 |
|
Kuo Jing's Journal: Malaysia
16 August (Day 19)
The Dharma that the Abbot teaches is at once the easiest and most difficult. Easy because it is just our original face that we are seeking; hard because we are so covered over with the black slime of ignorance. Back and forth we vacillate, suspended by a thin red thread – as thin as the single trace of a false thought. We perpetuate this song-and-dance number, perhaps for great aeons, ensnared in the prison of “self”.
Yet, when you come right down to it, it’s still this desire business that is keeping us in tow. This is the worst addition: we are desire junkies. Without any desire, there is no more world, no more the four marks of self, others, living beings, and a life span.
How simple and condensed can the theory of Buddhism be? It is simply the study of the Truth. Surely, investigating Dhyana (Ch'an) is the most opportune dharma door for living beings of our age.
Today we go to Tung Lien Siao Tzu, a nunnery, where we are swarmed by lay people, laywomen especially. Then we are taken over to some caves for lunch. These caves are actually large limestone caverns full of natural stalactites. Enterprising businessmen – some posing as monks – have converted them into temple playgrounds. The caves are filled with large statues of the Four Guardian Kings. Earth Store Bodhisattva, Kundi Bodhisattva, and in one of them, a thirty-five foot beaming Maitreya Buddha. Many temples are just facades for tourist attractions and veggie restaurants. Most people come in, light a stick of incense, bow, and it pretty much ends there.
Many people have started to inquire about Dharma Realm Buddhism University and the City of Ten Thousand Buddhas, students as well as older people. Genuine interest. The City of Ten Thousand Buddhas was built forty years ago as a hospital complex. At the time the American government poured $80 million into the place. Seventy perfectly finished buildings grace two hundred and forty acres of lush pastures, orchards, and farmland. The cost of building a similar city at current prices would be astounding.
Daily the waves rise and fall. Watching our own barometers, we test each other out for size and strength. Cultivators spar with each other to forge vajra. Smelt, smelt, smelt. Deep inside us are diamond; we’ve got to mine them.
17 August (Day 20)
In the cool morning after the rain – sitting. The air is clean and crisp. Comes the realization that after all this tug-of-war, one must leave all attachments to family and friends in order to progress along the Way. All emotional love, even towards parents and relatives – with no apparent sexual overtones – is still detrimental to cultivation. Give it up.
The Abbot’s instructions in the morning:
“Never be nervous. Always keep a light and easy mind, in everything be happy. See all things as transformations, bubbles, dewdrops, and illusions. All is false. Roam playfully in the world; just try your best. We are born into the world to pay back old debts.”
A girl form the temple asks the Abbot:
“Should I leave home or stay at home – which is a better way to cultivate?”
“If you can put everything down, it is better to leave home.”
“But, I still have an old mother to take care of.”
“Then you still cannot put everything down.”
You leave home in order to cultivate; you cultivate in order to return home.
If you truly forget your offenses -- truly – then both mind and offenses are extinguished. This is called real repentance and reform.
Sixth Patriarch Sutra
The ten thousand things speak the wonderful Dharma.
Each grain of sand and mote of dust tallies with the true mind.Abbot Hua
A little girl, probably around six, kneels in front of the altar intoning “Namo Greatly Kind and Greatly Compassionate Kuan Shr Yin who saves us from suffering and disasters, I disciple (gives her name) seek repentance. Please deliver us from all pain.” And then she kow-tows. She does this twenty-one times every morning and every night before she goes to bed. Little girls here are brought by their parents to nunneries, some times at infancy, to be reared inside the convents; most of them leave home later. Wherever there is a heart calling out for Kuan Yin, there is a response. The child’s voice is clear and soft and she starkly reminds me of myself at that age.
I used to kneel in front of a statue of the Virgin Mary in our house each morning before going to school and every night after all the grown-ups had gone to bed. At those times, the world was hushed, full of mystery and promise. My surroundings assumed a strangely sublime glow. The Blessed Virgin beamed ever so gently, and at times I thought I saw her compassionate hand caress my brow and pat me on my crown. In the warm, moist summer nights the cicadas would suddenly stop chirping and the soft breezes would hang. It was a quite, jubilant celebration. The joy and satisfaction experienced in my little girl’s heart was full and complete; I wanted nothing else. I had forgotten completely about those times until the little girl here reminded me of them. How could I have forgotten? Even then, I was the attendant of Kuan Yin Bodhisattvas; how did I sell myself dirt-cheap to the world of sensual desire?
With a pure mind, there is pure concentration, and then all sufferings are taken on gladly. There is no mark of a sufferer and no mark of pain.
People grab onto Dharma for dear life, and it is sometimes embarrassing to observe such desperation. Of course, the ideal reaction is not to be moved at all. Long lines from outside of the Abbot’s room. Hundreds of people come and go, waiting for an audience, or just a chance to kow-tow and offer a red envelope. The underlying craving is soul-searing.
Lay people here seem to have no qualms about slandering the Triple Jewel. Ugly tales concerning the Sangha abound and too easily reach our ears. To what condition has the Sangha degenerated that it harbors such ill-natured members? It does not take much: just one or two rotten eggs will stink up the entire basket. As Sanghins of the New Front, we must be very careful. If we do not adhere to precepts just as the Buddha taught them, we will most certainly fall into the hatred, jealousy, and schism that currently ransacks so many Way Places.
Today at the Laymen’s Association, the Abbot talks about his mission to the West:
“I have come to create Buddhas, Bodhisattvas, Patriarchs, and Arhats. I am an artisan, but I do not work with gold, stone, clay, or wood. Rather, I prefer to create living Buddhas, living Bodhisattvas, living Patriarchs, and living Arhats from living flesh. Everybody who comes to cultivate at the City of Ten Thousand Buddhas must become a Buddha!”
Tonight’s lecture is a huge turnout. Over a thousand take refuge, crowing several yards thick outside on the pavement. This breaks all previous records at Ipoh. When the Abbot speaks about his vow that all his disciples should become Buddhas before him, these people hear. Honesty and sincerity speaks directly to all. We need not rely on fine words. As Heng Sure says, “Words are cheap unless they are supported by real actions.” Truth speaks to truth; the harder we work on ourselves, the easier for others to tune in.
Sitiawan
18 August (Day 21)
The first thought that occurred to me this morning upon waking up: the Abbot means every single word he says!
Just how many times has he mentioned that he is willing to be under the feet of all living beings, that he is an ant – he means it. Not only does he mean it, his actions agree a hundred percent with what he preaches. He gives you the truth, whether you like it or not, and when you come down to it, there isn’t a single being, no matter how evil, who isn’t drawn to the truth.
We have just arrived at Sitiawan, a small village about an hour’s drive from Ipoh, on the road to Taiping. Somehow, due to special conditions, it is on our schedule and provides a refreshing change from the city. The temple is a humble adobe building with shacks outside for cooking and toilet facilities. It is managed by local villagers, mainly Buddhists.
In the afternoon, people gather wishing to see the Abbot about their many illnesses. Instead, the Abbot sends us down to talk with them. The receptivity is instantaneous. Kuo Ts’ai speaks about the five precepts and the Dharma door of reciting the Buddha’s name. it seems that no matter what grade, economic level, or social background of the people we speak to, Dharma always penetrates their hearts. The Abbot is truly a man of all seasons. He appears to all beings with the lowest common denominator – that of true humility and true compassion that makes no distinctions. He does not differentiate between good and evil, old and young, men and women, rich and poor, bright and stupid. And beings respond to this awesome virtue in the way a flower is drawn to light. Night after night they flock to the temples or town halls, hopeful and excited, straining in their seats to catch every word.
The people are riveted, all eyes and ears;
The sage nurtures them like children.Tao Te Ching
This afternoon Heng Hsien and I go for a walk in the neighborhood, exploring miles of rubber tree plantations, and everything speaks Dharma. The several dozens of bullocks – brown, white, mottled-colored—feed on the lawns and gaze at us with studied nonchalance. Dogs bark and geese cackle, small goats bleat and cavort playfully around our feet. Thatched cottages built on bamboo stilts mounted against a back-drop of lush, verdant baked mud paths and the large, tropical clouds that glide overhead – all become swirling colors in a silent, enchanting dance.
It is always said that a legion of measureless Dharma protectors and Vajra spirits guard a cultivator, provided he has his mind on the Way. On this trip we particularly feel their gentle omnipresence everywhere, whether out on a forest glade, or on a busy street corner. This mission is greatly blessed and protected by the gods, dragons, and those of the eight kinds of spirits.
Evening lecture brings a spectacular turnout. Considering the size of this town, some seven hundred people is a larger percentage. The Abbot entertains them and teaches them. People are delighted and grateful.
Taiping
19 August (Day 22)
We drive for one and a half hours through rubber and palm-tree plantations and arrive at the town of Taiping. This is an old settlement of mainly Fukienese residents. Blue mountains rise on all sides wreathed in ribbons of sheer mist after a light shower. All around us are fleshy, green banyan trees and the incessant drone of crickets. The air is moist, a soft breeze caresses our skin. Taiping means “peace”.
The Buddhist Society here is converted from a large two-story mansion built during the turn of the century. I am writing in a big communal room on the second floor. Kuo T’ung leans over the window gazing at the coconut trees and flame of the forest trees outside, and old fan whirs on the ceiling overhead as the afternoon stillness creeps in from the jade-green balustrades and ancient porches.
So our days pass from dawn to dusk like a rippling stream, with no abrupt distinctions. Like counting prayer beads, the subtle Dharma wheel turns from kshana to kshana in a still, fluid, majestic dance. We do not yet behold the Glorious Vision, yet the arabesques on the wall give a tantalizing enough picture. There is an echo within an echo, a sound within every sound, like a Bach toccata or an Indian raga, but infinitely finer, the alphabets of the universe spinning in an inexplicable tapestry. Words fail to describe the mysterious joy that slowly creeps up on us, a gossamer delicacy of interweaving shadows and lights. The Vision beyond is nothing like what we know. Start opening your eyes.
20 August (Day 23)
Every day the intensity steps up. After lunch the three monks start bowing around a large Bodhi tree out in the garden. Pretty soon, people start joining them, drifting in noiselessly, their palms cupped in prayer, their gazes fixed on something larger than themselves. Pretty soon there are over a hundred. During the whole afternoon, over and over again they bow their way around the Bodhi tree, many minds converging like a string of pearls to the familiar chord of Bodhi, becoming one.
Later some lay people volunteer to take us sightseeing around the city. It is a standard rule that we do not sightsee; there is usually no time to do so anyway. But, with a couple of hours on our hands, we walk right into another lesson.
Taiping is a garden city, the streets wide and clean, the ponds carpeted with miles of lotus blossoms, lawns and parklands flanked by ancient, gnarled trees. The catch: where does one draw the line between sightseeing and cultivating? We were taken to a government clubhouse overlooking a golf course for a cup of afternoon tea. The particular curve to the cypresses immediately reminds me of my old haunts before I met the Way. I was incessantly traveling and looking, bent on enjoying myself and seeking adventure in the world of sensations. Buzz … zz… quickly snap out of my little pipedream… the lawns are not just pretty lawns; this is a test right out of the past!
Watch your own reaction. I feel the Abbot’s radar picking up all my thoughts. How hard it is to cultivate when one lives in riches and comfort. With money one can almost always buy one’s way out of suffering, you cushion yourself and build a castle in the sand until the tides of time wash it away. This become clear to me as we are sitting here. Sipping tea in a government guest house may be an expedient, but if we seek advantage from conditions just a trifle, or become turned by pleasurable stimuli during our travels, we’ll violate all the trust and leverage the Bodhisattvas have lavished on us so far.
Back at the Buddhist lodge, the Abbot knows before I need to tell him. He says,
“Too much attachment to form, sights, and sounds, and you’re in for trouble. ‘The Way advances one foot, demons grow by ten.’ In all circumstances, use your contemplative power and vajra wisdom sword. Very ordinary or decent-looking people may do things right out of the blue, unexpectedly veil things, maybe.”
Penang
21 August (Day 24)
We bid farewell to Taiping in the morning. During a two-and-a-half-hour drive northward, we recite the mantra for rebirth in the Pure Land to rescue the many who died in accidents along this dangerous strip of road. Then we take the vehicular ferry across the blue waters of a magnificent harbor and land on the island of Penang, the heart of Buddhism in Malaysia. We arrive at the Buddhist Association, a large, four-storied building with a hall on the ground floor that can hold several thousand. About twenty Dharma Masters greet us, headed by Dharma Master Chu Mwo. The Abbot speaks briefly, wearing diamond twinkles at the corers of his eyes:
“If at Penang we can open a little enlightenment, even one dust mote’s worth, that will already be invaluable.”
At lunch, as our hosts fuss over our food and drink, the Abbot turns to me and says with a straight face.
“Even a first fruit Arhat no longer enters the stream of form, sound, smell, taste, feeling, and Dharmas. With me, anything I eat is just one flavor. Whether it tastes good or bad, I don’t expend effort here.”
We feel we are entering into different territory again. The malevolent forces hawking us have come to a head. Hence the stipulation to be very careful at all moments. On the first day at Taiping, a gecko lizard fell on the Abbot’s shoulders and refused to budge. He felt a penetrating evil force that was beamed right through the lizard, as it tried to claw its way into the Abbot’s flesh. It took him all night battling demons to get the place manageable for us to live in. Another group member had nightmare about lizard cooing to one another in a telepathic code and other contorted demons. In the morning the Abbot warns us about “bumps and obstructions hidden within the smooth”. “Just move along as if nothing happened. Do not be turned, but be careful.”
Evil forces come to test our resolve on the Way. Demons work alongside the Buddhas; they are part of the internal interplay of Yin and Yang; demons help us on our Way.
Demons help polish the Way;
Along the true Way there are always demons.
The more you’ve polished, the brighter you get.
The brighter you get, the more you’re polished.
Until you’re lucid like the autumn moon,
That illumines the demon hoards,
After the demons have retreated,
Your original Buddha Nature manifests.Penang is a charming old port, separated from the mainland by a twenty-minute ferry ride. The town is stylized with an exotic combination of Dutch, British, and Chinese architecture all rolled into one; add to this a touch of Art Deco and Rococo.
Often as we arrive at a new Way Place we’d start out the lecture with a song. The Abbot orally transmitted this song to the Assembly several years ago. He is a most magical and spontaneous poet. We at the City of Ten Thousand Buddhas and Gold Mountain Monastery enjoy a corpus of some fifteen to twenty songs, all composed by the Abbot on the spur of the moment, and all fitting the situation like a glove. This one is called, I’m Really Lucky. The words are plain, the meaning deep. A surge of warmth infallibly arises each time as we pour out our hearts with this universal message. And each time, just as infallibly, the audience reacts from gut level, reminded by the genuine and wondrous promise within themselves, that these simple words recall. Dharma Master Heng Yin has put the words to music.
At night about two thousand people come for the lecture. The Abbot is in top form. Considering the larger turnout of Sanghins, it seems opportune to remind them about the sashes again.
“Most left-home people have totally lost track of the significance of wearing their precept sashes. Many go around in their long robes with large butterfly sleeves, thinking this will suffice. This long robe is but a traditional costume handed down from the T'ang Dynasty, a robe that lay people also wore. Even in Japan now they wear robes like this. By no means does wearing this long-sleeved robe classify you as a left-home person. Only your sash does. The Buddha admonished his disciples to wear the precept sash in order to manifest the appearance of a Bhikshu. If you run around in your long robe or short shirt-and-pants outfit, you are no different from a layperson. All the Theravada monks constantly wear their sashes. That is why people pay the respect. Yet we of the Mahayana tradition have forgotten to wear ours over the centuries, to the point that now wearing the precept sash is considered outlandish. Wouldn’t you say this is upside-down?
Originally the monks in China wore sashes too. But the winters in China were harsh, and people had to wear clothes underneath their sashes. These sashes which were made of silky material, slipped off easily, and many of them were lost. Now, left-home people could not afford to lose so many sashes, so they had a conference during the T'ang Dynasty. This is a recording from their meeting at the T'ang Dynasty. They didn’t have tape recorders then, so don’t ask me how I know. Anyway a Patriarch came up with a suggestion. ‘Why not sew a hook on one and of the sash and a clasp on the other. With the clasp fastened to the hook, our sashes would not slip off.’ Everybody thought it a peerless idea, and from that time all adopted the hook-and-clasp tradition. Still, people had to work, and during menial labor they found it very inconvenient to wear their sashes. They started taking them off, and bit by bit, sashes were only retained for ceremonies. Left-home people became more and more lax about the habit, so that down through the dynasties – T'ang, Sung, Yuan, Ming, and Ch'ing – people eventually forsook the habit of wearing sashes altogether. Now it is considered an eyesore to be wearing sashes.
That is why some people call us ‘weird’ in America because the left-home people there wear their sashes all the time. we are just doing what we were supposed to do all along. Just consider the verse,
Fine indeed, this robe of liberation.
Unsurpassed sash, the field of blessings.
I now most respectfully don it,
And hope to wear it lifetime after lifetime.If you hope to wear it ‘lifetime after lifetime’, shouldn’t it be a case of wearing it ‘moment after moment’ as well?”
A very strong argument. Dharma Masters listen with a mixture of curiosity and shame. The older ones hang their beads, the younger ones nod theirs in approval. Three hours have gone by in a wink, while the two-thousand-strong crowd lingers, hoping for more – and intense, joyous anticipation.
22 August (Day 25)
From early morning on, we make a tour of local temples and a stream of visits to “important” abbots around town. Our standard rule is no sightseeing and social visits to other temples. We have enough work to do as is. The Abbot is diplomat-supreme. He teaches us not to be attached to sight and sound, and adroitly turns our attention to reassures we carry inside ourselves. I’ve found that the more our eyes latch on to beautiful forms, the more we lose our essence. Sights, sounds, smells, tastes, objects of touch, and dharmas – six pathways to the hells. Your eyes should contemplate your nose, your nose your mouth, and your mouth should contemplate your heart. In this way you can curb outflows. Turn the tide of outflows around; practice the Great Reversal. This is the only way to end the ceaseless turning of birth and death.
As external stimuli accelerate in intensity and color, the more pronounced the need to center.
The eye contemplates forms and shapes,
Yet inside there is nothing.
The ear hears mundane matters,
But the mind does not know.As we are shuttled from temple to temple, treated to fruit and drink which we do not touh, amidst the constant droning of pleasantries, discreet poking, and praises the Abbot says,
“Drink up your tea. You should realize that we are people of no blessings; do not waste anything. Do you understand?’
Penang, fabled as the “Garden City”, is an especially visual place. Almost too pretty: it is easy to get lost here. strangely enough – and not only I myself feel this way – whenever we walk into an old temple, sharing cups of tea with elderly monks, the feeling comes back again and again: we’ve all been here before, like the familiar tune on a gramophone playing scratchily after many years. A strong flood of associations surfaces from the eighth consciousness. The Abbot, of course, thinks there’s nothing surprising in this. In an address to about two thousand people last night he said,
“All of you young and old friends, my masters and disciples, we’ve been together since beginningless time and still do not recognize one another. Why is this? It’s because we’ve been too confused, too covered over by ignorance, that we’ve turned around and around without cease.”
How could we have forgotten for so long?
All through the day we’re escorted to different temples, about seven or eight of them. The Welcoming Committee has arranged the tight schedule and since it is our first day here we’ve accorded with conditions and simply gone along with their itinerary. One of the highlights (or more realistically – a shameful disgrace) was when we stumbled into Kuan Yin Pavilion, one of the most popular temples in town. We were driven here by our guides who insisted that we should take in some of the “local color”.
One step into the open courtyard and we are aghast: duck and chicken offering right on the altar! Large incense burners are brimming with thick black smoke, and big, flashy, red candles are burning and dripping wax on all sides. Right next to the Buddha hall is a thriving joss stick concession where tens of mostly old women are shaking up bamboo sticks for oracles, rattling up a storm. Greasy, smelly, yin. Dark, dirty, yuck!
We need not even go in. In a few seconds a distressed-looking young “monk” hobbles out. One look at the Abbot sends him into uncontrollable twitches.
“Where’s your head monk?” demand some of the lay people who are with us.
“Ugh… Ugh… he’s not here…,” the young man stammers.
The Abbot is by now waling back into the car, American members of the delegation all wrinkle up their noses in a mixture of disgust and disbelief.
Inside the car our guides apologize profusely. There’s no need for further words.
“Some of the monks in these parts have up to thirty or forty wives,” one of our guides says, shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head.
Later on, back in our own quarters, the Abbot calmly remarks,
“This is very crass. Long before I came I made it clear to them that I don’t go visiting. I don’t need to chat up any local bigshots. What I like to do is to work quietly in my own affairs.”
People sometime comment,
“Oh, you must be tired and in need of a rest.’
The Abbot peers down at them and roars,
“Our delegation never rests. Don’t get false ideas about us; we’re not like most other delegations. Every moment we’re involved in doing something useful!”
At night we speak at the Penang Buddhist Association, run by lay people from the prosperous business community. It is a grand-dame of a villa from the colonial days. Halls full of gilded mirrors, marble slabs, and cool tile floors. There are Buddha statues of white marble imported from Italy. Faded elegance. About eighteen hundred people have come to the lecture hall. Tender-waisted Malay ladies in sarongs, well-to-do Fukienese businessmen in dapper suits, bright-eyed children from the Sunday school. The Abbot’s message:
“Some people build temples and forget to build cultivators. I also am a temple builder, a bricklayer, yet I request living Buddhas to dwell inside my temple.”
Living, dynamic Buddhism! Not festering antique forms, no matter how beautiful. There is a hint of decadence in all the splendor we see around us. Underneath the gorgeous color and pomp, where is the real stuff?
The Abbot shakes up the earth wherever he goes. He has at his command legions not visible to the common eye. In all his actions there is not the tiniest bit that is not geared towards enlightening living beings. After half an hour of instructions which leave the audience spell-bound and laughing, all of a sudden he announces out of the blue.
“I am one without a bit of sexual desire. You can put any beautiful girl in front of me and my mind will not move. If it were not for this total lack of desire, do you think Americans would buy what I have to teach them? Do you think these Americans are easy to subdue?”
The audience eats up every word. I steal a glance at the Dharma Masters seated in the front row. Most of them are hanging their heads, their faces turned in a mixture of remorse and reflection.
The Abbot continues:
“As for the other desires: I’ve seen a lot of money come and go, but I myself am not greedy for it. as for fame, what’s the difference between a good and bad name? if I cared about fame, would I call myself an ant, a mosquito, a horse? As for food, everything I eat is of one flavor to me. Finally sleep, I can go on several nights without sleep, and then I can also doze off for several months… Isn’t this wonderful?” (cheers and applause)
The Dharma Wheel is turning! The crowd thrones the Abbot, bright-eyed and breathless with wonder. Amidst many well-wishers we’re ushered into our cars. It is already close to midnight.
The true man from ancient times,
Did not loathe scantiness,
Did not boast of success,
Did not plan his affairs.Chuang Tzu, Great and Venerable Teacher
The Bodhisattvas enjoying the Samadhi of Roaming Playfulness is not attached to status quo or protocol. There is no absolute way of behaving. Real grace and decorum come from complete flexibility and ease with regard to all situations. “According with conditions and not changing; not changing and according with conditions.” Sanghins obviously need to comply with awesome comportment, but this does not necessarily imply rigidity. Rather, the litheness that comes from true detachment is an art. So the Abbot never tires, never loses patience in his transforming of living beings. “No matter how far-gone people are, no matter how corrupt Sanghins are, I still use my true heart, and treat them especially well.”
In fact, it’s exactly those monks who have the most power, money, and status that fall under the sway of the Abbot’s virtue. A glint of youthfulness returns to the sodden faces and creased foreheads, their faces brighter and younger – there’s still hope.
The Avatamsaka Sutra refers to the Bodhisattvas Mahasattva, the Master-Director who can effect profound changes in different worlds, moving one world to another, leveling mountains and turning seas, yet doing all this imperceptibly, without disturbing a single being’s single hair pore. This is how real changes occur: noiselessly, miraculously; world systems infinite as dust motes undergoing metamorphosis. Only if you cock your ear will you hear the rumbling and the quaking of the earth.
The power of truth is incomparable: you cannot see it or grasp it, yet there is no place where it doesn’t manifest. If you want to understand, then the ten thousand things proclaim the wonderful Dharma, each grain of sand and mote of dust tallies with the true mind.