When we mention Zen practice these days, we usually mean sitting in Zen meditation, or zazen. It was not always so. In Bodhidharma’s time, “practice” meant observing the Precepts in daily life, discerning to what degree our behavior is comporting to their admonitions. If memory serves, this is found in “The Zen Teaching of Bodhidharma” by Bill Porter, AKA Red Pine.
Similarly, when we speak of studying the Dharma, we typically mean reading the written record. It was not always so. When Buddha was alive, the teachings were spoken. You literally had to go listen to live lectures and, later, memorized recitation, to hear the Dharma. This was apparently true of all teachings of all sects at that time; the oral tradition prevailed. It was some four centuries after the Buddha’s death, when his utterances were first committed to written form.
With the advent of the Internet we have many more opportunities to “hear the true dharma” — a Dogen coinage with a deeper meaning — as expounded by others in the form of podcasts such as UnMind, audiobooks and other modern marvels. But we have to call into question whether we are hearing the Dharma truly. Whether the meaning we extract from listening to the efforts of others to express this subtle and inconceivable teaching is anywhere near to the original meaning that the historical Buddha, Shakyamuni, intended, or for that matter that of any of his many successors in India, China, Korea and Japan, and the other countries of origin.
I am not suggesting that we engage in a scholarly examination of the provenance and evolution of the Three Baskets — or Tripitaka in Sanskrit. I propose that we are challenged to attempt to render the meaning in the modern idiom, which involves extracting them from their original cultural context, and embedding them in ours, as well as expressing them in the vernacular, including the language of modern science and philosophy.
For one thing, this means divesting the ancient liturgical passages of jargon — primarily the obscure and seemingly mystical terms, mostly from Sanskrit — such as “samadhi” for example — that some contemporary writers seem prone to sprinkle liberally throughout their publications. The downside to this tendency is that it creates an impression that the author actually knows what these terms mean, whether you, dear listener,understand them or not.
Another consideration is what is called the “theory-laden” aspect of the semantics of language, as well as our interpretation of direct perception. This conditions the impact that Zen masters’ behavior, as well as that of their “turning words” — in Japanese, wato — can have on their students. This concept was introduced to me by George Wrisley georgewrisley.com, a Professor of Philosophy at the University of North Georgia, author of texts on Dogen and Zen, who generously made several technical contributions to my books, “The Original Frontier” and “The Razorblade of Zen.”
Professor Wrisley pointed out that, in the now-famous records of Zen students’ exchanges with their masters, including extreme gestures they resorted to, in trying to help the student wake up to the reality of Zen — shock tactics such as shouting, and sometimes striking with a fist or staff — each student’s reaction to the abuse was entirely dependent upon their belief, or innate “theory,” that the teacher was enlightened, and so could “do no wrong,” to oversimplify the point.
Ordinarily, if someone hits you with a stick, your reaction would not be one of profound insight, and undying gratitude for the “grandmotherly kindness” of your abuser. Today it would likely trigger a lawsuit.
The ancient ancestors of Zen seem to have an intuitive grasp of the importance of language and its effect on our perception of reality, as indicated in lines from the early Ch’an poems, such as:
Darkness merges refined and common words
Brightness distinguishes clear and murky phrases
And:
Hearing the words understand the meaning
Do not establish standards of your own
In Zen, of course, experience comes first, expression a distant second. The interim state, and where we can get it wrong, consists in our interpretation of direct experience, both on the cushion and off. As another ancient Ch’an poem has it:
The meaning does not reside in the words
but a pivotal moment brings it forth
And yet another:
Although it is not constructed
it is not beyond words
Hopefully we have, or will have in future, experienced this pivotal moment. Meanwhile, we are dependent upon words to parse this teaching, and to express it, both to ourselves as well as to others. We can use words to encourage all to go beyond language, and even ordinary perception, in direct experience in zazen. In the face of this design intent of the Dharma, the past efforts to translate it into various languages, and the present effort to paraphrase it into the modern idiom, seem worth the time and trouble.
In this spirit, let me share with you my paraphrase of the Prajna Paramita Hridaya Sutra, or Great Heart of Wisdom Teaching, with which, hopefully, you are familiar. This is a work in progress, subject to revision.
The typographical layout available on the UnMind podcast page is designed to facilitate scanning and reading the text while chanting it aloud, usually accompanied by drum and gongs. You might follow it with your eyes, while you follow my words with your ears. In this way, you will absorb a multi-sensory experience, which may be more revealing than hearing or reading alone. I will simply recite it here, a capella:
ESSENTIAL TEACHING OF PERFECTING WISDOM
When any and all Awakening Beings
deeply and directly experience the process of perfecting wisdom,
they clearly see that all five traditional components of sentience
are fundamentally free of permanence and separate self-existence;
this insight relieves all unnecessary suffering.
Respected seekers of the truth, know that:
the apparent form of our world is not separate from its impermanence;
impermanence is not separable from appearances;
“form,” or particles of matter, is innately “emptiness,” or waves of energy;
conversely, emptiness is innately form.
All sensations, perceptions, and underlying mental formations,
as well as consciousness itself, also manifest as complementary.
All existent beings manifest elemental impermanence,
imperfection, and insubstantiality:
they neither arise nor cease, as they appear to do;
they are neither defiled nor pure, but nondual in their nature;
they neither increase nor decrease in value or merit.
Therefore know that, given the relativity of the material and immaterial,
there can be no fixity of form; no tangibility of sensation;
no persistence of perception; no infallibility of mental formations;
finally, there can be no absolute entity of consciousness.
More immediately, the principle of complementarity entails that there can be
no eyes, ears, nose, or tongue, as such; and thus, no body;
likewise there can be no “mind,” as a separate substance;
it follows that, in spite of appearances,
there can be no independent functions of
seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, or touching;
nor can there be unconstructed objects of the mind;
no independent realm of sight, nor that of any other sense organ;
nor any realm of mind-consciousness as a whole.
This means that there can be neither ignorance in the absolute sense,
nor any extinction of ignorance in the relative sense.
Neither can there be sickness, old age and death as absolute states;
Nor any extinction of sickness, old age and death as relative states.
In light of the implications of this insight,
suffering intentionally inflicted upon oneself and / or others can come to an end,
stemming as it does from confusion as to root causes;
while natural suffering such as aging, sickness, and death cannot end.
Thus there can be no isolated “path” leading to cessation of suffering;
there can be no essential “knowledge” to gain, in any conclusive sense;
and no “attainment,” of any consequential kind.
Since there is nothing to attain,
all Awakening Beings rely totally on simply perfecting their wisdom;
their body-mind drops away, functioning fully with no further hindrances;
with no dualistic hindrances, no root of fear is to be found;
far beyond confused worldviews,
they abide in nondual spiritual liberation.
All Awakening Ones of past, present, and future
rely on the perfecting of this deepest wisdom,
thereby attaining unsurpassed, complete, insight
and letting go of the attainment.
Rest assured that perfecting wisdom
is the most excellent method;
the serene and illuminating discipline; the unsurpassable teaching;
the incomparable means of mitigating all suffering;
and that this claim is true, not false.
We proclaim the transformational perfecting of wisdom:
Gone, gone to the other shore; attained the other shore; altogether beyond the other shore, having never left; the other shore comes to us; wisdom perfected!
I do not claim to have captured the essence of the original chant. The afore-mentioned Buddhist scholar and Ch’an translator Red Pine, in his modern translation “The Heart Sutra,” tells us that this condensed version of the larger sutra extolling the emptiness of all existence, including the Dharma, was published in China around 900 CE. This was done in order to counter a prevailing trend toward erudition as the indicator of enlightenment, a distortion of the true Dharma that has occurred more than once in history. Another famous example is that of Master Huineng, sixth ancestor in China, who publicly tore up copies of the sutras to make a similar point. Buddha-dharma is manifest in nondual reality as lived, not contained in writing as doctrine.
In a future segment of UnMind, we will take up another of my hopeful efforts at paraphrasing the Dharma. Meanwhile I encourage you to try your own hand — or more precisely, your mouth and mind — at putting one of the historical teachings into your own words. You might want to compose your own version of the Precepts, for example. When and if you do so, it may force you to consider the true meaning of these teachings which — through the sheer repetition of chanting them repeatedly over time — begin to sink into our stubborn monkey minds. But the downside of repetition is that they may become rote recitation, in which their deeper meaning and direct relevance to our contemporary lives may be lost.
Not to worry, however — combined with the nonverbal silence and deep stillness of zazen, where we can begin to experience the meaning of the expression — we cannot go far wrong.
