Table of Contents
Teachings of Master Man Sang:
Sutra of the Eight Realizations of Great Beings
Buddhism in China: Rise of the Schools
Pilgrimage to India: Bodh Gaya – Where the Buddha Became Enlightened
Story From the Sutras: A Gift
of Beans
Cornucopia: The Art of Speaking – Win-Win
Criticism
Changing With Circumstances:
Making the Most of Every Step
Dharma Transmitter: Benefits
of Collective Practice
Zen Talk: Barely Surviving vs. Doing
Well
By Ven. Yin Chi
One day, a
member of the congregation called on the young abbot of the monastery to
enquire about the Dharma. Arriving in the reception room he saw an elderly monk
cleaning the tables and chairs. He made known his purpose and asked that his
message be passed on.
Soon enough,
the abbot came to greet him and asked the old monk to make some tea. The
elderly man respectfully offered the beverage and repeated to continue his
cleaning duties. The abbot then told the old monk to serve their guest some
fruit. The latter at once dropped what he was doing and brought the fruit. As
soon as he had put it down, the abbot asked him to send instructions to the
kitchen about the visitor’s lunch …
As the old
monk shuttled back and forth on his errands, the visitor started to feel a bit
uneasy. Why did the young abbot call repeatedly on the elderly monk to perform
these tasks?
Having
finished his lunch and taken leave of the abbot, the visitor ran into the elder
monk at the monastery’s front entrance, busily sweeping leaves. He couldn’t
help telling the old man: “You are advanced in years. The abbot shouldn’t make
you work too hard!” But the monk replied: “You are wrong. It is precisely
because I am old and a bit stiff in my arms and legs that the abbot is giving
me opportunities to exercise and perhaps rejuvenate them. He has taken my age
into account. He asks me only to serve tea, not to carry water, and to bring
fruit, not to work the fields. He doesn’t demand that I cook in the kitchen,
only to relay messages there … You won’t often see a younger person being so
considerate towards an old man. So I make extra efforts, to show my
appreciation for the abbot’s concern and understanding.”
A mere
thought separates heaven from hell, and the same set of circumstances is
experienced entirely differently. People’s thoughts and views differ, so their
responses vary greatly. The Dharma tells us that “a pure mind produces a pure
environment.” It teaches us to “use our minds skillfully” while dealing with
circumstances we encounter.
The old monk
is a fine example of a Buddhist practitioner. Adopting a positive attitude
towards all things, he applies himself proactively and boosts his own wholesome
energy. Leaving his vexations behind, he busies himself happily and lives in a
state of ease.
To be able
to live, learn and work through to old age is a great blessing. To serve others
and to labor for their well-being, rather than to focus on ourselves, is to
undertake the vows of a Bodhisattva. It does not matter that our contribution
may be small. What counts is that we should be genuinely willing to serve
others according to our capabilities. So long as we are moved by the spirit of
service, our age and our actual achievements matter little. We would be
practicing generosity, making positive karmic connections and accumulating
merit.
People of
various ages and social status can all give of themselves, differing only in
the ways they serve. Dharma practitioners should always maintain correct
attitudes toward life. They should learn to appreciate their good fortune and
make wholesome connections with others, as well as nurture the willingness and
ability to serve others. Those who understand and do this are Bodhisattvas
cultivating both good fortune and wisdom. Their lives will be harmonious and
blessed. Besides attaining well-being, they will have a foundation from which
to walk the Bodhisattva’s path.
Hopefully,
all practitioners will resolve to learn the Dharma diligently and live their
lives with the wisdom and compassion taught by the Buddha. May they resolve to
contribute their abilities, and apply right knowledge and mindfulness to the
people and events that they encounter. Their lives would then be happy and
fulfilled, and they would travel along the Bodhisattva’s path to awakening.
Sutra of the Eight Realizations of Great Beings
THE
FIFTH REALIZATION: To be
aware that ignorance leads to rebirth. The
Bodhisattva always remembers to learn extensively. He augments his wisdom and
enhances his eloquence in order to teach all beings. In so doing, he finds
supreme joy.
The Fifth
Realization teaches us that we must gain wisdom. Why are we caught up in the
cycle of rebirth in the Three Realms? No one caused us to be in this state. It
is the karma we have accumulated that binds us to birth and death.
Perhaps we
owe others things from the past; all debts must be repaid. As the ancients
said: “We are dragged along by our heaviest debts.” If we have substantial
negative karma, we will be reborn in the realms of hell beings, hungry ghosts
or animals to work off our debts. If our positive karma predominates, we will
be reborn in the celestial or human realms.
The cycle of
rebirth is the result of cause and effect. In birth and death, every effect has
its cause. And what are the causes? One is ignorance – a benighted state
characterized by warped, incorrect views. It causes us to harm others readily while
benefiting ourselves, which creates bad karma. By doing so we reap the bitter
fruit of rebirth.
People have
many mistaken notions about life and death. They create all sorts of negative
karma because of the five habitual afflictions – greed, anger, ignorance, pride
and doubt. These afflictions are the root of rebirth and bad karma. There are also
the five views that we think so highly of – view of the person, dualistic
views, view of precepts, stubborn views and twisted views. These ten elements
are all fundamental afflictions.
“View of the person” refers to the mistaken
belief among unenlightened beings that the person constituted by the Four
Elements and Five Aggregates is “me.” Selfishly and erroneously, they say that
“if I don’t look out for myself, heaven and earth will conspire against me and
destroy me.” They always take their own interests as a starting point and neglect
the interests of others. They do not hesitate to build their own happiness on
the suffering of others. Ordinary people kill as they eat meat. Mindful only of
their own health and gustatory pleasure, they care not whether other beings
live or die. Such selfish perspectives and actions are “view of the person.”
“Dualistic
views” prevail when there is a division into “perpetual” and “discontinuous”
viewpoints. To be attached to either of the two perspectives is to have “dualistic
views.” Those who subscribe to a view of perpetuity believe that after death,
we will forever be reborn as human beings, lifetime after lifetime. This is the
“perpetual view.” Others think there is nothing at all after we die – that
death is like a lamp going out. When some of them meet with difficulties they
end their own lives, thinking their problems would be solved forthwith. That is
a perspective of discontinuity.
Buddhism
teaches that both “perpetual” and “discontinuous” views are mistaken, the
result of ignorance. The Dharma speaks neither of the perpetual nor the
discontinuous. It emphasizes whether our actions are wholesome or unwholesome.
Someone who has done much evil in this life will be reborn as an animal, while
an animal which has done good can take human form in its next life. Sentient
beings are reborn according to the nature of their karma; death does not put an
end to everything.
The “view of
precepts” means to say that people who practice the precepts must have correct
views in order to benefit from their practice. It would be a pity if such
perspectives are erroneous, or the method of practice is wrong so no result is
achieved. For example, some people in India saw a dog ascending to heaven after
having died from eating contaminated food. They thought that by observing a
“dog precept,” they too would be able to go to heaven. The dog was reborn in
the celestial realm because of its past (positive) karma, not anything it had
eaten. Others notice a cow reborn in heaven and thought it was because the
animal ate grass. So they imitate the cow and undertake the “cow precept.”
Still others believe that starving to death brings rebirth in the celestial
realm. They starve themselves in their quest for heaven.
These are
ignorant and foolish ways of observing precepts. The Buddha taught us to
undertake precepts by refraining from unwholesome acts, and to turn from evil
to good. That is the real way to observe precepts.
“Stubborn views” are when we insist that our viewpoints are correct even when they are not. What are “twisted views”? Whether we succumb to “greed, anger, ignorance, pride and doubt” or are enmeshed in “person views, dualistic views, precepts views and stubborn views,” all are mistaken, twisted views. Such ignorance and afflictions lead people to accumulate karma, which binds them to the cycle of rebirth. Ignorance and wisdom are opposites. That is why the Buddha taught us to cultivate wisdom and learn the Bodhisattva path. To dispel ignorance with wisdom is the fundamental way to free ourselves from endless rebirth.
Rise of the Schools
During the time of the Buddha, the
Buddhist community was known as the Sangha and was the only such group. The
notion of schools hadn’t been born. A century after the Buddha passed into
nirvana, differences of view arose within the Buddhist community over monastic
discipline as well as doctrine. It divided at first into the School of the
Community and the School of the Elders. Later, more sects arose. And with the
establishment of Mahayana Buddhism came such schools as the Madhyamaka and the
Yogacara.
Buddhism
came into China during different periods and spread into various regions. Influenced
by economic, political and cultural factors, the schools of Chinese Buddhism
gradually took shape during the Eastern Jin, the Sui and the Tang dynasties. By
Sui and Tang times they already numbered 13. They continued to grow and some of
them merged. Of the Tang schools, 10 were able to develop lineages. The
Satyasiddhi and Abhidharma sects were later merged into the Madhyamaka and
Yogacara schools. So Chinese Buddhism can be said to have eight major schools:
Madhyamaka (Three Treatises), Pure Land, Chan (Zen), Tiantai,
Huayan, Yogacara (Mind-Only), Vinaya
(Discipline) and Esoteric (Tibetan).
Why did
Chinese Buddhism have so many sects – and how did they arise? Whether there
were 13 schools or eight, it is not actually true that they were so numerous.
Because the Chinese loved scholarship – and because there were so many Buddhist
sutras – related texts were classified as a series. For example, the related Lotus Sutra and Prajnaparamita Treatise were grouped together. The
Madhyamaka, which specialized in three treatises “expounding Buddhist thinking
on emptiness,” evolved into a distinctive school. Later Chan and Pure Land were
also classified as schools because of their core scriptures or special ways of
practice.
Because
Buddhist scriptures were so numerous, people would not be able to study them
systematically unless they were classified into schools. In the same way, the
books in a library are displayed according to subjects. Otherwise users would
have difficulty finding the books they wanted. Similarly, universities and research
institutes have their faculties and departments in order to facilitate
specialist study. If not, it would be hard to do in-depth research. Consider
also the Chinese literary classic, Dream
of the Red Chamber. Its great number of scholars has led to the rise of a
discipline called “Red-ology.”
Chinese Buddhism was categorized in such detail because there were so many schools and people who wanted to study them were legion. Though the sects were numerous, they did not occupy their own exclusive ground. In this they were different from religious factions in the West, which often had conflicts with one another because of politics or the division of power. Despite their profusion, the schools of Buddhism were not enmeshed in politics, nor did they have conflicts of power or interest. True, they had their own specializations and concepts, and their practices differed. But their ultimate philosophy and aim were the same – to benefit and deliver both oneself and others, and to attain Buddhahood. “Expedient means are many, but the essence is only one.” That saying aptly describes the relationships among the various schools of Buddhism.
Bodh
Gaya: Where the Buddha
Became Enlightened
(Day 7, Oct. 28, 2008)
By Ven. Yin Chi
Nearly 100
million, or 8%, of India’s 1.1 billion people are Buddhists. Today happened to
be Diwali, the Indian Festival of Lights, an
important public holiday. Many well-dressed Indians, as well as pilgrims’
groups and tourists, converged here to visit and honor the Buddha. Crowds
thronged everywhere.
In Bodh Gaya, enthusiastic people from various countries had
built temples so that pilgrims from other nations could come to worship and
make positive karmic connections. They were unattended, except by gardeners,
and all visitors were welcome. Contributions were voluntary; there were no
solicitations. Nearby were many stalls hawking such goods as pictures of sacred
Buddhist places and CDs. The bustle was palpable.
We went on
to visit Mahabodhi Temple, which marked the spot where the Buddha gained
enlightenment. The street we passed was full of monasteries built by different
countries; it wasn’t easy to stop at each one. Opposite the entrance to the
Mahabodhi Temple was a Queen Maya Restaurant: as befits a sacred site, even an
eatery was named after the Buddha’s mother! Nearby we bought a few dozen white
lotus flowers for our group to offer to the Buddha.
It was
necessary to remove our shoes and walk barefoot into the Mahabodhi Temple. When
we arrived, we busied ourselves taking off our shoes and buying tickets
allowing cameras to be brought inside. All the places we visited the past few
days were wide open and sparsely populated. But here, coinciding with Diwali, it was noisy and crowded. Pilgrims of various races
were all worshipping in their own manner. The remarkable sights and sounds made
us forget how unaccustomed we were to walking around barefoot.
During the
12th and 13th centuries, India was pillaged by orthodox
Muslim armies. Many of the sacred Buddhist monuments and sites, it is said,
were preserved only because they were sealed with mud. Inside the solemn main
hall of the Mahabodhi Temple sits a large Buddha statue. Every day, a special
attendant reportedly clothes it successively in monastic robes from eight
different countries.
After entering
the hall and taking pictures we left rather hurriedly, making room for other
people waiting to get in. We did a few circumambulations and went behind the
temple, where the vajra
throne marking the Buddha’s enlightenment was located. The seat was fenced off but
we still felt the Buddha’s presence, a sense that he was very close. Prompted
by a joy that was hard to describe, we made prostrations near the railings and offered
flowers before the throne.
A closer
look revealed the actual location of the seat behind the fence, covered with
gold cloth. We made three prostrations and felt deeply moved – as though the
prodigal child had finally come home. We had come home to the Buddha.
Lots of
people milled around, worshipping, circumambulating and reciting scriptures in
their own manner. We found a spot to sit down and do some recitation and
meditation ourselves. Though we were reluctant to leave, it was already dusk.
There were many places we still hadn’t visited. We wanted to press on, but
large numbers of Hindus began to sing and dance nearby, and some members of our
group were busy taking pictures. So we decided to return at 4 a.m. the next day
for morning practice.
After dinner,
we wanted to take a stroll around the Mahabodhi Temple. But it was Diwali and people were displaying lights and setting off
firecrackers in the streets. We were concerned that it might become too crowded
and even chaotic. Moreover, we were tired from the past two days’ walking at
Vulture Peak and the Saptaparni Caves, so we decided to stay in our hotel and
rest.
A Gift of
Beans
Once the
Buddha was teaching the Dharma in a certain country, whose king made extensive
offerings to him and his monastic disciples. There was a woman, stricken with
poverty, who has delighted to hear that the monarch was making the offerings.
She too wanted to donate something. But since she had to beg for her living,
she had nothing at home. What could she offer as a gift? Suddenly, the woman
saw near her kitchen stove a small pile of beans someone had given her. She
immediately picked up the beans and hurried to the palace, hoping to offer them
to the Buddha.
When the
palace guards saw this shabbily dressed old woman with her handful of beans,
clamoring to enter the palace to present them to the Buddha, they thought her foolish
and laughable. They refused to let her go in. Aware of the incident from the
commotion, the Buddha used his powers to take the woman’s beans and spread them
among the food offered by the king. The monarch became angry when he saw beans
in all the dishes. He was just about to summon and punish the cook when the
Buddha said to him: “Great king, it is not the fault of the chef. These beans
were offered by a poor woman outside the palace.”
The king was
puzzled and displeased. “This woman has been sincere and respectful,” the
Buddha said. “Though it’s only a pile of beans, it exceeds your majesty’s
offerings. Therefore the beans cover the other food.” The king was skeptical.
“These beans amount to very little. How can they compare with all the fine
dishes I have prepared?”
“The woman
may have offered very little,” the Buddha said, “but the merit she will reap is
certainly greater than your majesty’s.” The king remained at a loss. He asked
the Buddha: “Can it really be that the merit from my abundant offerings cannot
compare with the woman’s handful of beans?”
The Buddha
explained to the king: “Though the woman’s gift was small, it was everything
she had. Your majesty has offered much, but it was all from the people; you
yourself have not lost anything. That’s why it can be said that the woman has
given much, and you very little. So her karmic reward will be greater than
yours.” The king was deeply ashamed; he had learned something. He ordered that
the woman be admitted into the palace.
The value of
our offerings lies not in their material worth, but in the depth of our
sincerity in making them. It is enough to give what we can. However poor, a
person can always offer some sort of physical action that accomplishes good.
The most precious donation is when we resolve respectfully to give something to
others, and then do it according to our best capability.
By Ven. Yin Chi
QUESTION: I once heard in a Dharma talk that so long
as we have the right attitude, even burning a Buddha image to make heat for
survival is not an offense. And if we are unable to bring Buddhist books to the
monastery for burning, can we give them to trash-gatherers to resell?
ANSWER: The story you heard describes
the mindset of an enlightened person. Its purpose is to encourage the deluded
to let go of their attachments. It admonishes us to use wisdom, and to be
flexible, in dealing with things and people we encounter. In matters of life or
death, of course, we can use expedient means to deal with situations to save
those in peril.
If we are
not at that level, however, or if we are not out to save someone, we should not
blindly imitate such behavior. Buddhist texts are precious Dharma treasures, so
it would be inappropriate to offer them to garbage collectors to sell. If we
are unable to use them, we could pass them on to others or return them to where
we got them from.
Texts that are
too worn to be used any more should be burned. If we wish to recycle them, they
should first be shredded so their words and images can no longer be read and
seen. The aim is to avoid being disrespectful, or setting a negative example to
others. If Dharma treasures are treated like trash, right-minded people will
feel distressed when they see them among the garbage. If those who don’t know
any better see them, they may repeat the error in future. The damage would be
serious.
QUESTION: I eat vegetarian meals every 1st
and 15th day of the month. However, I hear from friends who are
fulltime vegetarians that abstaining from meat twice a month is known as
“vegetarian lite.” People who do so, they say, should
not eat egg or egg-related products. So I dare not buy certain snacks even when
I am hungry, as I fear they may contain egg. What should I do?
ANSWER: There is no such thing as
“vegetarian lite” in Buddhism. Some people use the
term only to make a distinction with fulltime vegetarianism. Since you are able
to avoid meat on the 1st and 15th, I suggest that you
also do so on the special days honoring the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas. Of
course, it would be best for vegetarians to avoid eating egg, but we need not
have fixed rules about that.
Since you
eat vegetarian only twice a month, it would not be remiss to demand a little
more of yourself. But if you cannot find snacks without any egg content, you
can eat expediently as the need arises. The purpose of vegetarianism is to
foster compassion and sound health. We should not trouble ourselves too much
while practicing it.
The Art of Speaking: Win-Win Criticism
The
secretary of Calvin Coolidge, America’s 30th president, was prone to
making mistakes in her work. One day the president commended her for her
attractive dress. As she was basking in his praise, he added: “But I hope your
handling of documents will be just as attractive!” Thereafter, the secretary
made very few errors.
A member of
the president’s cabinet admired the way he handled the issue. Coolidge told
him: “It’s like a barber applying soapy water to a customer’s face before
shaving him. That way it doesn’t hurt during the shave.”
Some people
think that bluntly pointing out a person’s mistakes is to be “frank,” while
speaking in a roundabout way is “hypocritical.” Actually, being a bit indirect
does not conflict with being frank, so long as we genuinely take into account
the other’s feelings and do not act for personal gain. By contrast, if
criticism is made to let off steam or out of spite, or even for enjoyment,
“frankness” would merely be a kind of hypocrisy.
For there to
be growth and progress, mistakes must be pointed out and corrected. But overly
harsh reprimands and unconstructive attacks only make others feel abused and disrespected.
They become defensive and want to hit back. Such emotions will smother their
capacity for self-reflection – and shift the focus from problem resolution to
personal conflict.
So overly
severe criticism does not solve problems. Instead, it may trigger unhappiness
and confrontation, creating lose-lose situations. Moreover, it is hard to be sure
that we are entirely correct, and the other is wrong. We easily take a
subjective view of things, using our own frames of reference to interpret
information from the external world and thinking we are always right.
Even the
simple-minded can chastise someone bluntly. But only kind people are capable of
being considerate and showing concern for others’ feelings. Only the wise know
how to look at the bigger picture – and foster win-win outcomes when tackling
problems.
How can we
skillfully review with others their mistakes? First, we should speak with them
one-on-one. Public criticism is to be avoided at all costs, for it could put
others on the spot and set them against us. The central focus should be on the
issue, not the person involved. Describe the developments clearly and indicate
where the problems are, without using adjectives such as “a big mess.” Take
special care to avoid descriptions directed at persons – for example, “you were
terrible.” Adjectives make people feel they are being judged, without knowing why.
That only confuses and irritates them.
Express your
viewpoint, to be sure. But even if you think you are completely correct, do not
say so with a sense of absolute truth or an air of lecturing the other. Avoid
turning specifics into generalities. If you wish to say, “You always make the
same mistake,” point out how you think things can be improved, rather than indicating
how someone has fallen short. If you do the former, the person will become
aware of the latter. He or she will not feel that you are out to find fault.
Do not speak
about more than one or two issues at one time, and discuss each one only once.
Refrain from talking about too many problems simultaneously; avoid dwelling on
the same one over and over. And do not bring up issues from the past. Focus on
the present. Use phrasing (suggesting humility) such as, “In my opinion …” and
“Wouldn’t it be better to do this …?” Then ask the other person’s opinion, as a
gesture of respect – “Do you agree?”
During the
entire process, use “you …” as sparingly as possible and “I …” frequently. The
reason is that statements with “you …” usually target the other person to some
extent. While we are trying to point out someone’s mistakes, that person is
likely to be very sensitive to any criticism. If possible, we should praise him
or her for positive performance in another area (but we mustn’t just make
something up, or the person will question our sincerity). We could also
acknowledge, or express gratitude or appreciation for, the person’s past
efforts (however sub-par the performance, some effort must have been made). For
example, we could say “I’m very happy that you have tried so hard” – and then
proceed to say what can be improved.
By softening
our criticism, we can avoid many unnecessary conflicts and vexations. We’ll
make fewer enemies and more friends. And we’ll be able to bring about real
improvement and progress.
According to
management theory, a company benefits greatly if supervisors and subordinates
as well as colleagues can speak amicably to one another. Many studies have
shown that workers’ performance suffers if their supervisors or colleagues have
harsh or aloof attitudes. In work environments with a distinctive human
element, morale is high and productivity rises.
-- From the
internet
EDITOR’S
NOTE: “A person who is ill-tempered and speaks harsh words cannot be considered
a good person even if he or she has a good heart …”; “Pleasant words are like a
lotus flower, while disagreeable speech is like a poisonous snake …”; “To speak
warm and gentle words is like sprinkling perfume on another person; a drop or
two will fall on us as well ….” These sayings from Ven. Cheng-yen show how the
art of speaking can produce win-win or lose-lose situations.
Making the Most of Every Step
By Ru Zang
I have
liked playing football since I was young. My best position was midfielder, and
my job was to help the forwards during attacks and assist the fullbacks on
defensive maneuvers. The skill requirements were not so demanding, but one
needed to have plenty of stamina and steely determination. The position was
like being a foot soldier on the team
Over many
years of competition, we encountered many teams whose skills exceeded ours. When
they fell behind by a goal, their objective was to score an equalizer. If there
was a significant difference in capabilities, the aim was not to yield a second
goal.
The most
memorable match came during my university years, when we played the Luk Kwong team. Its players were
all members of the national team who had done military service. Their abilities
far exceeded ours, and by half-time we had already conceded six goals. During
the break we agreed on our objective for the second half: We would consider it
a victory if we gave up less than five goals.
We went out
and played spiritedly, taking the game to our opponents. We fought them until
the last minute. As a result, we yielded just two goals; the final score was
0-8. Though we had lost, the entire team was in high spirits. We had tried our
best and our performance exceeded expectations. Our approach consistently won
the respect of our opponents. The experience also helped forged a determination
to meet the challenges we face every day. It was this spirit and resolve that
helped me make the most of every step in life.
On September
1 this year, the new school year began – as it had for the past two decades. I
went to the school early in the morning, but my role was different. It was the
first day of my retirement, and I was back at school as a stand-in teacher.
Most of the students, unaware that I had retired, told me about their summer
activities at home as soon as they saw me.
When I
transferred to the school in 1990, my motive was that it was near my home. I
would be able to save on commuting time. Later I found that there was much
there that fell short of my expectations, in terms of student discipline,
working conditions, school administration and staff issues. I wondered whether
I should seek another transfer.
Settling
down after a while, however, I decided it would be more meaningful to change my
environment rather than look for a new one. So I started working towards this
objective with a group of like-minded colleagues. I hoped to be able to put my
ideas into practice and create for the students an environment conducive to
learning.
Three years
later, there was a big change in our working conditions. More than half the
school administration retired and we had a new headmaster. As many problems
awaited resolution, I was appointed from among the regular teachers to take
charge of the two key areas of discipline and activities. At the time I gave no
thought to the questions of position, pay and capability. With only some ideas
and a firm resolve, I accepted the challenge.
After a year
I was promoted to the school’s administrative team. I was only a director, but
the position provided much room for maneuver. Together with teachers in the
discipline group and other professional colleagues, we laid the foundation for
ethical and disciplinary work in the school for the next ten years. Our efforts
were highly commended in a 2004 report by the government’s Education Bureau on
quality education. Most importantly, it cited the positive conduct of our
students.
I became a
Buddhist in 1995, and the nourishment of faith made my work even more
meaningful. I began working as a volunteer at Lo Hon Monastery in 1997. By
2004, the pressures of work had become more than I could bear mentally and
physically. A difficult choice confronted me in terms of my career and Dharma
practice. I decided to phase out my career in education and focus on volunteer
work to support the Three Gems. At the school’s behest, however, I reverted to a
standard role of instructor, reducing my workload and the attendant pressures. A
few years later I took a further step back, serving as a half-time teacher
until the past academic year.
This year I
felt the conditions were ripe for me to retire completely. Actually, I had
never deliberately made plans for my own future. All I did was try to deal with
circumstances as they arose, and to take each step the best way I could. I made
appropriate adjustments according to the changing conditions.
I am
grateful that the karmic circumstances have allowed me to step down from the
frontlines of my profession, so I can devote myself wholeheartedly to Dharma
practice. That I am able to enjoy nature from time to time with a few kindred
spirits is another blessing. Students of the Dharma should appreciate their
blessings and treasure them. Of course, they should continue to make the best
of every step they take – to show their gratitude to the Three Gems, to their
Dharma teachers, to their parents and to all sentient beings.
Benefits of Collective Practice
By Ven. Kin Lam
One evening
I raised my head and saw a flock of wild geese in the sky, flying in
V-formation. As I gazed at their white shapes, I could not help but admire
their flight, conducted in such a harmonious and disciplined manner. My
curiosity was also aroused: Why do they fly together – and in V-formation? I
found the answers after some research in the library.
When a wild
goose flaps its wings, the movement generates air currents that support flight
and provide a boost to other birds that may be following. The result is that
flying in V-formation allows the geese to travel some 70% farther than flying individually.
Moreover, if a bird tries to leave the group, it immediately feels a preventive
force. With the supportive motion generated by its companions, it can quickly
rejoin the formation.
A flock of
geese uses the supportive force of flight to boost its airborne capabilities
and extend the distances it travels. Dharma practitioners at a retreat operate
under the same principle. Striving together, they learn from one another and
minimize the chances that they might take a mistaken or roundabout path. If
they encounter setbacks or obstacles, they can encourage one another. They are
able to push ahead without fear, even when facing adversity.
By
practicing together, Dharma friends are able to generate a mutually supportive
energy. It enables them to travel farther along the Dharma path and with less
effort. If someone feels a little slack, one look at others applying themselves
earnestly and the person will quickly buck up. It is like the wild goose that
wants to leave the formation: a force naturally steers it back into the ranks,
and it continues its journey.
By contrast,
a person who practices alone cannot enjoy such advantages. When we practice at
home, external disruptions or temptations easily undermine our efforts, making
it hard for us to concentrate. For example, we have just settled into our
meditation when the phone rings … or a neighbor or the postman sounds our
doorbell just as we put down the phone. These incidents divide our attention. Perhaps
we have actually been meditating for a while. Suddenly, we want to drink some
water – after which we may wish to look at the news or check the latest market
prices. It is very difficult for most people to “let go” of such external distractions
to their practice, so they are unable to apply themselves.
The Lotus Sutra tells of an occasion when 16
princes took monastic vows at the same time and resolved to propagate the teachings
of the sutra. All 16 eventually achieved Buddhahood. The Sacred Penitence of the Names of 88 Buddhas records that in a
previous life, Shakyamuni Buddha recited the names of 53 Buddhas together with
3,000 other people. Because of such collective practice, all became Buddhas in
different eras. We can see that joint practice often produces auspicious fruit.
So it was that Master Mazu established a monastery in
a remote, forested area, so that monastics could practice collectively and
achieve awakening together. As Fayan, the fifth Chan
patriarch, said: “The forest is where holy men are made, where talent is nurtured
and where teaching takes place.”
There are
four kinds of teaching: by words, by example, by environment and by system. A
group of people practicing together in harmony is an example of instruction
through environmental influence. Amid the pure environment of collective
practice, we are easily inspired and stirred to diligence. It is like the Pure
Land described in the Amitabha Sutra:
“In Amitabha Buddha’s realm, a gentle breeze stirs and rows of bejeweled trees
and nets give off subtle sounds. They are like music from many thousands of
musical instruments, all playing together. Those who hear these sounds are
naturally stirred to think of the Buddha, the Dharma and the Sangha.” When we
join a retreat and practice together, everything we hear and see is wholesome,
making it easier for us to have pure words, deeds and thoughts. The Pure Land
becomes available, here and now.
Are you
still a goose flying alone? Join the flock winging its way collectively towards
the Pure Land!
-
From the
internet
Barely
Surviving vs. Doing Well
On a
particularly hot day, the flowers in the Zen monastery wilted. “Heavens, let’s pour
some water!” cried the young monk. He went to fetch the bucket. “No need to
hurry,” said the old monk. “The sun is too fierce now. Exposed to heat and cold
in quick succession, the flowers will surely die. Let’s wait a while before giving
them water.”
By evening,
the flowers resembled a bunch of preserved vegetables. “We should have given
them water earlier …” moaned the young monk. “The flowers must all be dead by
now. No amount of water can revive them.”
“Stop
grumbling and pour,” instructed the old monk. Not long after the watering, the
withered flowers straightened up and actually seemed full of life.
“Heavens,”
exclaimed the young monk. “How remarkable! There they are, barely surviving.”
“Nonsense,” the old monk corrected him. “They’re not barely surviving, they’re doing
quite well.”
“What’s the
difference?” asked the young monk softly, lowering his head. “Of course there’s
a difference,” replied the old monk as he patted the young monk on the
shoulder. “Let me ask you – I am over 80 years old. Am I barely surviving, or doing
well enough?”
At the end
of the evening lesson, the old monk summoned the young monk and asked him:
“Have you thought it through?” “No,” replied the other, his head still bowed.
The old monk patted him again and said: “Foolish boy! A person who constantly
fears death is barely surviving. One who always looks ahead is doing well.”
“We ought to
live well each day we are alive,” said the old monk, smiling. “When they are
still alive, some people pray and offer incense to the Buddhas every day
because they are afraid to die. Will their wish for a long life come true?
While capable of living well, they do not do so. Why should heaven grant them
more days simply to await death?”