Review: Masaoka Shiki Selected Poems, by Burton Watson

This is a really beautiful little book. The translator, Burton Watson, has done a wonderful job rendering the Japanese poetry of Masaoka Shiki (1867 - 1902) into English. Primarily working with Shiki's haiku - there are over 140 in this collection - Watson has seemingly transcend the problems of translating such an idiosyncratic art form into English. Shiki's poetry breaths on every page, lighting up the mind of its reader, leaving a genuine feeling of nowness. Take a look at the following examples to see what this reviewer means:

"Sudden downpour - 

and all these maids

hauling out storm shutters"

(Masaoka Shiki Collected Poems, p.26)

"Stone Buddha standing there - 

fallen leaves settled

in his hands"

(Ibid. p.31)

"Fluttering, fluttering,

butterflies yellow

over the water"

(Ibid. p.35)

It's as if we are with Shiki as he watches the rain and the maids' efforts to put the shutters in place. Perhaps he is watching them in the safety of a dry abode, but the reader can almost feel drenched as if caught in the rain also. In a quieter moment, we can reflect with Shiki as he notices the leaves in the palm of the Buddha statue, contemplating the fleeting nature of this existence. The third example is perhaps the most engaging of the three, however, as it really inspires the image of those butterflies flitting to and fro above the water. How delightful!

Returning to Burton Watson's efforts, we might take a moment or two to consider the Introduction. Despite being all-to-brief, it gives us a glimpse of Shiki's life and art. Shiki suffered severe illness in his short time on earth, and this is referenced in his haiku frequently, but even here Watson brings our attention to the poet's delicate grasp of life's beauty, stained as it is with the colours of suffering. And, although the poems stand up on their own with perfect poise, the insights that Watson flavors them with adds to their impact, allowing the reader to evaluate their impressive qualities all the more.

"The curious interrelations or seeming interrelatedness of phenomena is often a key element in his work, assign the famous poem:

I eat a persimmon

and a bell starts booming - 

Horyu-ji

Buddhism is a religion profoundly concerned with causes and conditions, and the poem is set at one of the oldest and most venerable of the country's Buddhist temples, Horyu-ji in Nara. Is Shiki telling us that there is some arcane connection between the eating of the permission and the sounding of the bell?"

(Ibid. p.8)

Buddhism is an important, or perhaps crucial, aspect to Shiki's poetry. For, as Watson notes above, it is through his Buddhist understanding of the world that much of Shiki's poetic work was shaped. With the Dharma to guide him, it's possible that much of his poetry would not have had the profoundly meditative quality that it undoubtably possesses. Moreover, there are more philosophical Buddhist ideas that come through in Shiki's haiku that give them a depth that is amazing for an art form so very brief.

Shiki did not only quite haiku, however, although this is what he is widely renowned for. For, despite being a reviver of haiku when they had fallen far from the heights of Matsuo Basho (1644 - 1694), and the man that gave them their modern name haiku, Shiki wrote much more besides. He was an essayist and reporter for the Japanese newspaper Nippon, and he also composed two other forms of poetry: tanka (somewhat longer equivalents of haiku), and kanshi (poetry written in Chinese rather than his native Japanese). For the purposes of this review, a few tanka should suffice:

"Orange tree by the window

where I lie sick - 

its blossoms open and scatter,

its fruits appear,

and still I lie here sick"

(Ibid. p.95)

"Red shoots of roses

reaching out two feet -

their thorns are soft 

in the falling 

spring rain"

(Ibid. p.103)

Burton Watson has given us a wonderful work. It is full of Shiki's sensitive reflections on life, illness, and beauty, despite its relative brevity at 126 pages. And, for those of us that are Buddhist lovers of poetry, it does so in a way that's in tune with the Dharma, whilst still portraying Shiki's experiences with a lightness of touch that would appeal to someone who knows nothing of the Buddha's teachings. Moreover, the insights that these poems contain hint at a deeper reality lying beneath the surface of our every day experiences, one that we come closer to with each syllable. This book will be frequently referred to by this reviewer in the years to come, and it comes highly recommended. Thank you, Masaoka Shiki; thank you, Burton Watson!

The above book is published by Columbia University Press, and is available from their website at: 

Masaoka Shiki Selected Poems

Review: Zen Sourcebook, by Stephen Addiss, with Stanley Lombardo & Judith Roitman

If you want a general introduction to Zen literature, or you're a seasoned Zennist, this book's for you. It's an incredible collection of Chinese, Korean and Japanese texts from many of the most important masters and teachers of Zen, from Bodhidharma, the founder of the sect in China, to Kyong Ho, a more recent exponent of this intriguing school of Buddhism. The three authors, Stephen Addiss, Stanley Lombardo, and Judith Roitman deserve immense gratitude from the English-speaking Buddhist world for this unique compilation. Not only have they chosen such central texts from the history of Zen, but they have also translated many of the texts themselves, with both Buddhist sensitivies and literary finesse. Some of the works contained are not translated by the authors, with extracts from John Blofeld's rightly applauded rendition of Huang Po's sermons a fine example.

So, with such a wide-ranging and varied selection of writings, where to begin? Well, the beginning is as good a place as any to start, and that's where we'll look first. The Introduction is written by Paula Arai, Associate Professor of Religion at Louisiana State University. She gives a lucid account of both the history of Zen Buddhism, as well as an account of its practices, such as the koan, a device that features extensively in the book, not least in the wonderful (and complete) translation of Wu-men's Gateless Barrier, rendered into English by Stephen Addiss. Let's take quick peek at Addiss's efforts:

"Wu-tsu said, 'Suppose a water buffalo passes by a window. The head, horns, and four legs go past - why can't the tail pass by?'

Wu-men's Verse

If it passes by, it falls in a ditch;

If it goes back, it is destroyed;

But this little tail,

How wondrous it is!"

(Zen Sourcebook, p.107)

The translation here is clear and to the point, even if the koan itself may be somewhat more confusing! This is a feature of the translations featured in the book; easy to comprehend (at least intellectually!), and yet at the same time, not without an awareness of the importance of the value of the writings as pieces of literature. Other translators whose work appears here include J. C. Cleary (Tai-hui, Swampland Flowers & T'aego, Collected Sayings), Anne Dutton (The Awakening of Mugai Nyodai), James Green (Chao-chou, Recorded Sayings), and Norman Waddell (Bankei, The Ryumon-ji Sermons). Now, even if, like the present reviewer, you already posses some of these translations, the collection as a whole has so many different works included that there's bound to be much that's new to you. One example of this for the reviewer is 'The Biography of Miao-tsung' by Miriam Levering:

"At the time Ch'an master Chen-hsieh was living in a small cloister at I-hsing. Miao-tsung went directly to see him there. Chen-hsieh was sitting upright on a rope mat. The instant Miao-tsung was inside the door, Chen-hsieh said: 'Are you ordinary or a sage?'

Miao-tsung said: 'Where is the third eye?'

Chen-hsieh said: 'The real thing appears right in front of your face - what is that like?'

Miao-tsung held up her kneeling and bowing cloth.

Chen-hsieh said: 'I did not ask about that.'

Miao-tsung said: 'Too are - it's gone!'

Chen-hsieh shouted: 'Ho!'

Miao-tsung also shouted: 'Ho!'"

(Ibid. pp. 127-128)

The sheer scope of the book is something that should be noted here also. It starts with two important texts chanted in Zen monasteries the world over: the Heart Sutra & the Kanzeon (Guan Yin) Sutra, translated by Addiss & Lombardo. Next, comes the early Zen figures Bodhidharma, Seng-ts'an, and Hui-neng (Sixth to Eighth Centuries AD). Other Zen greats not already mentioned include Lin-chi, the P'ang family, Dogen, Ikkyu, So Sahn, and Hakuin. Another important personage featured is the Korean monk Chinul (1158 - 1210), translated by Lombardo:

"Where everything is empty, luminous awareness is not obscured, and this empty, calm, luminous mind is your original face. It is also the Dharma-seal transmitted in direct succession by all the Buddhas, Patriarchs, and enlightened beings of the past, present, and future. If you awaken to this mind, there are no steps in between, no stairs to climb. You go directly to the stage of Buddha, and with each step you transcend the three worlds.You will return home, all doubts resolved. Filled with compassion and Wisdom, you will be the teacher of Heaven and Earth. It will be as if gods and humans offered you thousands of gold coins every day, with the promise of more. You will indeed have finished the great work of life and death."

(Ibid. p.139)

Such priceless teachings are abound in this book, and personally having little knowledge of Korean Zen, the works from Korea such as the one above are of particular interest. The clarity of both Chinul's Zen and Lombardo's translation are dazzling. The description of the "empty, calm, luminous mind" is enough to spark a direct experience of the original face. 'Zen Sourcebook' is chockablock full of writings designed by expert Zen masters to inspire our awakening. We are privileged to have access to them, and the way that Addiss, Lombardo & Roitman have worked to assemble them together for our enjoyment and enlightenment is worthy of much praise. I wholeheartedly recommend this wonderful book, for in its 275 pages are such words as split heaven asunder and leave the light of the Buddha shining in our minds.

The above book is published by Hackett Publishing Company, and is available from their website at: Zen Sourcebook

Forest Haiku II

On a recent visit to Wat Pa Nanachat, Thailand...

The forest is full

Of chanting voices

And yet still...

He pours water

Upon a tree

Forest sings back

Golden Buddha

Stares impassively

Quieting this mind

Light dances

On dark foliage

Catching the eye

Falling leaves

Are messengers

From the Buddha

Cannot catch leaves

With this camera

Moment is lost

Squirrels leap

Through the forest

Of this mind

Review: Awesome Nightfall, by William R. LaFleur

This book is superb. In fact, it lives up to its title, being an awesome account of the 'nightfall' of a poet into old age, as well as the descent of feudal Japan into unprecedented civil war. The translator, William R. LaFleur has done an excellent job, not just of translating the Japanese verse into English, but of setting the scene in such a clear historical context in the first part of the book. If he didn't receive any awards for his fantastic efforts in producing 'Awesome Nightfall,' it's something of an injustice, to say the least.

As hinted at above, the book is divided into two parts, the first being called 'The Life and Times of Saigyo,' and the second 'Poems of Saigyo.' Sometimes introductory sections of books can be somewhat dry, even boring - occasionally superfluous - to the main course. Not with this book. LaFleur clearly has a great love of his subject, and has spent decades studying Saigyo, also. This gives him an insight into an otherwise mysterious figure that many translators would never have. Which, in turn, sheds light on the poems themselves, and helps the reader to make more sense of them. He sums Saigyo up neatly thus:

"Much of the time Saigyo, originally a samurai, grappled with the implications of having become a monk. And, because he lived in 'interesting' times, he struggled to understand and articulate the connection between his religious tradition and the social chaos he witnessed firsthand. Rightly known to many Japanese today as an unusually perceptive celebrant of nature's beauty, Saigyo's sensitivity toward human conflict was equally deep. War was much on his mind. And he wrote about it more than any other poet of his era."

('Awesome Nightfall,'  p.1)

Saigyo (1118-1190) was an intriguing character. As La Fleur admits, the information that we have of the poet is sketchy, and without corroborating sources, it's difficult to know if even this is true. What is undisputed is that Saigyo was born into a samurai clan, and that when still a young man he decided to become a Buddhist monk, something that cannot have been easy. Even before this, he wrote poetry, which was popular in the court of retired - but still very powerful) Emperor Toba. After ordination, Saigyo adopted the life of a wandering monk, contemplating Buddhist teachings and composing poetry. He has been the inspiration for numerous Japanese poets since, most notable the greatest of them all, Basho.

Many poems appear in the long section referred to above, where LaFeur explores them with his expert eye, explaining the significance of a phrase here and a proper name there, as well as detailing the historical context in which they were written. They are all waka, a Japanese form of five line poetry that has enough brevity to contain elements of vagueness (mystery), and as well as enough room for more descriptive prowess than found in that more famous Japanese form of verse, the haiku. LaFeur's analysis of the poems in full of interesting insights:

"I wish I knew 

the fate of my father,

and I'd like

to know too if his place

in flames will also be mine.

There seems to be something more here than the quasi-formalized sentiments of a dutiful son. Saigyo, who can be assumed to have performed rites to pacify his deceased warrior father, Noriyasu, seems to be existentially worried that the warrior, in a killing profession by definition, may have a karmic burden so great that it cannot be easily removed. And that, in turn, makes him anxious about his own future."

(Ibib. p.46)

As to the poems themselves, LaFeur has translated them beautifully, retaining both the meaning and the feeling of the originals, as far as this reviewer can tell. Saigyo's sensitive nature and worries come through aplenty. As do his love of cherry blossoms, his Buddhist worldview, and the conflict that he felt between the two, as he appeared to believe he was overly attached to the former. 

As encouragement to practice, and a source of reflection, this work is of much value to Buddhists, who might even achieve a direct experience tof this present enlightened moment through its words. For both Buddhists and poetry lovers alike, this book is wonderful. Meticulously researched and superbly written, it stands as work of art in itself, lit by the light of the unique talents of Saigyo and LaFleur. It comes highly recommended by this reviewer, who cannot praise it enough. Below are a selection of verse from the book to give the reader a taste of its beauty.

"Waking me up

to the spring that's come,

water trickles down

the valley, and long crag-bound ice

now cracks open, slides free."

(Ibid. p.74)

"This leaky, tumbledown

grass hut left an opening for the moon,

and I gazed at it

all the while it was mirrored

in a teardrop fallen on my sleeve."

(Ibid. 86)

"Nothing lost…

since in satori everything

thrown away

comes back again: the life

given up for an 'other'"

(Ibid. p.111)

"Yoshino Mountains:

blossoms tumble to the foot

of trees, fastening

my heart there with them

waiting still for my return."

(Ibid. p.126)

"In early winter's rain

I'm pleased when up at the peak

clouds spread open

to show me the moon I longed to see:

a storm that knows compassion."

(Ibid. p.146)

The above book is published by Wisdom Publications, and is available from their website at: 

Awesome Nightfall: The Life and Times of Saigyo

Enlightenment, Anyone?

Enlightenment is to be found right where you are!

In Buddhism, there are many sects that all have their own take on exactly what enlightenment is, and the different stages of it. In Pure Land Buddhism, for example, enlightenment is the result of meditating in the Pure Land of Amitabha Buddha. This is achieved after surrendering to Amitabha in this life and being reborn in his heavenly realm in the next, where the conditions are considered more conducive to realizing nirvana. This is not the approach of this author, however, although I would not criticize them for doing so. However, it seems to me that suffering is so prevalent in this life that to postpone enlightenment to some later life would seem to be a bit of a waste of this one, when there are so many other schools of Buddhism that declare enlightenment is possible in this very life. In this article, we will evaluate two such types of the Buddhist path, and look for ourselves to see if such a (non-)thing as enlightenment exists, right here & now.

The two forms of Buddhism that have appealed to me the most over the years, and have formed the basis for my practice, are Theravada Buddhism & Zen Buddhism. Theravada is generally considered the oldest extant form of Buddhism, and is found in such places as Sri Lanka, Burma, & Thailand, the latter being my home. Zen is found in China & Japan amongst other countries, and is one of the newer major forms of the Mahayana branch of Buddhism. There many points of disagreement amongst many - perhaps most - adherents of these traditions, ranging from the nature of a buddha to the role of monks in society. This will not be our current concern, however, for we will attempt to get to the heart of Buddhism with the help of both Theravada & Zen Buddhism. And this heart is, according to the Buddha, our heart, which is enlightenment. But, first, let's take a very brief look at their origins.

Theravada Buddhists generally consider their tradition is directly descended from the Buddha and that it continues to reflect his teaching (essentially) as he taught it, and puts much emphasis on empirically-proven truths, as opposed to faith-based religion. The central focus of this teaching are the four noble truths (cattari-airya-saccani). The first truth is dukkha - variously translated as angst, pain, discomfort, unsatisfactoriness, and most commonly, suffering. This blog generally uses the last of these.) The Buddha taught that no matter what we do, it contains some amount of suffering, whether because we don't have what we want, have what we don't want, fear losing what we have, or fear getting what we don't. He considered this the primary reason that we don't enjoy life as much as we could, and so he sought a way out of suffering. The second noble truth states that the cause of suffering is desire (tanha), or more precisely the clinging (upadana) to desire. Therefore, if we let go of desire, we end (nirodha) suffering; this is the third noble truth, which is widely known as nirvana (see below). But how to realize such a state of being? This is the fourth noble truth, the noble eightfold path (airya-atthangika-magga), which is described a little later.

Mahayana Buddhism, from which Zen derived, is made up of many different schools and teachings, and contains doctrines & practices that many scholars consider to be additions to those mentioned above. A few of the differences between these two branches of Buddhism appear above, but there are many more which we won't go into here for two good reasons: lack of space, and their irrelevance to our present concern. As to Mahayana Buddhism itself, it seems that it metamorphosed as it travelled across the orient, developing new and innovative ways to communicate and practice the Buddha's way. One result of this ever-changing branch of Buddhism was Zen, a fusion of Indian Buddhism and Chinese Daoism. Taking the essence of Buddhism, and mixing it with the sagacity of Chinese figures such as Laozi and Zhuangzi, Zen cut through much of Mahayana Buddhism's often complicated doctrines, although retaining its outer forms and sutras. Zen focuses on an immediate experience of the same awakening that the Buddha experienced - called satori in Japanese - and has developed some novel methods to this end, which we'll hopefully have time for below.

Despite their different routes out of India, Theravada going south through Sri Lanka and then onto mainland southeast Asia, and Zen, spreading across the far east, these two types of Buddhism have much in common. Apart from the aforementioned possibility of enlightenment in this lifetime, they also share an emphasis on mindfulness and meditation as paths to awakening. The historical Buddha, as opposed to figures like Amitabha mentioned above, is also the central person in both traditions, despite the presence of many other revered beings. Monasticism has retained its importance in Theravada & Zen alike, too, although there are some important differences here. As to the subject of enlightenment itself, again there are similarities in the two traditions' accounts of what it actually is, but there also exist some differences, as will be seen below. However, the essential explanations contain the same 'flavour,' indicating that they are referring to the same experience. So, according to Theravada and Zen, what exactly is enlightenment, and how are we to achieve, recognize, and sustain it? Below, we will explore these questions, comparing and contrasting the two approaches and experiences of enlightenment, before coming to some necessarily tentative conclusions.

In Theravada Buddhism, enlightenment is the main focus of much of the teachings attributed to the Buddha in its scriptures which are known as Tipitika ('Three Collections') in Pali, the language in which they were originally recorded, and as the Pali Canon in English. It is not, however, the only subject that he explains, others being karma & rebirth, welfare & happiness in this life (dittha-dhamma-hitasukha) and welfare & happiness in the next life (samparayika-hitasukha). The latter two aspects of the Buddha's dispensation are part of a traditional threefold division of his teachings, the third being the one that concerns us at present: the supreme goal (paramattha), which is also known as enlightenment or awakening (bodhi), or extinction (nibbana in Pali, nirvana in Sanskrit). We will now take a look at the Theravada view of enlightenment, and see what we can make of it.

The Buddha, or to give him his full title Sammasambuddha ('Fully-Self-Awakened-One'), famously awoke to his true nature under the bodhi tree roughly two-and-a-half millennia ago in northern India. But, what was this awakening that triggered the founding of one of the world's greatest ever religions? Well, nirvana & nibbana translate as extinction or 'snuffing out,' which many have taken to mean the extinction of the self or personality, as Buddhism holds that ultimately there is no self. However, this is not quite right, for the Buddha taught that the self never existed in the first place to be extinguished. This is summed up in the teaching on anatta ('not-self') which is found throughout the Pali Canon, along with two other so-called three characteristics of existence (tilakkhana): dukkha (discussed above), and anicca ('impermance'). So, it's not that we have a self that we extinguish, but rather, it is the delusion of a self that is 'snuffed out' upon enlightenment, along with the three poisons that feed it: greed, hatred, & delusion. 

Nirvana is described as unconditioned (asankhata), which means it is not the product of previous actions (karma), nor does it cause any future results of present actions. Therefore, for the enlightened one, there is no more rebirth into this world (or any other), and their state is said to be indescribable upon the body's demise, so it cannot be characterized as existence, nonexistence, both existence and nonexistence, nor neither existence or nonexistence. In other words, it's beyond words! Enlightenment, according to accounts in the Pali Canon and modern masters, is said to be wonderful, free of suffering, happy and peaceful. More than this, it is full of compassion, for when we see that all have their being in the unconditioned, and that their suffering is our suffering, on the level on interdependent beings. A child's hunger is our hunger, a mother's grief our grief, and an animal's pain our pain, all viewed in the painless 'zone' of awakening. We reach out to all who suffer, helping in whatever way we can, one way being to help them to see beyond their clinging, suffering selves. But, we're getting ahead of ourselves, somewhat; now that we know approximately what enlightenment is, just how do we realize it?

According to the Pali Canon, we achieve enlightenment by practicing the noble eightfold path, which briefly made its bow above. This isn't to say that we cannot have glimpses of awakening outside this path, but that if the Buddhist understanding of full enlightenment is to be realized, this is the way to do it. This 'glimpsing' of enlightenment, or partial awakening, is also found in Zen, which we'll check out shortly. Anyway, the eightfold path is named such for its factors which are right view (samma-ditthi), right intention (samma-sankappa), right speech (samma-vaja), right action (samma-kammanta), right livelihood (samma-ajiva), right effort (samma-vayama), right mindfulness (samma-sati), and right concentration (samma-samadhi). Again, lack of room in this article will have to live this particular subject here, apart from to state that nirvana, which is unconditioned, remember, is not the result of this path, but is revealed as this way is practiced, much as the moon is not the result of parting clouds, but shines forth upon their parting.

As the eightfold path suggests, awakening is a gradual process (for most of us, at least), and therefore the various aspects of the path combine to assist us in letting go of the fetters that bind us to an unenlightened state of being. The fetters are dealt with in a moment. The path itself is grouped into three main trainings: virtue (sila), concentration (samadhi), and wisdom (panna). The first of these includes right speech, action, and livelihood, and governs our interactions with others, reducing harmful acts - or eradicating them altogether if we really perfect this training. The training in concentration includes right effort, mindfulness, and (funnily enough) concentration. This includes the practice of meditation, an important aspect of Buddhism without which enlightenment is nigh on impossible, according to Theravada tradition. In the Pali Canon, all the enlightened people, including the Buddha, are seen to meditate regularly, even after full awakening. Next, we will examine the different kinds of enlightened people, or 'noble persons,' that are found in Theravada Buddhism.

There are four stages of noble persons (ariya-puggala) according to the Buddha. These persons are characterized by the fetters (samyojana) that they have let go of. The first kind of noble person is the 'stream-enterer' (sotapanna) is one that has abandoned the fetters of identity-view, doubt, and attachment to rules and rituals. The second kind is the 'once-returner' (sakadagami) that has loosened the bonds of sensual desire and ill-will. These two fetters have completely been abandoned by the 'non-returner' (anagami). The last stage of noble person is the 'worthy-one' (arahant) who has abandoned five further fetters including conceit and ignorance. We can recognize which one of the noble persons we are by the fetters that remain. 

In truth, there's nothing to be done to sustain the experience of enlightenment, for even if we are not yet an arahant, if we have already glimpsed the truth as one of the three other kinds of noble being, then we will definitely continue our awakening all the way to nirvana…eventually. However, if we are already on the path, we will surely be inspired by our experiences of freedom from at least some of the fetters to further realizations, and there is a sense in Theravada Buddhism that this process from stream-enterer to arahant is a wholly natural one once it has begun, and all we have to do is get out of the way, so to speak. So much for Theravada Buddhist  teachings on enlightenment. Now we turn to Zen Buddhism, and see what it has to say about the nature of awakening and how we realize it.

Zen Buddhism purports to be "A special transmission outside of scriptures," and yet the scriptures that it refers to and finds its philosophical origins in are numerous. As a branch of Mahayana Buddhism, the Zen schools refer to a variety of texts from the Tripitaka (the Sanskrit equivalent of the Pali Canon), including the Heart Sutra and Diamond Sutra, Chinese Daoist texts such as the Dao De Jing and Zhuangzi, and the records of many Zen masters like the Record of Huang Po, and the Record of Linji. Added to these are works by Japanese, Korean, and Vietnamese Zen masters, including Dogen's immense Shobogenzo. So, although the "transmission" may take place "outside of scriptures," words have, and continue, to exert a profound influence over the lives of Zen Buddhists. Nonetheless, all these texts contain the subject of enlightenment as the most important subject, and declare that it is realizable in this very lifetime.

As already mentioned, Zen is the product of Indian Buddhism and Chinese Daoism. Indeed, in the early Zen texts, the Chinese word 'Dao' is often found to indicate nirvana, as later the word Zen itself would come to indicate. Etymologically speaking, the original Chinese term for Zen is Chan (or Channa in its long form), which derives from the Sankrit word dhyana (jhana in Pali), which means absorption or 'meditative state.' Zen (long form zenna) is the Japanese version of the Chinese. So, Zen both indicates meditation and enlightenment, which sits well with the Zen Buddhist teaching that to do zazen ('sitting meditation') is to experience nirvana. It's not that nirvana is the result of zazen, but that it is zazen, and vice versa. This is because Zen Buddhism teaches us that enlightenment is already present and that zazen enables us to see true nature (kensho in Jappanese). 

Kensho, then, indicates a person's initial glimpses or experiences of enlightenment. Another term for which is shogo in Japanese; daigo  ('great enlightenment') describes a deeper, permanent experience of nirvana. This, in turn, is a contraction of daigo-tettei, which literally translates as 'great -enlightenment-that-reaches-to-the-ground,' which is a colorful way as saying 'complete enlightenment.' The more common word for dig is satori, which is usually translated as 'understanding.' Sometimes, as in the writings of many Zennists, satori is used as a general term indicating all types of awakening, bit dig and shoji. The problem here, is that someone might presume that an initial enlightenment experience is actually a complete one, as the same word can be used for both. This vagueness is found in many aspects of Zen Buddhist language, in contrast to the more methodical Theravada lexicons, and is a double-edged sword.

When Zen Buddhists describe enlightenment, then, they tend to be vaguer than their Theravada counterparts, which also leads to a similar situation with regards to those that rate said to have realized it. The four noble persons of the Theravada tradition are not found in Zen, with the exception of the arahant, and that in a usually negative context. The ideal Buddhist in zen, and Mahayana Buddhism in general, is the bodhisattva, a word reserved for someone on their way to becoming a buddha, as with the historical Buddha prior to his enlightenment. A bodhisattva in the Mahayana sense of the term is someone that puts off full enlightenment so that they will be reborn again and again until all other sentient beings are enlightened also. This ideal is promoted above that of the arahant (or arhat in Sanskrit), and is a bone of contention for many Theravada and Mahayana Buddhists. For this writer, they mere labels, or concepts of what we might be, and both can will short of our true nature if clung to, for enlightenment is the ending of clinging.

Anyway, let's return to the subject of satori, or enlightenment, for that is the focus of this article. In Zen, satori is often referred to as the realization of emptiness (sunyata in Sanskrit, ku in Japanese), which is an extension of the understanding of not-self (anatta) found in the Pali canon. All things are empty of self, and to see this completely is to be awakened to the truth. This may sound somewhat pessimistic or negative upon first hearing, and if it is only a concept or belief, it may remain so. However, those that have claimed to realize satori have described it as a great freedom from suffering and unhappiness. There is no longer the delusion of anyone 'at home' to suffer, so one lives in this world without any angst or regrets. When seen this way, satori seems anything but pessimistic or negative; quite the contrary!

The way to achieve enlightenment in Zen is not that different to that found in the Pali Canon, with an emphasis on meditation and living a virtuous life. The eightfold path is also there, although often not highlighted as much, and a long training is usually required for a deep-set awakening to be achieved. The role of the Zen master is paramount, with the aforementioned transmission taking place between such a master and his pupil. It is not enlightenment that is transmitted, however, for this is impossible; rather, it is recognition that is bestowed by the master, and a 'transmission' of authority within the tradition to teach others in Zen. Because of this close relationship, Zen masters have been noted to resort to 'shock tactics' such as shouting or even mild physical violence to inspire awakening in their disciples; something that would never take place in the Theravada tradition.

Zen Buddhism has also developed the koan as a method to stimulate satori in its followers. This is a phrase or short story normally from the records of the Zen masters that is used to create a condition of mind whence all discursive thought is transcended and the Zennist breaks through into a spontaneous realization their true nature. A famous example of a koan is "Show me your face before your parents were born." (We'll return to this 'original face' a little later.) Alternatively, there is the practice of shikatanza ('nothing-but-precisely-sitting'), when the aspirant sits without any particular focus of meditation, but simply rests in their 'buddha-nature' (a Mahayana term meaning nirvana). These, and other unique methods have been developed in Zen Buddhism to assist its practitioners to achieve satori, which continues to be of primary importance in this unique sect to the modern day.

So, in this article, both Theravada and Zen Buddhism are shown to have enlightenment at their very heart, even up to modern times. Sure, if one travels to Thailand, traditionally a Theravada Buddhist nation, monks and laity will be seen to be engaged in rituals, festivals, superstitions, and much else not directly concerned with awakening; in Japan, also, Zen priests are often concerned with performing rituals such as funeral rites, and lay Zennists are not all striving to see true nature, let alone actually seeing it. But, on the other hand, seek out a forest monastery in Thailand, or a Zen mountain monastery, and enlightened folk are waiting to instruct you. Moreover, in small groups and centers across both countries - and beyond - enlightenment is waiting to be pointed put…if you want it, that is. Which brings us to the final part of this article, and by far the most important: seeing the original face. This isn't solely to be read about, however; you need t follow the instructions to benefit from them. So, please play along and see what happens.

Point at what's in front of you. It may well include a computer screen, a wall, a window, or a million other things. But, whatever's there, please point now. Notice the colours, shapes, sizes, and dimensions of what's there. Recognize the sheer opacity of it all. (If your seeing window, noticing the solidity of what's behind it.) Now point at your body, again taking the time to note the colours, shapes, sizes, and dimensions present, as well as its opaqueness. Now, the next part of this exercise, please be totally honest. Point at where your face is. What do you see? Does it have colours, shapes, size, and dimensions? Is it opaque…or transparent? Is there a person's face where your looking from now, or a spaciousness that's lacking in any features to call your own? Is what you see there the 'original face' of Zen Buddhism, and the unconditioned of Theravada Buddhism? Is, indeed, a thing, or rather a no-thing free of features or conditioning? If your answers to these queries is an empirical yes, then congratulations, for surely you've just awakened to your true nature, and are now on the way to enlightenment. 

Now, there may be many objections to the above exercise. However, how many of them are based on our ideas of what enlightenment is, or must be? How many of them come from the feeling that this can't be it? How many are born of fear or attachments to who we believe we are? But, ideas, feelings, fears, and beliefs cannot be allowed to obscure what's as plain as the nose on this original face, can they? And, yes, there may be a vague blob of a nose detectable in your view, but does it negate the emptiness that lies behind it? Furthermore, what is in this emptiness if not your face? Well, isn't it the face or faces of whoever may be present with you in this present moment? Or, it's the myriad things of this universe that occur in your facelessness, your capacity. Ideas also arise here, as do feelings and attachments, but they are unable to affect this central emptiness, which remains peaceful and without suffering. Enlightenment, anyone?

*All major terms in italics can be looked up in A Buddhist Glossary; just click the link beneath the banner at the top of this page.

Ajahn Chah Day 2012

The wonderfully wise Ajahn Chah

The venerable Ajahn Chah (1918-1992) was a great & wise monk who lived most of his life as a forest monk in Ubon Ratchathani in Northeast Thailand. He taught thousands of people, Thai & foreigner alike; monks, nuns, and laity gathered to listen to his insightful talks on the Dharma. Many of these talks have been collected into books, and translated into several different languages (he taught in Thai & Isan, the latter a fusion of Thai & Lao spoken in Northeast Thailand). The excerpts in bold found interspersed with photographs in this article are from one such book called 'No Ajahn Chah;' a link to it in PDF format is at the bottom of this post, along with a link to the gallery from where the photos were obtained (all free).

I did not have the pleasure of meeting Ajahn Chah, but have learned (and unlearned) much from reading translations of his wise Dharma talks. I have also met people who knew him, including Ajahn Sumedho, his most senior foreign (non-Thai) disciple, along with other forest monks. Living in Ubon Ratchthani, I have the opportunity to visit Ajahn Chah's main monastery, Wat Nong Pah Pong, which lies just outside the city in a small forest. There are now monasteries all over the world in the lineage of Ajahn Chah, in countries such as America, Britain, Australia, New Zealand, Canada, Italy, and Switzerland, as well as many in his native Thailand.

January 16th this year was the twentieth anniversary of Ajahn Chah's death, and, as with every year, there was a gathering of monks, nuns, and laity at Wat Nong Pah Pong to commemorate his life & teachings. It can be a moving experience to share food, chant, meditate, and talk with so many others who felt inspired to one degree or another by this great monk. And yet, reading & reflecting on the book that is quoted below, it's enlightening to recall that ultimately there was no Ajahn Chah, as he once said himself, but rather natural processes arising and falling away in emptiness. And this is true for me and for you, too, dear reader; isn't it?

When one does not understand death, life can be very confusing.

The Buddha told his disciple Ananda to see impermanence, to see death with every breath. We must know death; we must die in order to live. What does this mean? To die is to come to the end of all our doubts, all our questions, and just be here with the present reality. You can never die tomorrow; you must die now. Can you do it? If you can do it, you will know the peace of no more questions.

Ajahn Chah sweeping the monastery grounds

If our body really belonged to us, it would obey our commands. If we say "Don’t get old," or “I forbid you to get sick," does it obey us? No! It’s take no notice, We only rent this "house," not own it. If we think it does belong to us, we will suffer when we have to leave it. But in reality, there is no such thing as a permanent self, nothing un- changing or solid that we can hold on to.

What is Dharma? Nothing isn’t.

Ajahn Chah receiving alms

Regardless of time and place, the whole practice of Dharma comes to completion at the place where there is nothing. It’s the place of surrender, of emptiness, of laying down the burden. This is the finish.

Conditions all go their own natural way. Whether we laugh or cry over them, they just go their own way. And there is no knowledge of science which can prevent this natural course of things. You may get a dentist to look at your teeth, but even if they can fix them, they still finally go their natural way. Eventually even the dentist has the same trouble. Everything fall apart in the end.

Ajahn Chah feeding a fellow inhabitant of the forest

When those who do not understand the Dharma act improperly, they look all around to make sure no one is watching. But our karma is always watching. We never really get away with anything.

We don’t meditate to see heaven, but to end suffering.

Ajahn Chah meditating in the forest

Remember you don’t meditate to get anything, but to get rid of things. We do it not with desire but with letting go. If you want anything, you won’t find it.

The real foundation of the teaching is to see the self a being empty. But people come to study the Dharma to increase their self-view, so they don’t want to experience suffering or difficulty. They want everything to be cosy. They may want to transcend suffering, but if there is still a self, how can they ever do so?

Ajahn Chah & some western monks under his guidance

(The famous Ajahn Sumedho is the tall one on the right.)

If you let go a little, you will have a little peace. If you let go a lot, you will have a lot of peace. If you let go completely, you will have complete peace.

Anyone can build a house of wood and bricks, but the Buddha taught us that sort of home is not our real home. It’s a home in the world and it follows the ways of the world. Our real home is inner peace.

 Ajahn Chah became increasingly frail over the years

If you see certainty in that which is uncertain, you are bound to suffer.

You are your own teacher. Looking for teachers can’t solve your own doubts. Investigate yourself to find the truth – inside, not outside. Knowing yourself is most important.

The last decade of his life he couldn't speak or walk

No one and nothing can free you but your own understanding.

Look after your virtue as a gardener takes care of his plants. Do not be attached to big or small, important or unimportant. Some people want shortcuts. They say, "Forget concentration, we’ll go straight to in- sight; forget virtue, we’ll start with concentration." We have so many excuses for our attachments.

Ajahn Sumedho (centre) & other monks at Ajahn Chah's funeral

The Buddha taught to lay down those things that lack a real abiding essence. If you lay everything down you will see the truth. If you don’t, you won’t. That’s the way it is. And when wisdom awakens within you, you will see truth wherever you look. Truth is all you’ll see.

The above quotations are excerpted from the book 'No Ajahn Chah' which is available to view or download at the following link: No Ajahn Chah

The photographs of Ajahn Chah are taken from the following site, where there are many more wonderful images of him: Ajahn Chah Photo Gallery

Review: The Art of Disappearing by Ajahn Brahm

Ajahn Brahm is both an engaging and challenging Dharma speaker, and both qualities are in abundance in 'The Art of Disappearing: The Buddha's Path to Lasting Joy.' This book has an extremely accessible conversational style, which Ajahm Brahm is well known for, but it also throw's down the gauntlet to the reader in no uncertain terms. The author states that if we want the 'lasting joy' of Nirvana, we need to dedicate ourselves to wholehearted practice, especially in our meditation. Anything less, he warns us, and we don't know where we will end up, either in this life or lives to come.

So, this book is not a primer on Buddhist teachings, nor is it a how-to guide to meditation, these aspects are dealt with respectively in detail in Ajahn Brahm's earlier works 'Who Ordered this Truckload of Dung?' and 'Mindfulness, Bliss, and Beyond.' The present work can be considered a step on from the second book above, being a series of instructions and encouragements to those already involved in meditation practice, and who wish to deepen their samadhi (meditative concentration) and wisdom. It was not written by the ajahn, as such, but was transcribed and edited from talks which he spontaneously gave on previous occasions.

Ajahn Brahm uses the Tipitika, or Buddhist scriptures, as his primary source of reference for his teachings, and begins this book by referring to the need for the recognition and understanding of dukkha (suffering) as a prelude to enlightenment. He skillfully advises his reader to disengage from the world to the extent required for the development of meditation and wisdom.  He also discusses how a reduction of thinking can create the peace and space conductive to the rising of insight, and unlike most meditation teachers, he likes to discuss the jhana, or deep concentrative states promoted by the Buddha:

"When the body disappears and you experience stillness deep inside, it's a jhana state. In that jhana state you're disengaged from the world outside - the five senses have vanished. Sometimes this is called being 'aloof' from the world of the senses. In fact it's more than aloofness; it's complete disengagement, the complete ending of the world. Now you know the meaning of vanishing, of things not being there anymore." 

('The Art of Disappearing,' p.13)

Gently bringing the contents of consciousness into focus using nonjudgmental mindfulness is a strong theme of this book. Ajahn Brahm emphasizes that to try to force the mind from its natural tendencies to focus on a set meditation subject can result in tension and, conversely, a reaction against such forcefulness that results in a lack of mindfulness. Instead, he suggests, we attend to what the mind is focusing on without indulging in it, starving it of the fuel of interest that it needs to continue. Soon enough it will fall away by itself, and then we can turn attention to the original subject of our meditation.

The author also brings to our notice to the nimitta, which he describes as "a radiant state" (Ibid. p.73). This occurs in meditation when the mind is no longer aware of any of the five senses and instead turns its attention on itself, free of thoughts. He says that a nimitta is beautiful and blissful, a wonderful state of mind free of suffering, which is known as pabhassara cite. It is not, however, enlightenment, but more a foretaste established through this shutting out (or letting go) of sensory interference. However, even with regards to this, Ajahn Brahm has a warning or his reader:

"Only now do you have a real understanding of what the Buddha taught. You also know why people sometimes think that the phrase pabhassara citta, the radiant mind, means 'original mind,' 'the essence of all being,' 'God,' or 'cosmic consciousness' instead. It's because a nimitta is such an extraordinarily beautiful thing. But when you have the insight gained from experiencing nimitta again and again and you know it fully, you'll realize it is a mistake to think of the radiant mind as a higher power or a transcendent reality. The radiance is simply the face of your mind when the five senses have been completely pacified." 

(Ibid. p.73)

Continuing this uncompromising presentation of Dharma, Ajahn Brahm later states that the ultimate aim of Buddhist practice is to let go of mind-consciousness as well. This somewhat disturbing suggestion is found in the Tipitaka itself, and the author makes it clear that this is the end of the eightfold path established by the Buddha. It isn't the destruction of the self, however, for as Ajahn Brahm says, there is no self in the first place; it is the illusion of self that is let go of in Nirvana, and this is the end of the Buddhist path. This is, he states, the realization of anatta ('not-self'), one of the central teachings of Buddhism.

Sprinkled through the book are recollections of the author from his own life of being a Buddhist monk. These include references to his time practicing in the forest monastery of Ajahn Chah in Northeast Thailand, very near the reviewer's present home. One such episode is when his master was considering sending Ajahn Brahm to a small, quiet branch monastery near close to the Cambodian border. At this time, however, the Khmer Rouge were very active in Cambodia, and Ajahn Chah changed his mind, fearing that his western disciple might be kidnapped, or worse. The latter uses this story to illustrate how awareness of his own mortality strengthened his practice. (Ibid. p.113) Elsewhere, he mentions the following:

"To overcome attachment to the body, we do practices such as the contemplation of the thirty-one parts of the body. In Thailand, you might even go to an autopsy. Of all the autopsies I've seen - and I've seen some gross ones - the one that shook me the most was that of a young man of the same age as me. Because he was my age, I could identify with his body. As the autopsy unfolded I saw the repulsive nature of the body, and I knew that mine had to be the same. It drove the message home: there is no value in attaching to the body." 

(Ibid. p.119)

Ajahn Brahm discusses in depth cultivating the understanding that the body will get old, sick, and die, of which the above excerpt is an example. The wisdom that can grow out of such contemplation relates to the Buddha's teachings on suffering, which permeate the book. On a practical, interpersonal level, he also suggests that such insight can help us to be more sympathetic towards others, including those we don't particularly like, for we can see that they too are subject to old age, sickness, and death, like us. This down-to-earth application of Buddhist teachings and techniques is one of Ajahn Brahm's outstanding features as a teacher, and is very much to the benefit of his readers. Another wonderful example of this real life Buddhist wisdom is in the final excerpt below. In conclusion then, if you are serious about Buddhist practice, especially meditation, this book is an invaluable companion for your journey to your true self, the not-self that lies at the end of the Buddha's path.

"Living in Australia, I often see kangaroos fighting over the monastery's leftover food. You notice how greedy they are, just like human beings. But since you know that's the nature of the world and that you can't do anything about it, you just smile and let it go. In the same way, although you can do only so much about other people's suffering, you can pull out your own mental arrow and learn to be at peace. Then you know that the only way suffering is fully eliminated is through the freedom of never being reborn again.In the end, that's the only thing you can wish for. And indeed, wishing nibbana for yourself and others is the highest form of loving-kindness." 

(Ibid. pp.130/131)

The above book is published by Wisdom Publications, and is available from their website at: 

The Art of Disappearing