Table of Contents
Teachings of Master Man
Sang: Sutra of the Eight Realizations of Great Beings
Chinese Buddhism in the
Sui and Tang Dynasties
Pilgrimage to India:
Ganges Sunrise
Story from the
Sutras: The Goose King Repays a Debt
Cornucopia: The Creaking
Window
Changing
With Circumstances: Bearing Responsibility
Reader’s Corner:
Pilgrimage to Mt. Putuo
Zen Talk: All Things Are Born
from the One
By Ven. Yin
Chi
At a well-known music academy,
students in a piano performance class were told that a certain master performer
and professor would be teaching at the school. The students were very excited
and enthusiastically discussed the instruction they were expecting to receive
from the maestro.
The long awaited day finally
arrived. The professor entered the classroom and, without saying a word, handed
each person a sheet of music. The students took a look: It was a very difficult
piece of music! Before they even had the chance to read through it, the professor
asked them to play. Their playing was riddled with mistakes. The instructor
simply said: “Take the sheet home and practice hard.” He turned around and
left.
A week later, it was time for class
again. Just as they were preparing to play the music from the previous week,
the students found a new sheet awaiting them at their desks. It was even harder
than the previous one. After breezing through the music once on the piano, the
professor immediately asked the students to play it one by one. Once again, there
were errors aplenty. The instructor merely sent them home and urged them to
practice diligently, without once mentioning the previous music sheet they had
worked so hard on. The students were flummoxed.
In the third and fourth weeks,
classes proceeded in the same manner. Awaiting the students at their seats was
music that each time was more difficult than the last. Because of their
teacher's stature, they had little choice but to plod on despite their growing
doubts.
Three months passed, with the same
scenario repeating itself in the classroom. Unable to see any progress, the
students became increasingly despondent. Why, they wondered, was their
instructor seemingly bent on tormenting them? Finally, unable to bear the
situation any longer, one student asked the professor: Instead of teaching us
playing techniques, why do you insist on giving us a hard time with those music
sheets?
Without a word, the instructor
casually pulled out the music from the first lesson and arbitrarily designated
one of the students to play it. The pupil played with extraordinary fluency,
astonishing everyone. The student himself had no idea how his own fingers had
suddenly become so agile. The professor then gave the music from the second
class to another student, who proceeded to play it remarkably well too. And so
it was with the third and fourth assignments ...
Each performance was greeted with
stunned expressions; everyone wondered how they all could have suddenly become
so good. Said their teacher: “If every time I had you rehearsing only music you
were familiar with, spending time struggling with yet unmastered
details of technique, I believe you would still be on the music from the first
lesson. You would not have reached your present levels.”
The point of the story: If everybody
chose only to do things they were familiar with or was easy to learn, they
would be scared and unable to make progress when faced with trying or
unfamiliar situations. To be sure, ease makes us comfortable while difficulty
gives us pause. Yet it is those who can meet tough challenges who readily live
fulfilling, even brilliant lives. People undaunted by hardship have greater
chances of exceeding their own limitations. Actually there are no successes or
failures in life, only experiences. And with experience comes wisdom and
competence. It is adversity that best hones ability.
The same is true with Dharma
practice. As long as we are determined to improve ourselves and elevate the
quality of our lives, we must tackle our difficult habit energies. People who
are rebellious and combative should uphold the precepts to curb their
aggressive and destructive impulses. Those who are hot-tempered need to
practice forbearance and gentleness to soften their character. When we are lax
and desirous of leisure, we should apply diligence to resist a slide towards
self-indulgence. When we are mentally undisciplined, we must learn
concentration to focus our wandering thoughts. Those who are obsessed with
material pursuits should learn to cherish what they already have and to let go.
When troubled by repressed emotions, we should recite the name of Amitabha
Buddha to cleanse our minds and purge our vexations. And when we are confused
and without direction, we should let the Dharma guide us to a life of greater
wisdom.
The path of the Buddha is to be
found in everyday life. We are like those young musicians when we practice the
Dharma. We need to have faith in the Three Gems of Buddha, Dharma and Sangha.
We should rely on them and respect them. We need to act according to the
Buddha's teachings, and hear and practice the Dharma
regularly. We have to learn diligently. So long as we persist in doing so, the
day will come when we achieve awakening, see the Buddha and become totally free
and at ease.
Sutra of the Eight
Realizations of Great Beings
THE SIXTH REALIZATION: To know that bitterness in the face of poverty and adversity
creates bad karma. While undertaking acts of generosity and other practices,
the Bodhisattva considers on an equal basis the intimate as well as the
antagonistic. He harbors neither past hatreds nor resentment towards malicious
people.
The Diamond Sutra teaches us to
adorn the Buddha lands by practicing unconditional generosity. What exactly is
“unconditional generosity”? When a Bodhisattva acts generously, he or she does
not count how much has been given, or who the recipient is. That is
unconditional generosity.
When practicing generosity, many people
want to be thanked and even repaid. If no payback is forthcoming, they will say
the other party is ungrateful. Later they may tell others how they helped the
other person and how well they treated him or her, or how the person hadn’t
been the least bit appreciative. This is “conditional” generosity.
Others give and hope to be praised
for doing so, hailed as a great benefactor. Still others feel proud to have
acted generously. They become full of themselves, thinking they have money to
give and unconsciously adopting a patronizing attitude towards recipients of
their largesse.
These are all forms of conditional
generosity. Though they are good acts, they are of the worldly sort. Said
Master Yongjia: “Conditional generosity leads to
rebirth in the celestial realm. It’s like shooting an arrow into the air; when
its momentum is exhausted, it will drop back down. The next rebirth will not be
a good one.”
He meant that because generosity
which expects a reward is conditional, the resulting merit will only allow the
giver to be reborn in the heavenly realms. Though beings there have long lives,
they nonetheless die eventually and fall back into the cycle of rebirth. Those
who have some residual merit may be reborn as human beings, while those who
have exhausted their merit will tumble into the realms of animals, hungry
ghosts or hell.
If we accumulate virtue in this
lifetime, we could achieve a celestial rebirth in the next one, though a fall
would await us in the third lifetime. However high the arrow is shot, it will
still tumble back to earth. If we descend into the Three Wretched Realms, that
would be a negative rebirth. Therefore the merit from conditional generosity is
not reliable.
A Bodhisattva has the wisdom to give
unconditionally. What is unconditional generosity? Don’t dwell on how much
money you might have given someone. We must realize that even if we want to
give, the other party must provide us with the chance to do so, by accepting.
In that case, who is the real “giver”?
Moreover, the money might not
actually be yours. And if they aren’t given away charitably, family fortunes
may still be depleted by spendthrift behavior, or lost because of bad
investments, fraud, accident or death. If that is so, what of actual substance
have you given away?
So don’t keep thinking: I am giving
all the time, this much or that much, and many people have benefited from my
generosity. Everything is the result of a specific convergence of
circumstances. Take, for example, beings in the celestial realms. They are very
fortunate: Whatever clothing or food they think of, they will be able to wear
or eat. Who is there for you to be generous to? Another example: The blood
banks are empty and an appeal is launched for donations. Someone with infected
blood is unable to give, even if he or she wants to.
Thus we see that donor, recipient
and the donation itself all arise from the confluence of certain conditions.
Where is the personal merit? So don’t say to yourself, I have helped so and so
with such an amount … When the circumstances arise, give what you can and let
go. This is what the Dharma calls the “Three Levels of Emptiness” (no giver, no
recipient, no gift), or unconditional generosity.
If we place conditions on our
giving, the good fortune and merit we reap will be limited. If we give
unconditionally, it means that our inherent capacity is great and so will be
our payback in terms of virtue and fortune. Some people ask how we can build
fortune without attaching conditions to our behavior. Says the Diamond Sutra:
“The Buddha asked Subhuti, ‘Can space be measured?’
‘No, World-Honored One,’ replied Subhuti. ‘The good
fortune and merit arising from unconditional generosity is similarly
immeasurable,’ said the Buddha.” So the Buddha is telling us that the merit from
unconditional giving is as vast as space itself and utterly without limits.
Sui and Tang Dynasties
China
experienced much political upheaval during the Southern and Northern Dynasties period
(420-589). When Emperor Wu of the Northern Zhou dynasty (557-581) died, his son
succeeded him. Not long after, Yang Jian led a
military uprising and destroyed the Northern Zhou. He renamed the dynasty Sui
(581-618) and styled himself Emperor Wen. Shortly
after conquering the Northern Dynasties, he did the same with the Southern
Dynasties, bringing an end to the period of political division.
Yang Jian
was a Buddhist. Wanting to establish his reputation among his subjects, he
ended the Buddhism-persecution campaign and ordered a revival of the religion.
According to the historical records, he restored Buddhism largely to buttress
his personal interests.
Emperor Yang of the Sui later became
very fond of Master Zhiyi (538-591), seeing him as a
man of great wisdom. He named the monk a Teacher of the State and designated
him Master Zhizhe (“wise person”). Master Zhizhe had a profound influence on Buddhism in the Sui
Dynasty. He propagated the Tiantai school, which was
founded in the Sui and flourished during the Tang Dynasty (618-907). It honored
Master Nagarjuna as its founding patriarch, and Masters Huiwen
of the Northern Chi (550-577) and Huisi of the
Southern Chen (557-589) dynasties respectively as its second and third lineage
masters. In fact its real founder was the fourth lineage master, Zhizhe. (In terms of the lineage in China, however, Huiwen was the first patriarch, Huisi
the second and Zhizhe the third.)
Master Zhizhe’s
teacher was Ven. Huisi of the Southern Mountain (Mt. Heng in Hunan Province, one of China’s Five Sacred
Mountains). He undertook Chan (Zen) practices, focused on learning the Lotus
Sutra and achieved the samadhi (deep concentration)
associated with the scripture. Later Master Zhizhe
lived with his disciples on Mt. Tiantai, where he
classified and expounded the sutras. He established the system of Five Periods
and Eight Teachings, laying the ground for the thought of the Tiantai school.
The Tiantai,
which took a distinctive approach to both Dharma principles and meditation practice,
became the Buddhist school with the most pronounced Chinese characteristics. Its thought was based on the Lotus Sutra, which it
proclaimed the “king of sutras.” So the Tiantai was
also known as the “Lotus Sutra school.” Master Zhizhe
inherited the essence of Master Huiwen’s “One Mind,
Three Aspects” thinking and Master Huisi’s “nature of
reality” philosophy and expanded them into his own “Simultaneous Vision of
Past, Present and Future” and notion of “The Cosmos in a Single Thought.” He
developed insight meditation as the Tiantai school’s
chief practice.
Master Zhizhe
taught the Dharma extensively and authored broadly circulated works such as The
Profound Meaning of the Lotus Sutra, Selections from the Lotus Sutra, Greater
Insight Meditation and Lesser Insight Meditation. Later, he would significantly
influence the development of Japanese Buddhism.
The Sui regime also built temples
and monasteries throughout the land, and gathered together leading scholars and
monks. It moved collections of scriptures, as well as senior monastics and sanghas, from the south into these monasteries. And it
invited Master Jizang of the Sanlun
(Three Treatise) school to stay in one of them. So the Tiantai
and Sanlun schools were founded with the support of
Emperor Yang of the Sui Dynasty. Their influence would be far-reaching.
The Sui era lasted a mere 37 years.
But the contributions of Emperors Wen and Yang to
Buddhism paved the way for its golden age in the Sui-Tang period. Politically,
they merged the Southern and Northern Dynasties and brought the nation under
unitary rule. That allowed religion, culture and the economy to develop
steadily. At the same time, they permitted Buddhism to continue with the
Dharma-teaching style of the Southern Dynasties while expanding the Chan
heritage of the Northern Dynasties. Northern and Southern thought converged and
new schools were established.
The government expended much
treasure, resources and manpower to translate scriptures, explore the Dharma,
build monasteries and encourage people to take monastic vows. Such activities
not only helped Chinese Buddhism flourish, but also allowed it to spread to
neighboring lands, notably the Korean kingdoms and Japan.
During the Sui, some 94
Buddhist-themed caves were either renovated or established. That nearly doubled
the total number of such caves cut since the Mogao
Caves at Dunhuang were created more than two
centuries before. The Buddhist images and sculptures inside the caves suddenly
grew large and imposing. No longer of an austere style, they consisted of
colorful Bodhisattvas and celestial guardians. It was as though the heavenly
beings decided to congregate in all their splendor on the soil of China.
Moreover, the practice of calling
monasteries “Dharma centers” was instituted by imperial decree during the reign
of Emperor Yang. It has persisted till today.
Ganges Sunrise
(Day
9, Oct. 30, 2008)
By
Ven. Yin Chi
After we had witnessed scenes of
people bathing, praying and performing religious rituals at the Ganges, our
boat brought us to the river’s cremation ground. Only male descendants were
permitted to light the pyres of the deceased, we were told. The menial workers
responsible for handling the cremation were all sudras,
from India’s low-born caste.
We saw several pyres at the
cremation ground. Some had burned out, while others were still alight in the
open air, with corpses laid out on them. According to local custom, no photos
were allowed of ongoing cremations. People believe that the dead would not be
able to ascend to the celestial realms if they were photographed. Pressing our
palms together, we recited the Rebirth Mantra on their behalf. We wished them
rebirths in the Favorable Realms and hoped to plant seeds for their future
encounters with the Dharma.
At that moment, a goods-laden sampan
approached our boat. Its occupants made sales pitches, which our party happily
accepted. Before long, the sun began to rise on the other side of the riverbank.
The scene was beautiful, entirely unlike sunrises viewed from mountaintops. It
was an unforgettable spectacle.
The sky brightened shortly
afterwards. We asked the boatman to steer to the other side of the river, so we
could go ashore and make contact with the sand of the Ganges. The grains were
fine, smooth and gold-colored. We couldn’t restrain ourselves from scooping up
some of the Ganges sand, upon which the Buddha had trodden, to take home as
souvenirs.
It was fully light when we left the
river to walk back to our coach. But people were competing with vehicles for
right of way in the streets and motorcycles snaked in and out. Some locals were
even teasing cobras with flutes. The scene was chaotic and a little unnerving.
We held hands and looked out for one another, breathing a collective sigh of
relief only after we reached the coach. We then headed back to the hotel for
breakfast.
After our meal, we embarked on the
longest road journey of our pilgrimage, to Kanpur. The roads had been better
since yesterday, but today’s trip would still require more than ten hours.
Apart from viewing the Ganges sunrise, we would spend the whole day on the
road, stopping only at a hotel for lunch. The people and buildings we saw en
route seemed better off materially.
Around nightfall, we finally arrived
at our Kanpur hotel, which was reasonably well-appointed. We had dinner on the
10th floor, and there was a swimming pool outside the restaurant. After eating,
we held a group discussion on the spacious terrace outside the restaurant, then
took a stroll around the pool. Today’s itinerary had been a relatively simple
one.
The Goose King Repays a
Debt
A long time ago, there was a
large pond in a certain city. It was home to many fish, turtles and other
creatures. A flock of wild geese regularly made use of its water surface.
Zhiguo was
the leader of the geese. Commanding some 500 birds, he lived a carefree life on
the surface of the pond. One day, however, a hunter laid down a net by at the
edge of the pond and hid it with tree branches. He wanted to catch the chief of
the geese. Caught completely unawares, the goose king carelessly fell into the
net while he was looking for food.
Zhiguo
instinctively wished to cry out for help. But he found the net extremely robust
and realized that the wild geese wouldn’t be able to handle it. He wanted to
warn them to leave. Seeing how happily they were feeding, however, he decided
to wait until they had finished.
When he saw they were almost done,
he called out: “A hunter is after us. I’m already in his trap. Hurry up and fly
away from this place!”
When the birds heard the cry, they
flew off frantically. A single goose, Sumo, stayed behind. Kind and
responsible, Sumo couldn’t bear to leave the ensnared goose king behind. He
pecked and pulled at the net with all his might, but it was just too strong. He
was unable to free the goose king.
The goose king knew his time was
about up. Worried about the flock’s future, he told Sumo: “You take my place
and lead the flock to a place where there are no hunters.”
Sumo refused to leave. Despondently,
he told the goose king: “I won’t go away. You are our leader and have always
treated us to well. Even in death, I am determined to be with you.”
At that moment, the hunter
approached. He was happy to see that his nets had ensnared the goose king. Just
then another goose flew up and said to him: “If you must have wild goose for
dinner, then eat me, for my flesh is more tender than the goose king’s. Please
let him go!”
Sumo’s readiness to sacrifice
himself on behalf of his king amazed and touched the hunter. He set free the
goose king, and didn’t catch or kill Sumo either. After his release, the goose
king said to Sumo softly: “This is a merciful hunter. We should repay him, so
him can understand what rewards compassion can bring.”
The hunter thought it strange when
the two wild geese tarried without leaving. When he heard that they intended to
repay him, he smiled. “You are birds and I am a human,” he said. “How can you
repay me?”
The goose king invited the hunter to
join them in paying a visit to the ruler of the local kingdom. He said he was
friends with the human monarch, and would ask the latter to repay the hunter.
After hearing the birds’ story, the
ruler of the kingdom did reward the hunter with a trove of jewels. The hunter
realized how important compassion could be. He decided to give the jewels to
the poor and no longer make his living as a hunter.
With their compassion and sense of
obligation, the goose king and Sumo touched the hunter and helped activate his
inner goodness. If we are able in our daily lives to associate with people who
have such qualities, everything around us will seem harmonious. We would then
be able to touch the inherent good in others, and help make society more stable
and peaceful.
CORNUCOPIA
There are
few problems that cannot be resolved, only those that people do not wish to
resolve. – English man of letters Samuel
Johnson
There was
once an elderly woman who lived in an old house. What irked her above all was
an antiquated wooden window. It could not be closed properly, and the slightest
push on it would set off sharp squeaks. That hurt the old lady’s ears and made
her feel uncomfortable. She would never open the window herself, nor would she
allow her husband or children to do so. If they did, she would fly into a rage.
The years passed; the family knew
well the old woman’s obsession. One year, her son got married. Naturally his
new wife was unaware of this unspoken rule of the house. When she awoke every
morning, the first thing she did was to open the window. Hearing that horrid
sound every day, the old woman nearly lost her temper. Her daughter-in-law was
pleasant and well-behaved, however, so she did not want to spoil their
relationship.
Just when the old lady was
struggling with herself over what to do, her son noticed her predicament. He
told his wife, in his mother’s presence: “Mother doesn’t like the sound of that
window, so please don’t touch it again in future.” His wife nodded in
agreement.
Next morning, however, the first
thing the young woman did after getting out of bed was to go straight to the
window to push it open. As her mother-in-law hurried to cover her ears,
something remarkable happened – the window made no sound!
Seeing the stunned expression on the
old woman’s face, her daughter-in-law smiled and said: “Ma, I applied a few
drops of oil to the window yesterday. It’s not going to creak anymore!”
Only then did the old woman see that
outside the window was a verdant countryside and undulating hills, as well as a
soft wind blowing in. The window had been shut so long that she had forgotten
the beautiful scenery that lay just beyond! During all those years she was
troubled by the window’s creaking, it never occurred to her that all that was
needed to dispel her vexations were a few drops of oil.
We often make the same mistake when
faced with life’s difficulties. We spend all our time agonizing, moping or
griping about our quandary, never realizing that the best way to unburden
ourselves is actually to resolve the problem.
I had a schoolmate whose first job
was accountant at a company. Yet she considered accountancy tedious and dull.
We all encouraged her to switch jobs, but she would only say, “It’s too much
trouble to look for another job.” When we suggested that she learn some new
skills, she replied: “I don’t even have enough time to do my work, how can I do
that?” As for our proposal that she return to school to further her studies,
she complained: “It would be too hard to get used to hitting the books again!”
Ten years later I met her again at a
schoolmates’ reunion. She was still an unhappy accountant. Her complaints, and
her excuses, were exactly the same as before. If she is no longer willing to
act on her problems, they would remain unresolved another 10 or 20 years later.
No, problems never go away by
themselves, not even the simplest ones. Even if what troubles us is only an
awkwardly creaking window, the bother won’t disappear unless we apply the oil.
However tiny the issue, it will not vanish on its own if we are unwilling to take
action. Rather than sitting at home and griping endlessly, it would be better
to stand up and start confronting whatever it is that is bothering us. We may
find that many problems can be solved with only a slight effort.
-
From the
internet
Bearing Responsibility
By Ru Zang
This year, I returned many times
to teach at the school where I used to work. I taught different classes of various
levels. I had discussions with my new colleagues, especially about an
experience that left a deep impression on me.
During the years I was a full-time
teacher, the schools rules required each form master to visit their students at
home. In part, the visits aimed to allow instructors to understand students’
home lives better, so they could make more appropriate educational arrangements
at school. The calls were also intended to encourage deeper understanding of
pupils’ parents, which would facilitate better communication and develop mutual
trust.
Once I called at the home of a
student, “Princess,” who suffered from Down’s syndrome. The girl was of fine
build, and was neat and polite. Energetic and open with people, she was popular
among teachers and students alike. Her appearance suggested she was well looked
after by her family. After explaining in detail Princess’s behavior at home and
her relationships with family members, her young mother started to speak about
her feelings as the parent of a mentally handicapped child.
Her first child had been a normal
boy, a year-and-a-half older than Princess. Princess was her second child. When
the doctor told her she had given birth to a baby with Down’s syndrome, she was
thunderstruck and unable to accept the fact. She always thought that only older
women risked having Down’s babies. Since she was not even 20, she didn’t
believe such a misfortune could befall her. To escape the situation, she took a
job and left the work of caring for the infant girl to her mother.
There was little understanding of
the mentally handicapped in those days, and many unnecessary misunderstandings
and prejudices arose. Such were the circumstances in which Princess grew up,
cared for by a reluctant grandmother. Because of her mental disability, she
lagged behind normal children in her physical development and her studies.
Added to that was her parents’ neglect. And her grandmother only provided her
with the most basic care – and hardly any love.
That was until the New Year of her
fourth year. One day as usual, her mother was about to go to her own room
without paying attention to Princess when she suddenly noticed a box of
chocolates in the child’s hands. She crouched down and looked at her daughter,
who was leaning against the corner of a wall. There were chocolate stains on
the child’s little hands and her face; the box itself was just about empty.
Princess had eaten the entire box of chocolates – a New Year’s gift from family
visitors – at one go! And her grandmother, who was in the same room, didn’t
care at all; it was as though she hadn’t seen anything.
At that moment, the young woman’s
maternal instincts burst into life. She hugged her daughter tightly and wept
loudly. Her pent-up anger, doubt, bitterness and guilt rushed out like a
torrent. She, who had never held her daughter like a true mother, was suddenly
overwhelmed by the thought: “She is my daughter … If her own mother doesn’t
accept and love her, who in the world will care about her or give her
affection?”
The young woman quit her job to look
after Princess fulltime, taking up her maternal responsibilities for the first
time. With proper care, love and guidance, Princess gradually grew into a
lively and lovable little girl. Other members of her family began to accept
her.
That experience was a revelation to
me too. “I am their teacher,” I reminded myself. “If even I don’t accept them,
if I find them bothersome and don’t do my best to teach them, who can I expect
to look out for them?” The encounter helped me thenceforth to accept each
student, to appreciate and nurture his or her inherent strengths. More
importantly, it made me better able to accept a young person’s flaws. As each
pupil is an independent entity, we must accept their different individualities.
We must not try to change them according to our subjective wishes. Rather, we
should guide them reasonably towards change and learning. Within their
limitations, we should help them develop to the greatest extent, encouraging
them to blend into society and gain others’ acceptance.
Our formative karma is rooted in our
previous lifetimes, and it determines whether we are born intelligent or dull,
attractive or ugly. Though such primary karma cannot be changed, equally
important are the secondary factors all around us. If these are largely
positive, we may be able to work off severely negative karma lightly. Even as
we plan our futures, we should cultivate positive karmic relationships and seek
actively to assist others. That way, we would help one another make progress as
we walk the path of the Bodhisattva.
Pilgrimage to Mt. Putuo
By Wing Fun
I am grateful for the chance to
make a pilgrimage recently to Mt. Putuo, the Dharma
ground of Bodhisattva Avalokitesvara (Guanyin). Mt. Putuo is located on a little island in the Zhoushan archipelago off Zhejiang Province. According to
the scriptures, Bodhisattva Avalokitesvara undertook a vow to “remain in the
Southern Sea.” The Southern Sea is a reference to the waters off southeastern
China. The Bodhisattva’s karmic ties are particularly strong to China, where it
is said that “every family knows Guanyin, every
household is familiar with Amitabha (Buddha).”
At Mt. Putuo,
there are many accounts of manifestations by Bodhisattva Avalokitesvara. Mt. Luojia, an islet near Mt. Putuo,
is reportedly a place where the Bodhisattva undertook Dharma practices. From
Mt. Putuo, Mt. Luojia looks
like the shape of Avalokitesvara lying on the water – thus the latter’s popular
name of “Guanyin on the Water.”
On the island where Mt. Putuo is situated, there is a “Temple of the Guanyin Who Wouldn’t Leave.” Therein lies a tale relating
to the founding of Mt. Putuo. It tells of a Japanese
monk who wanted to go home after having spent years practicing on Mt. Wutai in
China. He carried with him a statuette of Bodhisattva Avalokitesvara and set
sail. But the weather turned bad as he approached the waters off Mt. Putuo and his boat could not proceed. When the weather
became favorable again, the monk’s vessel was surrounded at sea by iron lotus
flowers, blocking its passage. The monk was rescued by a local fisherman and
his wife, who brought him back to Mt. Putuo.
Feeling that Avalokitesvara did not
want him to return to Japan, the monk remained on the island to honor and serve
the Bodhisattva. Thus was born the Temple of the Guanyin
Who Wouldn’t Leave, now highly popular with pilgrims. After that incident, Mt. Putuo itself became a renowned place of pilgrimage.
The island was also home to the
well-known Cave of Celestial Sounds and Cave of Tidal Sounds, where numerous
appearances by Bodhisattva Avalokitesvara have been recorded. Under the
guidance of Master Yin Chi, we respectfully reached out and sensed the sacred
presence of the Bodhisattva. We were delighted and immensely grateful. But, as
she taught us, we reminded ourselves not to strive too hard for such
experiences and maintain a normal frame of mind. If we see the Bodhisattva,
that would be an encouragement; if not, we should continue to practice
diligently. As the Diamond Sutra says, “All appearances are illusory.”
Master Yin Chi often reminds us to
let go of our false mind and to cultivate the mind of awareness. When we recite
the name of Avalokitesvara, we learn and practice the compassion of the
Bodhisattva. By showing compassion and refraining from killing, by “giving joy
to sentient beings and delivering them from suffering,” we can show we are
deserving of Avalokitesvara’s concern and worthy of
the encouragement inherent in the Bodhisattva’s manifestation.
During this trip, we also toured the
Yandang mountains of Zhejiang Province. We were
fortunate visit the memorial hall of the late Master Zhumo
and read about his life. He had a wonderful literary style, composed much
poetry and painted profusely, and trained many talented monastics. With his
easygoing manner, he was a model of carefree detachment. As we paid our
respects before Ven. Zhumo’s tooth relic, it felt as
though we were receiving blessings and Dharma guidance from him personally.
The late master traced his lineage
to the Tiantai school as well as the Linzhi sect of the Chan (Zen) school. That reminded us of
Master Yin Chi’s comments in the coach: “Having both the Chan and Pure Land
practices is like adding horns to a tiger. In this life we will be a teacher to
others; in the next, we will become Buddhas.” “With Pure Land but no Chan,
every single practitioner will be reborn [in the Land of Bliss]. When we see
Amitabha Buddha, how can we not achieve enlightenment?” “With Chan but no Pure
Land, nine of ten will lose their way. When the netherworld beckons, we will go
there in a flash.” “With neither Chan nor Pure Land, iron beds and bronze
pillars [of the hell realm] await us. Over countless eons and lifetimes, we
will have nothing to depend on.”
The Hill of a Thousand Buddhas in
the Yandang range also reminded us that “when the
Buddha is in our hearts, Buddhas are all around us,” that “this mind is the
Buddha, this very moment,” and that “the mind creates all things.” May mindfulness
of Buddha, Dharma and Sangha arise in all sentient beings. Namo Amitabha
Buddha!
All Things Are Born from
the One
Before he became a monk, Zen
Master Longtan Chongxin was
poor and dejected. By day he hawked cakes outside the monastery of Zen Master Wudao; at night, he didn’t even have a place to sleep.
Taking pity on him, Master Wudao allowed him to live
in a tiny, unused dwelling inside the monastery.
Out of gratitude, Chongxin offered Master Wudao ten
cakes every day. After accepting them, Master Wudao
would always ask an attendant to return one to Chongxin.
One day, Chongxin protested to Master Wudao: “I gave the cakes to you. Why do you return one to
me every day? What’s the meaning of this?”
“You give me ten cakes a day,”
replied Master Wudao with a smile. “Why can’t I give
one back to you?” Chongxin was unmoved. “Since I give
you ten a day,” he countered, “how can it matter to me whether you return one
to me or not?” Laughing, Master Wudao responded: “I
haven’t resented ten as being too many. Do you begrudge one as too few?”
When Chongxin
heard that, he experienced an awakening of sorts. He decided to ask Master Wudao to shave his head and allow him to take monastic vows.
Said Master Wudao: “One gives birth to ten, and ten
gives birth to a hundred, all the way to countless millions. All things are
born from the one.” Chongxin replied confidently:
“All things are born from one, all things are one!”
All things, all dharmas return to
the one, and the one gives birth to all things and dharmas. As we go about our
everyday tasks, it is by ceaselessly focusing on accumulation of the one that
it becomes ten, a hundred, a thousand, ten thousand and so on through to
infinity.
By
Ven. Yin Chi
QUESTION: I
have a Buddhist friend whose understanding of the Dharma isn’t deep. After his
father died, he took no Dharma-related action within 49 days. Only later did he
recite the Ksitigarbha Sutra 100 times. Did his father receive any benefits?
ANSWER:
If one can declaim sutras, recite the name of Amitabha Buddha or perform good
works and dedicate the resulting merit to the deceased within 49 days of his or
her passing, that would be ideal. Even after 49 days, such actions are still
effective, especially if one can personally perform 100 recitations of the
Ksitigarbha Sutra and return the merit to the deceased. So long as one is
sincere, such virtuous action will not be in vain. Though the deceased may have
been reborn already, the merit will help him or her develop positive karma. If
the rebirth was in one of the Wretched Realms, it will contribute towards a
quicker release from suffering. If the rebirth was in a Favorable Realm, it
will help nurture positive roots.
QUESTION:
If a dying family member is already incoherent or comatose, is it still any use
speaking to him or her?
ANSWER:
When people are near the point of death, that’s when the alaya-vijnana
(storehouse consciousness) is about to leave the body. Buddhists believe this
is a very important moment, irrespective of whether the dying are conscious or
can recognize others. We may think they are no longer conscious, but in fact
they have awareness. At this point, we need to speak to them succinctly. We
must remind them not to be afraid and to be willing to let go of everything. We
should tell them that only the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas can help them now, and
that they should remember to recite the name of Amitabha Buddha. Family members
should also let go of their grief and remain nearby, reciting softly as well.
They should encourage their dying relative to recite with them, silently. This
would be of real help to the dying person’s rebirth in the Pure Land of
Amitabha Buddha.