage, who came from India

to China and became the first ancestor of the Zen tradition.

Butsuju Myōzen (1184–1225): A disciple of Myōan Eisai who

transmitted Rinzai Zen tradition to Japan and was Dōgen’s first

Zen teacher in Japan. Myōzen and Dōgen went to China together,

but Myōzen died while practicing at Tiantong monastery.

Changlu Qingliao (Chōro Seiryō): A Chinese Caodong (Sōtō) Zen

master, a dharma heir of Danxia Zichun (Tanka Shijun), and the

elder dharma brother of Hongzhi Zhengjue.

Changlu Zongze (Chōro Sōsaku, ?–1107): The Chinese Zen master

who compiled Chanyuan Qinggui (Zen’en Shingi, Rules of Purity

for the Chan Monastery).

Dai Daoxin (Daii Dōshin, 580–651): The fourth ancestor of Chinese

Zen and the master of Doman Hongren. Dai and Doman’s

assemblies were later called East Mountain Dharma Gates.

Dainin Katagiri Roshi (1928–1990): The founder of Minnesota Zen

Meditation Center. He came to the United States in 1963 and

assisted Shunryū Suzuki Roshi at the San Francisco Zen Center

until Suzuki Roshi’s death in 1971. He moved to Minneapolis to

establish the MZMC in 1972.

Dajan Huineng (Daikan Enō, 638–713): The sixth ancestor of

Chinese Zen and dharma heir of the fifth ancestor, Daman

Hongren. He is considered the founder of the Southern school of

Chinese Zen.

Daman Hongren (Daiman Kōnin, 602–675): The fifth ancestor in the

Chinese Zen tradition, from whom the Northern and Southern

schools were derived.

Daowu Yuanzhi (Dōgo Enchi, 769–835): A dharma heir of Yaoshan

Weiyan and dharma brother of Yunyan Tansheng.

Dongshan Liangjie (Tōzan Ryokai, 802–869): The dharma heir of

Yunyan Tansheng. Dongshan was the founder of the Chinese

Caodong school.

Edward Conze (1904–1979): A British Buddhist scholar who taught

in England and the United Sates. The author of many books on

the Prajñāpāramitā Sutras.

Eihei Dōgen (1200–1253): A dharma heir of Tiantong Rujing, Dōgen

is the founder of Japanese Sōtō Zen Buddhism.

Emperor Wu (464–549): The first emperor of the Rian dynasty. He

supported Buddhism and himself lectured on Buddhist sutras

such as the Parinirvana Sutra. In the Zen tradition it is said that he

met with Bodhidharma.

Feixiu (Haikyū, 797–870): A government official of the Tang dynasty.

He studied Fayen (Kegon) Buddhism with Guifeng Zongmi and

Zen with Huangbo Xiyun.

Guifeng Zongmi (Keihō Shūmitsu, 780–841): A scholar-monk of the

Fayen school and also a Zen master in the Tang dynasty. He

wrote The Chart of the Master-Disciple Succession of the Chan

Gate That Transmits the Mind Ground in China, Prolegomenon to

the Collection of Expressions of the Chan Source, and many other

texts.

Guishan Lingyou (Isan Reiyū, 771–853): A dharma heir of

Baizhang Huihai. Together with his disciple Yangshan Huiji, he is

considered the founder of one of the five schools of Chinese Zen,

the Guiyang school.

Hārītī (Kishimojin): The daughter of a demonic being (yaksa) in

Rājagriha. She had five hundred (or one thousand or ten

thousand) children to whom she fed the babies of others. When

she heard the Dharma from the Buddha, she repented her

misdeeds and vowed to protect Buddhism. In Japan she is

invoked for an easy delivery and the health of children.

Heze Shenhui (Kataku Jinne, 668–760): A disciple of the sixth

ancestor, Huineng. He attacked the Northern school and insisted

that Huineng was the legitimate successor of the fifth ancestor. He

is considered to be the founder of Heze school.

Hongzhi Zhengjue (Wanshi Shōkaku, 1091–1157): A famous

Chinese Caodong (Sōtō) Zen master who served as abbot of

Tiangtong monastery. Hongzhi was well known for the excellence

of his poetry, and he composed verses to supplement a hundred

koans. Wansong Xingxie later wrote commentaries on these

verses and created the Congronglu (Shōyōroku).

Huang Tingjian (Kō Teiken, 1045–1105): A famous poet and

calligrapher of the Song dynasty in China. He was a lay disciple of

the Linji Zen master Huanglong Zuxin.

Ichirō Okumura (1923–): Father Ichiro Okumura entered the

Catholic Church in 1948 and was ordained to the priesthood

within the Order of Discalced Carmelites in 1957.

Jingzhong Wuxiang (Jōshu Musō, 684–762): A Tang dynasty Zen

master from Korea and the teacher of Baotang Wuzhu.

Kōdō Sawaki (1880–1965): A modern Sōtō Zen master, and Kōshō

Uchiyama’s teacher. He was a professor at Komazawa University

but never had his own temple or monastery. He was called

‘homeless Kōdō’ because he traveled throughout Japan to teach.

Kōshō Uchiyama (1912–1998): Kōdō Sawaki’s dharma heir who

succeeded Sawaki at Antaiji. He wrote many books, several of

which have been translated into English and other languages.

Kumārajīva (344–413): One of the most important translators of

Buddhist texts from Sanskrit to Chinese. He translated many

Mahāyāna texts including the Lotus Sutra, Vimalakīrtinirdesha

Sutra, Mūlamadhyamakakārikā, and Mahāprajñāpāramita-

shāstra.

Longtan Chongxin (Ryūtan Sōshin): A Tang dynasty Zen master in

Shitou Xiqian’s lineage. Shitou’s disciple Tianhuang Daowu was

his teacher and Deshan Xuanjian his disciple.

Mahākāśyapa: One of the ten major disciples of Shakyamuni

Buddha. He was famous for his strict discipline living in the forest

even after the Buddha founded monasteries. After the Buddha’s

death he became the leader of the sangha and took the

leadership for the first council of five hundred arahats. In the Zen

tradition he is considered the first ancestor in the Indian lineage,

since he received dharma transmission from the Buddha.

Maitreya Buddha: The next buddha. Maitreya is in Tuṣita heaven

now as a bodhisattva and is expected to come to this world in the

future.

Mañjushrī: The bodhisattva of wisdom. In Zen, Mañjushrī is

enshrined in the center of the monks’ hall.

Mazu Daoyi (Baso Dōitsu, 709–788): One of the most important

Tang dynasty Zen masters. Mazu was a disciple of Nanyue

Huairang. He had many disciples, including Baizhang Huihai and

Guishan Lingyou.

Menzan Zuihō (1683–1769): One of the important Sōtō Zen

monkscholars in the Tokugawa period. Dharma heir of Sonnō

Shūeki, he studied Dōgen extensively and wrote many

commentaries on Shōbōgenzō and other writings of Dōgen.

Myōan Eisai (1141–1215): The first Japanese master, who

transmitted the Rinzai Zen tradition to Japan. He established

several Zen monasteries including Kenninji Kyoto, where Dōgen

practiced Zen with Eisai’s disciple Myōzen.

Nāgārjuna: One of the most important philosophers of Buddhism

and the founder of Mādhyamika school of Mahāyāna Buddhism.

His most important work is Mūlamadhyamakakārikā. In the Zen

tradition he is considered to be the fourteenth ancestor.

Nanshan Daoxuan (Nanzan Dōsen, 596–667): A Buddhist master in

Tang dynasty China. He was the founder of the Nanshan

(Nanzan) Ritsu-shū (Vinaya school).

Nanyue Huairang (Nangaku Ejō, 677–744): A Tang dynasty Zen

master. He was dharma heir of the sixth ancestor, Huineng, and

the master of Mazu Daoyi.

Niutou Farong (Gozu Hōyū, 594–657): A Tang dynasty Zen master.

He was considered the disciple of the fourth ancestor, Daoxin,

and the founder of the Niutou (Ox Head) school of Zen.

Qingyuan Xingsi (Seigen Gyōshi, 660?–740): A Tang dynasty Zen

master. One of the dharma heirs of the sixth ancestor, Huineng,

he was the master of Shitou Xiqian.

Samantabhadra: One of the most important bodhisattvas in

Mahāyāna Buddhism, who is venerated as the protector of all

those who teach the Dharma.

Shakyamuni Buddha: The founder of Buddhism. Shakyamuni

means “sage from the Shākya clan.”

Śāriputra: One of the ten great disciples of Shakyamuni Buddha. He

is considered to be the person with the deepest wisdom in the

Buddha’s assembly.

Shitou Xiqian (Sekitō Kisen, 700–790): A Tang dynasty Zen master.

The dharma heir of Quingyuan Xingsi and the master of Yaoshan

Weiyan, he is famous for his poems “Merging of Difference and

Unity” (Sandōkai), and “Song of the Grass Hut.”

Shōtoku Taishi (574–622): Prince of Emperor Yōmei. He served as

prince regent for his aunt, Empress Suiko. He played a key role in

establishing Buddhism in Japan. He founded Hōryūji in Nara and

Shitennōji in Osaka.

Sōen Nakagawa (1907–1984): A modern Japanese Rinzai Zen

master. He was the abbot of Ryūtakuji temple.

Subhūti: One of the ten great disciples of Shakyamuni Buddha,

considered to have the deepest understanding of emptiness.

Śuddhodana: King of the Shākya clan and Shakyamuni Buddha’s

father.

Tianhuang Daowu (Ten’nō Dōgo, 748–807): A Tang dynasty Zen

master, one of Shitou Xiqian’s disciples.

Tientai Zhiyi (Tendai Chigi, 538–597): One of the most important

Chinese Buddhist masters. The Chinese Tientai (Tendai) school is

based on his teachings.

Tiantong Rujing (Tendō Nyojō, 1163–1227): A Song dynasty Zen

master who was the abbot of Tiantong monastery when Dōgen

practiced in China. Dōgen received dharma transmission from

Rujing.

Vairocana Buddha: The main Buddha of the Avataṃsaka Sutra is

the sambhogakāya buddha. Maha Vairocana (Dainichi Nyorai) is

the dharmakāya buddha and the main Buddha in Vajrayāna

Buddhism.

Vimalakīrti: The principal character of Vimalakīrtinirdesha Sutra. He

was a rich lay student of the Buddha who had better

understanding of emptiness than the Buddha’s disciples.

Vipaśyin Buddha: The first of the seven buddhas in the past. The

seventh is Shakyamuni.

Xuanzang (Genjō, 600–664): One of the most important translators

in the history of Chinese Buddhism. He traveled to India by

himself and stayed there for seventeen years and transmitted the

teaching of the Yogācāra school and established the Faxiang

(Hossō) school.

Yangshan Huiji (Gyōsan Ejaku, 807–883): A Tang dynasty Zen

master, dharma heir of Guishan Lingyou, and considered as the

cofounder of the Guiyang (Igyō) school of Zen.

Yunyan Tansheng (Ungan Donjō, 780–841): A Tang dynasty Zen

master, dharma heir of Yaoshan Weiyan, and the teacher of

Dongshan Liangjie.

Yuquan Shenxiu (Gyokusen Jinshū, 606–706): A Tang dynasty Zen

master, a disciple of the fifth ancestor, Daman Hongren, and the

founder of the Northern school of Zen.

GLOSSARY OF TERMS AND TEXTS

Abhidharma: The earliest compilation of Buddhist philosophy and

psychology. It took form in the period between the third century

BCE and the third century CE. Its interpretations and explanations

of concepts in the sutras reflect the views of individual Buddhist

schools.

Absolute Three Treasures (ittai sanbō): One of the three categories

of the Three Treasures mentioned in Dōgen’s comments on the

sixteen precepts. See ittai sanbo.

Āgama Sutra: The name used in China for collections of early

Buddhist sutras, comparable to the Pāli Nikāya.

aggregate (Skt., skandha): A bundle, pile, or collection.

ambrosia: An English translation for the Sanskrit word amṛta, in

Japanese kanro. This is a drink for heavenly beings. When one

drinks it one attains immortality. It symbolizes nirvana and the

Buddha’s teachings.

anātman: Nonself, nonessentiality; one of the three marks of

everything that exists. The anātman doctrine is one of the central

teachings of Buddhism; it says that no self exists in the sense of a

permanent, eternal, integral, and independent entity within an

individual. Thus, in Buddhism, the ego (self) is no more than a

transitory, fluid process that is a result of the interaction of the five

aggregates. In early Buddhism this analysis is limited to the

personality. In Mahāyāna it is applied to all conditionally arising

beings. This freedom from self-nature is called emptiness.

ancient buddha (kobutsu): Dōgen used this expression as a title of

the Zen masters who truly attained the Dharma, such as

Zhaozhou, Hongzhi, and his teacher Tiantong Rujing.

Antaiji: A Sōtō Zen temple located in Kyoto, Japan, where Kōdō

Sawaki Roshi and Kōshō Uchiyama Roshi taught. It moved to

Hyōgo Prefecture in 1976.

asura: One of the six realms of samsara. English translations are

“fighting spirit,” “demon,” “evil spirit,” and “titan.”

ātman: According to Brahmanism, the real immortal self of human

beings, corresponding to what is known in the West as the soul. It

is the nonparticipating witness of the jīva (unchanging essence)

beyond body and thought, and, as absolute consciousness, is

identical with brāhman, the underground of all reality. By virtue of

its identity with brāhman, its characteristic marks (ātmakara) are

identical: eternal absolute being, absolute consciousness, and

absolute bliss. In Buddhism the existence of an ātman is denied:

neither within nor outside of physical and mental manifestations is

there anything that can be designated as an independent,

imperishable essence.

Avataṃsaka Sutra (Flower Ornament Sutra): A Mahāyāna sutra

that is the basis of the teachings of the Chinese Huayen (Kegon)

school, which emphasize ‘mutual interpenetration.’

Awakening of Faith in Mahāyāna (Daijōkishinron): One of the most

important Mahāyāna Buddhist texts, which advocates

tathāgatagarbha theory (see buddha-nature). This text greatly

influenced many Chinese and Japanese Buddhist teachings.

Bhagavat: One of the ten epithets of the Buddha, World-Honored

One.

Bodhgayā: One of the four sacred places of Buddhism, where

Shakyamuni Buddha attained complete enlightenment.

bodhi tree: The fig tree under which Shakyamuni Buddha attained

complete enlightenment.

bodhi-mind (Skt., bodhi-citta): awakened mind, the mind of

enlightenment; Way-seeking mind.

bodhisattva: In early Buddhism, Bodhisattva refers to Shakyamuni

Buddha before he attained buddhahood. In Mahāyāna Buddhism,

a bodhisattva is a person who has aroused bodhi-mind, taken the

bodhisattva vows, and walks the bodhisattva path.

bonnō: A Japanese word for the Sanskrit kleśa. Although usually

translated as delusion, illusion, or passion, this word has much

wider connotations, including worldly care, sensual desire,

suffering, and pain.

Brahma Net Sutra (Brahmajāla Sūtra; Jap., Bonmōkyō): A

Mahāyāna Buddhist sutra that contains the ten major precepts

and forty-eight minor precepts of bodhisattvas.

Brahma: Brahma was originally one of the gods in Indian mythology.

In Buddhism, Brahma is considered to be one of the guardian

gods of Dharma.

buddha-nature (Skt., buddhata): The same concept as

tathāgatagarbha; tathāgata’s embryo or womb. The true,

immutable, and eternal nature of all beings.

Caodon school: Caodon (Jap., Sōtō) is one of the five schools of

the Chinese Chan (Zen) tradition founded by Dongshan Liangjie

and his disciple Caoshan Benji. This lineage was transmitted from

China to Japan by Eihei Dōgen and continues today.

causality: The principle of cause and result. The Buddha said that

without cause, nothing exists. It can be expressed as “If this

exists, that exists; if this comes into being, that comes into being;

if this is not, that is not; if this ceases to be, that ceases to be.”

Chanyuan Qinggui (Zen’en Shingi, Rules of Purity for the Chan

Monastery): The earliest Chan (Zen) monastic code, compiled by

Changlu Zongze in 1103.

“Chiji Shingi” (Pure Standards for the Temple Administrators): One

part of Dōgen’s Eihei Shingi. Chiji refers to the six monastic

administrators: director (tsūsu), assistant director (kansu),

treasurer (fūsu), supervisor of the monks’ conduct (inō), chief

cook (tenzo), and work leader (shissui).

consciousness (Skt., vijñāna): The fifth of the five aggregates

(skandhas). When the six sense organs encounter their objects,

six consciousnesses arise: eye consciousness, ear

consciousness, nose consciousness, tongue consciousness, body

consciousness, and mind consciousness. In Yogācāra teaching,

two deeper consciousnesses are added: manas vijñāna (ego-

consciousness) and ālaya vijñāna (storehouse consciousness).

dāna-pāramitā: One of the six pāramitās, it is the practice of giving

or generosity. There are two kinds of dāna: offering Dharma and

offering material things.

Deer Park (Mṛgadāva): One of the four sacred places in Indian

Buddhism. After attaining enlightenment Shakyamuni Buddha

went to the Deer Park in Sārnāth, on the outskirts of Vārāṇasī,

and taught the five monks. This is called the first turning the

dharma wheel.

dependent origination: see interdependent origination.

Dhammapada: One of the oldest and most well-known Buddhist

scriptures, included in the Khuddaka Nikāya.

Dharma gate (Skt., dharma mukha): The teachings of the truth; the

gate to the truth.

Dharma/dharmas: A term with various meanings. Dharma, with a

capital D, refers to the truth or reality to which the Buddha awoke

and the teachings of the Buddha as expressions or explanations

of this truth. With a lowercase d, and in the plural, dharma refers

to phenomenal beings, norms of behavior and ethical rules,

objects of thought, ideas, and reflections of things in the mind.

dharma-nature (Skt., dharmatā; Jap., hosshō): The true nature of all

beings; thusness or emptiness.

dharmadhātu (dharma-realm): In Mahāyāna Buddhism, the notion

of a true nature that permeates and encompasses all phenomena.

As a space or realm, the realm of dharmas is the uncaused and

immutable totality in which all phenomena arise, dwell, and perish.

dharmakāya: One of the three bodies of a buddha in Mahāyāna

Buddhism. Dharmakāya is the true nature of the Buddha, which is

identical with ultimate reality, the essence of the universe. The

dharmakāya is the unity of the Buddha with all beings in the

universe. At the same time it represents the dharma, the teaching

expounded by the Buddha. The other two bodies are

sambhogakāya (reward body) and nirmāṇakāya (transformation

body).

Diamond Sutra (Skt., Vajracchedikā-prajñāpāramitā Sūtra). Sutra of

the Diamond-Cutter of Supreme Wisdom. One of the sutras in the

group of Prajñāpāramitā Sutras. It shows that all the forms of

phenomenal beings are not ultimate reality but rather illusions,

projections of one’s own mind.

duḥkha: Sanskrit word usually translated as “suffering.” It is the first

of the four noble truths. Duḥkha not only signifies suffering in the

sense of unpleasant sensations, it also refers to everything, both

material and mental, that is conditioned, subject to arising and

perishing, comprised of the five aggregates, and not in a state of

liberation. Thus everything that is temporarily pleasant is suffering,

since it is subject to change and must end. Duḥkha arises

because of delusive desire and craving and can be transformed

by the elimination of desire through practicing the eightfold noble

path.

eightfold noble path (Skt., aṣṭāṅgika-mārga): The fourth of the four

noble truths; the path leading to cessation of suffering, comprising

right view, right thinking, right speech, right action, right livelihood,

right effort, right mindfulness, and right concentration.

Eihei Kōroku: Dōgen’s Extensive Record, a collection of Eihei

Dōgen’s dharma hall discourses at Kōshōji, Daibutsuji, and Eiheiji,

including dharma words and Chinese poems compiled by his

disciples Ejō, Senne, and Gien.

Eihei Shingi: The collection of Dōgen’s writings regarding monastic

regulations: “Instructions for the Cook” (Tenzokyōkun), “The

Model for Engaging the Way” (Bendōhō), “The Dharma for Taking

Meals” (Fushukuhanpō), “Regulations for the Study Hall” (Shuryō

Shingi), “The Dharma when Meeting Senior Instructors of Five

Summer Practice Periods” (Taitaiko Gogejarihō), and “Pure

Standards for the Temple Administrators” (Chiji Shingi).

ejiki (Skt., durvarṇī-karaṇa): Muted color of the okesa, or square

robe. In ancient India Buddhist monks picked up discarded pieces

of cloth, washed and dyed them an ochre color, and sewed them

into a robe.

emptiness (Skt., śūnyatā): An expression used in Mahāyāna

Buddhism, such as in the Prajñāpāramitā Sutra, for the

nonexistence of the permanent self (anātman) and interdependent

origination.

Enmei-jukku-kannon-gyō: A very short sutra with only forty-two

Chinese characters on Kanzeon Bosatsu (Avalokiteśvara

Bodhisattva) originating in China.

fearlessness (Skt., abhayadāna; Jap., muise): Freedom from

anxiety. One of the three kinds of offering (dāna). The other two

are offering of material and offering of the Dharma.

feeling or sensation (Skt., vedanā): The second of the five

aggregates. When each of the six sense organs contacts its

objects, we receive pleasant, unpleasant, or neutral sensations.

form (Skt., rūpa): The first of the five aggregates: material elements.

In the case of human beings, the body is rūpa, whereas the other

four aggregates are functions of mind.

formations (Skt., saṃskāra; Jap., gyō): The fourth of the five

aggregates. Formations include all volitional impulses or

intentions that precede an action.

four benefactors (Jap., shion): There are different sets of the four

benefactors in various texts. The most common set is (1) father

and mother, (2) all living beings, (3) king of the country, and (4)

the Three Treasures.

four gross elements: The constituents of all living beings and

things: the earth element, occurring in solid things such as bones;

the water element, such as blood and other body liquids; the fire

element, as in body heat; and the wind element, or movement.

four noble truths (Skt., ārya-satya): The most basic teaching of

Buddhism. The noble truths are suffering (duḥkha), the origin of

suffering, the cessation of suffering, and the path that leads to the

cessation of suffering.

fukuden (Skt., puṇya-kṣetra): The field (rice paddy) which brings

about the harvest of happiness or merit (puṇya). Puṇya refers to

the karmic merit gained through good actions such as generosity

and reciting sutras. Offerings to the Three Treasures, especially to

the Buddha and monks, bring merit. Therefore the sangha of

monks was considered to be a field of happiness.

‘Fushukuhanpō’ (The Dharma for Taking Meals): A section of Eihei

Shingi, written by Eihei Dōgen. It describes the procedure of

formal morning and noon meals at the monks’ hall.

genzen sanbō: One of the three alternative ways to define the

Three Treasures, in terms of the historical origins of Buddhism:

Shakyamuni Buddha is the Buddha Treasure; the Buddha’s

teachings are the Dharma Treasure; and the Buddha’s disciples

and lay students are the Sangha Treasure. The other two

definitions are the Absolute Three Treasures (ittai sanbo) and the

Maintaining Three Treasures (jūji sanbō). See also Three

Treasures.

great ultimate (Chi., taiji; Jap., taikyoku): A Chinese cosmological

term for the supreme, ultimate state of undifferentiated absolute

and infinite potentiality, contrasted with the wuji (without ultimate).

The great ultimate is the source of the two opposing powers, yin

and yang, that produce all things.

hachidainingaku (eight points of awakening of great beings): The

eight points to watch in practice appear in the Sutra of the Last

Discourse of the Buddha (Butsu-yuikyōgyō). This is also the title

of the final chapter of Dōgen’s Shōbōgenzō, written in the year he

died.

head monk (shuso): The head monk of a practice period, who, as

an exemplary monk, shares teaching responsibilities with the

abbot and leads and encourages other monks’ practice. He is one

of the six heads of the different monastic departments.

hikkyo-kisho: The place to which we ultimately return. Dōgen says

that we should take refuge in the Three Treasures because they

are the place to which we finally return.

Hongzhou school: Hongzhou (Jap., Kōshū) is the school of

Chinese Zen founded by Mazu Daoyi. Hongzhou is the name of

the province where many of his disciples lived.

hṛdaya: A Sanskrit word translated into Chinese as xin (mind/heart).

The original meaning is the heart as a part of the body. It also

means “essence,” as in the title of the Prajñāpāramitā-hṛdaya

Sutra.

impermanence (Skt., anitya): One of the three marks of all beings.

The other two are suffering (duḥkha) and no-self (anātman).

Indra’s net: A metaphor used to illustrate the concepts of emptiness,

interdependent origination, and interpenetration, found in the

Avataṃsaka Sutra. The metaphor shows that all phenomenal

beings are intimately connected. Indra’s net has a multifaceted

jewel at each vertex, and each jewel is reflected in all of the other

jewels.

interdependent origination (Skt., pratītya-samutpāda; Jap., engi):

A cardinal Buddhist teaching about causality. Other translations

are “dependent origination” and “dependent arising.”

ittai sanbō: One of the three categorizations of the Three Treasures,

the Absolute Three Treasures. Ittai literally means “one body.” The

Buddha Treasure is the dharmakāya Buddha; the Dharma

Treasure is the way all beings are; and the Sangha Treasure is

the interconnection of all beings within the Indra’s net of the

universe. See also Three Treasures.

Jātaka: Part of the Khuddaka Nikāya, a collection of the stories

regarding the Buddha’s previous lives. In these stories the

Buddha is called a bodhisattva.

ji: phenomenal, concrete things, as opposed to principles; the

relative, as opposed to and the absolute. See also ri.

jijuyū zammai: Self-receiving and self-employing samādhi. This

term, used by Dōgen as a foundation for his teachings on zazen,

points to the dropping off of conceptual boundaries such as “self,”

“other,” “myriad beings,” and ‘practice” in zazen or any

wholehearted practice.

joyful mind: One of the three minds discussed in Dōgen’s

“Tenzokyōkun.” The other two are the magnanimous mind and the

nurturing mind.

jūji sanbō: The Maintaining Three Treasures, one of the three

categorizations of the Three Treasures. The Buddha symbolized

by Buddha images is the Buddha Treasure; the printed Buddhist

texts are the Dharma Treasure, and the sangha members in each

Buddhist sangha is the Sangha Treasure. These have maintained

Buddhist tradition since Shakyamuni Buddha’s death. See also

Three Treasures.

jukai ceremony: We become a Buddhist through this ceremony in

which we receive the Buddhist precepts as the guideline of our

lives.

kalpa: An exceedingly long period of time. To express the length of a

kalpa two similes are used. In the first, a kalpa is how long it

would take to empty a ten-cubic-mile container of poppy seeds by

removing a single seed once every one hundred years. In the

second, if once every one hundred years a heavenly woman

brushes a solid one-cubic-mile rock with her silk sleeve, a kalpa is

the time it would take for the rock to wear away.

Kapilavastu: The name of the city where Shakyamuni Buddha’s

father Śuddhodana was king. The Buddha was born in the

Lumbinī Park near the city. One of the four sacred places of Indian

Buddhism.

karma: A deed that is produced by the action of the mind, body, or

speech, and which will produce an effect in the future.

kaṣāya (Jap., kesa): The square robe for Buddhist monks. This word

refers to the color of the robe, usually muted black, blue, or red.

Monks were allowed to own three kinds of kaṣāya: saṃghātī,

uttarāsaṃgha, and antarvāsa.

kesa (okesa): Traditional monk’s robe sewn by hand and originally

pieced together with discarded fabric. Okesa is a polite form of

kesa.

kitō: Praying to buddhas, bodhisattvas, or other guardian gods of

Buddhism for some specific purpose. This was originally a

practice in esoteric Buddhism, but later it was practiced in other

Buddhist schools including Zen.

Kuśinagara: Place where Shakyamuni Buddha entered nirvana.

One of the four sacred places in Indian Buddhism.

kuyō: A Japanese word for making an offering to the Buddha, the

Dharma, and the Sangha, or to deceased persons through actions

of body, speech, and mind.

Kyōjukaimon: Eihei Dōgen’s comments on the sixteen precepts

recorded by his dharma heir, Koun Ejō. This short text is the basis

of the teaching on morality in Sōtō Zen tradition.

kyōzō (Skt., Sūtra Piṭaka): One of the three divisions of the Buddhist

scriptures, a collection of the Buddha’s discourses. The other two

are the Abhidharma Piṭaka (psychological compilations of his

teachings) and the Vinaya Piṭaka, the collection of the Buddha’s

admonitions regarding monk’s misdeeds. Later in China and

Japan kyōzō came to refer to the building in which Buddhist

scriptures are stored.

lotus posture: Cross-legged posture used in sitting meditation.

Originally in esoteric Buddhism this term referred to the Hindu

yoga posture known as padmāsana. In Zen Buddhism the terms

kekkafuza (full lotus) and hankafuza (half lotus) have been used.

Lotus Sutra (Skt., Saddharmapuṇḍarīka Sūtra; Jap., Myōhō-

rengekyō): One of the most important sutras in Mahāyāna

Buddhism, especially popular in China and Japan. The Tientai

(Tendai) and Nichiren schools are based on its teachings. Since

Dōgen was originally ordained and trained in the Tendai tradition

before starting to practice Zen, he valued the Lotus Sutra as the

king of all sutras.

Lumbinī Park: One of the four sacred places in Indian Buddhism.

Shakyamuni Buddha was born in this park near Kapilavastu, the

capital of the Shākya clan.

Magadha: North Indian kingdom at the time of Shakyamuni Buddha.

Rājagriha was the capital of the kingdom where the first Buddhist

monastery, Veluvana (Bamboo Grove) Vihāra, was founded. The

king of Magadha, Bimbisāra, and his son Ajātasatru supported

Shakyamuni and his sangha.

magnanimous mind: One of the three mental attitudes all Zen

practitioners need to maintain, mentioned in Dōgen’s “Instructions

to the Cook” (Tenzokyōkun). The other two attitudes are nurturing

mind and joyful mind. A magnanimous mind is like a mountain or

ocean, immovable and without discrimination.

mahāsattva: Literally, “great being”; a term for bodhisattvas.

Mahāyāna Buddhism: Literally means “great vehicle.” Mahāyāna is

one of the two main branches of Buddhism that originated in

India, the other being Theravāda. In the Mahāyāna tradition one

aims to attain buddhahood together with all living beings.

mantra: A syllable or series of syllables that is believed to have

special power and to manifest cosmic forces and aspects of the

buddhas. Sometimes a mantra is the name of a buddha.

Continuous repetition of mantras, also called dhāranīs, is a

meditation practice in many Buddhist schools, particularly in

esoteric Buddhism. In the Zen tradition the use of mantras shows

the influence of esoteric Chinese Buddhism.

mārga: The Buddhist path, specifically the fourth of the four noble

truths: the eightfold noble path that leads to the cessation of

suffering.

“Merging of Difference and Unity”: A translation of the title of the

poem “Sandōkai,” composed by Shitou Xiqian.

Middle Way (Skt., madhyama-pratipad): A term for the practice of

the eightfold noble path taught by Shakyamuni Buddha, who said

that the two extremes, self-indulgence and self-mortification,

should be avoided. Later in the Mahāyāna, Nāgārjuna described

the Middle Way as refraining from choosing between opposing

positions in relation to the existence or nonexistence of all things.

Therefore his school was called Mādhyamika.

mind-ground: A translation of the Japanese word shinchi,

synonymous with expressions such as mind-nature and mind-

source. Mind here refers to a mind of absolute suchness. This

mind is like a ground from which all different plants, grasses,

grains, trees, and so forth arise and grow.

Mount Hiei: The mountain east of Kyoto and the site of the main

monastery of the Japanese Tendai school, Enryakuji. Eihei Dōgen

became a monk at this monastery.

mui (Skt., asaṃskṛta): “Unconditioned” or “unproduced.” Things that

are beyond conditioned existence, beyond arising, dwelling,

changing, and perishing. In the original teaching, only nirvana was

regarded as unconditioned. The Sarvāstivāda school had three

kinds of unconditioned space and two kinds of dissolution

(nirodha).

mujūsho-nehan: One of the three kinds of nirvana, the nirvana of

nonabiding. This is the nirvana of bodhisattvas who, because of

their wisdom, do not stay on the shore of samsara and because of

their compassion do not dwell on the far shore of nirvana.

mumyō (Skt., avidyā): Ignorance, one of the three poisonous minds.

Ignorance of the four noble truths and the reality of all beings is

the primary cause of suffering within samsara.

mushotoku: Without gaining. Freedom from the desires to gain any

desirable result form Buddhist practice. This expression appears

in the Prajñāpāramitā Sutras, such as the Diamond Sutra and the

Heart Sutra. Eihei Dōgen put emphasis on practice without

gaining mind in “Gakudōyōjinshū” (Points to Watch in Practicing

the Way).

nirvana (Jap., nehan): Literally nirvana means “extinction” or

“blowing out” of the fires of greed, anger/hatred, and ignorance; it

is the state of perfect peace of mind. In early Buddhism it meant

departure from the cycle of rebirth in samsara and entry into an

entirely different mode of existence. Nirvana is unconditioned,

beyond arising, abiding, changing, and perishing. In Mahāyāna,

nirvana is not different from samsara or from the ultimate nature of

the dharmakāya. The duality of samsara and nirvana exists only

from a conventional viewpoint.

Niutou school: Niutou (Chi., Oxhead; Jap., Gozu) is one of the

schools of Chinese Zen founded by Niutou Farong, a disciple of

the fourth ancestor, Daoxin.

Northern school: One of the schools of Chinese Zen. The Northern

and Southern schools separated after the time of the fifth

ancestor, Daman Hongren. The founder of the Northern school

was Yuquan Shenxiu, a senior dharma brother of Huineng.

nurturing mind (Jap., rōshin): One of the three minds mentioned in

Dōgen’s “Tenzokyōkun.” Another possible translation is “parental

mind”: the mind that takes care of others the way parents nurture

their children.

okesa: see kesa.

One Mind (Jap., isshin): This expression can refer both to the mind

in the aspect of phenomena (jishin) and to the mind in the aspect

of the absolute (rishin). The former is the discriminating mind, the

latter the mind beyond discrimination.

ōryōki (Skt., pātra): A set of eating bowls that Zen monks receive at

their ordination. In a narrower sense ōryōki refers to the largest of

these bowls. In India, Buddhist monks used only one bowl for

begging and eating, a bowl much larger than the ōryōki of the Zen

tradition today.

pāramitā: Literally means “perfection” of certain virtues. In

Mahāyāna Buddhism the six pāramitās—giving, morality,

patience, diligence, concentration, and wisdom—are considered

to be the bodhisattva practice.

perception (Skt., saṃjñā): The third of the five aggregates.

Perception denotes not only the construction of mental images

and the formation of concepts but also the concepts themselves.

phenomenal beings (Skt., saṃskṛta; Jap., ui-hō): Conditioned

beings. All interdependent and conditioned phenomenal beings

which arise, abide, change, and perish. Everything conditioned is

empty, impermanent, without substance.

prajñā (Jap., hannya): Wisdom, a central concept of Mahāyāna

Buddhism and one of the six pāramitās of bodhisattva practice.

This wisdom sees emptiness, the true reality of all things.

precept (Skt., śīla): One of the six pāramitās of bodhisattva practice:

perfection of morality, ethics, virtue, proper conduct. Guidelines for

conduct may be further specified as explicit precepts for the

various types of practioners.

prophecy (Skt., vyākaraṇa; Jap., juki): Prophecy given by a buddha

regarding someone’s attainment of buddhahood in a future life.

repentance (Skt., kṣamā; Jap., sange): An important part of

Buddhism from its beginning. Twice a month each sangha

gathered for a ceremony known as uposatha (Jap., fusatsu).

During the gathering, the leader of the sangha recited the Vinaya

precepts and monks who violated the precepts made repentance.

ri: principles, as opposed to phenomenal, concrete things; the

absolute, as opposed to the relative. See also ji.

Rig Veda: The oldest collection of the verses of wisdom called

Vedas in Indian thought.

saba: Small pieces of food offered by practitioners to unseen beings

such as hungry ghosts during ōryōki meals at Zen monasteries.

samādhi (Jap., zammai): Concentration of the mind, one of the three

foundations of the study of Buddhism, the other two being morality

(śīla) and wisdom (prajñā). Dōgen called his practice of zazen

jijuyū-zammai.

samsara: Literally samsara means “continuous flow,” that is, the

cycle of birth, life, death, and rebirth within the six realms. This

cycle ends in the attainment of liberation and entrance into

nirvana.

sangha: The Buddhist community. In a narrow sense the sangha

consists of monks, nuns, and novices. In a wider sense the

sangha also includes lay followers.

sanshin: Three minds or mental attitudes for practitioners in a Zen

monastery, mentioned in Dōgen’s ‘Tenzokyōkun’: joyful mind,

nurturing mind, and magnanimous mind.

sentient beings: The mass of living beings subject to illusion,

suffering, and transmigration within samsara.

sesshin: Literally, “touching or embracing the mind/heart.” This

refers to the intensive practice periods in Zen monasteries during

which monks focus on sitting meditation practice.

shikantaza: “Just sitting.” Originally this expression was used by

Tiantong Rujing, Eihei Dōgen’s teacher. Dōgen also taught a

practice of wholehearted sitting without any special meditation

technique.

Shingon school: Japanese esoteric Buddhist school founded by

Kūkai (774–835).

Shitennōji: One of the oldest Buddhist temples, founded by prince

Shōtoku in Osaka in the seventh century.

Shōbōgenzō: True Dharma Eye Treasury. The title of the collection

of Eihei Dōgen’s essays. The Shōbōgenzō is considered the most

profound work in Zen literature and the most outstanding work of

Buddhist literature of Japan.

śramaṇa (Jap., shamon): Wandering ascetic monk. Another name

for a Buddhist monk.

skillful means (Skt., upāya; Jap., hōben): A skillful method or

expedient device used by buddhas and bodhisattvas to guide

beings. This is also the title of the second chapter of the Lotus

Sutra.

sōdō (monks’ hall): One of the seven basic buildings of Zen

monasteries in which monks sleep, practice meditation, and eat

meals.

Sōtō Zen tradition: Sōtō or Caodong is one of the five schools of

Chinese Zen, founded by Dongshan Liangjie and his disciple

Caoshan Benji. This tradition was transmitted from China to

Japan by Eihei Dōgen and continues today.

Southern school: One of the schools of Chinese Zen founded by

the sixth ancestor, Huineng. The central teaching of this school is

sudden enlightenment.

stūpa: Originally stūpas were memorial monuments for Shakyamuni

Buddha built at various sacred places such as Lumbinī Park,

where the Buddha was born; Bodhgayā, where the Buddha

attained enlightenment; Sārnāth, where the Buddha gave his first

discourse to five monks; and Kuśinagara, where the Buddha

entered nirvana.

suchness: “Suchness,” “thusness,” and “as-it-is-ness” are

translations for the Sanskrit word tathātā and the Japanese word

shinnyo, which refer to the reality of all beings as it is. Suchness is

a synonym for dharmatā.

suffering: see duḥkha.

śūnyatā: see emptiness.

Suttanipāta: A collection of short sutras. One of the oldest

scriptures of Buddhism, included in the Khuddaka Nikāya.

takuhatsu (Skt., piṇḍapāta): Traditional religious begging practiced

by Buddhist monks from the Buddha’s time in India. This is still

practiced in the Theravāda tradition and by Zen monks in Japan.

In Japan today the monks receive mainly monetary donations

instead of food.

Tathāgata: One of the ten epithets for the Buddha, literally the

“thuscome one” or “thus-gone one.”

tathātā: “Suchness,” “thusness,” “as-it-is-ness.” One of the central

concepts of Mahāyāna Buddhism, which refers to the true reality

of all beings.

“Tenzokyōkun” (Instructions for the Cook): The first section of Eihei

Shingi. Eihei Dōgen wrote this text to teach the importance of

communal work as a practice, using the example of cooking.

thought construction (Skt., prapañca; Jap., keron): One of the

important expressions in Nāgārjuna’s teachings on emptiness. It

refers to the deluded conceptualization of the world through the

use of ever-expanding language and concepts, all rooted in the

delusion of self. Other translations are conceptual proliferation or

self-reflexive thinking.

three poisonous minds: The three destructive, deeply rooted

human tendencies—greed, hatred, and delusion—that are the

source of all suffering. All result from ignorance of our true nature.

Three Treasures: Same as the Three Jewels, or the Triple Gem:

three things in which a Buddhist takes refuge and looks to for

guidance—the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha. Can be

defined in three complementary ways. See also ittai sanbō,

genzen sanbō, and jūji sanbō.

transmigration: Transmigration, or reincarnation, is believed to

occur after death when the soul or spirit comes back to life in a

newborn body. This doctrine is a central tenet within the majority

of Indian religious traditions, such as Hinduism, Jainism, and

Sikhism. The Buddhist concept of rebirth is also often referred to

as reincarnation.

Tripiṭaka: The three baskets (of Buddhist scriptures): the Sutra

Piṭaka, Abhidharma Piṭaka, and Vinaya Piṭaka.

Tuṣita heaven: The heaven where Shakyamuni Buddha stayed

before he was born. It is believed that Maitreya is residing there

and will be born in this world several billions of years from now.

twelve links of dependent origination: see interdependent

origination.

Two Truths: conventional truth and ultimate truth. Nāgārjuna is the

first Buddhist master who clearly mentioned the two truths, in his

Mūlamadhyamakakārikā.

unsurpassable mind: A translation of the Japanese word mujōshin,

a synonym for bodaishin (Skt., bodhi-citta). Bodhi-citta is

considered to be a shortened form of anuttarā-samyaksambodhi-

citta. ‘Unsurpassable’ is a translation of anuttarā.

Vajrayāna: A school of Buddhism that emerged in sixth- or

seventhcentury India. This school is also called esoteric

Buddhism or Tantric Buddhism. It developed out of Mahāyāna

Buddhist teachings strongly influenced by Hinduism. It reached

into China, Japan, and Tibet. The Shingon school founded by

Kūkai is a Japanese form of Vajrayāna Buddhism.

Vinaya: One of the three piṭaka (baskets) of Buddhist scriptures.

Vinaya is a collection of the rules and regulations for the

communal life of monks and nuns.

Vishnu: The Supreme God in the Vaishnava tradition of Hinduism.

Vow (Skt., pranidhāna): In Mahāyāna Buddhism, bodhisattvas take a

vow stating that they will strive to liberate all sentient beings from

samsara and lead them to enlightenment. Bodhisattvas do not

seek to awaken solely for themselves, but rather endeavor to free

all beings and help them reach nirvana.

Vulture Peak (Skt., Gṛdhrakūṭa): A mountain near the city of

Rājagṛha. Shakyamuni Buddha often gave discourses on this

mountain. It is said that the Lotus Sutra was expounded on this

mountain. In Zen the transmission from the Buddha to

Mahākāśyapa took place there when the Buddha held up a flower

and smiled.

wheel-turning king (Skt., cakravarti-rāja): In the Indian tradition, an

ideal king who rules the world by rolling the wheel he receives

from heaven at his enthronement. The wheel of his chariot rolls

everywhere without obstruction.

Yogācāra school: One of the two Mahāyāna schools in India,

founded by Maitreyanātha, Asaṅga, and Vasubandhu.

zendō: An abbreviation of zazendō, a hall for zazen practice;

meditation hall in Zen tradition.

INDEX
A
Abhidharma, 150, 243, 273
Abhidharmakośa, 70, 71, 243
absolute truth, 151–54, 219, 237
Āgama Sutra, 79, 150, 273
aging, 4, 76. See also duḥkha
ambrosia, 24, 119, 120, 273
Ānanda, 80, 82, 139, 265
anātman, 81, 120, 150, 273–274
animal realm, 
21–22, 107, 135
animistic beliefs, 111
Antaiji monastery, xi, 31, 182–83, 274
ascetic practices, 108–9
Aśvaghoṣa, 183, 265
asuras, 22, 135, 274
ātman, 150, 274
atom, concept of, 150
attachment, 153, 154
joyful mind and, 36
meal chants and, 123, 127
the robe chant and, 83, 85
Avataṃsaka Sutra, 101–2, 127–28, 259n37, 274
Avolokiteshvara, 131, 133, 140–48, 154, 156, 173, 239–41, 265
five skandhas and, 173
hindrances and, 194
Awakening of Faith in Mahāyāna, 214–15, 219, 274–75
B

Baizhang Huihai, 42–43, 105, 265
Banjin Dōtan, 60–62
Baotang Wuzhu, 212–13, 266
Bendōwa (Dōgen Zenji), 32–33
Bhagavat, 139, 275
Bible, 14. See also Christianity
bodhi. See also bodhi-mind
meal chants and, 91
tree, 21, 23, 44, 97, 210, 275
use of the term, 64, 203
bodhi-mind, 3, 6, 27, 64, 102
described, 275
Dōgen Zenji on, 164
the Heart Sutra and, 164, 185, 186, 192–93, 194
universal truth and, 47
Bodhidharma, 9–10, 82, 99–100, 266
bonnō, 17, 275
Brahma, 125, 275
Brahma Net Sutra, 101–2, 275
Braverman, Arthur, xiii
Buddha. See also Buddha mind; buddhanature; Three Treasures
biographies of, 3, 183
birth of, 97
as a bodhisattva, 6
Brahmā Sahāmpati and, 24
death of, 2, 54
departure of, from his home, 186
enlightenment of, 21–25, 44
four noble truths and, 16, 18
in the Jātaka tales, 2–4, 180–81, 281
“killing the,” 59
past lives of, 3
ten names of, reciting, 100–102
travels of, 24–25
Buddha mind, 11, 90
Buddha-carita (Aśvaghoṣa), 2, 183
buddha-nature, 42–43, 90, 91
described, 275
One Mind and, 214, 215–17
Buddhadharma (magazine), xiii
C
Caodong school, 172, 239, 275–76
Catholicism, 13, 134. See also Christianity
causality, 23, 37, 49, 276
Changlu Qingliao, 50, 266
Changlu Zongze, 260n60, 266, 276
chanting, 8–11, 14, 203–5. See also mantras
Chanyuan Qinggui, 121–22, 276
Chinese Zen Buddhism, 9–10, 36, 42–43, 236–37
the Heart Sutra and, 144–45

meal chants and, 104, 106, 112–13
repentance and, 54
Christianity, 13–14, 15, 20, 134
communities, 40–41, 228
compass metaphor, 15, 21
compassion, 25, 134, 134, 154
Bodhidharma and, 9
meal chants and, 102, 105, 125, 127
the robe chant and, 80
Three Treasures and, 68
unsurpassable mind and, 65
competitive practice, 19
consciousness. See also perception
the Heart Sutra and, 148, 152, 171–77
Katagiri Roshi on, xii
sensation and, 106
Three Treasures and, 69
use of the term, 276
consumer culture, 166
contemplations, verse of five, 103–109
continuous practice, 10–11
conventional truth, 10, 152–53, 237
Conze, Edward, 139, 267
cooking, 35–39, 41, 67, 87–88, 107, 224–25
D
Daijōji monastery, x
Dainin Katagiri Roshi. See Katagiri Roshi
Dajan Huineng, 209–11, 213, 217, 266
dāna-pāramitā practice, 104, 276
Daowu Yuanzhi, 144–45, 146, 239, 239–41, described, 267
death, 4, 21. See also duḥkha
the Heart Sutra and, 132, 133, 155, 156, 158, 178
repentance and, 56
six realms and, 22–23
Three Treasures and, 75–77
Deer Park, 97, 109, 125, 276
democracy, 67, 166
demons, 111, 112
Denkōroku, 172
dependent origination. See interdependent origination
Dhammapada, 70, 277
Dharma(s). See also Three Treasures
boundless, 13, 17, 18, 19
gate, 17, 277
meal chants and, 90, 120
myriad, 90, 254
-nature, 90, 91, 277
talks, verse chanted before, 249–56
transmission of, 10, 82
true, 142

use of the term, 65, 72, 90, 250, 277
wondrous, 230–41
Dharma Flower Sutra, 102
dharmadhātu, 91, 277
dharmakāya, 72, 256, 277, 101–2, 129
Diamond Sutra, 83, 99, 189, 211, 277
dichotomies, 158, 162, 238. See also dualism
Dīpaṃkara Buddha, 4–5, 7, 9
Dōgen Zenji, xi, xiii, 8–11, 20, 27, 35–47, 223. See also specific works
attainment and, 191, 197
Bodhidharma and, 9
the Heart Sutra and, 142, 144–45, 148, 154, 163–70, 175–77, 183–84, 190, 197–200
the Lotus Sutra and, 250
meal chants and, 87–97, 100, 107–8, 121–24
the nature of practice and, 46–47, 223–24
on raindrops, 48–51
repentance and, 53, 54–55, 59, 61
the robe chant and, 79, 81–82
three minds and, 35–41
Three Treasures and, 63, 73–75
Dongshan Liangjie, 86, 170–77, 217, 239, 267
dualism, 56, 61, 162, 163. See also dichotomies
duḥkha, 21, 23, 118, 179
Three Treasures and, 68–69
twelve links of causation and, 23
use of the term, 277–78
E
eating, 8–9, 37, 50, 56. See also cooking; food, begging for; meal chants
ecology, 62
Edo period, 53
ego, 31–34, 48, 51–52, 223–24. See also individuality; self
competitive practice and, 19–20
four noble truths and, 16, 17
the Heart Sutra and, 136–37, 144–50, 153–56, 173, 186, 197, 202
heavenly realm and, 23
joyful mind and, 36
meal chants and, 119, 120, 129
repentance and, 57, 59, 62
the robe chant and, 81, 85
Three Treasures and, 67, 69–71, 77
unsurpassable mind and, 65
eightfold noble path, 17, 68–70, 137, 180, 278
Eihei Kōroku (Dōgen), 50, 278
Eihei Shingi (Dōgen), 87, 278
Eisai, 121, 269
Emperor Wu, 99–100, 267
equality, 92, 208
evil, 58, 118, 198, 242
F

faith, 68, 84
farmers, 84–85, 104, 105, 182. See also gardening
Feixiu, 212, 267
Feuerbach, Ludwig, 96
fingers. See hand metaphor
fire, 42–43, 83, 87–88, 234–35
five skandhas, viii, 69, 81
the Heart Sutra and, 133, 140, 148–50, 152, 155, 171, 173, 186–87
meal chants and, 126–27
repentance and, 56–57
Three Treasures and, 69
food, begging for, 84, 90, 112, 183
form, 80–83, 85, 220, 255. See also objects
the Heart Sutra and, 131–32, 148–53, 168–69, 232–33
Three Treasures and, 69
use of the term, 279
four gross elements, 234–35, 279
four noble truths, 15–18, 20–21, 26, 237– 38. See also truths
described, 279
the Heart Sutra and, 179, 180, 187
Three Treasures and, 68–70
G
Gangoku Kankei Daioshō, x
Ganshōji, 25, 48
gardening, 56, 105. See also farmers
“Genjōkōan” (Dōgen), 134, 155, 169, 184, 218–19, 231
Genzen Sanbō, 73, 280
Greek philosophers, 150
Guifeng Zongmi, 212, 267
Guishan Lingyou, 6, 42, 48–51, 104–5, 258n26, 267
H
Halloween, 110
hand metaphor, 33, 84, 92, 95, 149, 219–20
Hārītī, 111–12, 268
harmony, 67, 228
Hashimoto Ekō Roshi, x, xi
Heart Sutra, viii, xiii, 9, 131–205, 220, 240, 255
attainment and, 185–92
expounding of, context of, 138–41
five skandhas and, 56–57
hindrances and, 192–200
the robe chant and, 82–83
sensation and, 145–47, 148, 170–77, 226
heavenly beings, 21–23, 36, 135–36
hell realm, 21, 86, 135, 180
Heze Shenhui, 212, 268
Hīnayāna Buddhism, 181
Hinduism, 14, 121, 124–25
Hirakawa, Akira, 2, 259n33

Hōkyōki (Dōgen), 123–24, 258n29
Hongzhi Zhengjue, 50, 268
Hongzhou school, 213, 215–17, 281
hungry ghosts, 21, 86, 107, 135
Hungry Tigress, The (Martin), 7
I
Ibaraki, 
110
Ichirō Okumura, 14, 268
impermanence, 81, 119, 122, 126–27
the Heart Sutra and, 136–37, 149, 153, 155, 168, 197
Three Treasures and, 66, 70–71, 76
use of term, 281
incompleteness, 7, 53–62
India, 9, 14, 21–22, 25, 54
the Buddha’s birth in, 63
sanghas in, 66–67
Indian Buddhism, 114, 236–37
individuality, 25, 50, 95, 222–24, 230. See also ego; self
Indra’s net, 65, 95, 281
intelligence, 159–60
interdependent origination, 81, 85, 95, 226–27
enlightenment and, 23–24
the Heart Sutra and, 133, 150, 152–53, 177–80
repentance and, 58
use of the term, 281
J
Jātaka tales, 2–4, 180–81, 281
ji, 220, 221, 233, 281
Jingzhong Wuxiang, 212, 268
joyful mind, 32, 35–38, 51–52, 282
jūji sanbō, 73, 282
jukai (precepts-receiving) ceremony, 55, 118, 282
just sitting. See shikantaza
justice, 62
K
kalpas, 252, 282
Kanjizai Bosatsu, 143
Kanzeon Bosatsu, 239
karma, 4, 15, 17, 66, 118
described, 282
the Heart Sutra and, 185, 198
repentance and, 53, 56–58
three minds and, 36–37, 38
twelve links of causation and, 23
kaṣāya, 81, 282
Kasībhāradvāja Sutta, 84–85
Katagiri Roshi, ix–xiii, 25–30, 47–50, 261n71, 266
Kegon Sutra, 212

Keizan Jōkin, 172
kesa, x, 8, 79–86, 283
Kishizawa Ian Roshi, x
kitō, 14–15, 283
Kkuddaka Niāya, 3–4
kleśas, 17
koans, 146, 239–41
Kōdō Sawaki Roshi, 86, 268
kokū, 122–23, 124
Komazawa University, xi, 133, 171, 191
Kōshōo Uchyiyama Roshi. See Uchyiyama Roshi
Kumamoto Prefercture, xi
kuyō, 115–16, 283
Kyōjukaimon, 82
Kyoto, 13, 110, 145, 182–83, 229
L
Lao Tzu, 236
Living by Zen (Suzuki), 29–31
Longtan Chongxin, 112–13, 269
lotus flower, 4, 121–25, 127
lotus posture, 14, 283
Lotus Sutra, 34, 93, 101–2, 116–17, 230, 250–54, 283–84
love, 17, 69
loving-kindness, 6
M
Magadha, 97, 284
magnanimous mind, 32, 40–41, 51–52, 284
magnet metaphor, 15
Mahāparinibbāna Sutta, 97–98
Mahāprajñpāramita Hṛdaya Sutra. See Heart Sutra
Mahāvairocana Sutra, 101
Mahāyāna Buddhism, 6–8, 15, 31, 89, 91, 99, 126–27
described, 284
the Heart Sutra and, 133, 136–37, 143, 148, 150, 154, 156–57, 170, 180–81, 189–90
history of, 2–3
rationalism and, 243
repentance and, 54
three kinds of nirvana in, 189–90
Maitreya Buddha, 3, 102, 194, 269
“Maka Hannya Haramitsu” (Dōgen), 134
Mañjushrī, 45, 102, 142, 194, 269
mantras, 132, 202–5, 244, 284
mārga, 17, 18, 284
Martin, Rafe, 7
Mazu Daoyi, 88, 91, 92, 213–17, 269
meal chants, 87–129
bowl-raising verse, 113–19
Dōgen on, 87–97
food offering verses, 103

formal, 97–129
ten Buddha names, 100–102
verse for setting out bowls, 98–100
verse of five contemplations, 103–109
verse of food for spirits, 109–13
verse of purity while abiding in the world, 121–29
verse of the rinse water, 119–21
verse upon hearing the meal signal, 97–98
medicine, 73–77, 108
meditation. See zazen
merit, 99–100
Middle Way, 70, 109, 154, 155, 156, 285
mind(s). See also bodhi-mind
“buddha,” 11, 90
joyful, 32, 35–38, 51–52, 282
magnanimous, 32, 40–41, 51–52, 284
One, 213–19, 286
parental, 32, 38–40, 51–52
pure, 127–28
three poisonous, 21, 106, 107, 127, 290
unsurpassable, 64–65, 291
mindfulness, 59, 69, 84, 137
moon metaphor, 50–51, 54
morality, 5, 118–19
Mount Gui, 43, 46
Mount Hiei, 145, 285
mu, 23, 189–90, 195–96, 236
mui, 36, 285
Mūlamadhyamakakārikā (Nāgārjuna), 150–51, 157, 159–60, 164, 200, 237–28
mushotoku, 197–98, 286
muso, 82–83, 195–96
myō, 23, 142, 230
Myōan Eisai (Eisai). See Eisai
MZMC (Minnesota Zen Meditation Center), ix–x, xiii, 25, 48, 141
ryaku-fusatsu ceremony at, 55
sutra book, 1–2, 62, 82–83, 252, 257n7, 259n42
N
Nāgārjuna, viii, 150–54, 178
described, 270
Mūlamadhyamakakārikā, 150–51, 157–60, 164, 200, 237–28
truths and, 219, 237–38
Nakagawa Roshi, 14, 14, 271
Nakamura, Hajime, 238
Nanyue Huairang, 213, 270
Narasaki Ikkō Roshi, xi
nihilism, 69, 136, 155
Niutou Farong, 212, 270
Niutou school, 212, 216, 286
noble truths. See four noble truths
no-self, 70. See also self

nuns, 13–15, 20
O
objectivity, 95, 155, 169
objects, 96, 106, 133, 171–77, 225–26, 231–32. See also subject/object relation
ocean/water metaphors, 7, 50, 57–58, 66, 74, 92–95, 158–59, 170, 229
Oka Sōtan Roshi, x
okesa. See kesa
Old Testament, 14
One Mind, 213–19, 286
ōryōki, 87–88, 97–99, 107, 109–13, 118, 120, 121, 287
Osaka, 110, 166, 182, 203
P
pāramitās, 3, 5–6, 9, 135, 287
parental mind, 32, 38–40, 51–52
Parinirvana Sutra, 112
patience, 5, 137, 138
“Peaceful Life” (Katagiri Roshi), 25–28
perception. See also consciousness
the Heart Sutra and, 148
use of the term, 287
three Treasures and, 69
Pingala, 159–62
Pioneer Valley Zendo, 56
Platform Sutra, 210
prajñā, 137–38, 148, 169, 177–78, 190, 197. See also prajña-paramita
Bodhidharma and, 9, 10
the Heart Sutra and, 9, 151
meal chants and, 119, 124
Sumedha and, 5–6
use of the term, 287
prajña-paramita, 102, 132, 135, 138–40, 147–48, 192, 197, 200–205
Prajñāpāramitā Sutras, 9, 99, 148–49, 170, 173
Prātimokṣa, 54
prayer, 14–15, 28, 68
precept(s), 60, 66, 82, 118, 127–28
described, 287
the Heart Sutra and, 137, 165
-receiving ceremony (jukai), 55, 118, 282
repentance and, 53–55, 57
threefold pure, 55
prostrations, 5, 128, 129
purity, verse of, 121–29
Q
Qingyuan Xingsi, 217, 209, 270
R
raindrops, 45, 46, 48–51
rationalism, 242, 243
relative truth, 151–54, 155–56, 237

repentance, 6–7, 32–35, 53–62, 84, 287
return, final place to, 75–77
ri, 219–21, 288
rice paddies, 84
right action. See eightfold path
right effort. See eightfold path
right livelihood. See eightfold path
right meditation. See eightfold path
right mindfulness. See eightfold path
right speech. See eightfold path
right thinking. See eightfold path
right view. See eightfold path
Rig Veda, 202, 288
Rinzai Zen, 30, 59, 121
robe chant, x, 8, 79–86, 283
Rujing, 176–77, 205
rūpa elements, 123–24, 140
S
Saddharmapuṇḍarīka Sutra, 230
samādhi, 96–97, 137, 163–64, 288
Samantabhadra, 102, 142, 170
Samantabhadra Sutra, 57–58
sameness, 89, 92, 93
San Francisco Zen Center, 47
“Sandōkai” (Shitou Xiqian), 9–10, 207–48
Sangha, 2, 5, 7, 28, 42–47, 54. See also Three Treasures
joyful mind and, 36
recharging our energy in the, 49
three minds and, 36–37, 40, 51–52
use of the term, 66–67, 288
Sarvāstivādin school, 173
Sawaki Kōdō Roshi, x–xi, 175, 183, 184, 191
self. See also ego; individuality
the Heart Sutra and, 155, 158–59, 173, 181
-ishness, 19–20
no-, 70
“study of,” 27, 28, 155, 218–19
wondrous Dharma and, 230–31
sensation
the Heart Sutra and, 145–47, 148, 170–77, 226
meal chants and, 106, 109
six sense organs and, 106, 133, 171–77, 225–26
sesshin, xi, xiii, 21–22, 182, 183
described, 288
meal chants and, 105, 107
Shakyamuni Buddha, 270. See also Buddha
Śāriputra, 131–32, 139–141, 149, 156, 164, 168, 254, 270
shikantaza, 20, 163, 184, 190–91, 199– 200, 222–24, 239, 247–48, 288. See also zazen
Shingon school, 15, 133, 202–3, 288
Shintō shrines, 110, 111

Shitou Xiqian, 9, 209, 269, 270
Shōbōgenzō (Dōgen Zenji), x, 8–11, 144– 45, 148. See also Genjōkōan” (Dōgen)
described, 289
Guishan and, 43
the Heart Sutra and, 134, 138, 142, 154, 155, 156, 184–85, 197–98
identity-action and, 228
meal chants and, 102, 117
the robe chant and, 80
Three Treasures and, 66, 67, 73–75
the Way of the ancient buddhas and, 66
wondrous Dharma and, 230–31
zazen and, 32
sickness, 4, 15, 74–75, 162. See also duḥkha
Sister Ceria, 13–14
six realms, 21, 27, 29, 107, 135, 186
six sense organs, 106, 133, 171–77, 225–26. See also sensation
skillful means, 6, 289
sōdō (monks’ hall), 7, 8–9, 289
Sōen Nakagawa Roshi. See Nakagawa Roshi
Soto Zen, xi, xiii, 1–2, 5–8, 10–11
described, 289
meal chants and, 87–97
repentance and, 53, 60
Three Treasures and, 63
source, returning to the, 235–41
stūpas, 2, 72, 289
subject/object relation, 91, 151, 225–31. See also objects
suchness, 90–96, 254–55, 289
suffering. See duḥkha
Sumedha, 3–9
Suprabhasa (king), 7
sutra(s). See also Heart Sutra
Āgama Sutra, 79, 150, 273
Avataṃsaka Sutra, 101–2, 127–28, 259n37, 274
books, 1–2, 62, 82–83, 252, 257n7, 259n42
Brahma Net Sutra, 101–2, 275
Dharma Flower Sutra, 102
Diamond Sutra, 83, 99, 189, 211, 277
Kasībhāradvāja Sutta, 84–85
Kegon Sutra, 212
Lotus Sutra, 34, 93, 101–2, 116–17, 230, 250–54, 283–84
Mahāparinibbāna Sutta, 97–98
Mahāvairocana Sutra, 101
Parinirvana Sutra, 112
Platform Sutra, 210
Prajñāpāramitā Sutras, 9, 99, 148–49, 170, 173
Saddharmapuṇḍarīka Sutra, 230
Samantabhadra Sutra, 57–58
Vimalakīrti Sutra, 89
Suttanipāta, 70, 84, 290

Suzuki, D. T., 29–31
Suzuki, Shunryu, ix–x, xiii
T
Tao, 236
Tathāgata, 30, 51–52, 97–98, 109, 256
described, 290
the robe chant and, 80, 85
Tendai school, 54
tenzo, 39, 37, 88, 110
“Tenzokyōkun” (Dōgen Zenji), 35, 87–88, 290
thought constructions, 157–58, 290
three poisonous minds, 21, 106, 107, 127, 290
Three Treasures, 7, 37, 55, 63–77, 82
described, 290–91
meal chants and, 113–14, 115, 117
repentance and, 60, 61–62
Tianhuang Daowu, 112–13, 271
Tiantong Rujing, 123, 271
Tientai school, 237
Tientai Zhiyi, 101–2, 237–38, 271
truth, 6, 7, 84, 90
absolute, 151–54, 219, 237
Buddha on, 24
conventional, 10, 152–53, 237
the Heart Sutra and, 151, 152–53, 164–65, 178, 186–87
Katagiri Roshi on, xiii
relative, 151–54, 155–56, 237
three, of Tientai Zhiyi, 237–38
Tsūgen Roshi, xi
twelve links of dependent origination. See interdependent origination
“Twenty-five years of Dharma Transmission in North America” (Katagiri Roshi), 47–48
U
Uchiyama Roshi, xi, 6–7, 31–35, 45, 71, 268
Braverman on, xiii
the Heart Sutra and, 162–64, 182–84, 191
illness suffered by, 162
ordination by, 182
unemployment benefits, 47
unsurpassable mind, 64–65, 291
V
Vairocana Buddha, 101, 271
Vajrayāna school, 14, 101, 121, 202, 291
Valley Zendo, 182, 183
Vedas, 202
“Verse for Opening the Sutra,” 31–32
Verse of the Kesa, 8
“Verse of the Wind Bell” (Tiantong Rujing), 123
Vimalakīrti Sutra, 89

Vinaya, 54, 66, 103, 291
Vipaśyin Buddha, 81, 271
virtue, field of, 79–86
Vishnu, 124–25, 292
Vulture Peak, 139, 292
W
warfare, 74–75, 166
water/ocean metaphors, 7, 50, 57–58, 66, 74, 92–95, 158–59, 170, 229
Wright, Daitsu Tom, 183
Y
Yangshan Huiji, 104, 272
Yogācāra school, 173, 292
Yunyan Tansheng, 144–46, 217, 239, 272
Yuquan Shenxiu, 209, 272
Z
zazen, xii–xiii, 29, 32–33, 44–45, 48–51
Catholic priests who practice, 14
continuous practice and, 11
as the dropping off of body and mind, 175, 218
Guishan and, 45–45
the Heart Sutra and, 138–48, 154, 161, 163, 181–82, 184, 189
illusion and, 174–75
individuality and, 223–24
letting go of thought during, 166, 167, 170, 174–75, 234
meal chants and, 88, 96, 97, 128
the power of raindrops and, 48–51
prayer and, comparison of, 14
repentence and, 34–35, 53–54, 58, 59–62
shikantaza and, 20, 163, 184, 190–91, 199–200, 222–24, 239, 247–48, 288
the robe chant and, 79, 84–86
three minds and, 37–41
zendōs, 41, 44–45, 57, 88, 292
zero, being equal to, 20, 253
Zongmi, 212–13, 215–17
Zuihō, Mezan, 260n60

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

SHOHAKU OKUMURA was born in Osaka, Japan in 1948. He is an

ordained priest and Dharma successor of Kōshō Uchiyama Roshi in

the lineage of Kōdō Sawaki Roshi. He is a graduate of Komazawa

University and has practiced at Antaiji with Kōshō Uchiyama Roshi,

Zuioji with Narasaki Ikkō Roshi in Japan, and Pioneer Valley Zendo

in Massachusetts. He taught at Kyoto Sōtō Zen Center in Japan and

Minnesota Zen Meditation Center in Minneapolis. He was the

director of the Soto Zen Buddhism International Center (previously

called Soto Zen Education Center) in San Francisco from 1997 to

2010.

His previously published books of translation include Dōgen’s

Extensive Record: A Translation of the Eihei Kōroku; Shikantaza: An

Introduction to Zazen; Shōbōgenzō Zuimonki: Sayings of Eihei

Dōgen Zenji; Heart of Zen: Practice without Gaining-mind (previously

titled Dōgen Zen); Zen Teachings of ‘Homeless’ Kōdō; Opening the

Hand of Thought; The Whole Hearted Way: A Translation of Eihei

Dōgen’s Bendōwa with Commentary by Kōshō Uchiyama Roshi; and

Dōgen’s Pure Standards for the Zen Community: A Translation of

Eihei Shingi. Okumura is also the editor of Dōgen Zen and Its

Relevance for Our Time; Soto Zen: An Introduction to Zazen; and

Nothing is Hidden: Essays on Zen Master Dōgen’s Instructions for

the Cook. He is the author of Realizing Genjōkōan: The Key to

Dōgen’s Shōbōgenzō.

He is the founding teacher of the Sanshin Zen Commuinity, based

in Bloomington, Indiana, where he lives with his family.

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Table of Contents
Title
Copyright
Contents
Editor’s Preface
Author’s Preface
Introduction
1. Living by Vow: The Four Bodhisattva Vows
2. Awakening to Incompleteness: The Verse of Repentance
3. Final Shelter: The Verse of the Three Refuges
4. Cultivating the Virtuous Field: The Robe Chant
5. Continuous Circle of Offering: The Meal Chants
6. Sound of Emptiness: The Heart Sutra
7. All Is One, One Is All: Merging of Difference and Unity
8. Endless Practice Here and Now: The Verse for Opening the Sutra
Notes
Glossary of Names
Glossary of Terms and Texts
Index
About the Author