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Journals: HENG SURE: May 16, 1977 - It is hard to blend with the rhythm of this land because it has no rhythm. It is like a river of gas-fired metal on paved stone paths. No sound; one roar. No smell; one stink. No light; one haze. No time; pure morning when the zero is pure and then the one comes into being and the 2 and the 3 and the millions. No human can live here. We have made a hostile environment at great cost. The World Trade Center runs on electric power, is adorned and sanitized costing millions of dollars for the few hundreds of people who will never see it and the millions of ghetto Chicanos who will never see it or dream of it. It is like Versailles. It is a thin reality, disposable, ready to be abandoned. Dead. With Muzak. We come in off the street to relieve ourselves and return to our lively hells of streaming metal. “Do you believe that praying and bowing can affect disasters and catastrophes?” Yes, we do, don’t you? Where do disasters come from? They come from the accumulated heaps of bad karma that you and he and I pile up and after a while the scale is unbalanced and nature erupts or a plane crashes and human suffering results. But it starts with us first; we make our fate with every present action we do, with every thought. So by working directly with the mind and by concentrating a prayer for no harm, no hatred, no weapons, no suffering, we are seeking a response right at the source of the problem--our own minds. Do you see the link? Yesterday and this morning, I experienced a shrinking of desire to this point: I recognized that I was not looking forward to today with any pleasure in mind. I did not have any expectations of pleasant, pleasing, or position events. At the same time I was not hoping to avoid any unpleasant events--those come as part of the work we do. Whether it is a honk, a laugh, the constant sneers, the verbal attack, the physical attack, or actual polite interest, all that sort of attention is just one test after another, to measure our depth of sincerity and to remind us of our goal. The end of expectations is an added gift, a bonus. From that point of view, everything is a gift, a surprise, a mystery, a point of wonder, a chance to snap the chains of self. The truth about bowing seven hundred miles is the same truth as making one solitary bow. If you are sincere, if your mind is clear and if your heart has no expectations, then you can be anywhere and it makes no difference where you are. The Gold Mountain Buddhahall is the same as the noisiest downtown ghetto; the highest isolated mountain crag is the same as the busiest highway roadside. The Dharma rests unchanging. In other words, the bowing practice cuts through time and space. Sincerity is the key, however, and patience, and desirelessness. If you are not looking ahead to a better time, to lunch, to being finished bowing, to enlightenment, then your bow will be sincere. HENG CH’AU: May 16, 1977 - Bowing through downtown business. Myriads of ants scurrying on the sidewalk. Myriads of people going to their jobs. I remember when I was married--a secretary, fine clothes, perfumes, good salary, living for weekends and 5:00 p.m. fighting depression by buying clothes, toys, etc., and always wondering, “Is this it?” All of us put so much between our true heart and the true substance, the Buddhanature. Fame, food, wealth, sex, and sleep are the big ones. From the one comes many--needless afflictions. Commuters have one kind, Lincoln Heights another, myself another. None better or worse. Buddhism cuts across cheap wine and Porsches, babies and the aged, the monk and the monster. All of us are one, each is all. There is no room for arrogance or condescension. Heng Ch’au, your afflictions affect others. Others’ merit and virtue teaches and transforms you. Compassion is the truth of no self. If you are not a Buddha you are not better or worse than any common person. Bowed through a construction crew--no problems. Progress and affects: Business financial district grew up and down. Grew the trees and grass. The birds now have to nest on overpasses and on buildings instead of trees. We bowed past dead baby birds and shells under the overpass, knocked loose from the vibration of the traffic above. As the construction crew digs and churns the earth, countless little bugs are rooted out of their homes into the freeways to be smashed by cars. Driving you, you would never notice these little things. Go in to use the facilities at the World Trade Center. Futuristic façade, carpeted tennis courts, muzak, polished, manicured, crisp, and assured. As empty as Lincoln Heights, our fear, and our self. My eyes keep opening. I feel light and clean, like I can see and know for miles--cool breeze through my mind. Passing through L.A…passing through…no more words. Three Steps, One Bow. An upasika brought a light lunch, incense from women at a beauty parlor. Her husband tends a bar at this mirror-glass hotel ahead. Elevators on the outside. The latest, the same. HENG SURE: May 17, 1977 - The time is going fast. Every bow is priceless, a gift, borrowed time from the Gold Mountain Assembly. I cannot waste an instant in false thinking. Every bow is a chance to scrape off part of the mountain of past bad karma, to give away some of the bad deeds, to pulverize the negative vibes that keep the old destructive habits of this planet going around again to destruction. When my share is reduced I have done a good job of working to aid the world--to actually do the hard scrubwork of making this a better, light, and cleaner place. Good work that needs doing. No one else wants to do it. Who has the time, the interest? Who sees that it needs to be done? Few people. So it proceeds from this. Who believes that this is possible, that this method actually works to reduce bad vibes, that it really matters? I think today is going to be heavy. I’m ready for it. I have been training for this encounter for years. As I bow I vow to absorb the bad karma of the area we pass through. It is a small amount that I take in and purge, but it counts and besides I am not pumping any more hatred out. The ones I want to influence the most are right here--the bankers, contract signers--are all on this street. You can’t affect them personally. You have got to change their spirits, their ghosts, the pool of evil so that when the big evil needs to be stopped it will weigh one drop less and our heroes will have one drop more strength. Every joint is sore. Big toes, palms of the hands, wrists, elbows, shoulders, biceps, neck, back, waist, thighs, knees, ankles all speak up when I bow--all complain of the hard work. Only my mind and my heart are not sore, happy to be free and working in L.A. for what I believe in. This is freedom. Step, step, step, bow. Creak the joints and recite a repentance, breathe, stand and straighten up. Step, step, step, and down again. It is like the Gold Mountain Buddhahall, like requesting the Dharma before the Venerable Abbot. They are not two. The scenes change like channels on the T.V. All illusions. We’re pretending to be serious about changing other holy man. You’re a big phone,” I think. “You’re not a holy man. You’re just lucky no one has called your bluff in public.” “All I can think of in reply is, “That’s absolutely right. There is nothing genuine in any of this.” It’ working through a dream, hard work. It’s like waiting for the dawn and the awakening. “Do you believe in this?” Yes. I do, because it is good and pure and not harmful. “Why are you doing this?” I don’t really know except that it needs to be done right now and no one else is doing it. I’m doing it for the City of Ten Thousand Buddhas. I couldn’t imagine working just for myself. When I bow I repent all past bad karma done out of greed, hatred, and stupidity with my body, mouth and mind. I now repent of it all. Passing through an area it is also possible to act as a screen, a filter for all the bad karma of a place. Take it on and purge it through your repentance on behalf of other people. You are their confessor, their karmic grinder, the voluntary sewer. Everyone wants freedom to do what he wants, usually tied up with sex, fame, food, wealth, or sleep. When you get these “freedoms” they don’t satisfy you. Even the richest men and women can’t buy freedom. They still fear discomfort, suffering, pain, sickness, old age, death, unhappiness. As we left-home monks pass through the many class of society in L.A. we witness the various cages and limits to freedom that people chase, capture, cling to, and settle for. Even the most free, most powerful, wealthy 9-th floor penthouse businessman is not free to control his life in the face of natural or man-made disasters. Earthquakes, hurricanes, floods, droughts, plane crashes, train wrecks, wars, and now missile or death ray attacks can snap the guise of freedom. So as Bhikshus who have gotten free of every material desire, our job is to eliminate the other un-freedoms and work only in the area where it can help, in the realm of the spirits. We pray, prostrate our bodies, and leave all creature comforts, So that everyone can benefit. Already free, we accept the bonds of misunderstanding, the chains of three steps one bow, three steps one bow, and the burden of ridicule. This is a small price to pay for the result of no disasters, no catastrophes, and no holocausts. If we are successful, nothing will happen. You will notice our success by the lack of disaster. Our work has a negative counting reward meter. The Bodhisattva is the freest being. Heng Ch’au and I could have taken any of the conventional roads to social success but we did not choose them They do not lead to freedom. This and all such essays are merely footnotes to the story of Shakyamuni Gautama Siddhartha, the price who abandoned all wealth and glory to seek ultimate freedom which he attained after many years of bitter practice. Our stories are but pale echoes of his. HENG CH’AU: May 17, 1977 - Notes from the business district: “It’s still the same old story/ the fight for love and glory/ a case of do or die…” I feel like a huge x-ray eye, a ghost from another century or planet. Floating slowly along the ground, all my senses are hyper-tuned and receptive. In the market, sex and power are foremost. Each day, especially in the morning, the understanding deepens. This is all an incredible theatre--props, make-up, effects, curtains; behind it all is the original pure nature. All of this and all these beings are just the Buddha-the trips, the attachments, are manifest false thinking, just coverings over it. Here we are closer to home, closer to the lives we were destined and groomed for--business, smarts, etc. Harder than Lincoln Heights, more threat, more hostility. It could be your husband or partner bowing. They see and we see and feel the affinities. It is much like one’s family reacting to one’s leaving home. Too close. The hardest to put down is the closest. Wilshire Blvd. doesn’t like these two monks at all! I feel so free and clear, my eyes like cool high Sierra lakes, my heart empty, without fear or hate. It’s all the same, empty and wonderful. Be very careful of arrogance and feelings of superiority. Cultivate compassion and humility. The biggest outflow and downfall is self-glorification, the feeling that, “I, alone, am honored.” Don’t cash in the chips for the small self. Aim big and lose the “self.” Don’t wear a high hat. Don’t go back to the palace and be an emperor again. Your twelve incense scars remind you to keep the crown off. An upasika keeps telling us happily that we are “through the worst part.” We keep telling her that there is no good or bad part. It’s all made from the mind. Comments on Wilshire Blvd. (the good part) “Hoo! Hoo! Hey! Honk! Honk!” from passing cards. A drunk in a well-tailored suit, “Could you tell me how to get to Broadway?” Monk, “Let me see…” Drunk, “What are those #$%&* gloves for?” Monk walks away. Drunk, “I’m talking to you #$%&*!” Bankers, “Every three steps! Every three steps! You will never get anywhere that way!” Lady, “Where do you think you are, Mecca? That’s disgusting in the U.S.” Heng Sure: “That’s the point. Until it isn’t disgusting, we’ve got problems.” Lady proceeds to stir up some delivery men at a warehouse dock to clean up the sidewalk of us. Oh, oh; I see an image of Kuan Yin--visualize the large wooden statue. The men are getting an audience together to break the boredom. Just as we approach the truck pulls up for unloading and we are saved. By the time the unloading is finished we are gone and they are looking for us. “Which way did you go?” HENG SURE: May 18, 1977 - The laypeople are too generous, supportive, and kind. The Dharma protectors, gods, dragons, and eight-fold division have worked on the baddies and we have seen the responses. The Gold Mountain community is solidly with us; we can feel their presence. Heng Ch’au makes it possible to forget all kinds of problems, the work of survival is split in half. But ultimately it is our very own trip--there is no one to rely on, no help to look forward to here or on any other plane. Buddhas merely show the way. You must walk the path yourself. Comments from Wilshire Blvd.: From car passing north, “Bravo! Honk! Honk!” From car passing south, “Get off the streets, freaks. Honk! Honk!” From passerby through clenched teeth: “What are you doing? Why are you moving so slow? (anger and rage) If you didn’t go to college you wouldn’t be going so slow!” “What’s Buddhism all about? What are you guys doing?” This from a car window. “Give me your basic philosophy before the light changes.” HENG CH’AU: May 18, 1977 - Another break-in attempt about 4:15 this morning. Maybe because we overslept and started morning recitation late? Feeling scattered and doubtful--better after our first hour of bowing. A little feeling of homesickness for friends, etc. Sometimes it is very hard to go out on the edge, to give up securities, comforts. When you have them you are constantly trying to find something beyond. When cultivating something beyond, you look back and miss them! Quite foolish, but real. Doubts are a test like everything else. Non-retreating can be hard when you don’t know what’s ahead but clearly know what’s behind--is this faith? We are relying on some inner-strength to keep keepin’ on. Morning thoughts. The energy, clarity, and response for bowing is at its peak in the morning. The last hour for bowing is at its peak in the morning. The last hour is the very best. The yin energy is the lowest, the nastiest aren’t out, and nature is undisturbed. After lunch it changes and by 4-6 it can be pure hell. Over a period of time, hopefully, I can level these two peaks. MacArthur Park: Bad vibes. Lots of yin, alcohol, defilement. What we do with our “share”--original light--never stops amazing me. When people pass, scream out, etc, I change them around somehow and see them enlightened, pure and realized. They are all really interesting and charming that way. The slowly the marks start to show and all the retribution distorts and transforms each in proportion to his karma. I can see how and what happened, the causes and results working like a sculptor on the original block and--presto!--I can see the buildings, the air, the landscape, and countless things fall into this transformation chain reaction. Everything starts from the mind. It’s there where the real change must take place; the rest is just waves. Old people and kids so far have been the most tolerant and relaxed about our trip, less attached, and closer to birth and death. They seem to be comfortable with change and impermanence, things and life are filled with wonder and the unpredictable. Also money, fame, and sex are not so almighty for them. The less you hold on to the more you can pick up. If you are full and tied up, then two monks bowing on “your” sidewalk present a great assault and shock. Very few understand, Spiritual life is weak and dying. Comments and encounters: Businessman: “Peace be with you.” Old man with big white eyebrows and neat eyes (third time I have seen him). “Buddhist, huh? How strong are you?” I missed the point. Could have said, “As strong as you, and as weak as you. No difference between you and me. All is Buddhism--the ten realms.” “Well, good luck to you. A whole year, eh?” and eyebrows lift. Big UAW conventioneer, “You guys sick or somethin’” Is that what you do? Too bad.” Really looking to bust heads. No response. He mellows, watches, fades, no hook to catch, no place to steer. Offerings: (lunch, two bowls, incense jar, curtains, pads on pants, mangoes, apples…) “Don’t mix animals with the vegetables. The animals are poison--blood. Eat fruit and vegetables and grains. God said so. After five months your blood and nerves and marrow will change and you’ll be as soon as me.”--old man on Wilshire. Two Moslem women appear, “Oh, Buddhists! We really like your dress!” Motorcyclist, “Try Jesus?” HENG CH’AU: May 19, 1977 - Feel like I’ve taken something on--cramps, lower back pain, eye irritation, diarrhea--can’t think straight. Hoping the press doesn’t show up. I am inarticulate and muddy. I feel like I could not handle an interview. Case of fire gone up--yin gone down? Need to sit more to balance new surge of ch’i I feel. Have been irregular with Ch’an on the trip. It’s hard to fit everything in. The vibes in this area of Wilshire are subtle but heavy. Such pomp and pretense over money, power, prestige--unquestioned and undoubted. The contrast here is the most pronounced. All the things we rejected (clothes, hair, appearances, money, sex, display and consumption) are heralded and cultivated. Stepping out of our rusty beat-up van between a Cadillac and a Rolls Royce with two manicured poodles staring blankly at us… One upasika keeps insisting that we are in the best neighborhood now. “All nice beautiful buildings like this the rest of the way.” Heng Sure and I see it differently. There is an anesthesia here, dulling and veering people’s eyes and hearts. We are like smelling salts and the treated respond to us like iodine to an open cut. The twelve conditioned links and the four truths are all hidden, carefully kept out. Only young handsome secretaries and men are hired. Sensual delights everywhere. No old people, no poor people, no dead animals or even dying trees. Lots of green, artificial grass. No edge, no challenge. Sit back, relax and enjoy. Who’s steering the ship and where are we going? “We are riding ona railroad singing someone else’s song.” Come along. “You’re lucky it’s like this--nice and easy--all the way to Santa Monica.” Oh, no! Easy street U.S.A. All these beautiful, well-dressed people--and a crazy lady with hair like a mop and fraying tennis shoes, in an old man’s coat over a T-shirt, a faded pale green skirt—a body like a defensive tackle, walks up, gives us 14 cents saying, “God bless you, you holy men.” A couple of days ago Heng Sure and I were “talking overtime” in the van. Got a parking ticket. Good lesson. Today, sitting in the van, I suddenly got a flash to check the meter. I ran out to see the meter maid twenty yards away and closing in fast. Just in time!
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