Timeless Calling

Timely Response
A Guide For Zen Buddhist Practice
Anton Tenkei Coppens
© Copyright 2020 by Anton Tenkei Coppens
Edited by Gyosei Overbeek, Taian Davies, and Seishin Wright
Cover design by Tammy Myoho Gabrysch.
Calligraphy “Enmei Jukku Kannon Gyo” by Maezumi Roshi, 1986. Courtesy of
Laurence Hall
Timeless Calling, Timely Response

A Guide for Zen Buddhist Practice

To Genpo Merzel Roshi, Taizan Maezumi Roshi, and Junyu Kuroda Roshi, in deep
gratitude for their timely transmission of the timeless Buddhadharma.
 Contents
Preface i
Acknowledgments xv
Introduction 1
A timeless calling 1
Awakening 4
A timely response 6
Finding our function 9
A Zen Buddhist training program 12

Chapter 1 – The Four Modes of Meditation 19

Preparing for practice – raising bodhi-mind 22
The First Mode, Harmonizing body and mind 23
Relaxed and alert 25
Breathing through it all 27
Inviting everything in 30
The Second Mode, Turning your own light inward 33
Clearing out our perceptive system 37
Beyond thinking? 40
A mysterious pivot 43
Forgetting the self 45
The Third Mode, Clear observation 47
To be enlightened by the ten thousand dharmas 49
Following appropriately amid transformations 51
The Fourth Mode, Bodhisattva activity 58
The human realm 60
The Four Modes together 64
Sudden insight and gradual cultivation 69

Chapter 2 – Koan investigation 75

Meeting buddhas and ancestors 75
Everyone has their own light 80

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There is no teacher of Zen 85
A high-mettled horse 93
The sound of something struck 99

Chapter 3 – Zen ritual 106

Look! This world is vast and wide 106
Throughout space and time 108
Meditation in action 112
Why do you put on your robes at the sound of the bell? 116
Form and emptiness 118
Beauty 120

Chapter 4 – Study practice 124

Beyond words and letters? 124
Study and practice 127
Countless Dharma gates 130
Scriptural study at Zen River 134
Sparks of inspiration 135
Entry into the realm of reality 136
Thus have I heard 139
Emptiness of all conditions 141
Expedient means 144
Seeing our life in a different light 149

Chapter 5 – The Zen precepts 151

Learning to function naturally 151
Development of the precepts 154
Daily practice of the precepts 157
The Three Treasures 158
The Three Pure Precepts 164
The Ten Grave Precepts 168
Right speech 170
The precepts as koans 179

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Chapter 6 – Tozan’s Five Ranks 185
The Five Ranks from the relative side 187
The Five Ranks from the absolute side 192
Excursion to the Bay of Naples 196

Chapter 7 – Continuous practice 201

Forgetting time 203
The continuity of life 206
Accepting our function 208
Past, present, future 212
A new model for monastic life? 216
Confirmation 219

Notes 224
Glossary 239
About the author 277

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 Preface
“Zen is something we do”

As a modern-day Zen master and abbot of Zen River, Tenkei Roshi is often
asked, “What is Zen?” Rather than try to define it or use the question as a
starting point for a religious or philosophical debate, he usually simply says,
“Well, Zen is something we do”. The most common follow-up question is “So
what do you do then?” and that gives him the opportunity to present the
various elements of Zen practice. This book contains an introduction to what
we do at Zen River. At the same, it illustrates how this practice can help each
one of us discover our function in different situations, as well as in life in
general.
Tenkei Roshi himself has always had a sense that there was something
specific for him to do. Although he had an interesting life as a painter and art
teacher, he still felt as though he had not yet found his true calling. It took
him over twenty years of Zen practice in the USA and later Japan to find out
exactly what it was he needed to do. Setting up an international Zen center in
his home country turned out to be his way to find personal fulfillment and to
benefit others. In 2002, he officially founded Zen River Temple, together with
his wife (and fellow Zen master, as well as head-cook) Tammy.
When I first arrived at this training temple in 2015, I was greeted by a
dedicated group of resident monastics and lay practitioners. They exuded
something I could not quite put my finger on, something I had been looking
for without knowing it – some kind of deep communion. However foreign
their robes, the rituals, and the interior of the center itself appeared to me, it
all seemed so natural to them. They chanted, bowed, meditated, and moved
around the different spaces as if it were the most normal thing to do. And
many of them were Dutch, like me. Suddenly I was confronted with a totally
different way of being at home in the world.

viii
However beautiful the place itself was, it was the communal practice of the
members that touched me particularly deeply during my first visit. Although
I felt overwhelmed by the whole experience, I was amazed at how quiet my
mind could become when we meditated as a group. For years I had been
following an intuition that there was a certain place to be found where I
could learn and grow as a person while at the same time contribute to
something greater. The feeling was as strong as it was vague, but it felt very
important. I did not even know that my yearning was a spiritual one until we
started bowing together during public service. Clearly, I needed to physically
encounter the possibility of this type of monastic practice to recognize it for
what it really was.
After having spent some more time at Zen River, I asked Tenkei Roshi how
you can be sure that you have found your calling. He replied that you can tell
whether it is real when what you feel you need to do also seems necessary
and possible within the circumstances you find yourself in. That was all I
needed to hear. To this day, I still feel deeply grateful for the fact that he
followed his own calling to provide a place where others could in turn find
theirs.
Not everyone is lucky enough to recognize their calling for what it is and to
find a place where it can be investigated and nurtured with the right
guidance. Zen River Temple is an “open monastery”, a place where the great
majority of the community is not ordained or in full-time residence. Most of
its members let their lives be informed by Zen practice at home combined
with regular stays at the monastery. Many lay practitioners continue to feel
the pull of this place, even after decades of practice. Some travel hundreds of
kilometers to attend retreats and support the temple in any way they can.
New people keep joining, and when they hear their calling – or recognize
their desire to awaken – it shows. As diverse as a group might be – in terms
of gender, age, nationality, or profession – after a while it starts to move as
one big body. As our ways seemingly part again, we leave each other feeling

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somehow lighter, clearer, and more fulfilled. It seems to be an experience that
cannot easily be replaced.
The title of this book refers to a timeless calling to wake up that can be heard
by anyone. But it also mentions a timely response. Hearing one’s calling is
one thing but responding to it is another. And whereas the calling might be
essentially the same for everyone who hears it, the response might vary
considerably from person to person. Each Zen practitioner can realize the
universal wisdom and compassion we all share, yet as we are all different,
each one of us has their own way to express these qualities in what we do in
our daily life and in how we do it. Even if we all go through the same
training, we still have our own challenges to face and need to discover what
our unique contribution to the welfare of all beings could possibly involve.
While the individual differences can temporarily be forgotten when we
practice together, it is highly valuable that they still exist in a broader context.
As a result, the fruits of Zen practice can be shared very widely in our specific
social and professional life situations and reach many layers of society.
As will become clear from the first chapter of this book, the Four Modes of
Meditation that Tenkei Roshi developed leave room for a great diversity of
personalities, circumstances, and expressions. They can be practiced
anywhere, by anyone, although the monastery is for many practitioners the
most conducive environment for deepening their practice. This book, Timeless
Calling, Timely Response, should make it easier to join the rhythm of the
group, whether it is for the first time, or after a period of practice at home.
The chapter on the Four Modes can function as a meditation guide. The
following chapters show how other elements of training – such as koan
practice, ritual, sutra study, and working with the precepts – allow us to let
them gradually inform the way we view our life, as well as how they help us
move, think, and speak more like the enlightening beings that we all are deep
down. This book should clarify how all these activities are interrelated and
reinforce each other. It also includes an extensive glossary of Buddhist terms,

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which are often in Sanskrit or Japanese, that are common in Zen, but not in
daily life. In that sense, it can function as an introduction to Zen practice.
At some point during the writing process, it became clear that this book
should be more than a beginner’s guide to Zen. There are already many of
those available – and rightly so, because starting this training of mind, body,
and speech is not always easy. Continuing to deepen and broaden one’s
practice over time, however, may be even harder. There are many challenges
along the way and there is always further to go. So, the question became
what guidance the book could offer not only for starting Buddhist practice
but also for continuing to practice on a regular basis over a longer period of
time, possibly a lifetime – or longer. Intense Zen practice can be a deeply
transformative and at times bewildering experience, and it helps to realize
that we do not have to go through it alone. For a while, this book’s working
title included the word “companion” for just that reason. The idea was that it
could be something to fall back on at any moment in practice. It could be the
calming voice of meditation when you need a broader perspective, the
confronting voice of koan practice when you need to be spurred on, the
uplifting voice of ritual when you need to feel part of an enlightening
universe where help is all around, the inspiring voice of the sutras when you
need to feel that awakening is possible for anyone, or the guidelines of the
precepts when you need a reminder of how to behave as a beneficial presence
in your daily life.
This book is written and arranged in a way that should make it interesting to
read at different stages of practice, so that a chapter or a passage may
suddenly strike a different chord in the same reader as their insight deepens.
When reading it for the first time, it is probably best to follow the order of the
chapters, since the later chapters tend to refer to the first ones. It may also be
worthwhile to actively practice with the Four Modes of Meditation for a
while before moving on to the other chapters, so that what is read can be
related more easily to your own experience. The chapters following the one
on meditation may resonate more deeply once your meditative concentration

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and insight deepen. Tenkei Roshi likes to compare the process of Zen practice
to a spiral, which can both deepen and broaden over time. Similarly, the book
develops in its scope and the final chapters take a much longer and wider
view to give a sense of how this deepening and broadening can happen.
These chapters are based on Tenkei Roshi’s own experiences in Zen training
as well as on much older teachings that have withstood the test of time.
Most of Zen River’s elements of training have a very long history and some
can be traced back all the way to the time of the Buddha. The Four Modes of
Meditation have been tried and tested for at least ten years within our
extended community, but they are based on meditation techniques that are
hundreds or even thousands of years old. One of the aims of this book is to
pay tribute to the brilliance of the old masters. They are quoted throughout
the text and we have tried to include many references to give all those
interested a chance to become more intimate with them. May they show more
clearly just how timeless this calling to wake up really is.
When Tenkei Roshi speaks about his own calling, it often involves the words
“to keep alive”. For instance, he talks about “keeping koan practice alive” or
certain aspects of ritual and Zen training in general. And the only way to do
that, it seems, is to keep doing these things over and over again. On the one
hand, this continuous practice makes Zen River a place that anyone can come
back to at any time. But, as the Greek philosopher Heraclitus pointed out,
“you cannot step into the same river twice.” The elements of training are in
no way static and – especially when you engage in them for longer periods of
time – it is easy to discover that no single minute of zazen, morning service,
samu, or study is the same. It is as if the steadiness of monastic training
clarifies the continuously changing nature of everything and everyone.
Besides, as everything is in a constant state of flux, keeping something alive
can only ever be a creative process. It requires sensitive ears and a flexible
mind to see what each specific situation calls for and to respond to it in a
timely fashion. Fortunately, we all have this potential and our training can
help us actualize it. At the same time, our human nature seems to be a fertile

xii
ground for all kinds of problems too, so we keep having to listen very closely
to what is called for and adapt our response when necessary.
As we were going through the final editing round of Timeless Calling, Timely
Response, Covid-19 confronted humankind with an unprecedented challenge.
In a way, it shows how closely we are all interconnected. In another way, it
pushes us – at least physically – apart. For a while, The Netherlands went
into lockdown and Zen River became a closed monastery for the first time in
its history. As residents, we were already at home and had nowhere else to
go and nothing else to do but to just keep practicing. But it soon became clear
that creativity was needed to reach out to our members who live elsewhere.
When we started to publicly live-stream meditation sessions and services,
Zen River somehow became more open than it had ever been. As the online
activities started to expand to include Dharma talks, various kinds of study
classes, and even whole silent retreats, some people who were participating
from home reported that they could almost feel as if they were at the
monastery.
As beautiful and motivating as that feedback was, nothing can truly replace
physically practising together and sharing the same spaces. Simply by sitting,
chanting, studying, eating, and working together for extended periods of
time, we act as mirrors to one another and encourage each other to step out of
our respective comfort zones. When the situation became somewhat safer,
restoring this opportunity for a larger group of people became a top priority.
This took even more creativity and flexibility. Whole parts of ancient rituals
had to be altered or even suspended altogether. This showed that old forms
cannot be replaced so easily, but also revealed unexpected advantages of
other approaches to them. In a way, that was no surprise.
As much as he loves tradition, Tenkei Roshi cannot help but be creative and
challenge us to be creative too. His artist’s heart still beats throughout the
monastery, as well as throughout this book. The chapter on the sixteen Zen
precepts shows these vows in a new light with often surprising and practical
examples. It also discusses Zen River’s “right speech class”, which Tenkei

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Roshi developed to allow participants to practice speaking about Buddhism
in a clear, inspiring, and non-divisive way. To clarify Tozan’s Five Ranks,
which represent different perspectives on practice and reality in poems that
are not easy to relate to, he compares them to different ways of looking at a
painting.
This book has been a long time coming. It has taken a lot of effort and a lot of
patience from a lot of people, especially from Tenkei Roshi himself. He
occasionally admits that patience is not his strong point, but his great faith,
determination, and willingness to keep learning clearly make up for it. It was
inspiring to see a painter play with words and write sentences that leave
room for the imagination, or to see him gather up the courage for one more
round of editing, in between silent retreats, guest lectures, online dokusans,
serious maintenance problems, and all the other issues that keep an abbot
busy. It certainly showed me what continuous practice looks like. May
Timeless Calling, Timely Response turn out to be worth the time it took to come
to fruition, and may it help each of us find out what we can do in these trying
times.

Tessa Gyosei Overbeek

xiv
 Acknowledgments
As I was preparing to write these acknowledgments, my mind seemed to go
quickly into overdrive. The whole lineage of Dharma ancestors that we recite
every morning at the temple appeared in front of my eyes. I even felt my
knees wanting to bend so that I could make full bows, as the officiant does
when we recite their names.
Since it seems wise to limit myself to a manageable selection, I first wish to
express my gratitude to Genpo Merzel Roshi, my teacher of many years. He
showed me how to keep scrubbing my body and mind clear of the sticky
residues of befuddlement, to dare open my eyes at least to some degree, and
to allow new vistas to appear on often the most mundane affairs. My
gratitude extends quite naturally to his teacher, Taizan Maezumi Roshi, one
of the great Dharma pioneers of modern times, who I was so lucky to meet at
very decisive moments on both sides of the Atlantic. His brother, Junyu
Kuroda Roshi, is the third master to whom I owe my Zen life. Time and time
again, he has shown me intricacies and subtleties of the Dharma that would
otherwise probably have escaped me completely.
As for this book, it is based on the training I received since the late seventies
and on my experience of working with students since the late nineties. It aims
to describe the Zen practice program that I devised at Zen River Temple and
it is very much the fruit of the labor of many people. I would especially like
to thank all the members of our extended community who have supported
the temple in so many ways, followed our program and put it to the test.
They gave me the inspiration to develop and clarify the various elements of
training as a response to the situations we encountered together.
The book is based on transcripts of Dharma talks and took quite some time to
put together. To transform spoken words into written ones proved a real
challenge, and it is only thanks to the expertise, enthusiasm, and diligence of
the three editors that it finally reached this format. So, first I would like to
express my gratitude to: Gyosei Overbeek, a resident monastic at Zen River

xv
Temple who did most of the transcription work and arranging of chapters
and led the many rounds of editing; Taian Davies, an Englishman living in
Spain and one of our dedicated members, who scrupulously examined the
whole text and made many corrections especially in terms of language and
grammar; and Seishin Wright, an American student with whom I have
worked on many Dharma texts over the years and who has created the
glossary.
Next, I thank my Dharma successors Gakudo den Hollander, the late Koren
Kasman, Senko de Boer, Doin van de Roer, Jifu Vulink, Ryusho Lopez-
Doriga, Daishin Fischer, and Ranka de Hullu, who have all played an
important role in this project. Special thanks to Shugetsu Appels, whose kind
energy can move mountains, and to Musho Hamilton and Mugaku
Zimmerman for inviting me to conduct a series of online courses for Two
Arrows in Salt Lake City. Although most of the material of this book is based
on Dharma talks given at Zen River Temple, an important part comes from
the transcripts of these courses.
I would also like to mention my Dharma sister Genno Pages who has been
such a great support for me in practice, my Dharma brother Sojun Tydeman,
and some of the senior members of the international White Plum Asanga,
especially the late Daido Loori, Chozen and Hogen Bays, Tenshin Fletcher,
Egyoku Nakao, and Jikyo McMahon who gave me the right input at the right
time.
Furthermore, I thank my fellow abbots of European Soto temples – especially
Taiun Faure, Taiten Guareshi, Tenryu Tenbreuil, and Dokusho Villalba – for a
loyal and hearty comradeship, Shohaku Okumura and Taigen Leighton for
sharing their invaluable expertise on Dogen, Ryuko Yamamoto for delivering
such fiery koan teishos, Kaz Tanahashi for showing me the Buddhist artist’s
way, and Jerry Hirano for our in-depth Dharma dialogues.
I thank Koichi Isoda for being such a close Dharma brother, Taiken
Yokoyama for his skills in international connections, Yusho Sasaki and Seido

xvi
Suzuki for their contribution in bridging Japanese and European Soto Zen,
Shuho Go for his enthusiasm in helping me research Buddhist scriptures, and
to my dear daughter Maartje who keeps my spirits high and inspiration
going.
In conclusion, I thank my fabulous wife and Dharma partner Myoho
Gabrysch who has, as always, been an indispensable support. Without her,
nothing would have come of this. Moreover, her superb meals keep us all fit
and healthy. Nine bows – and more – for putting up with me.

xvii
 Introduction

A TIMELESS CALLING

“Wonder of wonders! Intrinsically all living beings are Buddhas,

endowed with wisdom and virtue.”

According to the Avatamsaka Sutra1, these are the words that the
Buddha exclaimed at the moment of enlightenment. It is an amazing
statement, still revolutionary today. Everyone is fully equipped with
excellent buddha qualities. Despite massive evidence to the contrary,
all of us have the wisdom and compassion to live this life to the full,
and to make a real contribution towards the welfare of our society.
This is known as the “lion's roar”2, the fearless proclamation of the
truth. It is called “fearless” because it goes against all the odds.
Thousands of voices from without and within protest loudly. The
world is in such distress, so where do we really see those excellent
buddha qualities manifested? Moreover, it seems like people around
us do not recognize them in us very easily either and, when we take a
good hard look at ourselves, the conclusion can indeed be rather
disappointing.
What voices do we usually hear? Going by my own experience, and
by what I have gathered from working closely with others, I would
dare to suggest that much of what we think and feel right now, we
also thought and felt yesterday, and the day before, and the day
before, and so on. No wonder we can get so bored and tired. No
wonder too that many of us are so often plagued by anxiety. Some of
the voices that we hear are quite frightening and make themselves

1
heard almost constantly. At times we may feel like we are living
under a dictatorship, and – to make matters worse – it happens to be
the dictatorship of our own mind!
We cannot seem to get away from it. But, in fact, we can. It is possible
to rebel and give voice to the fearless lion. Many people seem to have
a sense of its presence. Every now and then there is this strange
squeal – sometimes loud, sometimes soft, a sudden cry of unexpected
joy or deep sadness. Yet most often the message is misunderstood, as
the messenger is drowned out by a host of other voices. There is
nothing unusual about this. In the Avatamsaka Sutra, the Buddha’s
good news about all beings having buddha-nature is followed by
some bad news, the truth of suffering: “but because people’s minds
have become inverted through delusive thinking they fail to perceive
this.”3
According to the Buddha, who lived over 2,500 years ago, the cause
of our confusion primarily lies in wrong perception. We simply do
not hear what we need to hear, do not see what we need to see, and
so on – which is why our responses to life’s challenges are often
ineffective. This is a strong assessment. It means that the human
conundrum cannot be explained only by unfortunate outward
circumstances or the ill will of certain malevolent people. We
ourselves must also bear responsibility. Generally, we do not respond
to what is actually happening but react impulsively, led by our own
misguided projections and highly conditioned ideas about what is
going on. Fortunately, we can do something about it. It is possible to
clear out our channels of perception and open ourselves up to a
broader perspective that allows us to see more clearly what we
should do.
The Buddha is often called “omniscient”, which – in my
interpretation – does not necessarily mean that he knows everything,

2
but that he knows what he needs to know in order to make the very
best of any given situation. Yet even he was not born into this life
with the full scope of that ability. He had to go through long and
hard practice to make it manifest and to learn how to use it well. Born
and raised as a prince, Siddhartha Gautama – later known as
Shakyamuni Buddha – gradually became disenchanted with his
spoiled existence. He left the palace he had been confined to by his
father and, after encountering a sick, an old, and a dead person, he
was confronted with the realities of this life. When seeing the serene
face of a wandering monk, he decided to go on a spiritual journey to
try to find peace within himself. He engaged in various ascetic
practices and eventually settled down under a Bodhi tree, where he
remained in deep meditation until he attained his famed
enlightenment. Afterwards, he shared his insights compassionately
during the rest of his life. It is not so difficult to identify with the
Buddha’s life-story – at least to some extent. However much faith we
put in the comforts of modern life, there may often still be a nagging
voice speaking up from the deeper ranges of our consciousness,
reminding us of the problems inherent to our human existence. And,
just like the Buddha, we can awaken to our true nature and come to
terms with what is troubling us.
When we really aspire to wake up, we must first admit that we may
not yet be so awake. Our resolution to awaken and see things as they
really are implies a radical change somewhere deep within us. In
order to accommodate this, we consciously go against the general
trend of trying to find peace and happiness only by improving outer
circumstances – which has not been so successful thus far. Instead,
we take a good look at ourselves and dare to really question our
perception. Could it be that I do not see straight and am observing
things in the wrong way?

3
According to Mahayana teaching, this very life can be experienced as
samsara, the world of suffering, or as nirvana, the world of peace. But
we may wonder whether we are ready to go through the process that
is required to make a complete shift in our perspective. This would
imply letting go of any ideas about what that process entails, simply
because it goes far beyond what we are familiar with.

AWAKENING

The Buddha’s realization had a rare level of clarity, and for that
reason we see him as our great guide. He is the Buddha, “the
awakened one”, and, as Buddhists, we try to follow his example. In
this context, it is good to know that the Buddha never claimed to be
the first and only buddha. In fact, in the lineage of ancestral masters
that is recited every morning in Zen temples, Shakyamuni is listed as
the seventh buddha – and that is seen only as a symbolic number.
There have been many awakened ones before him, and he himself
predicted many more would follow in the future. In the Mahayana
scriptures4 it is stated very clearly that the experience of
enlightenment is not dependent on space, time, or any other
conditional factor, and is therefore available to each and every one of
us. We are all generously endowed with buddha-nature, yet most of
us need to practice hard in order to realize this for ourselves and find
ways to make it manifest in the world.
Buddhist masters throughout the ages have tried to articulate what
enlightenment entails. While admitting that it is ultimately
impossible to express in words, they could not help but try in order
to inspire us and to convey its relevance to our well-being. One of the
most fitting metaphors I have come across compares the world we

4
live in to the human body. We cannot separate ourselves from our
body even for a moment, it is a single organic unit. Yet our body
consists of many different parts, each with its own specific function.
In other words, all those parts are one: they are all this body, and yet
each of them is totally different and unique.
In a similar fashion, our whole universe can be seen as one great
body, in which all beings play different parts and are inextricably
linked to other life forms. Apparently, there is an endless variety of
functions, relating to an inexhaustible variety of circumstances.
Unfortunately, as we are going through life, we often do not seem to
realize that we are in this together and we end up acting on our own
without much consideration for others. Looked at closely, it turns out
to be a very strange and totally unnatural situation. We all know that,
however far apart our two hands happen to be, when the left one gets
hurt, the right one immediately rushes over to help. Yet in the greater
context of human life, this basic principle is often completely
overlooked.
In the Zen tradition, it is often stressed that there are two
perspectives on reality that we need to wake up to in our practice.
They go by different names but are commonly called the “the
absolute truth” and “the relative truth”. One is the realization of our
innate oneness with everything and everyone, while the other is the
recognition of the many differences within this oneness. As I see it,
acknowledging both these truths leads to a clarification of what our
specific function could possibly be. Waking up to the absolute can
occur many times, and on ever-deeper levels, but it is always sudden.
It is like turning on the light. The light may be faint or bright, stay on
for a split second or longer. But only when there is light we start to
see what escaped us in the dark. On the other hand, in terms of the
relative, finding our function in each specific situation involves

5
gradual cultivation – following through on what we discovered and
putting it into effect. At best, these two aspects pair up like a team
and show us how to live this life as a response to the needs of our
whole world body, rather than for the satisfaction of just one of the
parts with which we happen to identify.

A TIMELY RESPONSE

As we broaden our awareness beyond its usual limitations, we open

ourselves up to the life we share with everyone and everything, and
in the process the often-confusing details start to make more sense.
We develop a better intuition of what is actually going on within us
and around us, and what could possibly be the best course of action –
in the short term or in the long run. Kanzeon (or Avalokiteshvara)
Bodhisattva – one of the enlightening manifestations of the Buddha–
represents that ability. She is known for her compassion and has
served as a great inspiration for many generations of practitioners. As
recorded in the scriptures, Kanzeon went into deep meditation and
reached a state of complete silence. Then she could suddenly hear the
real needs of the world and respond naturally and lovingly5. Her
activity has been compared to that of a woman reaching behind her
head to straighten out her pillow in the middle of the night 6 – it is a
very spontaneous and intimate gesture.
What happened to Kanzeon can happen to all of us, and we can learn
to respond as she does. One could say that Zen practice prompts us
to take more responsibility – for ourselves and for others. In fact, we
may start to see our whole life as a response. According to Mahayana
Buddhism, we are not born accidentally or by some mysterious
mistake. Apparently, there is a need for our being here. This planet is

6
not a neutral starting point for our personal success or failure but a
place full of problems, and we are born to help out. As I understand
it, we can only find true peace of mind and happiness if we follow
through on that mission, since it is the most natural response to the
situation we landed in.
Perhaps responding to this timeless calling has never been as urgent
as it is right now. Global warming, environmental disasters, the
depletion of natural resources, and violent political strife seem to
point towards the extinction of humankind ever more quickly. Many
scientists even claim that time is running out to take effective
measures. It is paramount that we discover cleaner sources of energy,
reduce toxic emissions, and agree on a more responsible and fairer
utilization of the planet's resources.
At the same time, however, none of our efforts will have much
lasting effect if we do not also address the root of those problems and
attend to the ecology of our very own mind. According to Buddhism,
all our actions – positive, neutral, or negative – are expressions of
what lives within us. Therefore, if we want to make a real change in
the world, it is paramount that we recognize and counteract the
“three poisons” of greed, anger, and ignorance, which are the sources
of these problems. Fortunately, Buddhist practice can help us to do
so, and at the same time bring out our innate wisdom and
compassion. Although what our individual contribution to the
welfare of the world could entail may seem modest, we believe that
the energy of our intentions will never be lost – not even long after
we have passed away – and is therefore highly relevant for the
future.
One of the functions of Zen practice is that it can help us to stop
slavishly following destructive habitual patterns of thinking and
feeling. My favorite analogy is that of kicking an addiction. We are,

7
often unconsciously, so attached to our preferences, opinions, ideas,
and concepts that they end up dictating our life, even to our own
detriment. Nevertheless, they are hard to shake off. Of course, it
would be wise to recognize those addictions, and to see if we can live
without them and find alternative ways to respond. But how?
Imagine you go to a doctor and tell her that you are addicted to, for
example, alcohol or drugs, and that you would like to quit; and the
doctor says, “Great, it is really simple: just stop!” We all know that, in
principle, it is possible to do so, but it would be very, very difficult. It
is clear that our habitual patterns run very deep; according to
Buddhist teaching, some of them have become ingrained over many
lifetimes. And even if you have made a great resolution to kick those
addictions, it is still not so easy to follow through on that in the actual
situations of daily life. To be sure, Zen practice is not only meant to
decondition us but also to offer forms of positive conditioning that
help us to live in a more natural way and to respond more fruitfully
to the situations we face in our everyday circumstances.
As will be discussed later, we most likely have to start small but our
intuition as to how to cope with immediate situations can extend to
tomorrow, the next day, or further into the future, because whatever
we do in this very moment often has far-reaching effects. It will take
diligence and courage to clear unexpected obstacles and to keep
going in the right direction, preferably under proper guidance. But as
our practice matures, we grow more confident, and seem to receive
ever-clearer signals that reveal what our role could be in the various
situations we face.
When this happens, it is as if everything around us turns out to be
much more intelligent than we thought. We often may have felt as if
it were our job to try to outsmart a confused world, but now we start
to realize that we are the ones who are confused and who often fail to

8
catch what the world is trying to communicate to us. Whatever is
calling out to us, it can be heard by anyone who has opened their
mind and heart. Developing our perspicacity in this way would be of
tremendous benefit – particularly in this information age. Nowadays,
we seem to know just about everything – except how to navigate our
life with a sense of purpose and contentment. Despite an endless
stream of easily accessible information, we are often in the dark as to
which way to go and what we could possibly do in the grand scheme
of things.

FINDING OUR FUNCTION

An old Zen text features a monk who visited a master and asked him,
“I'm pecking from the inside. I beg you, master, please peck from the
outside.”7 According to a Chinese legend, only when a baby chick
pecks from the inside and the mother hen simultaneously pecks from
the outside, can new life break free from its shell. There need to be
signals from within as well as signals from without. Sometimes the
chick may be first, sometimes the hen. When I started Buddhist
practice in the mid-seventies, there was hardly any pecking from the
outside. I did not know of any masters or meditation centers in the
Netherlands at the time. There was plenty of pecking from within
though. My mother once told me that, for as long as she could
remember, I had wanted to leave home. There was always the
strange sense that something had to be done, a certain task to be
taken care of – by me. But what, where, and how? Over time, these
questions mushroomed into one burning question that filled my
heart and made me search far and wide.

9
Working as an artist and art teacher, I tried to make sense of reality
through the lens of painting. In time though, my search became more
and more geared towards spiritual traditions. I practiced yoga in
Belgium, went to a Tibetan Buddhist monastery in France, and, for a
few years, followed a Zen teacher in England. My quest eventually
led me to the Zen Center of Los Angeles (ZCLA), to meet Taizan
Maezumi Roshi, the founder of the White Plum Asanga. He was one
of those great Japanese pioneers who brought the treasure of the
Dharma to the West and modified the basic ingredients of Zen
practice to suit our temperament and sociocultural circumstances. I
had the good fortune to study quite closely with him at ZCLA and,
later, on several European tours, until he passed away suddenly in
1995.
By then, Maezumi Roshi’s second Dharma successor Genpo Roshi
had become my main teacher. As a former Californian champion
swimmer, he had a very different background from Maezumi Roshi,
who was born and raised in a family of Japanese Soto Zen priests.
Despite the striking difference between these two, there was
something about them that was absolutely the same. This added to
my confidence. If it was possible for a Japanese priest to transmit the
essence of Buddhist practice to an American athlete, there was
perhaps some hope for a painter from The Netherlands. Somewhere
deep down, I sensed that Genpo Roshi could crack my shell, and that
faint intuition grew stronger over time. I am not saying that it was
easy – either for him or for me – but I am deeply grateful for however
much he managed to do. After a total of sixteen adventurous years of
apprenticeship – mostly in the USA but also on European retreat
tours – he gave me Dharma transmission in 1996. I stayed with him
for another four years and assisted him in teaching in both the USA
and Europe.

10
During my training time with Genpo Roshi in the USA I met – to my
great surprise – the woman of my life among my fellow Zen
practitioners, and we have worked together as a team ever since.
Tammy received transmission from Genpo Roshi later and
meanwhile became the expert tenzo, or head cook, of the various
temples and centers where we lived. When it was time for us to leave
the USA, Genpo Roshi suggested we accept an invitation of Maezumi
Roshi’s younger brother Junyu Kuroda Roshi – or Hojo-san as we call
him – to come to Japan and live and work in his temple Kirigayaji in
Tokyo. This opened a whole new world for us. Our stay with him
was a highly formative period in our Buddhist education – as the
Japanese counterpart to our training in the USA – and has left a
lasting impression on our practice. Later on, we both completed the
temple training in Japan that is required for registration as a qualified
representative of the Soto Zen School.
In the Fall of 2000, we decided to return to Europe and look for a
suitable place to establish a residential Zen temple. After a
preparation period of two years – during which the number of
people who supported our vision grew steadily – we found a highly
suitable property on the northern coast of The Netherlands. In late
2002, it officially became Zen River, an international center for
Buddhist practice. Today it houses a community of some ten long-
term residents, who are all ordained as Zen monastics. Together we
follow a daily practice schedule and organize monthly sesshins (silent
retreats), weekly public ceremonies, and related events.
We consider ourselves an “open monastery”, which means that
everyone is welcome to join our program for any length of time. The
number of participants can fluctuate between ten and forty-two, and
in total we welcome some three hundred people annually. Most of
them come, stay for some days, weeks, or months, and leave again. It

11
entails a form of monasticism where resident and non-resident
practitioners of different genders and nationalities support each other
in their Zen training. As a result, the monastery has become a lively
meeting place for people from many different backgrounds. Yet the
steady crew of residents is very much the backbone of the temple
and, as we live a frugal, communal lifestyle, we manage to make
ends meet financially.
All in all, we seem to have found our function. Since Zen River
Temple is a pioneering project in a country with hardly any Buddhist
history, we have to develop our own way to manifest the Dharma.
We try to do so with both deep respect for tradition as well as a
healthy sense of experimentation and we continue to discover new
elements that can be included in our training program. Fortunately,
we have been able to make and maintain inspiring connections with
other Zen monasteries around the world that operate in a similar
manner.

A ZEN BUDDHIST TRAINING PROGRAM

There are many different possible motivations for embarking on the

adventurous journey of Zen. For some it may be a wish for
relaxation, physical well-being, or emotional balance. Some may have
discovered that Zen meditation can lead to a better performance at
work, in study, the arts, or sports. Others yearn for a spiritual
awakening, an insight that gives peace of mind. Everyone seems to
enter Zen practice for different reasons and, as I see it, they are all
totally valid. Yet, like everything else, these reasons may change over
time. Ultimately, they can all culminate in recognizing bodhi-mind,

12
the timeless calling to realize our true nature and to put that
realization to use for the welfare of all beings.
According to Mahayana Buddhism, there are many gates to enter the
Dharma. People just happen to be different, so they may need
different approaches to practice. That also means that there are
always choices to be made. Some of us may feel more inclined to
engage in well-established forms of practice, others may like to
experiment with models that have been developed more recently.
The Zen River training program aims to accommodate and bridge
both sides of the spectrum.
The format we now follow grew rather naturally over time and is
meant to serve the small community of monastics as well as the large
group of non-residential participants. In short, it consists of
meditation, ritual, study, work, and training in social skills. These
elements of training are conceived and presented in such a way that
they can – at least to a certain extent – also be practiced at other
locations or at home. This book aims to give an overview of our
program, and I hope that it can serve as an inspiration for anyone,
wherever they may be, interested in hearing their calling and finding
their function, whatever that may entail.
In general, the Zen tradition sees meditation as its core practice, so
that is where we will start. The first chapter of this book presents the
Four Modes of Meditation that I have developed at Zen River over
the years. In the First Mode, “Harmonizing body and mind,” we
assume the most conducive meditation posture and concentrate on
the breath. This helps us to find inner stability and lays the
foundation for the other three modes. It can also give us the
confidence to handle whatever arises with our whole system, rather
than only with our intellectual or emotional faculties. We learn to
face physical sensations, thoughts, feelings, or memories without

13
being carried away by them. Yet, most often, this first mode does not
go deep enough to reveal and release habitual patterns that
unconsciously narrow our field of experience.
That is why we move on to the Second Mode of Meditation, which
involves an ancient method that many renowned Zen masters have
referred to as “turning our own light inward.” Rather than directing
our attention to the objects of our perception, we turn our gaze
around and look directly into the mind that does all the perceiving.
We may then discover that what we call “mind” has no fixed
parameters and extends endlessly, including everything and
everyone. This second mode requires a particular kind of samadhi (a
meditative state of mind in which subject and object are not
separated) and we are left with a tremendous sense of oneness.
The Third Mode of Meditation is called “Clear observation.” Here,
we turn our attention back onto the “objects” of our perception and
see them in a completely new light. Suddenly we become aware of
their unique qualities and needs, and we receive hints as to what we
can possibly do to benefit the situation at hand, taking into
consideration our own potential and limitations. In other words, we
become aware of the differences within the oneness and find new
and creative ways to act, while taking both sides of reality into
account. Clear observation is also meant to help us see through the
fabrications of our own mind. This usually requires a kind of
digestion process in which we break down fixed notions and resolve
issues that keep misdirecting us on an unconscious level. Doing so
frees us up for compassionate action in our daily lives.
The Fourth Mode of Meditation involves putting our newfound
insights into effect according to the specific circumstances at hand. It
is called “Bodhisattva activity” and can take on many different and
unexpected forms. Like the other modes of meditation, Bodhisattva

14
activity is a process of continuous learning, and failure to succeed in
our intentions is part of it. Fortunately, there are many different
guidelines for compassionate action in the Buddhist tradition, which
will be introduced here too. Over time, our specific bodhisattva role
can become clearer and clearer, and wisdom and compassion can
start inform everything we do.
The final section of this chapter tries to show the importance of both
sudden realization and gradual cultivation for leading an enlightened
life. Many masters have emphasized how a sudden insight into our
true nature can open us up to the reality of oneness, but that it often
takes time to learn how to apply this insight to our daily lives. For
most of us, the initial opening of the mind is too brief or shallow to
clear away all wrong perceptions in one sweep, and we easily fall
back into habitual patterns of body, mind, and speech. So gradual
cultivation also involves deepening and clarifying such an insight.
Although the bodhisattva qualities of wisdom and compassion are
innate, we need all the help we can get for truly manifesting them in
our daily lives. The rich heritage of Zen offers various ways to
broaden and test that ability, and koan practice is one of them. Koans
are concise and, at first sight, enigmatic statements, usually made by
famous masters in direct response to questions from their students.
They can be used as meditation devices that clarify our insight and
prompt us to experiment with creative ways to express it in specific
situations. Chapter Two explains the function of koans as an
important aspect of training at Zen River and gives glimpses of the
insights they can engender.
Koan practice requires close collaboration with a qualified teacher.
Students are called to dokusan (private interview) on a regular basis to
present their understanding of a koan in a direct and vivid manner.
This gives the teacher the opportunity to see whether students can

15
move beyond their comfort zone and respond freely to new
situations. The role of a teacher is not only to inspire but also to
challenge and verify each student, which makes for a special kind of
relationship. Therefore, this chapter also discusses some of the
intricacies of that relationship. Ultimately though, koan practice is
about our relationship to our own life and the real challenge is to
appreciate it in all its facets.
Appreciation seems to be a natural outcome of working through all
kinds of negative conditioning. Instead of focusing on what we
always thought was lacking, we can start to feel great gratitude for
what has been given to us. Daily rituals and ceremonies provide
opportunities to express this gratitude loud and clear. Moreover, they
present well-tested models of how to relate to one another and the
world around us harmoniously. As a form of group meditation, ritual
stimulates our kinesthetic awareness, and we discover how to
maintain the stillness and clarity found in zazen as we get into action.
Seen in this way, both koan practice and ritual can function as forms
of “reconditioning” because they help us reshape our world view and
behavior. Chapter Three describes the function of ritual in our daily
Zen practice.
Chapter Four sheds light on the role of sutra study in the larger
framework of Zen practice, and includes some inspirational
selections from the massive body of Buddhist scriptures. Given its
emphasis on insights derived from one’s own experience rather than
the recorded wisdom of others, Zen has a complicated relationship
with the written word. Nonetheless, the scriptures can inspire us to
go beyond what we have experienced so far and to verify and
confirm newfound insights. At Zen River, we aim to study the sutras
in the same way we study koans – with our whole being rather than
with only our cognitive faculty. In other words, samadhi is

16
indispensable for both koan practice and sutra study. Over time, we
learn to appreciate the sutras as alternative narratives of our life.
Chapter Five introduces the sixteen precepts that many Zen
practitioners commit to as a way of leading a more enlightened life.
Rather than strict rules to follow, they are seen as ways to express our
innate buddha qualities in our thinking, speech, and behavior. The
chapter contains some historical background information on these
time-tested precepts, but also provides new ways to practice with
them. In any case, the precepts can function as guidelines for
Bodhisattva activity, helping us to improve our social skills and
become a more enlightening presence, wherever we may go. At Zen
River, a series of koans is used to clarify the various ways the
precepts can be interpreted and made to function.
“Tozan’s Five Ranks” are also part of our koan training. They are two
mysterious and highly inspiring poems by the great master Tozan
Ryokai that are included and commented upon in Chapter Six. With
their evocative imagery, these famous Zen poems invite us to see
more clearly how our insight and practice can progress both
suddenly and gradually – from the perspective of oneness and from
the perspective of differences. It may be a bold move, but I have tried
to illustrate “Tozan’s Five Ranks” by pointing out various ways we
can look at a painting. “Tozan’s Five Ranks” can certainly inspire
beginning practitioners to dive into the practice of Zen and make
these insights their own. For advanced practitioners, they offer the
opportunity to verify their understanding and to look back on stages
they have gone through so far.
Many masters have emphasized that Zen practice never really ends,
which is why the final chapter of this book is called “Continuous
practice”. This refers to the title of two very intriguing chapters of the
Shobogenzo by Dogen Zenji, who is seen as the founder of Japanese

17
Soto Zen. In his characteristic lyrical style, he describes Buddhist
practice as a cycle that continues throughout space and time. Chapter
Seven aims to convey how that cycle has brought us to where we are
today and invites us to consider what our function could possibly be
within the context of worldwide Buddhist practice in the future.

18
 Chapter 1
The Four Modes of Meditation
Buddhism has often been described as a remedial – rather than a
doctrinal – teaching, meaning that its value lies primarily in its
function. It offers directives for learning how to alleviate suffering
and for living a life of wisdom and compassion. We all have the
potential to do this but may need different medications to cure us
from all kinds of afflictions. Therefore, diversity and tolerance have
always been important aspects of the Buddhist tradition. Even within
a single school one can find different approaches.
The same applies to Zen. In fact, nowadays the word “Zen” can mean
so many things that it may leave the newcomer rather bewildered.
Especially in countries where it has been introduced only relatively
recently, Zen is often equated with zazen or sitting meditation, and
even seen as a distinct practice in itself, independent of the larger
framework of Buddhism. Although there is some historical and
ideological support for that notion8, at Zen River we appreciate zazen
as the hard core of Zen: an indispensable element of training, but not
the only one. Other elements – study, ritual, work, and the
development of social skills – can help us hear our true calling more
clearly and to become more effective in beneficial action.
Nevertheless, zazen is what we can always start with and what we
can always return to.
But even if we focus only on the practice of zazen, there are many
different interpretations as to what it entails and how to go about it.
There are teachers, for example, who believe that less is more when it
comes to teaching sitting meditation. They emphasize the fact that we
have to find out for ourselves what zazen is by just sitting, over and
over again, and – in principle – we can do that. All the wisdom and

19
compassion we need to respond to our calling and live this life to the
full is right here, right now. Yet, for most of us, it is difficult to
discern. I once asked my teacher if he thought I really had buddha-
nature. To me, there seemed to be plenty of reason to seriously
question such an assumption. He gave me one of his mysterious long
gazes and finally said, “Yes, but it is deeply buried.” All the zazen
training I received was geared towards digging it up and putting it to
good use. Although I did not always manage to fathom the directives
at the time, I slowly began to recognize their logic. Much later, when
wishing to clarify my own experience and share it with others, I tried
to discern the different stages I had become familiar with. After
discovering a surprising number of Buddhist scriptures that seemed
to verify my understanding, I finally came up with the meditation
method we have been using at Zen River for many years now. We
present it as a guided meditation: new students are invited to follow
oral instructions they can repeat for themselves on other occasions or
at home. Nowadays we also offer this as a digital recording9. This
approach to zazen consists of four different “modes” of meditation:
1) Harmonizing body and mind.
2) Turning your own light inward.
3) Clear observation.
4) Bodhisattva activity.
These Four Modes can be compared to the gears of a car. Although
cars have only one gearbox, that box features several different gears.
An experienced driver goes smoothly from one gear to the other –
adapting to whatever the circumstances require. But if you are a
beginner, operating the gears is not simple at all. You have to practice
diligently until, at some point, shifting gears becomes totally natural.
One thing we want to avoid is getting stuck in any one particular

20
gear. As we will see, this can happen quite easily in meditation. So,
we should be careful not to objectify the Four Modes too much – their
only function is to help us find and respond to our calling. They can
be forgotten about when they have been integrated and become part
of ourselves. However, things can go awry at any time, and in
general it would be wise to revisit the Four Modes regularly.
We could think of practicing the Four Modes of Meditation as a spiral
that delves deeper and deeper into the same essence through its
rotation. Following the sequence of the Four Modes, one engages in a
development from sitting still to compassionate action in four stages,
and the structure is circular rather than linear. This means that a
dedicated practitioner can go through the Four Modes over and over
again, finding his or her calling on ever more profound levels.
Perhaps it is important to mention that with the Four Modes, as they
are presented here, I do not necessarily try to provide a completely
new perspective on Zen training. Quite the opposite, in fact. They are
an attempt to articulate ancient Buddhist wisdom in a fresh and alive
way, as I have learned and experienced it myself, and as I have
shared it with my own students over the last twenty-odd years. I will
use various quotes from the old masters, as well as a series of
principles that are part of the Buddhist tradition, to illustrate the Four
Modes. The following lines from Dogen Zenji’s Genjokoan for
example, are a great inspiration in that respect.
“1) To study the Buddha Way is to study the self.
2) To study the self is to forget the self.
3) To forget the self is to be enlightened by the ten thousand
dharmas.
4) To be enlightened by the ten thousand dharmas is to free
one’s body and mind and those of others. No trace of

21
 enlightenment remains, and this traceless enlightenment is
continued forever.”10

PREPARING FOR PRACTICE – RAISING BODHI-MIND

As we are preparing to practice the Four Modes of Meditation, it

would be best to make a conscious effort to envision a connection
with everyone who is, has been, or will be, engaged in Buddhist
practice. I think it is very important to be aware of other people, even
if you are sitting by yourself. Dogen Zenji often encourages us to
“raise the bodhi mind”, the mind that wants to awaken and to
awaken others, and this is a very natural thing to do. In fact, one day
we may realize that we are already one with everyone and everything!
So our meditation can spread out endlessly and radiate out to all
beings. Acknowledging the energy of our bodhi-mind gives us the
impetus to engage in practice. We are studying the mind, which is
not some dead object – it is a living organism, and our mindset or
intention will influence how we go about our investigation and what
we will discover.
By raising bodhi-mind you sign up for an experiment. That takes a
lot of faith, and it is good to remember that you are not the first one
to volunteer. You are just the next one in a long line of practitioners
who have benefited immensely from following the Buddhist path.
Here in the West, we have joined this ancient tradition relatively
recently and, in a sense, we are all pioneers. You may not have seen
many examples of people who have gone through the whole process
and have found their bodhisattva calling. So it may seem difficult to
muster faith in this experiment. But faith often arises by itself. The
kind we need happens to be innate – all we have to do is to allow it to

22
fill our hearts. All four modes of meditation can help us in that
respect.

THE FIRST MODE – HARMONIZING BODY AND MIND

To study the Buddha Way is to study the self

Now that we have really set our minds to practice, it is time to adopt
the proper posture and enter the first mode of meditation. Among
other things, this step ensures that our meditation will not be merely
a mental affair. One of the things I really appreciate about the
Japanese style of seated meditation is the emphasis on physical
posture. We may need diligence, patience, and regular stretching
exercises to learn how to adopt it properly but, in my own
experience, it is worth the effort. The posture in which Shakyamuni
Buddha reportedly attained realization does hold mysterious power:
something is transmitted just by assuming that position.
For sitting in a cross-legged position, we use a firm round cushion
called a zafu. It is best to sit on the front half of the zafu and to allow
both knees to touch the floor, which makes for a strong triangular
foundation. This also allows the pelvis to tilt forward slightly, so that
the spine can follow its natural curve. In the Burmese variation, both
feet rest just in front of you. In the half-lotus position, one foot is
placed on top of the other thigh, while in full lotus, both feet are
placed on the opposite thighs. It is usually recommended to alternate
the placement of the feet with each sitting period, to prevent possible
imbalances in your posture in the long run.

23
You can also sit in the seiza (kneeling) position, either on a cushion or
on a meditation bench. In general, this posture is easier on the legs,
but it provides less of a strong base than the cross-legged positions. If
you need to use a chair, sit up straight without leaning against the
back, while having your feet flat on the floor, not too far apart.
Always make sure that your knees are in a lower position than your
hips.
The next step involves finding the right balance. This takes practice
and can always be refined. First, drop your whole upper body
forward, arch your lower back and lift up your head. Then rock
backward and bend your whole spine, as if you were slowly sinking
into a couch, and relax your head toward your chest. Now come
forward again and arch your lower back once more. Repeat these two
opposite movements several times, paying special attention to how
your pelvis tilts forward and backward.
It is very important to notice that the pelvis is not a fixed unit, and
that the way it is positioned determines the curve of your spine. We
want our posture to be upright and as well-balanced as possible, but
without becoming rigid. Now, sway your upper body to the left and
to the right, bending over to one side and then to the other, and also
gently loosen up your neck and shoulders – as if you want to prove
to yourself that you are a flexible person. Close your eyes for a few
moments as you continue. Then slowly make the movements smaller
and smaller, until you come to stillness, and experience a sense of
real balance.

24
 RELAXED AND ALERT

When it comes to our meditation posture, my favorite analogy is that

of tuning an instrument like a guitar: the strings should not be too
tight, but not too loose either. The idea is to sit upright, but with the
least possible muscle effort, so that we can be completely alert and
completely relaxed at the same time. Usually, these two do not go
together very well. When we are alert, we may not be so relaxed;
when we are relaxed, we may not be so alert. But a balance between
these two is quite natural. If it does not feel that way at this point, we
just need to practice.
Not only is it possible to be alert and relaxed simultaneously, true
alertness requires relaxation because when we are all tensed up we
are not ready to respond freely to unexpected situations. In principle,
a truly relaxed state of alertness does not depend on any specific
physical position. However, the Zen meditation posture happens to
be one that is highly conducive to this state. We can relax because of
our stable and balanced foundation, and the upright spine helps us to
stay alert. One supports the other. While it might look very difficult
at first, it is the easiest posture for establishing the kind of balance we
are aiming for. This form of sitting meditation can be seen as a
starting point for meditation in action.
The way we hold our hands is also important. Place your left hand on
top of your right hand, with just the fingers overlapping and the
thumbs gently touching so that they form a nice oval, then let both
hands rest in your lap. Buddhism has many specific hand positions
called mudras, and this one is often used for Zen meditation. The
mudra should be placed an inch or so under the navel –
corresponding to our hara, or center of gravity, in our lower
abdomen. The mudra should not sag down too far and not be held up

25
too high either. In fact, the way we hold the mudra shows very clearly
whether we are managing to maintain a good balance between
relaxation and alertness.
Now we move on to the next exercise, which can not only enhance
our physical sense of balance but can also have a great effect on our
mental state. From your balanced seated position, stretch out your
spine toward the ceiling as far as you can. Imagine that you are being
pulled up by a rope that is attached to the top of your head – not
quite in the center but more towards the back of your head.
Consequently, your chin does not go up but is lowered a little. As
you are doing this, breathe in deeply through your nose until you are
fully stretched out. Then exhale through your mouth with a long
deep sigh: “Ahhhhh…” Meanwhile, thoroughly relax the muscles of
your face, your chin, your neck, your shoulders, your chest, your
arms, all the way down to your feet. Visualize your center of
attention – which is often up in the “control room” of our heads –
slowly descending to your lower abdomen, right behind your mudra.
I sometimes imagine my head as a sink full of water that has the plug
pulled out: simply because of gravity, the water goes down and
leaves the sink empty.
Again, breathe in through your nose and pull yourself up to the
ceiling. Now breathe out again with a long, deep sigh. Meanwhile,
maintain your upright, balanced posture. Breathe in and out like this
a few more times – this is a very important part of the first mode of
meditation and helps us to become aware of our whole physical
being. Doing this can feel so good that you want to sink through the
floor. If that happens, pull yourself up again a little bit from the top
of your head, while making sure that your center of gravity remains
in your lower abdomen.

26
Ideally speaking, the back of your head should be in the same vertical
field as the back of your upper body, and the chin should be tucked
in slightly. The upper arms can be relaxed just alongside the chest, so
that there is no tension in the shoulders, while the lower arms
maintain the mudra. In the Soto Zen school, it is recommended to
keep your eyes half open, gazing at an area a few feet in front of you.
It is best not to zoom in on any specific spot, but to allow a
panoramic perspective, with no particular focus point. The tongue is
placed against the upper palate just behind the teeth, once you have
swallowed excess saliva several times.
Now take a moment to enjoy this delicately balanced meditation
posture and the sensation of being alert yet relaxed at the same time.
Just be present, as fully as you can manage at this point. You will
have to accept that your posture needs a regular update, perhaps
once or twice during each half-hour sitting period. When you start to
feel rigid or uptight, or when you are all up in your head and
besieged by all kinds of thoughts, breathe out deeply once more,
allow your attention to go down to your lower abdomen again, and
relax. When you find yourself sinking into relaxation too deeply – to
the point where you start slouching and dreaming away – pull
yourself up again to regain your alertness.

BREATHING THROUGH IT ALL

After you have taken your initial deep breaths, breathe calmly and
naturally. Do not make the inhalation and exhalation extra-long or
deep. Feel the breath flowing in and out, especially in your lower
abdomen. As you do so, it may be tempting to start to control the
breath and dictate its flow. But the plan here is simply to follow the

27
breath with your awareness, not to lead it. Stay with the inhalations
and exhalations, almost as if you are listening to your own breath
from the inside. Breathe in and out very quietly and be intimately
aware of the rhythm of your breath. You want to fully experience
how it operates.
When you experience your breath like this, try to visualize it
expanding further, to your back and your hips, to your knees and
your feet. Then, let the breath move to your shoulders and head.
Allow all the parts of your body to breathe in and out. Oxygen goes
to all the cells of our system, so one could say that our whole body is
involved in our breathing. Everything is included in the inhalation
and exhalation. You can visualize breath going right through you,
through all the pores of the skin. Just give yourself completely to the
breath, like good musicians give themselves completely to their
music. At some point, you do not hear the musician anymore and
you forget the instrument that is being played – you hear only music.
So here too, at some point, there is only the breath; nothing else. This
is one way to start developing samadhi, a meditative state of mind in
which subject and object are not separated.
Sometimes, when you really cannot seem to concentrate on your
breathing, it may be helpful to count the breaths. Many meditation
manuals mention it and often recommend to first count both the
inhalations and exhalations and at a later stage only the exhalations,
from one to ten and then starting again with one. This technique
makes it easier to focus and lays a sound foundation for further
meditation practice. It is something we can always fall back on. Yet in
my experience, it also has shadow sides, especially when practiced
over long periods of time and without the inclusion of any other
elements of training. While concentrating on counting, you may end
up suppressing thoughts and feelings, and this can be damaging in

28
the long run. You could even miss out on what you would ultimately
like to dig up: unconditional love and compassion. Counting can also
become a mere mental – and almost mechanical – exercise that allows
the mind to go all over the place. If you feel this happening, it would
be best to start to visualize every number being written over your
whole body, and to imagine breathing right through each of them.
As you continue to sit in this way, you may become more acutely
aware of physical sensations, such as pain in your knees or lower
back, as well as mental sensations, such as memories, worries, and so
on. Strong emotions can come up too, because there is probably more
openness of mind than we usually allow. Some of these may be
familiar to you, while others may hit you as a total surprise.
In any case, whatever comes up, we just breathe through it in the
same way we do with the physical sensations. This is possible
because the breath happens to be very strong – even stronger than
our will. Is it not amazing that we breathe throughout the night while
sleeping? We may have some control over our breathing, but not
much, really. Imagine you are tired of life and would like to put an
end to it. For sure you would not manage by just holding your
breath! It is impossible. So, we can really trust the breath. In the first
mode of meditation, it becomes the carrier of everything that arises in
the mind – whether it be happy or sad, pleasurable or painful,
exciting or totally boring. The breath gives you the confidence to let
everything come up.

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 INVITING EVERYTHING IN

Your mindset in this mode of meditation can be compared to that of a

receptionist who welcomes guests at a party. They ring the bell or
knock on the door – you open it, take their coats, and show them the
way to the “breathing party”. Although some may look nice and
attractive and others ugly or even repulsive, it is not your position to
judge or discriminate. You may ask their names, but you do not
address their personal lives or ask impertinent questions. Whether
they are familiar faces or complete newcomers, you welcome the
“guests” into the breath – one after the other.
This means that the pain in your knees, a strong memory, an
unexpected train of thought, a fit of anger, some inexplicable joy,
sadness, or fear – all end up sharing the same quality. It is not that
these thoughts, feelings, or sensations disappear; they just become
surprisingly manageable as they are absorbed into the breath. The
result can be quite stunning. Rather than acting like a victim of
obsessive thoughts and emotions, you now take on the position of a
responsible receptionist. You let everybody in, confident that the
party will not run out of hand or become completely dominated by
one of the more outspoken characters.
When you repeat this entire course of action over and over again, not
only does your whole body start to feel like breath, but so does your
whole mind. In this process, body and mind become harmonized.
This is an extremely important step, because the other three modes of
meditation rely on this harmony. Meditation can easily become just a
mental activity, and then it will not have many lasting effects, other
than promoting a temporary sense of relaxation or a heightened state
of concentration. You may end up having some insight, but if your
whole system is not involved, it just will not go very deep. It is only

30
when body and mind are completely involved that we can start to
work on our habitual patterns. Meditating on the breath is a
concentration practice, of course, but we also get to know ourselves
better and may discover things we might otherwise never find out
about. This is essential for our progress through the subsequent
modes of meditation, culminating in Bodhisattva activity.
There seems to be a notion that meditation should be totally
spontaneous or natural and that effort should not be required.
Sometimes it is even advertised as the ultimate relaxation device. As
we have seen already, relaxation does play an important role in Zen
meditation and it must be said that there are people who have had
spontaneous insights that seemed to just come out the blue – without
any effort. Yet for most of us, strong determination and great
diligence are required to really cut through all the noise and static
that prevents us from hearing our true bodhisattva calling.
Although much of what arises in the mind is irrelevant, some things
which are important may not arise so easily. So, sometimes it would
be wise to purposely bring up certain issues in your meditation –
things that have been suppressed or that you sense need some more
attention, such as difficulties at home or at work. The relaxing aspect
of the first mode of meditation can be soothing, so do not be
surprised when resistance comes up. Yet at some point it is important
to face these problems and to include them in the breath like
everything else.
Many people encounter unexpected restlessness and resistance when
they meditate. It is important to know that it is possible to really
experience our restlessness, while we are sitting still and remaining
calm. Meditation, even in this first mode, can already be quite
intense. It is the beginning of a process of transformation. We come
up against deeply ingrained patterns and try to be aware of them, so

31
it is no wonder that our body and mind sometimes protest. When
restlessness comes up, simply allow yourself to experience it. Then
you may notice that being restless is just a sensation, and that it is not
permanent. Any sensation or emotional state develops for a while
and then subsides. It is amazing what we can go through in a half
hour: we can be on top of the world and suddenly fall into the
deepest pit! We can feel extremely confused one moment and
completely at peace in the next. The impermanence of thoughts,
feelings, and sensations is very important to notice. None of them last
forever. In the first mode of meditation, we face these phenomena as
they arise, persist for some time, and then disappear. Realizing this
helps us to face the endless variety of our mental and emotional
manifestations with more equanimity.
When we are going through this process, we can see more and more
aspects of ourselves. Remember, according to Dogen Zenji, to study
the Buddha Way is to study the self. So, we let our inner voices speak
up, without trying to interfere with them. The function of the first
mode of meditation is to simply acknowledge whatever happens to
arise without being partial or biased.
Although we should not allow ourselves to digress from the focus on
the breath too easily, there are exceptions. Perhaps you suddenly
think of an old friend who needs your attention, find an unexpected
solution for a problem at work, or discover what blocks you from
communicating with certain family members more freely. It would be
wise to take note of those messages before returning to the focus on
the breath. Insights can come to us at any moment. There is
something completely unpredictable about it. Even small insights
gained during sitting meditation can prompt us to respond to life
situations more appropriately.

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It must be admitted, though, that in the first mode of meditation we
tend to stay on the surface of the mind. There is much that remains
hidden in its deeper layers. Even if we study the self really hard, we
may not go beyond what is relatively easy to recognize. It is always
possible that something suddenly speaks to us in a voice we never
heard before but most of the time we probably stay within the
familiar parameters of our conditioned mind. Nevertheless, this is
where we need to start. It is like the tip of an iceberg. If we want to
see more of the iceberg, we must make a deep dive – and that is
exactly the purpose of the second mode of meditation.
It is important to remember that we can return to the first mode of
meditation at any time; quite often we may even need to, especially
when the going gets rough. To return to the analogy of driving:
Imagine you are happily driving your car over smooth and easy
roads, when at some point you unexpectedly find yourself on a
bumpy part. This happened to me often while traveling to retreats in
the deserts of Southern Utah. We would drive for hours on paved
roads but would suddenly hit upon a dirt track. It would sometimes
require shifting all the way back to first gear. The same applies to
meditation. When you are working on mode two or three and
encounter a difficult mental or emotional landscape, it may be wise to
go back to mode one. This is not necessarily a sign of weakness or
immaturity – it is just a sound decision.

THE SECOND MODE – TURNING YOUR OWN LIGHT INWARD

To study the self is to forget the self

Practicing the first mode of meditation, we already have a chance to

discover things about ourselves that we had not seen before. Yet the

33
second mode of meditation can take us beyond what we have learned
so far. In fact, it involves forgetting the self we usually identify with
through a complete reversal of our attention. In many scriptures this
is called “turning your own light inward.” When we do this, we dive
into the deeper recesses of our own mind. To make this happen, we
need to make sure that body and mind are harmonized. It is essential
that all our faculties are involved. To use an analogy, imagine the
captain of a grand old sailing vessel wants to make a U-turn. He
needs all hands on deck and starts to yell orders. If his crew members
are sleeping or drunk in their cabins, not much will happen. They all
have to be present and work together as a team to make such a
drastic maneuver successful.
So, before you try to enter this second mode, bring your focus back to
the breath for a moment and allow it to reverberate throughout your
whole system. Feel the weight of your body and relax, pull your
spine up slightly and raise your awareness. Now choose a sound in
your environment – I have often worked with the sound of passing
cars. You do not have to like or dislike it; you do not even have to
give it a name. In fact, you do not have to do anything but just allow
the sound to go through you as you did with the breath. Then, turn
your own light inward and ask yourself the question: What is it that
hears this sound? Where is this sound being registered? Feel free to
close your eyes during this mode of meditation. Visualize eyes over
your whole body, and even all around you, and let them all look in.
There must be something that hears – what is it? But do not start
thinking – just look in directly! Of course, you could answer “It’s
me”. But when you look closely, what is that “me”? Again, what we
are doing here is reversing our perception. You turn away from what
you hear and look towards the one who is doing the hearing. Rather
than starting with yourself and reaching out to the sound, you start

34
with the sound and turn inward. What do you find there? Let us say
we call it “mind”. Then, look into it more deeply and investigate:
what is this mind, really? How big is it, how far does it extend? Can
you say anything in response?
The question, “what is it that hears?” is really just a traffic sign. There
is no need to bother too much with the sign itself. The main point is
to turn around and go in the assigned direction. You push yourself
away from the sound as you would propel yourself from the edge of
the swimming pool when doing a flip-turn to start another lap. Over
time, it is possible to shorten the question to “what is it?” or “what?”
or even just the question mark – as long as you manage to really turn
your own light inward.
Now, however intently you look in, you will not find anything. In
fact, if you find something, it means that you have not looked hard
enough – or even worse, you ended up looking in the wrong
direction and got caught up in the sense objects you were trying to
turn away from. Some people may wonder: Why would I look in if
there is nothing to find? But this is not about finding something. It is
the very act of looking that is important. This can have a tremendous
effect on us, especially if we do it over and over again. Imagine, a
jogger passes by and you ask him, “Where are you going?” and he
says, “I’m not going anywhere, I’m just running.” “Well, you must be
going somewhere; why else would you run so fast?” “Come on, I just
enjoy running!” Clearly, runners run for the running; the running
itself has an effect.
So here too, turning your own light inward in itself has a specific
effect. It would be best to do it without any expectation and to
completely forget yourself in the act of looking in. This generates a
special kind of samadhi that can be increased by continuous training
and allows you to go to ever-deeper levels of the mind. At some

35
point, all boundaries between outside and inside can suddenly drop
away, and your mind opens up beyond imagination, to the point
where nothing is excluded.
As I see it, this second mode of meditation is the most
quintessentially Zen of all the Four Modes. “Turning your own light
inward” is a well-known expression, but unfortunately it can be
easily misunderstood as an encouragement to study thoughts,
feelings, and other sensations that arise in the mind, or to experience
only a deep sense of stillness. But the point here is to turn your
attention to the mind itself, to gain direct access to the undefinable
container of all those thoughts, feelings, and sensations. None of the
six senses can take us there, because we are not trying to perceive or
understand something. We turn around and focus on whatever it is
that is doing all the perceiving.
Looking inward in this way does not come easily to most of us, but at
some point it can become the most natural thing to do. It is like
returning to our true home, and that is what we really yearn for. We
have been out there long enough. For how many lifetimes have we
been roaming around and losing our way? Now it is time to go back
to where we really belong. And it is right here, within us.
Nevertheless, we are so “glued” to the objects of our senses, that we
will not easily manage to turn away from them. Doing so requires
loosening up from our ideas of how things are, our projections and
habitual patterns of understanding. Moreover, letting go of those
ideas implies letting go of how we usually see and experience
ourselves. No wonder that, alongside a strong longing, resistance
may come up as there is a sense of heading in a dangerous direction.
When you look directly into the mind, there are no coordinates. In
fact, you are supposed to lose yourself. As Dogen Zenji says, “to study
the self is to forget the self.” Looking in, you are going to face what

36
the Korean master Seung Sahn calls “don’t-know-mind.” 11 This can
be experienced as a very dark place. We do not really know where
we will end up and may wonder what things will look like upon our
return. Yet if we really want to make the transformation we have
been talking about, we need to enter this darkness. In any case, if you
feel that thoughts and emotions are getting the better of you, just go
back to the first mode of meditation and regain your momentum.
After ten minutes or so, try again.

CLEARING OUT OUR PERCEPTIVE SYSTEM

In principle, turning your own light inward is a very natural thing to

do and it should not necessarily require any effort. It involves the
kind of questions that even small children can have. A long time ago
– I must have been seven or eight years old – I was waiting outside
for a friend whose family owned a shoe shop in our street. At some
point, I ended up looking at my own reflection in the glass door of
the shop; I still remember my hairdo and what I wore that day. As I
was staring at myself, what came up spontaneously – but also quite
urgently – was the question: “Who are you, who is it that is standing
there?” Something inside of me whispered: “I don’t know, nobody
knows!”. The effect this had on me is hard to put into words, but it
left a lasting impression. Looking back, it was a bit disconcerting and
made me feel quite lonely but acknowledging such a question also
gave me an unfamiliar sense of confidence.
Of course, it is tempting to dismiss such experiences, or even try to
suppress them, as they do not quite fit into our usual frame of mind.
Yet many people I have talked with over the years have told me
similar stories. Often, they became aware of their relevance as they

37
entered into deeper states of meditation. And although we cannot
force insights to occur, we can make it more likely for them to
happen, if we open our mind and dare to question ourselves.
Think of an airplane that is running out of fuel. The pilot really wants
to land, but there is one problem: the runway is not empty. There are
other planes sitting there, as well as trucks, carts, and piles of
suitcases, and many people are dashing back and forth. Although the
actual landing of the plane is not in our control, the one thing we can
do is to clear the runway, so that the pilot feels safe to land – which
he will inevitably do. Now, what is it that clutters our mental
runway? That will become clearer as our practice deepens and, over
time, we gain the confidence to face and see through our mental and
emotional obstructions.
The second mode of meditation is an active approach to clearing out
our whole system and it is recommended by many of the great
masters. In his famous meditation manual the “Fukan zazengi”, Dogen
Zenji urges the reader to “Take the backward step and turn your own
light inward.”12 The original text features four characters that are
pronounced as “E Ko Hen Sho” in Japanese and literally mean: “Turn
your light”, “reverse”, and “illuminate”. Exactly the same characters
are used in a famous passage from the Record of Master Linji:
“It is because you cannot stop your mind which runs on
seeking everywhere that a patriarch said, ‘Bah, superior men!
Searching for your heads with your heads!’ When at these
words you turn your own light in upon yourselves and never
seek elsewhere, then you’ll know that your body and mind are
not different from those of the patriarch-buddhas and on the
instant have nothing to do – this is called ‘obtaining the
dharma’.”13

38
Other great masters also articulate this principle very clearly.
Examples can be found in “Dharma Talk on One-Mind”14 by the
fourteenth-century Japanese master Bassui Tokusho and in “Huatou
and the Doubt Sensation”15 by the modern Chinese master Hsu Yun16.
Yet the earliest, most beautiful and most detailed description of
“turning one’s own light inward” I have found so far is in the
Surangama Sutra.17 According to this sutra, the Buddha asked a group
of twenty-five bodhisattvas and arhats how they attained realization.
Many reported that they used the method of turning their own light
inward, working with different senses and sense objects. Bhadrapala,
for example, says that when he and his sixteen Bodhisattva
companions entered a bath, they all attained enlightenment upon
touching the water. That is why he believes that the contemplation of
tangible objects is the best approach. Other bodhisattvas used the
faculties of sight, or smell, or taste in different ways, but with similar
results.
Avalokiteshvara Bodhisattva, or Kanzeon, declares that she attained
realization by means of the acoustic faculty. Apparently, she could
not hear much at first, but after she had turned her own light inward
with the question “What is it that hears?” all her habitual hearing
stopped. Instead, she suddenly heard what was most important for
her to hear: the voices of people who were suffering and in need of
her help. After listening to the stories of all twenty-five bodhisattvas
and arhats, the Buddha asks Manjushri, the bodhisattva of non-dual
wisdom, which method would be most effective for leading beings to
enlightenment, both at that time and also after his passing away into
parinirvana. In response, Manjushri selects Kanzeon’s practice as the
best method.
So, this is an open invitation to each and every one of us. We can all
learn to redirect the faculty of hearing inward so that it returns to its

39
source. This activates our capacity to hear what is most essential and
– according to the sutra – unlocks our original understanding. Most
miraculously, not only our faculty of hearing but also our other sense
faculties will be freed from habitual patterns of perception. This
applies to the cognitive mind as well, as in Buddhism this is often
seen as the sixth sense faculty. In other words, if we really follow
through on this practice, we will – at some point – not only hear
differently but also see, taste, smell, feel, and even think differently!

BEYOND THINKING?

One could wonder, what is the role of the cognitive mind in Zen
practice? Sometimes it seems to be rather underestimated, as if all
thinking is basically wrong. But I beg to differ and believe that some
of us could perhaps benefit from a little more thinking! Admittedly,
when we first start practicing meditation, our thinking mind often
presents us with a lot of confusion. We are continuously tossed
around by all kinds of conflicting thoughts. Trying to make sense of
them, we resort to dubious judgments and easily fall victim to our
own mental machinations.
In my experience, it helps to make a clear distinction between having
thoughts and the process of thinking. It is completely natural for the
mind to have thoughts. If we let them follow their natural course,
they just come and go; however positive or negative they may be,
they have no inherent substance. Thoughts are not really the problem
– it is more the way we organize them that can become problematic.
Thinking, then, is the way we respond to our thoughts and string
them together, often following strong habitual patterns. These
patterns can become so tightly interwoven that they form an

40
impenetrable mesh and, in the process, create the illusion of a
substantial self. Turning our own light inward with body and mind
harmonized is the most direct way to cut through that mesh and to
reach deeper layers of the mind. This creates space and allows
alternative combinations of thoughts and fresh perspectives to arise.
But it takes determination to do so.
The continuous stream of news, advertisements, and general
overload of information that we constantly receive on our digital
devices does not make it any easier. To me, all this is like an outward
expression of the workings of our own mind, and it can easily
reinforce certain patterns we already have or keep us occupied on a
very superficial level. Periods of mental idleness – or even good old
boredom – would give real creative thinking more of a chance.
That is why in our practice silence is seen as a precious commodity.
Particularly during sesshins (Zen retreats) silence is observed as much
as possible. Not speaking to one another limits the influx of
information and gives the senses, including the cognitive mind, some
breathing space. At Zen River, sesshin participants are also asked to
switch off their digital devices and not read anything other than the
texts that are part of the liturgy or the subject of the daily Dharma
talks. Interestingly enough, practicing together without the usual
means of verbal communication gives us a chance to connect with
ourselves and others on surprisingly deep levels, and allows the
mind to explore new vistas.
When the Chinese Zen master Yakusan Igen was asked by one of his
students, “What do you think when you sit?” The master answered,
“I think of not-thinking.” The student then asked, “How do you think
of not-thinking?” The answer was, “Beyond thinking.” This dialogue
is quoted by Dogen Zenji in his “Fukan zazengi”18 as an illustration of
the quintessence of zazen.

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“Beyond thinking” (hi shi ryo) has been the subject of much
discussion and speculation. The English translations vary and have
included “non-thinking”, “different from thinking”, and “letting
thoughts go”, but the most common rendering is “beyond thinking”.
These terms generally seem to refer to a non-dual approach to
thought processes in zazen. We are encouraged neither to suppress
our thoughts nor to pursue them, but to just let them come and go
naturally. Yet the word “beyond” can be easily associated with a
special state of mind that is even more sophisticated than thinking –
and I have always doubted that this meaning is intended here. So I
have tried to explore other interpretations.
Yakusan’s first answer “I think of not-thinking” (fu shi ryo) seems
relatively easy to understand as fu is a negation while shi ryo is
usually translated as thinking. Yet here it does not necessarily imply
the absence of thoughts. As mentioned before, it is the function of our
mind to produce thoughts. Just as the surface of water will never be
completely still for long – whether we like it or not – there is always a
chance for thoughts to come up unexpectedly and we do not try to
obstruct their natural flow. Keizan Zenji conveys it beautifully:
“Though we find clear waters, ranging to the vast blue sky in
Autumn, how can it compare with the hazy moon on a Spring
night? Most people want to have it pure white, but sweep as
you will, you cannot empty the mind.”19
Muso Soseki made a similar point when referring to the following
statement from the Sutra of Complete Enlightenment: “To stir up
thinking is delusion; to stop thinking is also delusion.” 20 So, what can
we do? According to my interpretation, fu shi ryo can also be taken as
“think the unthinkable”. In other words, direct your attention to what
cannot be captured by thoughts – the one who produces those

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thoughts. That makes a lot of sense to me. But of course, the next
question is then, how to do that?
“Beyond thinking” (hi shi ryo) is the conclusive answer of the master.
Hi is also a negation, but more with the connotation of “anti-”,
“against”, or “in opposition to”. In my view, this relates directly to
the phrase we have looked at already, “Turn your own light inward”
(E ko hen sho). It is an encouragement to go against rather than with
the flow of thoughts. Instead of following the current or adopting a
neutral position on the riverbank, we take thoughts as a starting
point, head upstream, and return to their source. So Yakusan's
answer can perhaps best be understood as a question: Who am I
before any thought arises?

A MYSTERIOUS PIVOT

In his long poem Guidepost for the Hall of Pure Bliss, the twelfth-
century Chinese master Hongzhi says: “Deep wisdom is beyond
forms, wisdom illuminates the inside of the circle,” and “Intimately
conveying spiritual energy, it subtly turns the mysterious pivot.”21
The Song of the Precious Mirror Samadhi, composed by the ninth-
century Chinese Master Tozan and often recited during Soto Zen
ceremonies, opens with: “The dharma of suchness is intimately
transmitted by buddhas and ancestors.” A few lines later, it says:
“The meaning does not reside in words, but a pivotal moment brings
it forth.”22
What we can realize by turning our own light inward defies any
description. That is why some of our ancestors have come up with
curious expressions such as “emptiness”, “the absolute”, “the forever
unnamable It”23, or “A jet-black iron ball [that] speeds through the

43
dark night!”24. Apparently, it is beyond any of our sense faculties.
When asked about this non-dual Dharma, even the otherwise so
talkative bodhisattva Vimalakirti did not say anything; what is
recorded is his “thunderous silence”25. Nevertheless, the Dharma of
suchness is intimately transmitted throughout the ages and a pivotal
moment can bring it forth and allow it to function freely.
As we have seen, when we really turn our own light inward, all
notions about inward or outward vanish, and the mind connects with
the whole universe seamlessly. But we had to go so-called “inward”
to experience this. And remember, according to the Surangama Sutra,
doing this can miraculously free us from the conditioned patterns
that usually keep our senses – including our cognitive faculty –
firmly in their grip. Rather than the victim of our thoughts, we
suddenly become the master. With our senses purified, we land into
a new world – everything is the same, yet completely transformed.
To our surprise, we suddenly find ourselves at home.
Returning home generates a tremendous sense of relief, but it takes
daring to go there. Many of us have to overcome all sorts of fears,
because we really dive into the unknown. Yet this is exactly where
we must go to find some peace. The stormy waves we sometimes
encounter are only on the surface of our mind. We can just leave
them there, going up and down. Sometimes they are high and at
other times low, but that is largely beyond our control. Our
aspiration is not to try to quieten those waves but to cut right through
them and dive down to the deeper layers of our mind.
If you really do, you will see that it is not as scary as you thought.
Lately, I have been greatly inspired by the ninth-century Chinese
Master Zongmi, who describes the essence of our mind as “ever-
present tranquility”26. This essence is not an empty, lifeless vacuum
or a dead end, but turns out to be something vibrant, brimming with

44
energy. There is an active side to emptiness, and Master Zongmi calls
that “ever-present awareness”. It manifests itself as innovative ideas
and fresh perspectives and can reveal alternative approaches to our
life. After we have gone through the Second Mode of Meditation and
have reaffirmed our inner spaciousness, our thoughts begin to make
more sense. This can hit us as a big surprise. Thoughts do not gang
up on us anymore but line up neatly, ready to co-operate. In the long
run, they start to work as a team, become more and more creative,
and give us a sense of what to do and in what direction to go.

FORGETTING THE SELF

Once, during a riveting talk in England, I heard Maezumi Roshi

exclaim: “Who are you? How come you are there? Where did you
come from, standing there? If you present anything in particular as
the answer, it is not it.”27
When we are able forget ourselves, it is easier to enter into situations
that seem totally outlandish at first. The annual United Nations Day of
Vesak conferences in Southeast Asia have given me a prime
opportunity to forget where I came from in the span of only a few
days. At the last conference I attended, there were thousands of
Buddhist representatives of almost one hundred different
nationalities, all dressed in their particular outfits and
communicating in their various languages. Meeting them was like
traveling not only to other countries but also to other time periods –
the entire history of Buddhism was present. Some of the masters I
met seemed to have walked straight out of the eighth or ninth
century. It made me feel ancient too, and we could easily find
common ground.

45
During those Vesak celebrations I have been able to make many new
friends, and some of them have visited Zen River Temple over the
last few years. Once we welcomed a whole group of Chinese monks
and laypeople. They stayed and practiced with us for two days and
became totally engaged. At the beginning of my first lecture, I looked
into the faces of the audience and could not help but laugh. It must
have been such a funny sight: a Dutch guy in Japanese garb speaking
English to a Chinese audience!
In a Dharma-hall discourse in the Eihei Koroku, Dogen Zenji says:
“Sometimes I, Eihei, enter the ultimate state and offer profound
discussion, simply wishing for you all to be steadily intimate in your
mind field.”28 How can we be intimate in our mind field, especially
when it can suddenly expand to completely unknown territories?
Later in the text, Dogen Zenji adds: “Sometimes I enter the samadhi
of self-fulfillment (jijuyu zanmai), simply wishing you all to trust what
your hands can hold.”29
“Jijuyu zanmai” is one of my favorite expressions. The first part of that
term, “ji-ju-yu”, can mean something like “to receive what you really
need” or “to receive your position”. So, it is joyful and highly
fulfilling. In other words, you end up where you need to be, where
you feel at home, and happy with what you are doing. Yet, jijuyu
zanmai is not just a momentary experience. It also concerns finding
your own role over and over again, in many different circumstances.

The second part, “zan-mai”, means samadhi. We have used this term a
few times before and it may now need some further clarification. We
usually define samadhi as a concentrated state of mind in which
subject and object are not separated. Many people have some
experience of this. For example, an artist can focus completely on the
act of painting, but for something truly creative to occur the self must

46
drop away. There needs to be a moment of absolute oneness of
painter, paint, painting, subject, and time. Samadhi is also essential in
music, dance, theater, sports, and in other activities that involve both
body and mind. It is something that can and has to be cultivated over
time.

In our first mode of meditation, we focus on the breath and may at

some point “become one with it”. Yet, the second mode of meditation
requires another kind of samadhi. If you really turn your own light
inward, you do not concentrate on any “thing” but focus hard on the
spaciousness all sense objects arise from. As a result, the mind opens
up beyond all forms and you forget the self without being involved
in anything in particular. Consequently, you can transfer this selfless
attention to whatever needs it most in any given moment. In Dogen
Zenji’s Bendowa, this samadhi is identified as the criterion of what has
been transmitted throughout space and time.30 In this samadhi, we
forget our usual parameters and join the buddhas and ancestors. We
accept our real life – which is the life of everyone and everything –
and we become available to function in any way that suits the
situation at hand.

THE THIRD MODE – CLEAR OBSERVATION

To forget the self is to be enlightened by the ten thousand dharmas

If you have managed to turn your own light inward at least for some
time – at the beginning, three minutes is a good score – and have
experienced some inner spaciousness, you may be ready for a little
experiment. Slowly raise your right hand in front of you and just look
at it. If you had your eyes closed during the second mode of

47
meditation, now it is time to open them. Quietly gaze at your hand.
Start rotating your wrist, while bending and stretching the fingers,
and turn it in different directions – examine it closely. Imagine that
you are seeing your hand for the very first time, without any ideas,
preferences, or judgments. Just look. Look with a quiet sense of
wonder. What is this hand, really? I am using it all the time, but do I
ever give it proper attention? What does it try to tell me?
Now turn your eyes to other things in the room and let them enter
your awareness – look at a table or a chair, a clock or a teacup,
whatever happens to be in your field of vision. Also, spend some
time without fixating on anything in particular, and allow the
spaciousness of the room to mix with the spaciousness of your mind.
Then zoom in again on a nearby object. When I did this for the first
time, I happened to look at the floor and I still remember the texture
and color of it very clearly. After a few minutes, I involuntarily
reached out and started to stroke the floorboards with my hand, very
intimately – an unexpected but very strong affection arose in me.
Since then I love floors. I can look at them at any time. There is
something so humble about floors, they just lie there and kindly
support us. They even let us walk over them. So nowadays, when I
make a full bow, it is often just in appreciation of the floor. The two
of us have a special relationship and every now and then that needs
to be expressed. In this third mode of meditation, we look at things –
but it can feel as if things are looking at us, too.
If there are other people in the room where you are sitting, and it
would not disturb them, turn your attention to one of them – or to all
of them — without any agenda. How do they appear to you? And
how do you appreciate them? According to the scriptures, each one
of us is a bodhisattva, however much we hide or even deny it. We are

48
all members of the very same body, different arms and hands of
Kanzeon.
As you look at the so-called outside world, you can also look at your
inner world and become more intimately aware of thoughts, feelings,
memories, and other sensations that were obscured until now. Issues
that may have gone unnoticed in the first two modes of meditation
may suddenly reveal themselves. You could also take on a more
active role and not just wait for certain things to come to the fore but
invite them to enter your awareness. Just see what happens. Is there
any particular thought or worry in your mind right now that may
need closer attention? Something that you might usually try to avoid?
Even the trickiest problems can be addressed in this mode of
meditation. Because our perception is based on deep samadhi, we may
find highly creative solutions.

TO BE ENLIGHTENED BY THE TEN THOUSAND DHARMAS

Where we turned away from all sense objects in the Second Mode of
Meditation, we turn back to them in the third. But it is really like
entering a different realm. Since we have recognized that everything
we observe in our outer as well as inner world is empty of any
everlasting substance, our sensory system has been purified, and we
can now start to let everything and everyone speak to us in their very
own voice. In other words, after the world of form has been
recognized as fundamentally empty in the second mode of
meditation, in the third mode it is confirmed and appreciated in all
its phenomenal glory.
In fact, the more we realize that the forms we encounter have no
inherent substance, the more vividly they seem to present themselves

49
in the moment we observe them. If we do not stifle their vibrant
essence within a conceptual idea, they seem to become more and
more alive. Similarly, if we do not freeze our own fluid nature into a
fixed identity, we will be more ready to take on new roles and
responsibilities. Although this mode prepares us for Bodhisattva
activity, we should understand that it primarily involves a high
degree of receptivity. Rather than actively directing our attention to
the world around us, we simply allow the world to speak to us.

As Dogen Zenji phrases it: “To forget the self is to be enlightened by

the ten thousand dharmas”31. It is as if the notion of a separate,
substantial self takes up so much space that there is no room for
anything else. When this notion is seen through, everything suddenly
finds its proper position and its own voice. Contrary to what we may
have hoped at times, true enlightenment does not mean that all the
light is on “me”; in fact, the self is forgotten and recedes into utter
darkness. The light is on everything around us, so we can finally see
and hear things clearly – that is why this third mode of meditation is
called “clear observation”. Now we start to see what is truly in need
of our attention.

Buddhist scriptures often identify emptiness with the absolute side of

reality and forms with the relative side. According to our translation
of the “Sandokai”32 – a famous poem by the Chinese Master Sekito
Kisen that is part of the Zen liturgy – “encountering the absolute is
not yet enlightenment.” This means that enlightenment does not
merely consist of the realization of emptiness or absolute oneness,
but also of the actualization of this experience in the relative world of
forms. In order to be able to engage in Bodhisattva activity, we need
not only to have a direct insight into the intrinsic oneness of
everything and everyone, but also to recognize that everything and

50
everyone is uniquely different, and requires a different way of
functioning. It is only in the world of differences that we can really
make a difference.
The word “relative” can be confusing and demands some
elaboration. In the Dutch language, saying that something is relative
usually means that it is less important, that it is only of relative value.
And this attitude towards the phenomenal world may inadvertently
colour our view of certain aspects of the Buddhist path. The
“Sandokai” asserts that the relative truth is on a par with absolute
truth. Realizing that both sides are equally important unleashes
unexpected energy in ourselves and in the world of so-called
ordinary phenomena. It prepares us for appreciating the relative in a
completely new way. One could also say that emptiness stands for
essence, and forms for function; and one cannot go without the other.
So, although baked potatoes – as well as people – are fundamentally
empty, they do nourish us and we do enjoy them. They literally serve
a purpose, they have a specific function, and they help us function as
well.

FOLLOWING APPROPRIATELY AMID TRANSFORMATIONS

In the poem mentioned earlier, Master Honghzi expounds:

“Following appropriately amid transformations, the pure bliss is
unchanged.”33 Apparently, we can uncover something within
ourselves that is beyond imagination, which Honghzi eulogizes as
pure bliss. Every moment can be a turning point and, consequently,
in the process of Zen training our response to continuously changing
life situations can become more and more natural. It is not a matter of
achieving or attaining something, nor do we have to keep

51
progressing until we “get there”. It is more like shedding all kinds of
delusions and misconceptions that hinder our transformative
potential.
In another poem that praises the practice of meditation, Master
Hongzhi says: “[…] in this state of silent sitting, the mind clearly
perceives the details of sensory objects; yet as though transparent, no
constructed image is produced.”34
Working as an artist, I came to realize that all good paintings have a
transparent quality. However generously the paint is applied, the
result is a combination of fields that we can not only look at but also
look through. And at the same time, all parts of the artwork seem to
emit a light that shines towards us. In fact, it often feels as if the real
painting is not on the canvas but hangs a few inches in front of it –
visible only to those who have the eye to see it. The paint breathes
and creates a world we are directly part of. That is why Vermeer’s
Girl with the Pearl Earring moves so many people. Even Goya’s “black
paintings” emit light – however dark they may be, they radiate far
beyond the canvas and are able to touch the heart directly.
We can learn to look through all objects of our observation – both
within and without – because they happen to have a transparent
nature. It is only because of attachment and aversion – which arise
from a dualistic view of self and other – that we make things heavy
and opaque. Of course, whatever we strongly identify with is hard to
let go of, while whatever we dislike or resist we would like to see
disappear. It may therefore be tempting to hope that our problems
will simply evaporate during zazen and be gone forever. But in my
experience, that is not exactly the case. Things that did happen have
happened. Nonetheless, it is possible to see through them and
recognize their innately empty nature. And when we do this,
something shifts. Life’s events are clearly perceived and they just do

52
not occupy us so excessively anymore. They have been lit up and we
have been made lighter in the process as well.
When we confirm the openness and spaciousness of our own mind,
our vision of reality changes. We come to realize that what we
thought was reality, was heavily distorted by our habitual patterns,
ideas, and projections. We could not see what was really going on, so
no wonder we made so many mistakes. Now that we see our own
involvement in problematic events much more clearly, we are ready
to take responsibility for possible mistakes and missteps. In
particular, the third mode of meditation provides a precious
opportunity to go through our lives with increasing clarity and to
discover unresolved issues that may – consciously or unconsciously –
still burden us.
Starting with early childhood and moving all the way to the present
day, we can learn to acknowledge whatever or whoever has hurt us,
and whatever we have said or done to others that may have hurt
them and, as a result, also ourselves. By doing so, we can clear away
filters of projections that obscure our view and discover their illusory
nature. This helps us release defense mechanisms that block
compassionate action. It may be important to note here that this
whole process requires a context of actual practice, preferably
including close co-operation with a teacher and a group of fellow
participants.35
Speaking for myself, I have gone through the history of my life many
times – in as minute detail as possible – and retirement does not seem
to be in sight. It can be seen from many different perspectives, and
new narratives of my life keep presenting themselves – varying from
a tale of mishaps to a success story and everything in between. Yet it
has become clear to me that continuous meditation practice has an

53
illuminating effect and speeds up the process of coming to terms with
oneself, over and over again.
What I said earlier about our tendency to slavishly follow certain
patterns of thought may also be applied to our emotional life.
Feelings arise in a way similar to thoughts and, if we do not interfere
with them, they will come and go in quick succession. Even if we
recognize thoughts, memories and feelings as empty, some of them
turn out to be pretty convincing, and may seem to get even stronger
if we just allow them to be there. And they, too, serve a purpose,
showing us the various regions of our inner landscape. If we really
want to learn how to deal not only with ourselves but also with other
people, we had better become intimately familiar with all the hills
and valleys we often only half-consciously traverse.
If you never have managed to own up to your feelings of pain and
loss, and allowed yourself to be completely unhappy, how can you
understand other people who happen to feel that way? Conversely, if
you have never given yourself the chance to be completely happy,
how can you tune in to other people’s happiness? In our Zen training,
we try to cover all inner realms in order to communicate properly
with ourselves and others. And the experience that ultimately all
these feelings have no lasting substance helps us overcome our fear
to let them arise. This allows for more emotional flexibility. You can
learn to turn from happiness to sadness, from love to anger and back,
with a calm and composed mind.
Like thoughts, feelings in themselves should not present any
problems, however strange, perverse, or destructive they may seem.
The fact that I feel a strong urge to hit somebody does not mean that I
have to act upon it. In our practice, we can learn to be more aware of
our inner impulses and to allow ourselves some choice over which
ones to express. We sometimes find ourselves in circumstances that

54
beg for a particular emotional response, where other circumstances
would benefit from a completely different approach. However, we
are often on autopilot and our habitual emotional tendencies take
priority over other – possibly more viable – options, and we express
them in situations where they serve no real purpose.
Over time, we will be able to acknowledge and process those feelings
during zazen to such an extent that we no longer end up being their
victims but can use them in a skillful manner instead. Every emotion
can be clarified in the process of practice if we allow ourselves to
experience it with full awareness.
Muso Soseki asserts,
“The ancient masters taught that when walking, be fully aware of
walking; when sitting, be fully aware of sitting; when lying down,
be fully aware of lying down; when seeing or hearing, be fully
aware of seeing or hearing; when perceiving, be fully aware of
perceiving; when happy, be fully aware of the happiness; and
when angry, be fully aware of the anger.”36
The Tibetan master Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche emphatically states
that we should learn to work with even the most difficult emotions:
“[…] any state of mind, including the emotions, is a workable
situation, a reminder in the practice of meditation. We realize
that chaotic situations must not be rejected. Nor must we
regard them as regressive, as a return to confusion. We must
respect whatever happens to our state of mind. Chaos should
be regarded as extremely good news.”37
Particularly in the third mode of meditation, we can become aware of
deeper and more authentic feelings than we are familiar with.
Uncharted avenues of sadness, regret, and shame but also all-
embracing appreciation, love, and compassion may suddenly come

55
to the fore. They give us alternative directions for Bodhisattva
activity. As we allow them to guide our responses in daily life, a
complete transformation can start to take place. In order to
accommodate this and to become better acquainted with the full
range of our emotional landscape, it helps to learn how to express
unfamiliar feelings in a safe environment. Dokusan (private interview
with a Zen teacher) and a trustworthy community of fellow
practitioners provide good opportunities to do this.
The Zen tradition abounds with methods that help us to train our
clear observation and to practice expressing our insights in beneficial
speech and action. Koan training, which will be dealt with in more
detail later, is a good example of such a method. Koans are records of
dialogues – usually between a Zen master and a student – that
present the teaching in a nutshell. In zazen we use them as a
meditation device. One of the great challenges of koan practice is to
fully embody the characters involved, to learn to see through their
eyes, and to express their understanding in a direct manner – in
words or gestures – to one’s own teacher in dokusan. It is a practice
with an amazingly transformative power, which helps us gain a
clearer understanding of both the absolute and the relative sides of
reality. We have a rare opportunity not only to depart from
conditioned patterns of body, mind, and speech, but also to rise to
the occasion of expressing a new and clear voice, which is totally
liberating.
As we will see, other training elements – such as ritual – can add to
that effect. Just because of their beauty, the choreographies of the Soto
Zen ceremonies give us examples of how to transmute our often
rather clumsy comportment into a timeless expression of all-
pervasive harmony. Meanwhile, they help us practice clear
observation in action by inviting us to fulfill our specific function

56
within a group context. Koan practice and ritual are discussed in
more detail in the following chapters.
“To be enlightened by the ten thousand dharmas” has far-reaching
consequences. Instead of looking at the world as a rather incoherent
and often confusing collection of static forms, or focusing solely on
the inherent emptiness they all share, we start to notice that all things
are works in progress and that they perform a surprisingly beautiful
dance together. And since their fluidity is also the essence of who we
are ourselves, we can join that dance at any time. Even the most
ordinary things can suddenly become active partners that give
valuable cues about how to make the next move.
In other words, they show us what we could possibly do right here,
right now – considering the unique circumstances we find ourselves
in. Over time, it becomes clear that every moment offers unexpected
opportunities to rise to the occasion and express our true nature in a
fresh and authentic manner. We can become the artist of our own life.
However, the signals tend to be somewhat faint and may need to be
amplified. Nowadays, especially when confronted with difficult
circumstances, I often ask myself, what can I do now? How can I
possibly give the situation a positive turn? This is empowering and
helps me not to indulge in anger or fear, or in useless criticism.
Imagine an experienced soccer player who receives an awkward pass
from a teammate. He may be tempted to start yelling at him, but
instead finds a way to pass the ball unexpectedly to another player,
who somehow manages to score a goal. In other words, we can
discover surprising options for compassionate action when we keep
our head in the game.

57
 THE FOURTH MODE – BODHISATTVA ACTIVITY

To be enlightened by the ten thousand dharmas is to free one’s body and

mind and those of others. No trace of enlightenment remains, and this
traceless enlightenment is continued forever.

As the fourth mode concerns meditation in action, we could see it as

the most important one. In a way, it is only by actually doing
something that we can go beyond all dualities. One of the translators
of the Shobogenzo, Gudo Nishijima, points out that Dogen Zenji put
great emphasis on this and goes as far as to call his teaching a
“philosophy of action”38, particularly in his focus on the practice of
zazen. It may be interesting to note here, however, that Dogen Zenji
gave very precise instructions not only on sitting meditation but also
on how to include the most mundane activities – such as brushing
our teeth and going to the bathroom – in our practice. Moreover, as
we will see, he provided many other practical suggestions for
expressing our innate bodhisattva qualities. The first three modes of
meditation give us the right incentive to do so, and now, in this
fourth mode, we are given the opportunity to put ourselves to the
test. We can prepare ourselves for it to some extent towards the end
of each sitting period by asking ourselves questions like: “What could
I possibly do – right after I get up, later today, or tomorrow – and
who or what would benefit from it?”
The Awakening of Faith, for instance, exhorts the aspiring Bodhisattva
“...to practice every kind of good at all times, and at all places,
and not be slothful in his mind. Except when he sits in
concentration, in the practice of cessation, he should, at all
times, reflect upon what should be done and what should not
be done.”39

58
Personally, I have often used a slogan to keep myself on track. One of
my favorites is to call out “Stop!” to myself and then immediately
reassess my role within the circumstances of that moment. I do it
quietly and hope that nobody notices, and nowadays I even use that
slogan while talking with other people. It shakes me out of confusion
and helps me to get my priorities straight. It literally stops me in my
tracks, and allows room for questions such as: What am I trying to
accomplish in this very moment? What effect do I have on others?
Who is being served by my talking right now?

Traditional guidelines and reminders of what Bodhisattva activity

could actually amount to in our daily lives include the Four
Bodhisattva Vows that are chanted daily in Zen communities, the Ten
vows of Samantabhadra that are found at the conclusion of the
Avatamsaka Sutra, the six or ten paramitas that are general virtues to be
cultivated, the four embracing actions as recorded by Dogen Zenji in
his Bodaisatta Shishobo, and the sixteen Zen precepts that play a core
role in the ordination ceremonies of the Zen school.
All these guidelines can be seen as forms of positive conditioning as
they set us in the right direction for expressing our excellent
Bodhisattva qualities. This also means that they can only do their job
well if they are followed within the context of meditation practice –
without samadhi, they cannot really come alive. Moreover, as our
understanding deepens, it becomes clear that they can be applied on
many different levels. For example, generosity – the first of the
paramitas as well as the first of the Bodaisatta Shishobo – can range
from giving special attention to someone in need or donating
towards a good cause to devoting one’s life to the Dharma. Chapter 5
is completely dedicated to different perspectives on the sixteen Zen

59
precepts and offers suggestions for putting them into practice in the
circumstances of daily life.

THE HUMAN REALM

For some extra motivation, you could also regularly recall that we
happen to be in a very fortunate position. According to Buddhism,
just to be born as a human being is an extremely rare event, and there
are things we can do now that cannot be done so easily in any other
form of existence. Many Buddhist masters have proclaimed that
sentient beings transmigrate lifetime after lifetime through the six
realms of samsara – those of heavenly and human beings, hell-
dwellers, hungry ghosts, animals, and fighting spirits – and that we
should consider ourselves lucky to have received a human body and
mind this time around.
Although we may not always be aware of it, this life offers unique
opportunities for engaging in activities that have a positive impact on
this world. In heaven, most beings are preoccupied with pleasure, in
hell with suffering, and in the other realms they slavishly follow basic
urges. In the human realm we may experience a delicate balance
between suffering and joy, and that can provide the incentive to
imagine a different way to live.
The Japanese master Hakuin Ekaku asserts in his famous letter on
“The Sound of One Hand” that only the human consciousness can
project into the future.40 We are born with the ability to imagine what
could happen next and what the results of our actions might be. This
is apparently a rare faculty, and it enables us to study the law of
causation. In most other realms, this kind of karmic sensibility is not
necessarily a given. Thus, we find ourselves in a special situation,

60
which allows us to really work on our way of being in the world – at
least if we are willing to take full responsibility for this life that we
share with so many others.
Rebirth is an important teaching in all Buddhist schools. The Zen
school is no exception, but it puts special emphasis on the continuous
rounds of “rebirth” that we go through in the course of this one life.
As our awareness grows through meditation practice, we can start to
experience this process for ourselves very clearly. One morning we
may feel like we are on top of the world, only to slide down into a
depression at night. At other times we may be consumed by greed,
anger, or ignorance and cause trouble for ourselves and others. Even
in a single day, we might pass through several of the six realms.
Perhaps at times we act like an animal by primarily following basic
instincts, indulge in jealousy and hatred like the fighting spirits,
desperately seek satisfaction without finding it like the hungry
ghosts, get stuck in a heavenly state of bliss like gods, or are
suddenly overcome by the deep distress of the hell-dwellers. We may
come to notice that we hit upon the human realm only now and then.
During practice, I have certainly discovered that traversing the six
realms of samsara in full consciousness over and over again not only
enables us to understand ourselves better but is also the best
preparation for recognizing the needs of others who go through the
same dynamic. Whether we are surrounded by heavenly beings,
fellow humans, hungry ghosts, hell-dwellers, animals, or fighting
spirits, if we can identify with them it is easier to find ways to help
them wake up or at least not add to their suffering. Looking back, I
am happy that my Zen training made me traverse the six realms of
my own mind extensively. In the end, it turned out to be a fabulous
journey.

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Perhaps this is a good place to mention that Mahayana Buddhism
distinguishes between different types of bodhisattvas. For example,
well-known characters such as Manjushri, Samantabhadra, and
Avalokiteshvara (or Kanzeon) are called descending bodhisattvas. This
means that they are great enlightening beings who postponed their
entrance into nirvana and descended to our human realm in various
appearances to liberate us from samsara. As beginning practitioners,
we are called ascending bodhisattvas, meaning that we vow to rise to
the occasion and practice diligently so that one day we attain
enlightenment – which, in turn, would put us in the best position to
work for the welfare of all beings. But we do not have to wait for that
to happen to act in a more beneficial manner. We can start practicing
Bodhisattva activity right away by following the guidelines
mentioned above.
For now, I would like to emphasize again that Bodhisattva activity
cannot be separated from the other modes of meditation.
Harmonizing body and mind, turning one’s own light inward, and
clear observation are indispensable for laying a reliable foundation
for Bodhisattva activity. Over time, we may realize that the practice
of the Four Modes helps us not only to respond to daily-life
situations more directly and satisfactorily but also to develop a vision
for the future. We start to see how we could possibly use this
precious human life for the benefit of all beings.
In general, the Zen tradition stresses that the secret of life can be
found only in this very moment. But it depends how we appreciate
this very moment. Our focus on “now” can become a static concept,
locking us into an extremely narrow view of what it means to be alive
and aware. At some point, we need to see that “this moment” has no
limits: it extends endlessly into the past and future and encompasses
everything and everyone. Although we have to start right here, right

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now – because that is where we happen to be – we also need to allow
this moment to expand in all directions of space and time.
When we really do this, we might suddenly see that we are about to
act in a way that has not proven to be very beneficial so far. Then we
can quickly change our behavior and try a new solution. So, it would
it best if our Bodhisattva activity were based not only on our present
intuition but also on an awareness of how we handled things in the
past and the possible effects of our actions in the future. This may, for
example, give us the inspiration to change our way of making a
living or the way we communicate with our partner.
It is important to emphasize here that Bodhisattva activity can entail
any activity, great or small, as long as it is a natural response to
situations that is based on true insight. It does not even necessarily
have to resemble obvious and generally accepted forms of empathetic
behavior. When somebody once asked Maezumi Roshi about socially
engaged Buddhism, he yelled at the top of his voice, “zazen is social
action!” Personally, I believe that even someone sitting alone in deep
meditation on a high mountain peak can have a great impact on his
environment. This probably applies to many other human activities
as well. The effects of socially engaged action and certain forms of
charity may be more readily visible, but it is clear that ritual
performances – to take one example – can have a miraculous healing
effect on people who are sensitive to them. And what about words? If
not for his famed writing, who would still benefit from Dogen Zenji's
wisdom? Of course, we assume that the essence of that wisdom has
been transmitted throughout the ages by a lineage of enlightened
masters and that his initiative to establish the monastery of Eiheiji
marked a new beginning of Japanese Zen. But without Dogen’s
Shobogenzo and Eihei Koroku, it would not have been the same.

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Perhaps one could even claim that, ultimately, Dogen Zenji’s primary
Bodhisattva activity was his writing.

THE FOUR MODES TOGETHER

In the course of history, the various aspects of meditation practice

have been articulated in different ways and our Four Modes of
Meditation have been inspired by earlier models. The great Tendai
master Shramana Zhiyi, for example, championed two
complementary types of meditation that can be translated as
“stopping and seeing” – and that model has been followed by many
masters since. It addresses the need for both calming the mind and
clarifying our vision. The Awakening of Faith has a similar approach. It
distinguishes “cessation and clear observation” 41 and relates them to
the principles of the absolute and the relative sides of reality. One
could say that with the Four Modes of Meditation, these two
categories are expanded to four by dividing each into two.
One might also wonder which mode corresponds to the Soto School
practice of shikantaza – or “just sitting”. My answer would be quite
simple: all four of them. Shikantaza is often described as a practice of
awareness, of being fully present and allowing everything to just be
as it is without any interference. This could be seen as the first mode
of meditation, or perhaps the third one if the self has really been
forgotten. Furthermore, Dogen Zenji, who is often identified with the
practice of shikantaza, clearly recommends in his famed meditation
manual Fukanzazengi “taking the backward step and turning one’s
own light inward,” which perfectly matches the second mode of
meditation. Moreover, he does not see this practice as limited to
sitting meditation. The awareness realized during zazen is supposed

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to extend to all our daily activities, which then would constitute the
fourth mode of meditation.42
After having practiced with the Four Modes of Meditation for some
time, the question may come up about how strictly one should follow
their sequential order. Can we also allow them to develop
spontaneously, without much interference? I would answer that
question with a resounding “Yes!” The Four Modes can be
intentionally practiced, and they can arise naturally. Some of us may
find our way – even without much information or guidance — and
end up with insights that seem completely spontaneous yet perfectly
in accordance with the Four Modes. But many people need well-
tested guidelines and diligent practice, and I very much belong to
that category. Perhaps that is the reason why I seem to attract
students who also have to rely on perseverance, people for whom
this process may not work without serious intentional effort.
Everyone is different, of course, so the Four Modes should not
become a rigid system. We need to remember that their function is to
train the mind and to help us clarify our bodhisattva function, which
is our primary focus. And since we are studying life while we are
living it, we need to stay flexible. We cannot just stop altogether and
then look at it; even when sitting still, we cannot avoid being active in
one way or another. Whatever we do, we are always involved in
some kind of activity, and this makes the whole process very
challenging.
Fortunately, real bodhisattvas do not mind challenges – in fact, they
love problems. Without problems, they would be jobless. Imagine a
firefighter in training, eager to prove his skills. He would not be very
happy if there were never any fires in his area. But we do not have to
worry, as according to the scriptures, this whole world is burning 43.

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In other words, there is plenty of employment for any aspiring
bodhisattva.
Over time, we go through the Four Modes on ever-deeper levels and
get more and more in touch with our own individual bodhisattva
calling. This is a great gift. In my view, true joy and fulfillment can
only come from finding one’s life’s mission – however modest – and
following through on it. Again, this process takes time to unfold.
Nevertheless, I prefer to present the Four Modes of Meditation as a
single unit – even when introducing them in a short, guided version
for newcomers. Although beginners may not be able to go very deep
right away, it is important for them to see how all four modes are
interrelated and enhance each other’s effect. Otherwise they may at
some point get stuck in the first or second mode, without the urge or
inspiration to move on, or become fixated on the third or fourth
mode without much reference to the first two.
For example, as harmonizing body and mind can generate a great
sense of relaxation and well-being, it is tempting to interpret that
experience as an advanced stage of accomplishment. This can cause
one to create an island of relative bliss, without facing and working
through personal issues that unconsciously block our real
bodhisattva inspiration. This has come to be known as “spiritual
bypassing”44. Practicing the first mode of meditation as the only
mode can also have a numbing effect. Being exposed to the same
mundane mind games over and over again, without any altruistic
vision, may lead to a state of blank resignation and a loss of interest
in active social engagement.
The second mode of meditation can become particularly problematic
when taken out of context. As we have seen earlier, turning your own
light inward may be frightening at first, as if you are looking into a
deep abyss. Without the stimulating perspective of the third and

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fourth mode of meditation, you are not likely to pluck up the courage
to take the necessary next step. You may even turn away from
practice altogether and miss out on its transformative potential. On
the other hand, for those who do manage to get a glimpse of our true
home, the experience can be so sublime that they end up resting on
their laurels and make no further effort to engage in beneficial action.
Within the Buddhist tradition, this has long been recognized as a
common problem. A beautiful example to illustrate this point can be
found in a koan from the Hekiganroku:
“The hermit Renge Ho took up his staff before an assembly, and
said, ‘Why didn’t the old patriarchs remain here after they
reached it?’ The audience was silent. He himself answered. ‘It
has no power for the way (to save people).’ Again he said,
‘After all, what is it?’ The audience was again silent. And again
he answered for them, ‘Carrying my staff across the back of my
neck, going to the thousand, the ten thousand peaks.’”45
To take the next step, however, is no easy matter. In another koan 46, it
is even compared to stepping off a hundred-foot pole. Responding to
the needs of the world requires a keen sensibility, and recognizing
one’s boundless potential through the realization of the absolute is
not in itself enough for expressing compassion. As we have discussed
earlier, we also need to recognize our own limitations and those of
others, as well as the circumstances we find ourselves in. Otherwise,
we simply do not have enough consideration for the specific
conditions of each situation. Even a glimpse of the absolute world of
oneness can leave us so excited that we neglect the relative world of
differences. As a result, we could easily be tempted to merely show
off our newfound freedom of mind instead of being interested in the
needs of others and exploring creative ways to benefit them.

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In eighth-century China, Master Zongmi already criticized one of the
Zen schools for ignoring such distinctions and thereby failing to
encourage further cultivation. He was worried that such an attitude
could easily lead to unethical behavior. He formulates this school’s
perspective in the following manner:
“One should rouse the mind neither to cut off evil nor to
cultivate the Way. Since the Way itself is the mind, one cannot
use the mind to cultivate the mind. Since evil is also the mind,
one cannot use the mind to cut off the mind. One who neither
cuts off (evil) nor does (good) but freely accepts things as they
come is called a liberated person. There is no dharma that can
be clung to nor any Buddhahood that can be attained… Simply
allowing the mind to act spontaneously is cultivation.”47
Following the traditional paradigm of “essence” and “function”,
Zongmi emphasizes their inseparability while also stressing the
difference between them. According to Zongmi, this function is
twofold:
“The intrinsic essence of the true mind has two kinds of
functioning: the first is the intrinsic functioning of the self-
nature, and the second is its responsive functioning-in-accord-
with-conditions.”48
Zongmi describes the intrinsic functioning of the self-nature as the
ever-present awareness of the mind. The functioning-in-accord-with-
conditions is related to our psychophysical functions, such as
“speech, discrimination, bodily movement, and so forth.” In my
interpretation, this makes these two forms of functioning comparable
to our third and fourth modes of meditation. Zongmi makes it very
clear that without addressing the intrinsic functioning of the self-

68
nature (clear observation), our responsive functioning (Bodhisattva
activity) may not be so effective.
We can also get bogged down in the third mode of meditation.
Receiving clear messages about what to do and how to do it does not
necessarily get us into action. It can feel more attractive to stay in
dreamland and imagine an ideal that is hard to live up to. We should
not forget that Bodhisattva activity is a practice in itself. In other
words, however inspired we may be, it is something that needs to be
tried out and we may fail many times before our activity becomes
successful. In most cases, our direct insights need to be
complemented by gradual cultivation of our wisdom and
compassion in order to make beneficial action possible.

SUDDEN INSIGHT AND GRADUAL CULTIVATION

Although realization happens suddenly, it may only occur after

developing samadhi over a long period of time. That is why some
overviews of the Zen path feature three stages of practice, wherein
sudden realization is both preceded and followed by gradual
practice. This is well-illustrated in the famous analogy of climbing a
mountain, reaching the top, and descending the mountain again to
work for the welfare of all beings.49 To me, this clearly suggests a
sequence of a gradual development, a sudden realization, and
another gradual development. In my view, one more stage can be
distinguished: the third mode of “clear observation”, which is
another form of sudden realization. Yet, it also has a gradual
dimension because it allows us to be enlightened by the various
situations we encounter – one after the other – and therefore unfolds
from moment to moment.

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As I mentioned before, going through the Four Modes of Meditation
repeatedly seems to work as a spiral, descending to ever-more
profound layers of our innate wisdom and compassion. And while
this spiral goes down vertically, it also expands horizontally in ever-
widening circles, addressing all the various aspects of our life. For
practical reasons, I have emphasized the sequential order of the
various modes of meditation. But they should also be seen as a single
undivided unit, as they are all inextricably linked and can be
experienced in various combinations or even all at once.
While developing the Four Modes of Meditation, I came upon the
“Four Wisdoms”, which are part of the Yogachara school of
Mahayana Buddhism that has been a strong influence on the Zen
tradition. Studying these wisdoms, I was happily surprised to find
out that our Four Modes of Meditation show a remarkable
resemblance to them. Especially the second, third, and fourth
wisdoms are similar to what I have tried to address in the second,
third, and fourth mode of meditation. They are phrased differently in
different sources and could generally be described in the following
way. The first one is “great perfect mirror wisdom”, and it signifies
the mind’s ability to mirror whatever appears before it without any
distortion. The second is “universal-nature wisdom”, which is the
insight into the universal essence common to all phenomena. The
third is “marvelous observing wisdom”, and it accommodates seeing
the differences between all phenomena. The fourth one is “perfection
of action wisdom”, the skill to engage in activities that manifest the
first three wisdoms in everyday-life situations50.
In order to clarify how these four wisdoms can be realized in actual
practice we need to have some understanding of the Yogacara
teaching of the Indian master Vasubandhu. In his Eight Beliefs of
Buddhism, Yasutani Roshi provides a remarkably clear explanation of

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this complicated teaching. He illustrates it with a detailed diagram of
the mind, that shows eight shiki, or layers of consciousness, which
can be seen as a series of ever-deeper levels of a great ocean. The first
six of these shiki are the six senses (including the cognitive faculty).
They feature in this image as the waves on the surface of the ocean,
and they are subject to birth and death. Below the surface of the
waves is the seventh, the mana shiki, or the sense of self. This shiki
passes on new experiences of the first six levels of consciousness (the
six senses) to the eighth level, alaya shiki, and vice versa. It is also
called the permanent self-awareness shiki as it holds onto a sense of
self very firmly. The alaya shiki, or storehouse consciousness, is the
eighth and fundamental level of consciousness which is said to store
impressions of previous experiences as seeds of future karma in this
life and after rebirth. Sometimes a ninth level, anmora shiki, is
recognized to denote more specifically our original self, or buddha-
nature.51
The eight consciousnesses can be transformed into the four wisdoms
by turning our own light inward and going straight to the deepest
level. As we have discovered in the second mode of meditation, eyes,
ears, nose, tongue, body and cognitive mind are of no use here, and
the self we are familiar with has to be forgotten. The core of our being
can only be “realized” and made to function freely. If this really
happens, the eighth shiki transforms into the “great perfect mirror
wisdom”, the seventh into the “universal nature wisdom”, the sixth
into the “marvelous observing wisdom”, and the first to fifth
consciousnesses into the “perfection of action wisdom”.
An experience of true insight can open up the “great perfect mirror
wisdom” and, if the experience is strong enough, the other three
wisdoms open up simultaneously. It happens all at once. As already
mentioned, it is like switching on the light. Suddenly you have an

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overview of the whole situation you are in (the second wisdom),
recognize the particularities of it that give you clear messages as to
how to respond (third wisdom), and find yourself doing things that
suit the situation perfectly (the fourth wisdom). Usually, however,
the light is not very bright and only on for a moment. This means that
your experience may be too shallow to light up the other three
wisdoms sufficiently for engaging in true Bodhisattva activity. As far
as I have seen, for most people a first insight often only goes as far as
the universal nature wisdom. This means that they may have a
wonderful direct experience of oneness, without necessarily knowing
how to use that experience in daily-life situations.
It may be important to note here, that there is a difference between
the first wisdom, the great perfect mirror wisdom, and our first mode
of meditation, as the latter – by harmonizing body and mind – has
more of a preparatory function rather than promoting an all-inclusive
insight. Nevertheless, insights can happen at any time, even in this
first mode.
Zen is often called the “sudden” school because it considers direct
insight – the instantaneous realization of our buddha mind – as
indispensable for a truly awakened way of life. Master Hakuin
emphasizes this realization very strongly yet, at the same time, he
also distinguishes various degrees of sudden insights (or kensho) and
emphasizes the need for gradual cultivation of these insights to really
move beyond stubborn old patterns. Hakuin discusses the realization
of the four wisdoms in great detail in a beautiful but little-known
essay called “Shichi”52, in which he writes:

[…] even though these are fundamentally complete in

everyone, they cannot be realized unless they are brought to
light. When you have accumulated effort in study and

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 investigation and the Buddha-nature suddenly appears, all at
once you realize the essence of inner reality; all is attained in
one attainment. But even though you reach the stage of
awakening without passing through steps and stages, if you do
not cultivate practice gradually it will be impossible to fulfill
omniscience, independent knowledge and ultimate great
enlightenment.”53

And:
“Though you see the Way clearly one day, as long as your
power of shining insight is not great and strong, you are prone
to hindrance by instinctual and habitual psychological
afflictions, and you are still not free and independent in both
pleasant and unfavorable circumstances.”54
Here, Hakuin seems to echo the words of the Chinese master Hanshan
Deqing, who also addressed this issue extensively. He describes
sudden realization as seeing your own father at a crossroads. You
would immediately recognize him. Then he says,
“It is also like drinking water; only the person drinking knows if
it is warm or cold. There is no way to express it to another. This
is real practice and enlightenment. Afterward the practitioner
will still have to, on the basis of her or his experience, merge his
Mind with the external environment. He will still have to get rid
of strong karmic barriers of this life and deluded thinking and
emotional attachments, leaving only the True Mind of a single
taste.”55
However sudden experiences of kensho may be, they do differ in
depth. Although what we discover is basically of the same nature, the
deeper we go, the more will be revealed, and the clearer our
bodhisattva vocation will make itself heard. Since it is hard to

73
estimate what we do not yet see, we should not be too easily satisfied
with our own evaluations of whatever realization we may have had.
One-to-one communication with a teacher who has gone through this
process can help to verify our insights, as well as give us the
motivation to go deeper.
A truly transformative breakthrough is most often preceded by a
series of glimpses. Only dai kensho – great enlightenment – removes
all misconceptions in one sweep and makes one enter the realm of
true reality without sliding back. It is also called the “great death”
because the old self dies and makes room for someone new to be
born. But even great enlightenment is not necessarily the end.
Hakuin is the prime example of someone who kept deepening his
realization over and over again.56 Emptiness is endless and so is the
experience of it. The same is true for the world of forms. Cultivating
our insight into both is necessary for developing skills in Bodhisattva
activity.
When used wisely, koans can be very effective tools to deepen and
cultivate our glimpses; they cut through tenacious habitual
tendencies that we often still hold onto as we are dealing with life’s
circumstances and challenge us to respond more freely and
compassionately. That is why we use koans as a means to enrich our
meditation practice. They will be the subject of the next chapter.

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 Chapter 2
Koan investigation

MEETING BUDDHAS AND ANCESTORS

Koans are recorded dialogues between masters and students of old

that express the teaching in a nutshell. They can stimulate us to study
and to forget the self and be enlightened by the situation they
present. The Japanese word “koan” is derived from the Chinese gong
an, which literally means “public case” and, in the Zen context, it
implies a standard of insight that can be – and has been – verified
throughout the ages. Koans are meant to inspire practitioners but
also to provide teachers with a tool to check their students’
understanding on a regular basis as they oversee their progress. In
actual practice, the teacher gives a student a koan as a meditation
topic and expects a lively presentation of its implications in dokusan.
Non-rational in character, the koan challenges you to cut through
dualistic thinking and allows you to experience yourself and the
world as one undivided whole. More advanced koans deal with the
endless variety within this unity, the inseparability of these two
aspects, and the way we can express this in kind speech and
beneficial action.
Since koan practice can prompt us to question our usual frame of
mind quite urgently, it requires a lot of faith. We have to be willing to
be wrong and make mistakes. In fact, without that willingness, we
may never come up with responses that arise directly from our
original nature, rather than from conventional understanding. The
Zen tradition recognizes three essentials to accommodate this
process: great faith, great doubt, and great determination. Faith is, of
course, an indispensable starting point. We need faith in the Buddha,

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Dharma and Sangha, for instance; faith that we can all share in the
experience of enlightenment. However comforting this faith may be
at times, here it is primarily considered to be essential for generating
great doubt, or deep questioning. In fact, much of our Zen training is
geared towards generating enough faith to dare to question
ourselves: If we are all originally awakened, why is it that this
experience so obviously escapes us? Great faith and great doubt
together make for great determination; the resolve to really break
through our delusive mindset. Sometimes a fourth essential is
considered to be necessary for increasing our determination: Great
anger, a profound dissatisfaction with our own misunderstanding.
There are many ways to deal with anger, but in this regard we often
joke that it is too precious an energy to be wasted on others.
Traditional koan collections consist of many cases that are usually
dealt with in sequential order, although a teacher may also choose
specific ones that seem suitable for a student to work on. In either
case, there are certain criteria to be met before students can pass any
koan and move on to the next one. However strange it may sound,
koans can give experienced teachers a chance to gauge the depth of
their student’s insight with remarkable accuracy.
There are hundreds of koans, collected in various books or records,
so there is plenty of choice. The list of koans used by the White Plum
Lineage of Maezumi Roshi includes an anthology of koans
transmitted by Koryu Roshi, the Mumonkan (The Gateless Barrier),
Hekiganroku (The Blue Cliff Record), Shoyoroku (The Book of Serenity),
Denkoroku (The Transmission of the Light), a series of precept koans,
and Tozan Goi (Tozan’s Five Ranks). Most koans originate in Song
Dynasty China but often record the doings and sayings of masters of
the Tang Era – known as the “Golden Age of Zen” – a few hundred
years earlier.

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The cases from the Mumonkan collection seem to deal primarily with
the realization of absolute oneness: seeing that the entire universe is
one seamless whole. They are called “dharmakaya koans”. You are
invited to identify with whatever the koan presents and become one
with it. Yet the koans from other collections shift your focus to the
differences in the world and dare you to respond to specific
situations.
The ability to see the absolute side as well as the relative side of
reality can be tremendously useful. One could say that life situations
are koans in themselves. We continuously encounter issues that
cannot be resolved by focusing on one side and ignoring the other. So
koan practice can give us a broader perspective on life and help us to
function in accord with the whole scenario, switching from the
absolute to the relative and back without getting stuck anywhere.
Sometimes it can get dizzying! We might say that in the realm of
oneness, there is nothing to do – except just to be whatever is, which
includes how we function. In the realm of differences, there is lots to
do – including absolutely nothing if that seems to be the best course
of action in a specific situation.
Some koans have proven to be very effective for stimulating an initial
insight, and the most famous one figures first in the Mumonkan. The
dialogue goes as follows: “A monk once asked Master Joshu in all
earnestness, ‘Does a dog have Buddha nature or not?’ Joshu
answered, ‘Mu!’”57 However tempting it may be, we are not
supposed to ponder this dialogue or try to make sense of it in a
rational manner. The point is to find out what this “Mu” really is.
That is the question a master will throw at you: What is “Mu”? Can
you show it to me?
The monk who questioned Joshu was probably familiar with the
Mahayana principle that everyone and everything has buddha-

77
nature, which is clearly articulated in the scriptures. But he had some
serious doubts and wondered: Is it really true? Does any old dog
have buddha-nature? Do my sister and her husband have it? And
most importantly, of course, do I really have it? If so, why do not I
notice much of it, and why do others not seem to notice much of it
either?
This is certainly a question we can all ask ourselves. We are told that
we are fully endowed with buddha-nature, but can we verify that
with our own experience? Investigating Joshu’s answer “Mu” can
prompt us to do so. Mu literally means “no”, and here it is used as an
all-pervasive negation. When we manage to completely focus on the
single word “Mu” – without any reservation, even for an instant – it
strips us of all our ideas and concepts, leaving us with the bare
essence of life. “What is Mu?” is supposed to become a burning
question that eventually turns something around deep inside of us. A
moment of total negation is followed by a moment of total
confirmation. It may feel like death and bring up fears that we have
of dying, but there is no need to worry: rebirth is instantaneous.
It may be hard to believe, but you can work on this koan Mu for
years until there is nothing left to hold onto, and then suddenly feel
completely fulfilled. I have never seen anyone pass “Mu” and then
say, “I feel so empty now.” When you really get to the bottom of it,
what comes up is incredible fulfillment and all things start to shine in
their true colors. It is an experience that gives you a very different
view of the world and marks the beginning of a whole new life. But
there is still a long road ahead in koan practice. First there is a series
of testing questions, such as “What is the source of Mu?” When you
really dare to go there, it turns out to be a never-ending adventure.
And yet, it is possible to give a clear response to such a question that
would satisfy all the ancestors. So, what could that be?

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It is a miracle to me that the words of old Chinese masters can still
have so much impact on the minds of stubborn Westerners like me. I
often call the koan “Mu” a wonder pill and congratulate students to
whom I am able to prescribe it. We are so lucky! This ancient formula
has been tested by generations of practitioners from many different
nationalities – Chinese, Japanese, Korean, and others – and can reveal
bodhisattva qualities that may otherwise remain obscured.
One could argue that the buddha mind seal that has been transmitted
throughout the ages has no particular shape or form and that it is
now up to us to invent new methods that would be more suitable for
people of our day and age. And although creativity is certainly called
for, it would be a shame to be too quick to discard the models of our
predecessors. They have expressed themselves in ways that can help
us tremendously in appreciating the timeless quality of our life and
prevent us from falling for fleeting trends.
There are two things that I would like to emphasize here. One is that
koans can only be dealt with effectively in samadhi. In other words,
when one has cut through dualistic notions of body and mind, self
and other, subject and object – at least to some extent. Otherwise,
koans can easily become a form of intellectual entertainment or lead
to indulgence in verbal absurdities. Secondly, as already mentioned,
koan training requires regular face-to-face checkups with an
experienced teacher, someone who has gone through the whole
process. That is why we will go a little more deeply into the various
aspects of the teacher-student relationship further on in this chapter.

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 EVERYONE HAS THEIR OWN LIGHT

Ummon gave instructions, saying, “Everyone has his own light. If

you want to see it, you can’t. The darkness is dark, dark. Now, what is
your light?” He himself answered, “The storeroom. The gate.” Again
he said, “It would be better to have nothing than to have something
good.”58
This is one of my favorite koans of the Hekiganroku. Master Engo,
who wrote introductions to all the hundred koans of that collection,
eulogizes Ummon, saying, “He cuts off the deluded stream of
thought, leaving not a drop behind.” Master Engo himself did not go
for half measures either. In one of his Zen Letters he advocates: “Make
enlightenment your standard.”59 Well, that is a high standard! Master
Joshu nailed it with “Mu”, and he could not have been terser. Master
Ummon gives us a little more detail but is no less challenging.
“Everyone has their own light” is also a very strong statement.
Everyone is already awakened; we all have it in us to recognize our
full potential and find our true function in this life.
What is so beautiful about such a koan is that it encapsulates the
whole of Buddhist teaching in only five words. The sutras and other
traditional scriptures are highly inspiring, yet their sheer number,
size, and variety can be daunting. Ummon’s brief statement is easy to
remember, right to the point, and utterly uncompromising. In fact, it
is enough for a lifetime of practice.
Everyone has their own light. Nobody is excluded. You may need to
muster some confidence to really let this in because it implies that
you have a lot of responsibility. You cannot borrow the light from
somebody else – you have to find it yourself, within yourself. If you
really go there, you may discover why Ummon’s good news also has

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a nasty little shadow. He says that if you want to see it, you cannot.
“The darkness is dark, dark!”
Remember, if you really turn your own light inward – in the second
mode of meditation – you can have a direct experience of the
inseparability of self, others, and things. Ummon says, “The darkness
is dark, dark.” Of course, that should not be taken too literally; it is
just a metaphor – but a very apt one. In the dark all things become
one. When you really turn your own light inward, even the
distinction between inside and outside becomes blurry. Eventually,
all distinctions drop away. We go beyond what we know – but, of
course, that is scary. We leave our comfort zone – the world we are
familiar with – and open ourselves to the unexpected.
One could say that we usually stand in our own light. So, if we want
to clarify our life, we have to get out of the way – we have to step out
of the light and back into the dark. Then we start to see things more
clearly. I feel very fortunate that Zen River is located on the northern
coast of The Netherlands. It is the least urbanized area in the country
and city lights are relatively scarce. On a clear night, the moon and
the stars shine in all their glory and it makes for an incredibly
beautiful sky. Similarly, if you step into the dark of your own mind,
your life starts to light up and situations present themselves more
vividly.
“Ummon’s Bright Light” (as this koan is known) can deepen our
practice of the second and third modes of meditation. Yet, as it is a
koan, it begs for a response. Ummon is challenging his students,
“Now, what is this light?” In other words, let me check. Did you
really step back into the dark? Please show it! What did you see? It
was an embarrassment for his students because nobody could
answer. None of them was confident enough to speak up. Now it
becomes a question for us. How would you respond? Master Ummon

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himself answered, “The storeroom. The gate.” How wonderful!
Could it be that simple? Yes, but it depends, of course, on who is
saying it. What do the storeroom and the gate mean to you?
In China and Japan, temple buildings are seen as the body of the
Buddha. Traditionally, the ground plan of the seven most important
structures is designed in such a way that, when seen from above,
together they form the shape of a sitting Buddha. So, when you
vacuum the floors, dust the cabinets, clean the windows and toilets,
or sweep the pathways, you are cleaning the body of the Buddha. It is
very physical – you touch him wherever you go. And it makes for
very intimate communication. Even so-called inanimate objects find
their voice and speak to you. There is one koan60 that says that all
voices are voices of the Buddha, so everything and everyone can
speak to us. But it may take practice to hear their voice clearly.
Can I hear what the floor is saying, or the grass outside, the trees, the
birds, or the people living next door? In the very moment they speak,
they may call me by another name. What name would that be? And
how many names do I have? In Japanese Zen, it is not unusual for
someone to have many names. On special occasions, you can receive
a new one. When I am willing to take on any name, I suddenly
receive incredibly useful cues as to what to do and how to do it. Yet,
this does not necessarily mean that anybody else notices. All voices
are indeed voices of the Buddha – but only for those who have the
ears to hear them. It does not matter if it is the voice of somebody
who is foolish or wise, critical or supportive, rude or polite. A fart is
the voice of the Buddha, someone yelling at you totally
inappropriately is still the voice of the Buddha. In principle, we can
learn from the oddest situations and the most deluded people.
I remember a nice anecdote about the great Italian Renaissance
sculptor Donatello. The story goes that, while he was working on a

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big marble statue of a Biblical prophet, things did not quite go as well
as he had envisioned. He often labored alone through the night, and
at some point his students, who were sleeping in another room,
heard him shout, “Speak, damn you, speak!” Clearly, he was trying
to push the prophet to really come to life – and he managed. Lo
Zuccone, as it is called, became his favorite artwork, and many people
think it is the best marble sculpture of the fifteenth century. And it
still speaks to us.
Ummon is doing something similar in this koan. He yells at us,
“Come alive, show me your light!” So how about it, can we really see
the storeroom and the gate through his eyes? In koan training, we
usually start by taking on the position of the student, which we
would do in this case too as the question is directed at us. But at some
point, we are asked to assume the role of the teacher – in other
words, to become one with the master and, by doing so, to become
one with the master within ourselves.
Maezumi Roshi used to say that we do not study koans, we use
koans to study our life. They give us an alternative way to
understand it. Of course, we can think about life, and many people
have done so. Philosophy has been an integral part of human
endeavor since ancient times, something that the French sculptor
Rodin portrayed so convincingly in his famous work The Thinker.
There are also people who take the way they feel about things as a
guide for navigating life’s trajectory. But as I see it, neither the
cognitive mind nor emotional intelligence alone can give us enough
reliable information on how to live our life.
One student once told me that she did not like koans because she felt
that her life itself was koan enough. Why create more problems than
we already have? Well, koans are also called examples. They give us
a chance to practice handling problems in a very different way from

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how we usually deal with them. Koans are designed so that they can
only be resolved in the spaciousness of samadhi, and this helps us to
tackle whatever problem we are facing in our life. A koan like
“Ummon’s Bright Light” is especially effective in that respect.
Sometimes we joke that our problems do not become smaller, it is just
that our mind becomes bigger so they look smaller and are a lot
easier to deal with. In principle we do not really need Ummon – it is
possible to open your mind without any specific device. Zen
meditation is often thought of as something that should be
completely natural, a form of radical presence that includes
everything and everyone. But who knows? You may think that your
mind is wide open, but that may not necessarily always be so. Who
knows what is lurking beneath the surface?
Koans can be used as an explosive device, and Ummon’s “Everybody
has their own light” is totally destructive. It pierces through barriers
and shatters deeply ingrained habitual patterns that have been
bothering us for the last couple of kalpas. And then our insight is
being tested: Show me your light! Can you demonstrate that it is
better to have nothing than to have something good? As I said above,
koans are test cases for our spiritual development. They reveal where
we stand, and this is a very important function. If we do not
acknowledge where we are at this point, we cannot start out from
there either.
Like all human affairs, koan training is not perfect. It has all the
shadows of being a system one can get overly attached to. For
example, it can foster a competitive attitude and make students focus
more on passing the koans in dokusan than on exploring their
implications for the activities of daily life. Koan training is only a
starting point for the third mode of meditation as we have discussed
it, and even completing the whole curriculum does not constitute the

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end of one’s practice. Yet, when employed properly, koan training
can be a great asset in discovering surprising new perspectives.

THERE IS NO TEACHER OF ZEN

The Chinese Master Obaku addressed his assembled monks and said,
‘You are all eaters of brewer’s lees. If you go about on pilgrimages like
this, when can you meet today? Don’t you know that in all the land of
T’ang there is no Zen teacher?’ A monk stepped forward and said,
‘But surely there are those in all regions who reform monks and
govern assemblies of disciples.’ Obaku said, ‘I didn’t say there is no
Zen, only that there is no teacher of Zen.’61
This famous koan of the Hekiganroku calls our attention to a very
important point regarding the teacher-student relationship.
Essentially, there are no teachers of Zen, which means that there are
no students either, and nor is there a Dharma to be taught. How can
that be? In this koan, there is clearly a master addressing his students,
and what he is communicating must be the Dharma. Or not? The
monk who stepped forward and responded was confused, and most
of us might be too. Fortunately, Obaku caps the dialogue with a clear
statement: it is not that there is no Zen, there is just no teacher of Zen.
Of course, these words imply something that needs to be resolved in
the dokusan room, but I could perhaps try to shed some light on it.
The Zen Obaku is referring to is marked by fluidity and can never be
defined. It can be transmitted only by someone who is forgetting the
self to someone else who is forgetting the self. So, it is not that there is
no Zen – Zen can be expressed loudly and clearly – it is just not a
fixed principle and manifests itself only in the functioning of those
who have realized their true nature. This has important consequences

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for the teacher-student relationship. On the level at which Obaku
operates in this koan, there really is no teacher in the conventional
sense. Ideally speaking, teachers disappear in their functioning and
encourage students to follow suit. That also implies that there is a
responsibility on the part of the student. Of course, if you would
commit yourself to working closely with another person in any field
of expertise – whether that be art, music, sports, or science – you
would check out that person in advance as much as you could.
Buddhist scriptures encourage us to do the same. We are not asked to
go only by blind faith but incited to first verify the qualifications of
the teacher and to see if his or her personality and teaching style
seem to work for us. Since there is not one single way to present the
Dharma, teachers can come in many different shapes and forms.
According to the Tibetan master Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche, we
can divide Buddhist teachers into three different categories 62. First,
there is the instructor who basically shows you how to do things, and
this does not necessarily require a very personal connection. Then
there is the “spiritual friend”, somebody who is ahead of you on the
path and shares his or her experience. Only on the third level do we
find the master-disciple relationship that is addressed in this koan.
Yasutani Roshi would probably recognize five different categories of
Zen teachers, because he enumerates the five varieties of Zen 63:
Bompu Zen, which is directed at physical and mental well-being; Gedo
Zen, which focuses on devotion and extraordinary experiences; Shojo
Zen, which is a vehicle for self-illumination; Daijo or Mahayana Zen,
which includes the Bodhisattva Vows; and Saijojo Zen, which
constitutes the highest vehicle and requires a master-disciple
relationship that seems similar to the third category Trungpa
Rinpoche identified. Of course, a seasoned Buddhist master may

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work with students on any of those levels in order to meet their
needs.
In any case, before you start to look for a teacher, it would be wise to
do some inner research on what your aspiration really is. Yasutani
Roshi went as far as to ask his students on which one of the
abovementioned five levels they wanted to be addressed. In a way
that makes total sense. Everybody comes in with different hopes and
expectations, and it would be good not only for the teacher but also
for the students to be aware of the intentions with which both enter
the relationship. This, of course, does not mean that we cannot move
on from one level to the next, or regress for a period of time. Scholar
and teacher of Tibetan Buddhism Alexander Berzin states in his book
Wise Teacher, Wise Student64 that almost all spiritual seekers progress
through stages along the path. This means we may have to be guided
in various ways, and not every teacher may be able to accommodate
the variety of Zen that we aspire to. Relating to Dharma teachers
turns out to be quite a complicated affair, after all.
Many Zen masters have emphasized the importance of teachers and
students being able to connect according to the famous “four
methods of host and guest”65 of Rinzai (Linji in Chinese): host
examines guest, guest examines host, guest examines guest, and host
examines host. In my view, on the most obvious level, “host” stands
for the teacher and “guest” for the student, and they have four
different ways to interact. First of all, the teacher has to be able to
challenge the student, and the student has to be able to acknowledge
the teacher’s authority – otherwise the Dharma cannot really flow
from one to the other. Next, students must be given the opportunity
to challenge teachers – for example by asking for scriptural evidence
of their presentation of the Dharma, or by questioning how they
“walk their talk”. Furthermore, teacher and student need to be able to

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communicate on an equal level as followers of the Way, without any
absolute hierarchy. For both parties there is always more to learn,
especially regarding mutual projections that seem almost
unavoidable. To conclude, teacher and student may at some point
meet “eyeball to eyeball” – in other words, on the equal level of
mind-to-mind transmission, both recognizing each other’s buddha-
nature.
Rinzai’s four methods require great flexibility from both teacher and
student since they are asked to recognize and take on different
positions during their training together. In my own experience, this
implies that it is preferable for them to practice in close proximity, so
that all sides of their personalities can be involved. According to the
Chinese master Yuanyun Jiexian,
“To expect a practitioner to have a decisive awakening without
fully employing all (of Linji’s four) methods is like expecting
the rice to be cooked where the heat does not reach. It is like
trying to peel fruit that is not ripe. Even if the master has a
great reputation and the practitioner has great capacity (if these
four methods are not employed,) the master’s teaching and the
practitioner’s potential will fail to make contact and they will
let each other down.”66
History shows that it can take students a long time before they find
the right teacher. Similarly, it can take teachers a long time before
they find the right students. Also, even a great teacher may not be
good for everybody, and the worst teacher may still be good for
somebody! At the risk of stating the obvious, without a good teacher
it is difficult to become a good student. And that is true the other way
around too: without good students, there is no good teacher. Both
parties need each other to make sure that the Buddhadharma
maintains its live quality.

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Many scriptures record the existence of a karmic link between
students and teachers, which can manifest itself in unexpected ways.
In his Eight Beliefs of Buddhism67, Yasutani Roshi mentions the “mutual
attraction between buddhas and sentient beings” that can exist on
many different levels.
When I first heard Maezumi Roshi speak in the Zen Center of Los
Angeles (ZCLA), I could not understand much of what he said. Yet it
was clear to me that what he addressed was of the utmost
importance, and I could not keep my eyes off him. It reminded me of
when I saw Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche a few years earlier. It happened
in an ordinary home in Antwerp that had been transformed into a
Tibetan temple, replete with colorful altars and flags. Rinpoche was a
very big man, who had to bend down deeply to whisper into the ear
of a young tulku who accompanied him. To me it felt as if he was
from a different planet, and yet he came across as the first person I
could really trust, a mountain of faith – even though at the time I had
no idea what that faith could possibly entail. Just the way he sat there
struck a chord: it showed me that there was another way to live.
Genpo Roshi had a slightly different effect on me. He radiated similar
energy and, even though he was addressing a whole group of
students, it felt as if he was talking to me personally. But I could also
already sense that becoming his student would present great
challenges. It was clear from the beginning that I had to step into the
unknown and take risks in order to communicate with him. While
shedding numerous long-standing beliefs and inclinations, I entered
a world of transformations and discovered aspects of myself I had
not been aware of before. Sometimes, this involved dramatic events –
especially during his epic month-long sesshins in remote places – but
it could also occur during simple daily activities. One of my
treasured memories is bringing him coffee in his private quarters

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before morning zazen and hearing his latest insights. Also, going to
the gym together a few times a week and discussing the Dharma
while lifting weights had unexpected effects. While living, traveling,
and practicing with him, our minds met in ways that are hard to
describe, and this prepared me to familiarize myself with our whole
family of Dharma ancestors. I will never be able to thank him enough
for that.

Later, Kuroda Roshi introduced me to many mysterious intricacies of

our lineage, which deepened my link with his – by then deceased –
brother Maezumi Roshi even more. After getting to know Maezumi
Roshi’s American side during my stay in the USA, I now discovered
his Japanese side. Becoming familiar with the circumstances he grew
up in also gave me a deeper understanding of the way he adapted
Zen practice to introduce it to American students. Moreover, while I
was living with Kuroda Roshi – or Hojo-san, as we call him – in
Japan, he became my primary example for Bodhisattva activity. Just
chauffeuring him around Tokyo and visiting his temple members
was already an educational adventure that would be hard to match.
He showed an uncanny ability to speak with different voices to
people from all backgrounds.

Whatever the relationship between teachers and students happens to

be – straightforward or complicated, smooth or rough – the most
important thing is that it allows the Dharma to flow and function
freely. Koan training gives both parties a specific role that helps them
to transcend possible personal differences that might otherwise
hinder a meeting of minds. Moreover, koans encourage us to not be
too easily satisfied with our own understanding. Every case presents
a new challenge, and the teacher functions as a mirror that enables us
to observe ourselves from many different angles. In fact, working on

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koans in close cooperation with a teacher will reveal not only our
hidden virtues but also our worst vices, and this is absolutely
essential for spiritual growth. All of this implies a gradual process. It
explains why so many adepts of old took the trouble to stay close to
their teacher for a long period of time.
Master Joshu is the prime example. He stayed with Nansen for some
forty years and then went on a pilgrimage for twenty years, visiting
other teachers, testing his understanding. Only at the age of eighty
did he feel ready to settle down and accept students. By then he had
become an exceptionally mature master and the story goes that when
he spoke, his lips gave light68. He lived to the age of one hundred and
thirty, and many of his sayings – of which “Mu” is the most famous
one – have been preserved throughout the ages.
But let us not forget that every student has a different relationship
with the teacher, so it is of no use to compare. Comparing can be very
damaging since it easily leads to jealousy, arrogance, and all sorts of
other negative emotions. That is one of the reasons why we never talk
about what happens in the dokusan room; it is supposed to be top
secret. We all have to find our own way to deal with the teacher and
to see how long the cooperation remains fruitful. Most often it is the
student who decides to stay on or to leave after some time. But there
are also quite a few examples of teachers who urged students to pack
their bags and see another master or to get another life!
One of my missions is, quite simply, to keep the koan tradition alive,
and that is a big job. If you have a quick look at our koan collections,
it can be daunting. Of course, not everyone wants or needs to go
through the whole curriculum. It has already been said that all koans
address the same issue over and over again, they just do so from
many different perspectives. In principle, one koan could be enough
if it happens to reveal deeply hidden uncertainties about our life that

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we – usually unconsciously – carry around like a burden and that to a
large extent determine our sense of identity.
The famous twentieth-century Chinese Master Hsu-Yun is said to
have worked mostly on the question “Who is dragging this corpse
around?”69 and it made him a very wise man. But I suppose that at
least some people need to master the whole list in order to maintain
the tradition. That requires a setting in which a teacher can meet
students regularly over an extended period.
I feel greatly inspired by something that Maezumi Roshi once said.
He looked at us and whispered, quite loudly actually, “I love koans!”
Perhaps he appreciated them all the more because koan training as it
is described here is generally not part of the Soto Zen style he was
born into. Maezumi Roshi’s father, Baian Hakujun Daiosho, was an
accomplished and well-respected Soto priest, who let his sons go
through the standard temple training of the Soto school. At the same
time, he encouraged them to study with teachers of other schools.
Maezumi Roshi received Dharma transmission from his father and
later he continued his training with Koryu Roshi (Shakyamuni Kai)
and Yasutani Roshi (Sanbokyodan), both of whom worked
extensively on koans with their students. After completing the
curricula of their respective lineages, he received transmission from
them as well. Although he remained a loyal Soto priest his entire life,
what he passed on to his students also reflected the styles of those
two, more Rinzai-oriented, masters.
I personally feel extremely fortunate to have inherited that rich
legacy through Genpo Roshi and would do anything to help keep it
alive for future generations. I think that koan training can help
protect the authenticity of the Dharma. It ensures a direct connection
between teacher and student in ways that have lasted for centuries.
Moreover, koans are texts that provide us with a language

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specifically designed to express and communicate the deepest layers
of human wisdom. Obaku’s bold statement “I did not say there is no
Zen, only that there is no teacher of Zen” certainly is a true treasure.
Another master who heard about this was deeply impressed and
exclaimed, “That swan is able to extract the pure milk from the
adulterated mixture. It is very clear that he is not just an ordinary
duck!”70

A HIGH-METTLED HORSE

A non-Buddhist once asked the World-Honored One, ‘I do not ask for

words, nor do I ask for no-words.’ The World-Honored One remained
seated. The non-Buddhist praised him, saying, ‘The great compassion
of the World-Honored One has dispelled the clouds of my ignorance
and enabled me to be enlightened.’ Making a bow of gratitude, he
departed. Ananda then asked the Buddha, ‘What realization did the
non-Buddhist have that made him praise you like that?’ The World-
Honored One replied, ‘He is like a high-mettled horse which starts at
even the shadow of the whip.’ 71
In one of the scriptures of the Pali Canon, the Buddha uses the
analogy of four kinds of horses to differentiate four types of disciples.
The first one starts racing at even the shadow of the whip, while the
second one runs at the slightest touch, the third one moves only
when it is really been hurt, and the fourth one does not budge until it
has been beaten to the bone72. Clearly, some of us move on the path
quickly, while others may be slow. The non-Buddhist was very fast –
he attained enlightenment on the spot. And he was not even a
Buddhist! Yet Ananda, who had been a close disciple of the Buddha

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for many years, did not understand what was going on. With whom
would you identify first?
Most Westerners of my generation did not grow up in a Buddhist
tradition, so we have been non-Buddhists for at least some time. That
can be an advantage. Many Asian Zen masters who came over to
teach in the West felt attracted to the openness and enthusiasm of
their new students. In one popular book, the Zen mind was even
identified with the beginner’s mind73. However, there is no need to
champion naivety, as that can easily lead to misinterpretations of the
Buddhist teaching. As newcomers to Buddhism, we may assume that
we have a “beginner’s mind”, but that may not necessarily be the
case because we are often burdened by all kinds of unconscious
conditioning. For instance, we may inadvertently color Buddhist
principles with projections from our Judeo-Christian background. Of
course, we all carry within us traces of our upbringing. There is
nothing wrong with that, yet it would be best if we could recognize
the influence of those traces – at least to some extent.
Throughout the ages, Buddhism has traveled from one country to
another and adapted itself to the circumstances of the native cultures
where it then put down roots. Consequently, there are many different
schools of Buddhism that emphasize different aspects of the Dharma.
In Zen, we go by the understanding that the mind-to-mind-
transmission of our ancestors secures its authenticity. Nonetheless,
expertise in source texts such as the sutras and other scriptures that
clearly articulate the original message of Buddhism has always been
indispensable. As in so many other fields, theory and practice need to
go hand in hand as the one cannot function very well without the
other.
We are still in the process of finding out how to integrate Buddhist
principles and practices into our specific social and cultural context.

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So far, there are only a few Western institutions such as universities
or monasteries to support the tradition in the way they have done for
so many ages in Asia. The Vesak conferences I mentioned before
were most often held in the huge Mahachulalongkornrajavidyalaya,
one of two public Buddhist universities in Thailand. I did not even
try to count the number of monasteries and temples we visited. So let
us face it: we are beginners here. This also means that we do not need
to have all the answers yet regarding what Buddhism is supposed to
look like in our regions. And, speaking personally, I find that totally
exciting.
To come back to the koan: Ananda was not exactly a newcomer. He
was Buddha’s lifelong student and close attendant and could
apparently remember every word the Buddha had ever spoken. But
Ananda had not really penetrated their deeper implications; he was
not yet fully enlightened. This became a serious problem after the
Buddha passed away, and the disciplines wanted to hold a meeting
to recite and commit to memory all the sermons he had delivered
throughout his long teaching career. Only the truly enlightened ones
were invited, so Ananda was not there, even though he was the only
one who could remember all those talks verbatim. Fortunately,
perhaps because he was under such pressure, he attained
enlightenment just in time. That happened with a little help of one of
his older Dharma-brothers, but that is the subject of another koan74.
In any case, the point here is that some take longer to wake up than
others do. We may have practiced for a long time, but that does not
necessarily mean that our Zen eye has completely opened.
Meanwhile, someone inexperienced may walk in and startle the
crowd, as in one of the parables recorded in the Lotus Sutra75 where
the eight-year-old daughter of a dragon king embarrassed a whole

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group of old-timers by suddenly becoming enlightened right in front
of their very eyes.
In our koan, a non-Buddhist just walks in, asks the World-Honored
One a question, and immediately attains enlightenment. But perhaps
he was not as inexperienced as it might seem. Most Buddhist schools
maintain that one can become enlightened only after many lifetimes
of practice. The Zen school is no exception yet reassures us that we
have already gone through all that preparatory work and that
complete realization is very well possible right here, right now. Every
single moment presents a golden opportunity. For sure, many of us
may feel as if we have already lived several lives even during this
one lifetime alone, before we turned to Zen! And we may have spent
ages wrestling with issues that seem totally impossible to resolve. As
mentioned already, it would help if we could boil them down to just
one.
That is exactly what can happen while working on koans. As you go
through the curriculum, your specific, individual “life koan” may at
some point start to surface. This is a deep question that – on a
conscious or subconscious level – has always been bugging you. The
great advantage is that you have developed samadhi now and can
absorb the question with your whole being – rather than thinking
yourself silly without any satisfactory result. Hamlet’s way of
pondering “to be or not to be” certainly did not make him any wiser.
The issue the non-Buddhist puts forward is quite similar. Yet he met
Shakyamuni Buddha face to face, while he was sitting in deep
samadhi, and something very profound happened.
What might be your real question? And would you be able to
formulate it clearly? My teacher told me that, eventually, his big issue
was: Do I exist or not? He had to lock himself up in a dark closet
before a new perspective finally dawned on him. For me it was quite

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simple: What did he and other great masters realize that I had not so
far realized? At some point, that question totally occupied my mind,
and I had to face it day and night until it exploded – my life has never
been the same since. The non-Buddhist must have also come to a
kind of cul-de-sac, a complete dead end, and finally decided to
consult the Buddha: “I do not ask for words, nor do I ask for no
words.”
Commentaries on this case agree that the non-Buddhist must have
been a very sophisticated philosopher, who had really done his
homework. As I understand it, there were a great number of
philosophical schools in India at the time. They all maintained
different views, but basically followed two opposite streams of
thought, one of which could be called eternalism and the other
nihilism. It is quite amazing that this division into two categories still
exists today. Many of us seem to believe that – ultimately – there has
to be something that survives physical death, an eternal spiritual
entity. When I attended Catholic school as a child, I was taught that
when the body dies, the soul continues; those redeemed by faith and
good works are united with God in heaven, while some have to first
pass through purgatory, and the unrepentant sinners go to hell.
Later, I learned that there are people who believe that when the body
dies, the mind does too. They think that there is not going to be
anything left after we pass away; it is all gone. At most funerals I
have attended lately, there was no reference whatsoever to the
possible continuation of the deceased in any other realm of existence.
The services basically consisted of memorial and farewell speeches.
It seems as if the duality of eternalism and nihilism, existence and
non-existence, is something that humankind has struggled with
throughout the ages – on one level or the other. Remember, Hamlet
was stuck with just two choices, existence or non-existence. The non-

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Buddhist in our koan addresses the same issue, but phrases it quite
differently: “I do not ask for words, nor do I ask for no-words”.
Posed this way it becomes a very penetrating question. What if I do
not go either way? Is it possible to transcend words and no-words?
Now the sky opens to a third option, which presents a whole new
reality. Clearly, the non-Buddhist was ready to see it. He had come to
the end of his reasoning.
How about us? During zazen, we may have gotten tired of our
endless mental conversations and try hard to shut ourselves up. But
that is tiring too, and not without danger — it may turn us into
zombies. In Buddhism, we believe that we can transcend words and
no-words – and, in fact, all dualities – by returning to the source they
spring from; we can experience the living truth directly, right before
these dualities arise. But that requires the deep samadhi the Buddha
expressed so beautifully by just remaining seated. Apparently, the
truth cannot be caught in dualistic terms and it can manifest itself
only in our functioning.
It is ironic that the non-Buddhist asked this question in the presence
of Ananda, who was an expert on words but apparently tended to
take them rather literally – and, by doing so, miss the point.
Therefore, the incident left Ananda wondering. How did the non-
Buddhist manage to attain enlightenment so promptly? The World-
Honored One did not even say anything. Is silence really golden,
after all? Yet that is not what is really meant here, although one could
say that the Buddha’s silence spoke volumes. The point is that words
have their limitations, as do no-words. Their effectiveness depends
on the situation at hand, and on the inner freedom of the person
involved.
Koans help us find such freedom because they can be resolved only
by loosening our dualistic notions. They are called barriers but, in

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reality, they are not – it is our own deluded mind that is the barrier.
Consequently, one could say that koans present challenges that help
us come to terms with the big human questions like: Who am I? What
am I supposed to be doing? What happens when I die? Koans are
also called examples and they happen to be highly effective. We can
consider ourselves very fortunate to have encountered the example of
the World-Honored One.

THE SOUND OF SOMETHING STRUCK

The sound of something struck! – and I have forgotten all I knew.

Training was not even temporarily necessary.
In movement and deportment I manifest the Ancient Way,
And fall not into a possible pessimism.
Nothing of me remains behind when I pass,
In speech and manner free of dignity.
All those who have reached this state of knowledge by experience,
Without exception tell of this supreme activity-potential.76
It is surprising how many masters attained great realization by
suddenly hearing something. In this case, it is the sound of
something struck. There are certainly plenty of opportunities for that
in a Zen temple, as wooden soundboards, bells, and drums are being
hit very often. When working with this koan from the Collection of
Vines and Entanglements, we are being asked which line is most
important and to present the implication of it in an alive manner.
Those who manage immediately feel connected with those masters of
old, since they share the same experience.
A sound can strike us but being struck does not necessarily refer only
to sound. We can be hit by many different things. In fact, there are

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quite a few records of masters who attained enlightenment by being
physically hit. It is said that Dogen Zenji even became enlightened by
somebody else being hit! The story goes that one morning, his
Chinese master Tendo Nyojo went around the meditation hall and
found the monk sitting next to Dogen dozing off. He pulled off his
slipper and hit him over the head, exclaiming, “Zazen is not just
sitting there; it is dropping away of body and mind!” We do not
know what happened to the monk in question, but something clearly
happened to Dogen. To make the story even more interesting, some
scholars77 argue that Tendo Nyojo did not actually speak these words
and suggest that he may have said “Dust off body and mind”, which
sounds almost the same in Chinese. But Dogen – whose grasp of the
Chinese spoken language may not have been perfect at the time –
misheard those words, was struck by what he thought he heard all
the more, forgot himself, and dropped off body and mind 78. Lucky
teacher, lucky student!
The koan impels us to just forget all we know and, by doing so, to
remember who we really are. But it is a strange kind of remembering.
Usually, we remember something that we used to know. Now we
remember what we never knew, our original face before our parents
were born!79 Nevertheless, it feels familiar because, after all, it really
is a family affair: the Way of the ancients.
“The Way” is a term Buddhism borrowed from the Taoist tradition,
and its connotations are highly evocative. On some level we have
never been off-track and every step we take is the Buddha Way. Yet
in order to remember that, we need to cover some distance. The
ancient Way is the path of all buddhas and ancestors. They paved the
Way so that we can follow. This means that, essentially, we are
followers of the Way. The Ancient Way shows us how to navigate
our life and not lose sight of what deserves our highest priority.

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And of course, we are not the first ones to tread this path – even
Shakyamuni Buddha himself is said to have been preceded by other
buddhas, stretching back in time beyond anyone’s memory. This can
give us the faith to continue, even when the going gets tough, as
there are great examples of practitioners who went before us and
who faced similar challenges. In a way, you and I are just the next
ones in line. It is apparently up to each one of us to make sure that
the path remains clearly visible for other followers. At times, doubts
may come up about whether I am really the right person to take on
this responsibility. And yet, if not me, who? Who will be there for the
next generation to follow?
The ancestral lineage chart that is copied by students who are
preparing to receive jukai (Zen lay ordination) lists a whole series of
masters in sequential order. It starts with Shakyamuni Buddha and
ends with the name of the recipient, who is listed at the bottom, right
under his or her teacher. All the names are connected by a red line,
which symbolizes a bloodline. This implies that the student inherits
the Dharma through the teacher’s lineage. There are two ways to look
at this chart. After receiving jukai, your name appears as the next one
in line, after all the ancestors; but you can also see yourself as listed
before them, as if they are pushing you forward from behind.
Looking at it that way, there really is nobody to follow; you are the
first one to make the next move. No wonder you feel uncertain at
times. You are entering unknown territory.
Ultimately, the red line is a closed circuit. It does not end with you
but continues all the way upward and connects with a mysterious
circle above Shakyamuni Buddha’s name, before descending through
all the ancestors. Seen this way, you are the one who empowers the
Buddha since he depends on that circle, which symbolizes
enlightenment. Thus, in this ancient way, you are an absolute

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pioneer. Its continuity depends on your courage and daring, your
commitment to realizing the way. In other words, the order is
completely turned around. We are not only followers of the way, but
we are also – unexpectedly – trailblazers!
The ancient way does not lead to any particular destination but
shows us over and over again how to become a stepping stone, and
at times that can feel lonely. You must take the next step because you
are the only one who can make it; nobody else can do it for you. And
if you do not, the link to the Buddha and all the ancestors is broken.
In other words, without your taking on this responsibility,
Shakyamuni Buddha does not come alive.
Zen practice starts off in the sitting posture, all by oneself. Even if we
sit with a whole group together, each individual has to make their
own effort. We enjoy sharing the same inspiration, yet we are not
supposed to get involved with one another. Turning one’s own light
inward just does not allow any company. That is perhaps why the
Zen practice of people who focus exclusively on sitting meditation
can turn somewhat apathetic. This koan even mentions a “possible
pessimism.”
Again, turning our own light inward requires daring. Depending on
our motivation and karmic disposition, it can send us straight into
the dark night of the soul. Without the guidance of a teacher and
knowledge of scriptures that clarify the process, without the active
cooperation of fellow practitioners and the support of bodhisattvas
who are called upon during ceremonial activities, we may indeed fall
into pessimism before the light of realization has had a chance to
shine. That is one of the reasons why I think that besides sitting
meditation, Zen practice needs to include other elements of training
such as study, ritual, and social interaction. Together they create a

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context that engenders the faith that is necessary for taking off all
masks and being free – even of dignity!
Realization is a delicate affair. It depends on inner as well as outer
circumstances. I do not mind repeating here the story of a baby chick
trying to break out of its shell. Apparently, the pecking of the chick
from the inside is not enough. The mother hen needs to peck from the
outside at the very same time for the chick to hatch and be alive. If
that is done too early, the chick may die from premature exposure;
too late and it may suffocate. In this analogy, the egg stands for a
comfort zone that has outlived its function and prevents further
growth. Thus, it is only natural that we want to break out of its
confines. This is, however, not without danger and most of us need
all the help we can get.
I once talked with a young man who had – as far as I could judge –
spontaneously experienced a genuine opening but could not
comprehend at all what had happened. He did not know anyone to
communicate it to and ended up feeling depressed for years. This
may be an exceptional case as, in general, most of us just would not
have such a deep experience without a supportive setting. But it is
telling. A big part of my personal mission is to make sure that
students are welcomed by a dedicated community in a conducive
environment, so that genuine realization has more of a chance to
occur and be recognized.
It should be noted that any insight, deep or shallow, can become a
protective shell in itself. Our longing to make something out of
nothing seems to be insatiable, and the classic texts abound with
warnings against solidifying one’s experience into a notion or a belief
– thereby robbing it of its live quality. To be free of dignity also
means to be free of “the stink of Zen” – in other words, to relinquish
any air of having attained something special. At some point we need

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to realize that every moment provides an opportunity to break out of
a shell, even the one created the very moment before. According to
Buddhist teaching, we die and are born many times per second, but
we do not usually pay attention, and therefore cannot enjoy the
freedom of this continuous process of renewal.
Koan practice can liberate voices from within that have been hidden
for a long time, perhaps even lifetimes. My teacher called those
voices “disowned”80, and talked about them as if they belonged to
difficult children we have locked up in the basement. Since all voices
can be seen as voices of the Buddha – and every situation may
demand a different response – we had better get to know as many
voices as possible. Too often we find ourselves completely controlled
by one that makes itself heard no matter what the circumstances are,
and that can actually be counter-productive. Even the voice of
compassion can be misinterpreted when our perception is not clear.
For instance, we may identify with the role of the “helper” primarily
out of a need for confirmation, without questioning whether anybody
is being served by what we say or do.
It is not easy to open ourselves to the voices that we have disowned.
But those voices will need to be recognized and properly seen
through before they can work together as a team. This calls for a lot
of composure and patience. As one’s practice matures, the voices
make themselves heard in an ever-greater variety while also turning
up their volume. We may start to feel like the director of a choir who
keeps taking on increasingly complicated compositions that require a
growing number of singers. In my experience, the more we advance
in practice, the more we realize the need for further practice.
“All those who have reached this state of knowledge by experience /
Without exception tell of this supreme activity-potential.” The last
two lines of the poem form a good conclusion of this chapter and

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prepare us for the next one. Anyone who has really heard the sound
of something struck and has forgotten the self even once cannot help
but try to express the supreme potential that has been activated. True
insight always gives rise to gratitude, and the wish to give voice to
this loud and clear.
On the one hand, we could say that, as far as the Dharma is
concerned, we will never receive anything that we are not already
fully endowed with. And yet realization does feel like something is
being received. It is like the life we have been given by our parents.
Life was not theirs, they did not own it, and only happened to pass it
on. Nevertheless, we feel grateful to them for taking the trouble to
accommodate our birth. The passing on of the Dharma from teacher
to student is similar. The deeper the realization, the greater the
gratitude – which can ultimately extend itself to appreciation towards
all buddhas and ancestors, and the life of everyone and everything.
This gratitude is too great to be contained within one’s individual
body and mind – it desperately needs to be shared. No wonder that
since ancient times, communal bowing and chanting have been an
integral part of Buddhist practice.

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 Chapter 3
Zen Ritual

LOOK! THIS WORLD IS VAST AND WIDE

Ummon said, “Look! This world is vast and wide. Why do you put on your
priest’s robes at the sound of the bell?”81
Every morning, at the sound of our temple bell, monastics put on their robes;
others dress in lay-robes, samu-e82 wear, or other clothes suitable for Zen
practice. It is a small ritual that over time grows on you as part of the daily
routine. But the question remains. The world is vast and wide, so why would
you dress yourself up that way and follow a training program that seems so
foreign to most people? There are so many things one can do, s0 why do this?
Some time ago, a group of university students came to visit Zen River and
they asked me that very question. I must have looked very old in their eyes
and they wondered what had brought me here. And I must admit, in
retrospect, it is quite a story! Of course, they look at their lives from the other
end, still having most of it ahead of them. Especially in today’s world, young
people have so many options to choose from. The world is vast and wide,
and in our digital culture we can access so much information so easily. Every
corner of the planet seems to be only a click away. However, this abundance
of data can also throw us into a quandary as to what to do, and why? Many
youngsters nowadays suffer from “over-choice” or “choice overload”. It must
have been interesting for our visitors to encounter a community of people
who follow a calling that seems unusual, to say the least.
The youngsters came all the way from Utrecht to Uithuizen, and the first
thing they heard was the Daihishin Dharani, which we chant nearly every day.
Where else in The Netherlands would they hear that? Personally, I have
gotten so used to it that I often forget how outlandish it must seem in our
Dutch environment. I could see the question in their eyes: what made you
decide to do this? And where are you going from here? Nevertheless, they all
listened very attentively, and I could see that it really made an impression.

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Who knows? Perhaps our chanting the Daihishin Dharani was the only thing
they remembered of their visit to our temple after they returned home. I can
easily imagine that they forgot all the explanations we gave them, but that the
rhythm of the chanting stuck in their heads.
At Zen River, we generally follow the Soto School forms of ritual, albeit with
some small adaptations. For example, we chant the sutras in both Japanese
and English. This allows our young international community – which uses
English as a common language – as well as our experienced Japanese friends
to find a fertile middle ground which helps us practice together quite easily.
Especially since the year 2010, when Zen River was certified as an official
Soto temple (tokubetsu jiin), we have regularly welcomed Japanese monks,
who join our program for one to three months. They are often surprised by
the amount of zazen we do and the number of sesshins. One of them decided
to stay for a few years to advance in koan training. Japanese monks are
usually much more accomplished in ritual than we are, so we can learn from
each other.
Westerners who are new to Zen sometimes think of our ritual style as strictly
“Japanese”, but for a Japanese monk that is not quite true. One who
witnessed an exciting hossenshiki (Dharma-combat ceremony) at our temple
was very enthused but, to our surprise, compared it to jazz. In Japan, such a
ceremony follows an exact script and every word is learned by heart in
multiple rehearsals, whereas we prefer a spontaneous exchange of questions
and answers. One other monk had a hilarious outburst when we were served
a tasty breakfast of cheese on toast for oryoki (a formal meal in the zendo). He
ran to the kitchen afterwards and cried out to Tammy, who is the tenzo (head-
cook): “Unbelievable, pizza in oryoki! I love pizza; I should eat pizza in
oryoki!” This line became one of our popular kitchen slogans. In Japanese
monasteries okayu (rice gruel) is standard, and for breakfast an absolute must.
Perhaps the biggest difference the Japanese monks observe is that monks and
laypeople, men and women, all practice together and essentially follow the
same program. At Zen River, laypeople are given the opportunity to take on
certain positions in the ceremonies they would traditionally be excluded

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from. Consequently, developing ritual skills becomes part of their Zen
training.

THROUGHOUT SPACE AND TIME

While on a trip to Japan with a mixed group of students, we once came upon
a lone mountain temple and heard the monks reciting a sutra we all knew.
We sneaked in, joined their ranks, and chanted along with them. They were
totally surprised but continued the ceremony and welcomed us heartily after
it had finished.
Of course, learning just a few words of a foreign language and appreciating
the customs of another culture can be of tremendous value in itself. In Zen
ritual, we are invited to join practitioners from all over the world and –
although this is perhaps hard to believe – even throughout the history of
Buddhism. Our morning service includes the recitation of the names of our
Indian, Chinese, and Japanese ancestors. Very often, we even call upon “all
Buddhas, Bodhisattvas and Mahasattvas throughout space and time.” It is a
recurring invocation that follows the reciting of sutras during service. It
sounds like magic – and in a way it is.
Zen ritual can make us realize that the transmission of the Dharma is
teamwork. The lineage of ancestors, which features on the kechimyaku
students receive during jukai – and which is recited during the morning
service – can give one the impression that the essence of the Dharma can be
transmitted only from one person to the next. Shiho, the ceremony in which a
master officially appoints a successor, confirms that impression.
We should, however, not forget the larger picture in which this takes place.
The Chinese Dentoroku (Transmission of the Lamp), which details the lives of
the old masters, does not present such a linear – or, one could say, strictly
vertical – structure. It also records stories of related masters – including those
who died without any successors – and other practitioners; so here there is
more elaboration on a horizontal plane. Altogether, this structure conveys the

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image of a family tree that branches out in all directions. It was Keizan Zenji
who, in his Denkoroku (Transmission of the Light) – which is based on the
Dentoroku collection – decided to follow a singular line of ancestors, and that
has become standard formula in Japanese Soto Zen.
When Zen River purchased the property where it is now established, the
inventory was included, and many things had to be sorted when we moved
in. Between all the furniture, bedding, and kitchen gear, I found a big old-
fashioned planning board and used it to concoct an elaborate lineage chart. It
features not only the names of our White Plum Asanga but also as many
names of other related lineages that I could find. We hung this board in the
kaisando, and most people who visit our temple find it highly intriguing. It
shows hundreds of names in a network of lines and yet conveys a sense that
this network is only a small part of a much larger structure.
As I see it, during Zen ritual we are all invited to assume our rightful place in
this structure. In a deeply mysterious way, we find our connection with the
ancestors throughout space and time. In a way, we are all ancestors. The
Hotsuganmon states it very clearly:
“Buddhas and ancestors of old were as we; we in the future shall be
Buddhas and ancestors. Revering Buddhas and ancestors, we are one
Buddha and one ancestor; awakening bodhi mind, we are one bodhi
mind.”83
This is not something that can be explained rationally, but – especially during
communal ritual activities – it can slowly start to penetrate our bones. We are
in this together, the Dharma is teamwork, and there is a place for each and
every one of us.
Our daily ritual in the hatto (ceremonial hall) usually consists of a morning,
noon, and evening service. Participants enter and line up in rows right and
left of the altar, facing one another. At the sound of several bells, an officiant
enters with assistants and offers incense, whereupon the whole community
makes bows together. The chanting is led by the ino (chant leader) and
accompanied by the sounds of bells and a wooden drum. At Zen River, we
usually chant four or five short sutras or dharanis and the lineage in the

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morning, one sutra at noon, and another in the early evening. Each of them is
followed by a special dedication. Three final bows and a formal exit of the
officiant and participants conclude the service. Special ceremonies include
jukai and shukke tokudo (lay and monastic ordination), hossenshiki, fusatsu
(atonement ceremony), segaki (food-offering ceremony), services dedicated to
the land, weddings, funerals, and memorial services.
One of our most popular ritual observances is fusatsu, traditionally conducted
twice a month, on the nights of the full moon and the new moon. It is an
atonement ceremony that includes many bows, but it does not involve only
repentance. After we acknowledge the negative karmic consequences of our
actions, we call on the help of all the buddhas and bodhisattvas and express,
in the Four Bodhisattva Vows, our desire to fulfill our own life’s mission.
Then the officiant sits down in front of the altar, facing the community as the
embodiment of Vairocana Buddha, performs a purification ritual and then
transmits the sixteen precepts to everyone. The ceremony concludes with the
recitation of poems that convey our loyalty to the Three Treasures. It is hard
to describe the effect that such a ritual can have on us as individuals and as a
group.
The basic form of this atonement ceremony dates back to the days of the
Buddha. Perhaps it is because the ritual form of fusatsu is so old that it
became timeless: so many people throughout the ages have found solace and
direction by participating in this ceremony. It raises our individual
commitment to Buddhist practice to another level and gives life a completely
new dimension. We find our position and function in the grand scenario of
awakening and join the continuous practice of all buddhas and bodhisattvas,
wherever we go and whatever we do.
Many of these services have a long history and participating in them
repeatedly makes us part of that history. The dress code also helps us to
forget space and time. Most participants wear black robes or loose-fitting
gear in muted colors, and the monastics sport shaven heads or very short
hair. It often feels as if we could be from anywhere – perhaps even from a
distant planet – and have landed inadvertently in this northern coast of The

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Netherlands. Nevertheless, we are more at home than ever. The rhythmic
drone of our sutra chanting reinforces the coherence of the community and it
becomes the heartbeat of everyone present. Recognizing oneself as a member
of a timeless sangha is a joyful and invigorating experience. It lifts us out of
our self-created confinement and throws us into a vibrantly alive universe.
Upon return, the world does not look the same.
Astronauts who walked on the moon and could observe our little blue planet
Earth from such a great distance for the first time have made astonishing
remarks about this experience. Edgar Mitchell, who was on the crew of the
Apollo 14 mission in 1971, noted:
“There seems to be more to the universe than a random, chaotic,
purposeless movement of a collection of molecular particles. On the
return trip home, gazing through 240,000 miles of space toward the
stars and the planet from which I had come, I suddenly experienced the
universe as intelligent, loving, harmonious.”84
Apparently, the greater the perspective we develop, the more we can
appreciate our life here. In zazen we first turn away from our habitual sensory
perception and open our mind beyond its usual parameters, only to be all the
more struck by an explosion of sense data afterwards. Having realized
emptiness – even to a limited extent – we start to see how it expresses itself in
myriads of shapes and forms. It is as if we give our life more of a chance to
manifest itself in all its rich diversity; every form can enlighten us as a unique
expression of emptiness. Yet in some forms that may be more easily visible
than in others, which means that we need pointers.
Just as turning our own light inward requires directions, so does clear
observation. That is why the layout and interior design of practice places
really matter – they can steer our attention and create a conducive mindset
for the specific activities we are about to engage in. For example, the zendo
(meditation hall) usually has a simple design and features natural colors. It is
supposed to evoke stillness and single-minded focus and inspire us to do
zazen. The zendo features only one statue – representing Manjushri, the
bodhisattva of non-dual wisdom. He is plain-clothed, sitting by himself in

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meditation, often on top of a fierce-looking lion. The statue is meant to inspire
us to tame our wild mind by ourselves.
In contrast, the hatto can be rather exuberant, with brightly colored
decorations. It is meant to open our view to the awe-inspiring diversity of
life. In a traditional hatto, we usually find Shakyamuni Buddha on the altar,
and he is often accompanied by various bodhisattvas and surrounded by all
kinds of colorful paraphernalia. This is not so common in the West and it was
a total shock when I went to Japan for further training and saw a Soto Zen
temple for the first time. Entering the main hall, I was welcomed by a host of
statues, lanterns, colorful drapes, flags and banners, all kinds of percussion
instruments, and an altar big enough to stand on.
At Zen River, we are fortunate to have both facilities and we walk back and
forth between them several times a day. This makes for a significant
transition. If the zendo represents the realm of emptiness, then the hatto is its
evident counterpart – the realm of form. In the one room you are basically left
alone and encouraged to take on individual responsibility for your life. In the
other room you are expected to actively cooperate with fellow practitioners
and to recognize a deep and mutual connection with the buddhas and
ancestors. This combination corresponds to the basic tenet of Mahayana
Buddhism, that we can all realize buddhahood but that we also do need the
help of the enlightened ones.

MEDITATION IN ACTION

Once, when Akiba Roshi, the head of the American department of the Soto
school, visited us in Salt Lake City for some days, I asked him privately if
there was anything he thought we should learn to do better. He smiled, and
whispered in his best English, “How to mooove!” He had visited during a
sesshin and had seen that we could sit still for long hours. But he had also
noticed that our concentration quickly evaporated as soon as we got up. The
ritual forms of the Soto school can be seen as a natural extension of zazen, as
a choreography that shows us how to start moving around without losing the

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stillness and spaciousness experienced during sitting. It allows a smooth
transition, helping us enter the world of action with more physical awareness
and poise, and engage in life situations with renewed appreciation.
In zazen we are in a prime position to receive the treasure of the Dharma,
whereas in rituals we have an opportunity to express our gratitude and give
back freely. In fact, activities such as offering incense, making bows, and
reciting sutras are considered to generate merit that can be dedicated to the
welfare of others. For example, during our daily morning service we wish
people in troubled regions peace and harmony, our masters a long and
healthy life, family members and friends who are ill a speedy recovery, and
those who have recently passed away a “swift passage to the other shore”.
Like meditation, ritual can be practiced anywhere, at any time, alone or with
others. But a specially designated place can make it feel more powerful.
During the desert retreats in Southern Utah, our altar consisted of a simple
log of wood. Yet, as soon as it was put in the right place and we began to
bow, the whole atmosphere of the environment changed. So, for ritual
practice at home – before or after zazen, at mealtimes, or any other suitable
occasion – it would be a good idea to arrange a small sanctuary as a place of
reflection in the midst of your daily activities. Over time, creating such
modest anchor points can have surprising effects. They serve as reminders to
extend your meditative awareness to life’s most mundane details.
Most of us, however, need clear, hands-on instructions as to how to practice
ritual. We need physical examples we can copy, even for basic movements
such as sitting down in the appropriate posture, getting up again, and
making a bow. Nevertheless, the following description of how to make a full
bow may give you a head start. First, stand up straight and put your hands in
gassho (palms together), with your elbows pointing out, and your fingertips
about a fist away from your nose. Then, make a standing bow by tilting your
upper body a little bit forward, and look at the floor for a quick moment.
Next, return to the vertical position, bend your knees and sink straight down,
keeping your hands in gassho. Once your knees reach the floor, bend forward,
move your hands further apart, place your elbows close to your knees and

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touch the floor with your forehead. Then bring both hands close to both ears.
Turn your hands so that the palms face up and raise them carefully as if you
are lifting an invisible Buddha. Then lower your hands again and raise your
upper body, until your shoulders are above your hips, and your hips above
your feet. Push yourself up with your hands next to your knees if needed, lift
yourself up, and stretch your legs. Stand straight, make a gassho, and finish
this beautiful full bow with a standing bow.
Different Buddhist traditions have developed different forms of ritual, and
even in Zen there is quite a variety of styles. The Soto School champions
ceremony as a form of group meditation that requires concentrated
coordination. We probably learn this most easily in a suitable environment,
such as a retreat center or monastery, where we can practice in collaboration
with like-minded people. At first, the Soto ceremonies may look very
elaborate and exotic, but they enable participants to communicate a deep
sense of interconnectedness and they offer invaluable lessons on how to work
together as one body.
The idea is to maintain this awareness throughout the day from morning till
night. Everyone follows a set schedule, and various kinds of bells and
wooden blocks are hit to announce and conclude activities. Moreover, in
traditional Zen temples you find little altars throughout the property,
dedicated to the kitchen, washrooms, toilets, workplaces, and other facilities.
Often, you are supposed to make bows and recite a short verse before
entering. There is even a verse for brushing your teeth. At Zen River, we have
simplified this repertoire somewhat, but we do bow and chant before
activities such as Dharma talks, samu (work periods), and meals.
The oryoki meals I mentioned above deserve some special attention. They
bring a very effective form of ritual into the zendo. Everybody sits in zazen
posture and has their own set of bowls in front of them. While a drum is
being hit, a food offering is brought to the altar. We chant several meal gathas
to invoke the Buddha and bodhisattvas, to remind ourselves that we eat in
order to stay fit for practicing the Dharma and to thank all those who have
been involved in preparing the meal. During oryoki, all participants follow a

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traditional choreography. Servers enter one by one and synchronize their
movements with each other as well as with the participants they are serving.
Although no word is spoken, bows and simple gestures enable everyone to
connect closely and respectfully. Besides being a great exercise in
attentiveness, oryoki turns out to be very practical. Eating in silence allows us
to truly appreciate the food that is being served and to save time
simultaneously. Washing one’s own bowls is part of the ceremony and
reminds us to leave no traces and to be ready for what comes next.
All of this helps one to develop a sense of mindfulness that can be maintained
not only inside but also outside of the monastery, at work and in family
circumstances. Over the years, I have learned that even simple everyday
activities such as parking the car, navigating the aisles of a supermarket,
standing in line at the cash register, setting up the dinner table, and doing the
washing-up can all become forms of ritual and thereby a valuable form of
practice. One of my students told me that perhaps the most important thing
she had learned during her first retreat was to open doors for others, and that
she was met with happy reactions when she continued to do so at the local
mall.
Walking from the zendo to the hatto often reminds me of going from the
second to the third mode of meditation. Of course, we can practice clear
observation perfectly well while sitting in zazen; yet quite often things may
strike us more vividly after we have left the zendo, particularly when we have
to face others. Nothing can replace zazen: sitting by oneself is the starting
point, over and over again. As we have seen, however, to really get to know
ourselves most of us need someone else, a teacher who can help us recognize
deeply ingrained individual patterns. Also, at some point we may discover
that much of our conditioning is group-related and originates from our
family circumstances and upbringing as well as from our relationships with
classmates, friends, and colleagues. Becoming a member of a new family – a
community of practitioners – gives us a chance to have a fresh look at our
life’s history of social relationships. This may encourage us to try out
alternative ways to communicate with others. I have seen people go through

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remarkable changes just by taking on certain positions during morning
service or oryoki. For me, often being assigned the position of jisha (attendant)
of my teacher and serving him during ceremonial activities as well as in
daily-life situations has been an incredible learning experience. Taking care of
somebody in that manner was new to me.

WHY DO YOU PUT ON YOUR ROBES AT THE SOUND OF THE BELL?

However inspirational ancient religious rituals may be, history shows that
they can also petrify over time. They run the risk of becoming a routine,
losing their initial spark and purpose. Nevertheless, we cannot do away with
forms altogether and – whether old-fashioned or modern, formal or casual –
we always express ourselves in one form or another. Nowadays, the aversion
to religious institutions seems to have led to highly individualized forms of
spiritual practice. The prominent sociologist Robert Bellah made some strong
statements about this tendency: “Making up your own spirituality with no
knowledge of any tradition is a virtual impossibility and, if it were
attempted, would be more a sign of insanity than of insight. Spirituality and
religion (which means communities and institutions) require each other and
could not survive separately.”85
As I understand it, without spiritual practice (aimed at a personal experience
of transcendence), religion may turn into rigid fundamentalism. On the other
hand, without some type of organized religion, spirituality may turn into
something highly individualized without any commitment to a greater cause.
Or, translated to Zen language, zazen can show each one of us that in the
conditioned world there is nothing – absolutely nothing – that has any
everlasting substance. This connects us with our surprising potential for
transformation and individual freedom. Nevertheless, sharing our practice
and realization with others requires solidarity and the use of a certain agreed
format and organizational structure. Consequently, if we decide that some
forms have outlasted their relevance, it would be best to find alternatives that
can conserve a similar social function in the future.

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So, to go back to the koan with which this chapter started, Ummon’s “the
world is vast and wide” refers to the realm of emptiness, while “why do you
put on your robes at the sound of the bell?” refers to the realm of form. The
creative potential of our wondrous world seems endless. Yet circumstances
prompt us to make choices. When it was time for Tammy and I to leave our
teacher in Salt Lake City, we had to figure out which way to go next. Six
months of temple training in Japan would be an exciting first step into a new
direction, but where life would take us after that was still unclear.
There were several options, and one of them had already been on our minds
for some time. The desert retreats we organized on a campsite in Southern
Utah were highly inspiring events. The incredible vistas and the deep silence
of the desert served as a perfect setting for our style of practice at the time.
We had already looked for places to settle but finding anything suitable,
affordable, and reasonably accessible proved to be difficult. Our search did,
however, give us another idea. Could not we just travel around with a pick-
up truck and a trailer, and do those retreats year-round at different locations?
Going from one national park to the other would also give us a chance to
follow the most suitable seasons. It felt like a dream that could come true –
we knew our way and had all the necessary equipment.
We played with the idea for some time until we realized that such a nomadic
existence would make it difficult to create a steady and loyal community, let
alone foster successors. In the end, it was probably better for us to establish a
new residential temple, most likely in The Netherlands, which seemed to be
most ready for such a place. I must admit that I felt some apprehension and
regret at first. Exchanging the wide-open spaces of the American wilderness
for the overcrowded, urbanized flat lands of my native country took some
bravery. Interestingly enough, experience with the one prepared us well for
the other.

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 FORM AND EMPTINESS

As mentioned before, the world of emptiness opens us up to our endless

potential, while the world of form reminds us of our endless limitations.
Fortunately, once we have seen the greater picture, things tend to fall into
place more easily. Emptiness has no characteristics, but forms have their
outline, texture, and color and, as soon as they appear, their shadows follow.
Yet those characteristics give us the opportunity to be creative and to find out
which form functions best in a particular context. They present us with a
specific challenge: How can we handle forms in a way that allows their
vibrantly alive essence – their total lack of any everlasting substance – to
shine through? It is possible to do this, but it requires practice. And, as usual,
if we really wish to practice something, we had better start small. So why not
learn how to hit clappers or a bell at exactly the right time? The Zen River
community we set up took its first baby steps in ritual in rented places where
the accommodation was quite modest. After two years, we moved into our
current property and only then could we begin to practice the traditional
services in more detail and on a larger scale.
The ritual style of the Soto School is extremely meticulous: all movements
and sounds are prescribed, down to the minutest details. Because of that
strictness, it is relatively easy to see when something goes wrong – the
choreography almost seems to be designed to encourage failure. Even just
wearing the robes properly is a challenge. They seem to require continuous
awareness and regular adjusting. So, there is plenty of room for
embarrassment. I have seen participants in our program become deeply
frustrated after they hit the bells wrongly or mistook their steps. But the
precision that is required also means that it is possible to experience the joy of
getting it just right and to feel like being the right person, in the right place, at
the right time.
Since one can easily miss a beat, improvisation is often called for, and that
can create something completely unexpected. In fact, several times I have
seen seasoned Japanese masters make moves that nobody could foresee,
presenting everyone with a challenge as to how to respond. I really enjoy

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such moments because they remind us that, ultimately, our ritual forms are
supposed to express emptiness, so we need to stay open to new variations.
As far as I am concerned, one of the main objectives of our ritual services is to
forget oneself while fulfilling one’s position, and to experience how things
can miraculously fall into place. And we are talking about a big place here:
the hatto stands for a universe full of buddhas and bodhisattvas. Simply by
hitting bells, offering incense, bowing, and chanting together, we may
suddenly get a hunch of our place in that universe, far beyond where our
ordinary consciousness could ever reach.
Perhaps unexpectedly, this experience can be of great help in our daily-life
situations. When we say the wrong things or make the wrong moves, it is
often because we do not have a view of the whole situation. We miss out on
the larger picture, so our position is unclear and our actions are misdirected.
In zazen we can open up to that larger picture – in fact, to an infinitely large
picture – but it still has to be manifested in the physical world. In ritual
services we can all learn to fulfill a specific function, while our expanded
awareness helps us to do this in the most fitting way.
In the world of emptiness everything is perfect as it is, there is basically
nothing to do, and we do not need to take any position. In the world of form,
however, nothing is ever quite perfect – at least not for very long – so there is
lots to do, and we need to find a position that is relevant within the ever-
changing grand scheme of things. In the zendo the focus is primarily on
emptiness, and in the hatto on form; so those two places beautifully
complement one another. I sometimes joke that in the zendo we are all one
hundred percent the same, while in the hatto we are all one hundred percent
different. It would be wonderful if we could learn to fully embrace both
aspects of our life and not automatically gravitate to one or the other.
Training in both meditation and ritual helps us to intuit with our whole being
which perspective is most beneficial in a specific situation. We start to sense it
in our guts. While this will be discussed in more detail in the chapter on the
Zen precepts, I would like for now to emphasize again that in Buddhism
forms are essentially seen as function. This means that flexibility is often

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required, but also loyalty. Certain forms have served their function very well
for long periods of time and deserve our respect. Other forms have perhaps
lost their relevance and may need to be replaced, and this provides a
challenge to our creativity. Yet it would be wise to bear in mind that no form
is perfect forever.
Chinese painters of the Song Dynasty period found interesting ways to
express this. They feigned a certain clumsiness, or intentionally included
errors in their composition, just to show that true perfection cannot be found
in form. My favorite water lilies of Monet are the unfinished ones. Just like
Cezanne’s apples, they seem to be caught in their process of finding a
definitive form and never get there. Meanwhile, they beautifully convey the
innate radiant perfection of emptiness.
In any case, whenever there is form, there are going to be differences, also in
quality and applicability. For example, although we can copy the Japanese
ritual choreography to some extent, we need to find our own way of making
it meaningful for our situation here. How to manifest insights in forms that
do justice to those insights and that, in turn, also inspire us to keep deepening
them? Whereas the temple may give us the ideal opportunity to learn all of
this, it is only the starting place. The idea is that we take the temple with us
when we leave and expand it so that our whole life becomes a temple. That is
why we try to create a ritual program that, at least to a certain extent, can also
be practiced at home.

BEAUTY

One of my simple standards regarding any ritual form is beauty. I once urged
somebody to start making bows as part of his daily practice, and he asked me
for how long he should continue this. I told him to keep going until he felt
that his bowing became beautiful, knowing that if that happened he probably
would not question the value of making bows anymore. Beauty can be
enjoyed in many ways and on many different levels. It is even said that
beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Admittedly, we may have to learn to

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appreciate unexpected forms of beauty. Sometimes we need mediators,
people who can show us the beauty of things that may initially not appeal to
us at all. I think that Van Gogh was the first artist who used a pair of worn-
out shoes as the subject of a painting. Later, Marcel Duchamp managed to
make us look at an ordinary urinal as we would at an interesting sculpture.
Zen masters often do something similar. When Ummon was once asked,
“What is Buddha?” he answered, “A dried shit-stick!” 86 The question is
whether we can really discern the Buddha in everything and everyone. If not,
one could say that we do not really see the Buddha at all.
Just as art makes us look at the world through the eyes of the artist, Buddhist
rituals help us see through the eyes of the enlightened masters who created
and developed them. In our services we participate in a living artwork, a
kind of musical, that can instigate insights we may otherwise never have.
Once, during morning service, I had this realization that when I bow, all
buddhas and bodhisattvas bow. In fact, the whole universe bows: people,
trees and grasses, homes and cars, animals great and small – all make bows at
the same time. The deep sense of interconnectedness that came with it
lingered long after the service had finished.
As I see it, beauty goes together with function, and there has been plenty of
opportunity to experiment with that here at our temple. Many of the rooms
only found their function over time, sometimes after slight and sometimes
after drastic alteration. My main criterion has been whether those rooms
would welcome you in or not. Imagine you open a door – you can go “Oh,
no!” or you can go “Oh, yes!” Beauty wishes to be looked at. Good art invites
our eyes and heart in and so too can a simple room, or a piece of furniture
that is put in the right place. When we had to make a path from the main
building to the dokusan hut, we came up with a simple but unexpected curve
and I never get tired of looking at it. If we wish our life to make sense, the
environment around us can very much help us.
When something really falls into place, we often say that it just had to be that
way, even if it came about completely unexpectedly. When we were driving
up to these northern regions to have a first look at the property where we

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now live and practice, none of us could foresee what was waiting for us. Yet
when we saw the place, something immediately clicked. There were still
some hurdles to jump before we could move in, but very soon it felt as if this
really had been waiting for us. Now it is as if we have always been here. It is
the perfect form for us – at this point in time. And the place turned out to be
alive. Over the years, it managed to tell us how to organize the buildings and
rooms, how to expand, and where to stop expanding. In other words, the
property itself has been a tremendous teacher. Nearly every square inch has
become a ritual space that invites practice. Just following the daily schedule
and going from one part of the building to another has turned out to be a
meditation in itself – a very physical process, charged with a mysterious
transformative power.
The way we deal with our environment can be very revealing. If none of us
wants to be treated like an object, why would a floor, a cup, or a cabinet like
to be treated that way? If we really see things as they are, they turn out to be
alive – even things we usually consider to be inanimate. To elaborate on this a
bit further, when we connect with other people, even our body language can
make a great difference. Sometimes we see a person enter a room, and
everybody looks up; sometimes, a person enters the same room, and
everybody looks down. So, one question we can ask ourselves is: How
inviting are my eyes, my gestures, the expressions on my face? Am I open
enough to welcome life as it comes to me? All the buddhas and ancestors are
knocking on the door. Is there enough space inside, and are there enough
chairs, like in Vimalakirti’s room?87 Those chairs were huge and they
numbered in the thousands, yet his modest ten-foot-square room did not
need to expand for them to all fit in nicely.88
Yasutani Roshi emphasizes the fact that we need not only to wake up to the
Buddha “within” us, but also to all the buddhas and bodhisattvas “outside”
of us.89 When we do, we look at people in the street, bus, or train in a very
different way. According to Mahayana Buddhist teaching, everyone, without
exception, is on their way to buddhahood and deserves our respect –
however unlikely candidates some of us may seem to be! We are all

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ascending bodhisattvas. But one can also see that the other way around. The
scriptures mention fully accomplished bodhisattvas who, out of their
benevolent compassion, descend to our world and appear in human form in
order to help. Yet we may have a hard time recognizing them! As we will
now see, studying the sutras will make us more familiar with all the different
shapes and sizes they can take.

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 Chapter 4
Study practice

BEYOND WORDS AND LETTERS?

According to the traditional account90, Shakyamuni Buddha initially had

some serious reservations about sharing his great experience of awakening
with others. How could he possibly put into words what he had realized and
who would be able to comprehend what he was talking about? He kept
sitting in deep meditation until he was visited by the deity Brahma, who
urged him to get up and start teaching in order to relieve the suffering in the
world; Brahma assured him that at least some people would understand his
words. The Buddha took this to heart and compassionately spread the
Dharma for many decades to come.
He established a sangha of dedicated followers and wandered far and wide.
Wherever he went, he generously taught men and women, ordained as well
as laypeople, each according to their needs. At first, his teachings were
transmitted orally and they were not written down until much later. The
earliest records date from three centuries after the Buddha passed away. This
means that it is difficult to verify the accuracy of those records, or “sutras”, as
they came to be called.
Over time, more and more sutras appeared, and they ended up numbering in
the thousands. The different schools of Buddhism that developed took
different sutras as their main source of inspiration and, although debates
between the schools can be highly spirited, a sense of tolerance has always
prevailed. It is generally agreed that the Dharma is not meant to be merely
accepted as a doctrine, but rather to be used as a collection of practical
instructions for letting go of self-attachment and fostering love and
compassion for all beings.
We all know, however, that every teaching – no matter how profound – can
solidify and become dogmatic, especially when it is written down, copied,

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recited, and quoted over and over again. Furthermore, intellectual
deliberations and literary digressions can start to overshadow its original
message. Therefore, the Zen school often stresses direct personal experience
above scriptural knowledge. Bodhidharma, an Indian master who traveled to
China and came to be revered as the first ancestor of the Zen school, is
claimed to have said: “Zen is a special transmission outside the scriptures,
not founded upon words and letters. By pointing directly to one’s mind, it
lets one see into one’s own true nature and thus attain Buddhahood.”91
Although easily misunderstood, this saying became almost emblematic of the
whole Zen tradition. Bodhidharma is a somewhat legendary figure and we
do not really know much about him. But it could very well be that he had
reservations about the sophisticated intellectual culture of India at the time,
and therefore emphasized the need for a firsthand experience of one’s true
nature and the verification of that experience by a realized master.
Ironically, Bodhidharma used a complicated scripture – the Lankavatara Sutra
– to support his view, and one of the early Zen schools was originally called
the “Lankavatara School”. This sutra features a thorough analysis of
Yogacara teaching. As the following passage illustrates, it also emphasizes
that the essence of the Buddhist teaching can only be realized by oneself:
“Who sees that the habit-energy of projections of the beginningless past
is the cause of the three realms and who understands that the tathagata
stage is free from projections or anything that arises, attains the
personal realization of buddha knowledge and effortless mastery over
their own minds. And like gems capable of reflecting every color, they
enter the subtlest thoughts of other beings and in their apparition
bodies teach them ‘nothing but mind’ while establishing them in the
sequence of stages. Therefore, Mahamati, you should devote yourself to
the cultivation of personal attainment.”92

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A poem that occurs a bit further on the sutra, stresses that attachment to
language can be a great hindrance to pursuing this.
“Distinguish units of letters
units of words and phrases
people who foolishly cling to these
are like elephants in a quagmire.”93

So, perhaps surprisingly, here is a sutra telling us that we should not get
attached to sutras. To use a common Buddhist expression, all words are just
fingers pointing to the moon and should not be mistaken for the moon itself.
Many Zen masters after Bodhidharma continued to echo the same sentiment.
Master Rinzai for example, once stated emphatically:
“Followers of the Way, the leaver of home must study the Way. I
myself was formerly interested in the Vinaya, in the rules and
regulations, and diligently studied the Sutras and the Treatises. Then I
realized that they were only drugs suitable for appeasing the ills of the
world, only relative theories. At one stroke, I threw them away, set
myself to learn the Way, started Zen training and met great teachers.
Only then did my eye of the Way begin to see clearly, and I was able to
understand all the old masters and to know the false from the true. Man
born of woman does not naturally know this. But after long and painful
practice, one morning it is realized in one’s own body.”94
Master Ummon, who has been praised as the most eloquent master of the
Tang Era, had great resistance to having his sayings put on paper. He even
strongly forbade his students from taking notes of his talks. If anyone did, he
would just grab them away. According to legend, Ummon’s teaching
survived only because some monks in his assembly decided to wear paper
robes so they could scribble down his golden words while he was speaking 95.
In fact, Ummon ended up being the most quoted master of the Mumonkan

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and Hekiganroku. Many of his deceptively simple sayings, such as “Every day
is a good day”, have become popular expressions in the Zen school.
Of course, we must understand the position of Rinzai and Ummon within the
context of the time and culture in which they lived. These masters must have
been very well-read because they refer to the scriptures on a regular basis.
They just wanted to warn their students against sticking too much to the
letter and being satisfied with only a conceptual understanding. Clearly, the
fact that the living truth cannot be captured in words does not mean that we
cannot use words at all. If we do not mistake the fingers for the moon, we can
read, talk, and write as much as seems necessary. Therefore, almost in spite of
itself, the Zen school has produced a huge canon of literature with the
recorded sayings and doings of its revered masters.

STUDY AND PRACTICE

Ideally speaking, study and practice inform and complement each other, but
both need their own time and attention, and they should not be confused.
Perhaps it would be best to start reciting the sutras at a young age (when it is
still easy to memorize information), next to focus solely on meditation with a
teacher to gain first-hand insights, and then to pick up the sutras again to
verify one’s experience and learn to use words that are conducive for sharing
the Dharma. As I understand it, many of the old masters followed such a
trajectory. Unfortunately, those of us who started Buddhist practice later in
life often feel like we need to make a choice between one or the other.
Nowadays, many people who practice do not find much time for study, and
those who study do not find much time for practice. As a result, they do not
always see how the two are related.
Although I was a late bloomer, I count myself lucky to have been able to
combine study and practice to some extent. One of my great inspirations has
been the program of the Zen Center of Los Angeles (ZCLA) during my time

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there. We were visited by a constant stream of Buddhist masters, poets,
calligraphers, and sword fighters as well as by scholars who would teach at
the Kuroda Institute. Maezumi Roshi was one of those rare Zen masters who
was set on integrating meditation practice and scriptural study. The Institute
was founded by him as a department of the Zen Center to further scholarship
on East Asian Buddhism. To this day it publishes high-quality books. I fondly
remember attending classes on Dogen Zenji and a weekly course on
Pratityasamutpada (dependent origination).
As soon as I was ordained and entered residential practice, however, I could
hardly find time for study anymore. In those days, Genpo Roshi focused
completely on zazen and koan training, and I really loved his direct and
uncompromising approach – it was pretty much all or nothing. When we
lived in city centers, we followed an intense daily schedule and sesshin
program and, at the same time, I needed to do odd jobs to make ends meet.
During our long retreats in isolated countryside locations, there was not
much opportunity to read either. Only when nearing the end of koan
training, when I was assigned as an assistant teacher, did I manage to study
again.
As I started working with students and giving Dharma talks, it dawned upon
me rather quickly that my experience required more grounding in, and
verification by, the scriptures. Regretting my obvious lack of academic
Buddhist education, I decided to try to catch up on the classic scriptures in
whatever way was possible. Starting with the Lotus Sutra, I devoured one
book after another and discovered how incredibly precisely the metaphors
and parables in the sutras describe the human condition and the various
stages of the Buddhist path.
This also clarified for me the position of koans in Zen training. Quite a
number of koans are taken from the sutras and concentrate on the main intent
of a certain passage. That gives us the opportunity to delve deeply into the
matter during zazen, without getting overly caught up in the ornate language
of the sutras or becoming attached to a merely intellectual interpretation.

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Conversely, insights gained in koan training can shed new light on the sutras
and can lift our personal experience up to a higher and more universal level.
Continuing study in combination with zazen can reveal the timeless wisdom
that sutras convey and – often to our surprise – they become inspiring
accounts of our life. It may take diligence and patience but, over time, they
resonate with us on ever-deeper levels. We start to feel that the workings of
our own mind correspond with the content of the sutras more and more
intimately.
Let us take Master Hannyatara, the teacher of Bodhidharma, as an example.
The following passage is derived from Case 3 of the Shoyoroku:
“Attention! The ruler of a country in Eastern India invited the Twenty-
Seventh Ancestor, Hannyatara, for a mid-morning meal. The ruler
asked him, ‘Why don’t you read sutras?’ The Ancestor replied, ‘This
poor follower of the Way, when breathing in does not dwell in the
realm of skandhas, and when breathing out is not caught up in the many
externals. Always do I thus turn a hundred thousand million billion
rolls of sutras’.”96
Perhaps we could say that the sutras only become real Buddhist teaching
when they are understood as accurate articulations of our very own life. This
also means that their relevance strongly depends on the one who is studying
them. Some people may need only half a word, whereas others may plow
through thousands of pages and still miss the point. The massive collection of
Prajnaparamita Sutras can be – and has been – condensed to ever shorter
versions. Well-known examples are the compact Diamond Sutra and the one-
page Heart Sutra, which we recite every day in our services. They can even be
compressed to a single letter, the Siddham character “A”, which includes and
expresses the whole universe. Vimalakirti, the hero of the sutra that bears his
name, took this principle to the extreme. He was a highly skilled speaker,
relishing lengthy Dharma dialogues with the greatest bodhisattvas. He is
most famous, however, for his “thunderous silence”. At the end of a
discussion with the verbally dexterous Manjushri, he chose to say nothing, as

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if to remind us of the limitations of language. Ironically, Manjushri still
wanted to have the last word.
“Then Manjushri said to Vimalakirti, ‘Each of us has given an
explanation. Now, sir, it is your turn to speak. How does the
bodhisattva enter the gate of nondualism?’ At that time Vimalakirti
remained silent and did not speak a word. Manjushri sighed and said,
‘Excellent, excellent! Not a word, not a syllable – this truly is to enter
the gate of nondualism’.”97
In any case, rather than mistrusting scriptures altogether or relying on a
single book of revelation, Buddhism champions a huge number of texts that
address a great variety of principles from many different viewpoints.

COUNTLESS DHARMA GATES

The Buddha is often compared to a skilled doctor and his teachings to

medicines meant to cure different diseases. The term upaya, or “expedient
means”, is also very common. There is a chapter in the Lotus Sutra which has
that term as its title, and it was Dogen Zenji’s favorite chapter. The point is
that we all suffer from a slightly different form of delusion, and for that
reason may need a different point of entry into practice. That is why there is a
great variety of teachings, and some can even seem contradictory. At first this
may be confounding, but in actual practice it just makes sense. Working as a
teacher, it has become clear to me over the years that one student may need
advice that is the exact opposite of what I have just given to another.
The number and variety of sutras can be rather bewildering, so it is good to
know that, in the course of history, several attempts have been made to put
them in a certain order. One influential classification of the sutras was made
by the sixth-century Tendai master Zhiyi. He arranged them in what he
believed to be the chronological order. According to this “Five Period”
model, the Buddha presented the teachings of the Avatamsaka Sutra first, soon

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after his enlightenment. But this period lasted merely a few weeks because
the profound implications of these teachings were not understood by anyone
but very advanced practitioners. The Buddha then skillfully switched to more
fundamental teachings, such as the Four Noble Truths, and this marks the
second period. Then he introduced the Mahayana principle of
bodhisattvahood, followed by the Prajnaparamita teachings, which emphasize
emptiness and the expedient quality of all Buddhist teaching. Zhiyi attributed
the Lotus Sutra and the Nirvana Sutra to a fifth period, and he considered
them to be the highest teachings. 98 In general, the Zen school subscribes to
this five-period model. For example, Dogen Zenji took it as a matter of
course. Nevertheless, it is always good to remember that other schools of
Buddhism came up with different classifications.
Although a global outline of the whole body of Buddhist scriptures like the
one Zhiyi established is very welcome, it is still only a starting point. I am
always looking for more detailed overviews, preferably with practice-
oriented commentaries. One of my favorites is a brief but intriguing
discussion of Mahayana sutras in the introduction of Thomas Cleary’s
translation of the Avatamsaka Sutra99. It is based on a comparative analysis of
their contents by a famous eighth-century Chinese lay Buddhist, Li
Tongxuan. To mention another treasure house, Bhikkhu Bodhi has published
several beautiful anthologies of excerpts from the Pali Canon – such as In the
Buddha’s Words100 – presented and organized thematically. I was also happy to
discover Buddhist Scriptures by Donald S. Lopez, a welcome successor to
Edward Conze’s book with the same title101. It includes a very interesting
introduction and a selection of Buddhist texts throughout the ages, organized
around certain basic principles and topics.
My latest asset is entitled Common Buddhist Text. Guidance and Insight from the
Buddha102, which is an initiative of the International Council for the Day of
Vesak, based in Thailand. This book provides a beautiful selection of
scriptures from the Theravada, Mahayana, and Vajrayana Buddhist traditions
that address basic aspects of the Three Treasures seen from their specific

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viewpoints. According to the introduction, “The project’s aim is to distribute
this book for free around the world, especially in hotels, so as to make widely
available the rich resources found in the texts of the main Buddhist traditions
relating to fundamental issues facing human beings.”
Besides these anthologies, more and more new translations of complete
sutras are becoming available, so there is no shortage of reading material.
Altogether, these publications present many different perspectives, which
encourages us to stay flexible and to accept that there is always further to go.
As we become more familiar with the sutras, we may also start to see beyond
their differences in emphasis and style to discover their common liberating
potential. Reading them is like listening to high-quality pieces of music from
different cultures and time periods. At some point we can recognize a quality
in those pieces that transcends their specific genre.
This does not mean that we can avoid having preferences. Indeed, many of
the old masters had a particular liking for certain sutras. It would, however,
be a pity if we would identify with only one sutra too quickly and dismiss all
the others before they have had a chance to speak to us. In my experience, the
practice of Zen can be greatly enriched by the study of scriptures associated
with other Buddhist traditions. For example, this gives us a chance to strike a
good balance between the sudden and gradual aspects of Zen practice.
In my view, the sudden aspect is generally well represented in the Chinese,
Japanese, and Korean Zen records of a later date. These are often so focused
on provoking the unmediated, stage-less experience of enlightenment, that it
shows even in their composition. Whether these scriptures are long or short,
the main message usually figures right at the beginning. This aims to convey
that true wisdom is not the conclusion of a particular line of thought or the
result of long investigation, but a direct expression of firsthand insight. In a
way, the second sentence is meant only for people who did not understand
the first one, the third sentence is only for people who did not understand the
first two, and so on.

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The Hsin Hsin Ming (Faith in Mind) poem of our third ancestor Kanchi Sosan is
a good example. It is a long poem, but the first lines say it all: “The Supreme
Way is not difficult, if only you do not pick and choose.” 103 Although this
statement sounds straightforward, it is actually a true koan and has been
used as such. In case 2 of the Hekiganroku, master Joshu uses it to challenge
his assembly.104 Dogen Zenji’s Fukanzazengi (Recommending Zazen to All
People) opens with, “The real way circulates everywhere; how could it
require practice or enlightenment?”, and “Nothing is separate from this very
place; why journey away?” But a few lines later it says, “And yet, if you miss
the mark even by a strand of hair, you are as distant as heaven from earth.” 105
And so the text continues on. A more recent example is Hakuin’s poem “Song
of Zazen” which famously starts by stating: “Sentient beings are primarily all
Buddhas.”106 Of course, this is true only for those who realize that.
It would be easy to quote many more examples of the direct approach that
characterizes most Zen texts. In contrast, the sutras – especially those of the
Mahayana tradition – often follow a certain linear story line and articulate the
various stages of the path in great detail, leading to a specific conclusion. As I
see it, this may be a cultural characteristic, but it is also a matter of language.
Many sutra manuscripts that survived down the ages are written in the old
Indian languages Pali and Sanskrit, which feature an alphabetical vocabulary
that is very suitable for distinguishing subtle differences. The Chinese
characters in which many Zen records were originally written, however, are
essentially pictographs, images that have a very direct appeal and do not
need to be “read” linearly – they are compact and evocative, and one
character can imply multiple meanings.
To give an example, the Chinese character 心, pronounced as “shin” in Sino-
Japanese, which features in the Hannya Shingyo, or Heart Sutra, can mean
“essence”, “core”, “heart of the matter”, or “mind”. In contemporary
Japanese it is also pronounced as “kokoro” – often when one is referring to the
heart as the center of our emotional life. This shows that “shin” is a rather
flexible character, and it has been used to translate very different Sanskrit

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terms. In fact, the various aspects of the mind we have already discussed
earlier – such as “vijana” (the six senses) “manas” (the seventh consciousness),
and “alaya” (the eighth, or storehouse, consciousness) – are all translated as
心 and in English as “mind” or “heart”. The meaning of “essence” or “core”
comes from yet another Sanskrit word, “hrdaya”.
In any case, Chinese characters seem to have a more direct and “sudden”
impact, while the old Indian languages prompt us to follow a more “gradual”
linear trajectory – similar to what happens in the Western style of writing. It
also means that we need to be careful in our interpretations. The word
“mind” is used in so many ways that it can be confusing. We might wonder,
for example, what mind is referred to in the popular term “mindfulness”?
There is altogether enough reason to study not only Chinese, Japanese, and
Korean scriptures but also to get acquainted with the Indian source texts.

SCRIPTURAL STUDY AT ZEN RIVER

Over the years I have learned that, just as in koan training, it is impossible to
absorb the real significance of the sutras without first mustering a certain
degree of samadhi, as this helps us to go beyond our usual frame of mind. To
hear and recite the sutras, as has been done for hundreds of years, turns out
to be highly effective in this respect. The sutras were originally transmitted as
an oral tradition, after all. Therefore, I set up a weekly sutra-reading class at
Zen River. We sit in zazen and face a white wall, on which the pages of a sutra
are projected on a large scale – one at a time. Then, we take turns reciting
paragraphs of the text out loud. In this class, I refrain from making any
comments, in an attempt to allow the text to speak for itself. Interestingly
enough, the reciting of sutras itself seems to generate samadhi. Although we
may not immediately manage to grasp all the implications of these texts, it
feels as if the words enter our whole system rather than only our cognitive or
emotional faculties.

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One way to do this at home, is to sit on the floor in zazen, have a book or
electronic device on a music stand at eye level in front of you, and read the
text out loud, without checking any references. In my younger days, I plowed
through Gampopa’s Jewel Ornament of Liberation107 in this manner. Many
implications probably escaped me, but the book nevertheless made an
indelible impression on me.
Of course, it would be even better if we would learn certain sections by heart,
something that happens almost by itself during services. As mentioned in the
chapter on ritual, chanting liturgical texts day after day makes them become
part of our very being, especially if it is done together with others. The group
samadhi charges the words with a special energy and we may begin to sense
their significance not only on a mental but also on a very physical level.
In this context, it may also be good to remember that the sutras were written
and passed down throughout the ages in beautiful calligraphy that is itself
full of samadhi. In Japanese temples calligraphy is often part of the training
program, and lately that makes more and more sense to me. Writing,
especially when it is done with the brush, gives us a chance to practice
transmitting our dharma energy to paper, and allow it to shine back. We are
fortunate enough to welcome the Japanese-American specialist Kaz
Tanahashi every few years to conduct a very popular calligraphy workshop
at Zen River. I am also experimenting with calligraphy using Roman instead
of Chinese characters. In our latest Young Minds Seminar, an annual event
especially organized for youngsters, we tried to mix the traditional Eastern
calligraphy with modern forms of graffiti, which turned out to be very
promising.

SPARKS OF INSPIRATION

When setting up a study program for Zen River, I have gradually selected
about a dozen sutras that have proven to be most inspiring for our style of

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training: The Avatamsaka Sutra, The Pali Canon, The Vimalakirti Sutra, The
Lankavatara Sutra, The Surangama Samadhi Sutra, The Lion’s Roar of Queen
Srimala Sutra, The Heart Sutra, The Diamond Sutra, The Sutra of Complete
Enlightenment, The Surangama Sutra, The Lotus Sutra, and The Nirvana Sutra.
Even though this is a relatively small number, these sutras inform us quite
well about the greater context of the Buddhist teaching.
The Awakening of Faith and the Platform Sutra, along with Shantideva’s Guide
to the Bodhisattva Way of Life, are, strictly speaking, not sutras as they are not
attributed to the Buddha. But they have been so influential that they have
often been valued as such, and so we include them in our curriculum. All
these scriptures speak in different voices and address various aspects of
practice that apply to specific life situations, and yet they clearly share a
similar quality and intent. There is no way for me to do them real justice,
particularly within the framework of this book. Yet I cannot help but share at
least a few sparks of inspiration.

ENTRY INTO THE REALM OF REALITY

The Avatamsaka Sutra, or Flower Ornament Scripture, is a sutra for a lifetime –

and more. Its enormous size, visionary beauty, and variety of subject matter
make it a source text we can always return to. Its main themes are the
interpenetration of all phenomena, the creative potential of meditation, and
the successive stages of the Bodhisattva path. In this sutra, the teachings are
generally attended by innumerable Bodhisattvas and other beings of many
kinds. In each chapter we enter a grand and colorful spectacle that transports
us to a different realm of existence. Most impressive to me, however, is the
direct presentation of true wisdom in Book 37, “Manifestation of Buddha”. If
I were asked to select the clearest and most inspiring passage of all the
Buddhist scriptures, this would be the one. I referred to it already in the
Introduction but here is a longer citation in a different translation:

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 “There is nowhere the knowledge of Buddha does not reach. Why?
There is not a single sentient being who is not fully endowed with the
knowledge of Buddha. It is just that because of deluded notions,
erroneous thinking, and attachments, they are unable to realize it.”108
However obvious this truth may at some point become, the Avatamsaka Sutra
emphasizes that realizing and manifesting it in one’s own life requires many
gradual stages of development. The influential Daśabhūmika Sūtra, or Ten
Stages Sutra, included in Book 26, describes this in detail. It is noteworthy that
the first stage is already one that generates great joy, even though there are
still nine more stages to go.
“‘Detached am I from all mundane objects; I have entered the vicinity of
buddhahood; I have left behind the stage of infantile ignorance and
drawn near to the stage of knowledge; I am cut off from all evil and
states of misery; I am a refuge for all beings; I am near to the vision of
all buddhas; I am born in the realm of all buddhas; I have reached
equality to all enlightening beings; gone from me are all fears and
terrors’ – thus thinking, the enlightening being gives rise to extreme
joy.”109
Perhaps the most stunning chapter is Chapter 39, “Entry into the Realm of
Reality”. Apparently, this chapter circulated first as a separate sutra but here
it serves as a conclusive high point of the whole text. It tells the story of a
young man named Sudhana, who is encouraged by Manjushri Bodhisattva to
go on a long pilgrimage and find out how enlightening beings are supposed
to practice. He visits and seeks instruction from fifty-three wise men and
women, monks and laypeople, young and old, from very different
backgrounds, who all give him good advice based on their own experience,
before sending him off to his next spiritual guide. Finally, Sudhana meets
Maitreya Bodhisattva, who opens the door of the tower of Vairocana Buddha
with a snap of his fingers. Sudhana enters and has a direct experience of all
dimensions of reality.

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 “He saw the tower immensely vast and wide, hundreds of thousands of
leagues wide, as measureless as the sky, as vast as all of space, adorned
with countless attributes; [...] Also, inside of the great tower he saw
hundreds of thousands of other towers similarly arrayed; he saw those
towers as infinitely vast as space, evenly arrayed in all directions, yet
those towers were not mixed up with one another, being mutually
distinct, while appearing reflected in each and every object of all the
other towers. Then Sudhana, seeing this miraculous manifestation of
the inconceivable realm of the great tower containing the adornments of
Vairocana, was flooded with joy and bliss; his mind was cleared of all
conceptions and freed from all obstructions. Stripped of all delusion, he
became clairvoyant without distortion, and could hear all sounds with
unimpeded mindfulness. He was freed from all scattering of attention,
and his intellect followed the unobstructed eye of liberation.”110
The chapter concludes with Sudhana meeting Samantabhadra bodhisattva,
who gives a detailed account of his endless practice and how it benefits
sentient beings throughout space and time. The finale consists of a poetic
description of the famous Ten Vows of Samantabhadra 111, which we could all
take to heart – especially in our twenty-first century. For example, to rejoice
in others’ merits and virtues, to request the buddhas to continue teaching,
and to accommodate and benefit all living beings, to name just three. Despite
its ornate depiction of reality, the Avatamsaka Sutra turns out to be quite
practical and gives us some very down-to-earth advice.
To return to the title of this entry for a moment, we may often be tempted to
believe that we basically live in “reality” and that Buddhist training will
show us a higher reality. Perhaps we think of ourselves as quite normal and
expect that we are about to experience something extraordinary. But it seems
that this is not quite the case. What is implied here is that most of us are very,
very strange – not normal at all – and that by engaging in practice we may
over time manage to become ordinary. So, it is not that we have our feet on
the ground and are ready to start flying – it is the other way around. We

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usually float around high up in the clouds, and now we finally come down to
earth and find our home base. What at first may look so exuberant turns out
to be our most natural habitat – the most suitable place to fulfill our vows.

THUS HAVE I HEARD

Moving from the Avatamsaka Sutra to the texts of the Pali Canon requires
quite a leap. Suddenly we are in a very different world. No tower of
Vairocana Buddha, no colorful spectacle of multiple universes populated by
countless buddhas and bodhisattvas. Instead, we land in a very human
environment. The Buddha is depicted as a traveling mendicant who is happy
to share his wisdom with anyone who wishes to learn – monks and
laypeople, ordinary folk, and emperors.
In his first discourse he addresses a group of five monks.
“Monks, these two extremes should not be followed by one who has
gone forth into homelessness. What two? The pursuit of sensual
happiness in sensual pleasures, which is low, vulgar, the way of
worldlings, ignoble, unbeneficial; and the pursuit of self-mortification,
which is painful, ignoble, unbeneficial. Without veering toward either
of these extremes, the Tathagata has awakened to the middle way,
which gives rise to vision, which gives rise to knowledge, and leads to
peace, to direct knowledge, to enlightenment, to Nibbana112.”113
The Buddha continues this discourse by explaining the Noble Eightfold Path
and the Four Noble Truths. In another famous passage, he answers questions
from a people called the Kalamas, who tell him that certain ascetics and
Brahmins who come to their city explain and elucidate their own doctrines but
disparage and vilify the doctrines of others. They are confused and wonder
which of them speak the truth and which do not. The Buddha answers that
the Kalamas should not accept any of their teachings too easily, but verify for
themselves which ones are beneficial and which one are not:

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 “It is fitting for you to be perplexed, O Kalamas, it is fitting for you to
be in doubt. Doubt has arisen in you about a perplexing matter. Come,
Kalamas, do not go by oral tradition, by lineage of teaching, by hearsay,
by a collection of texts, by logic, by inferential reasoning, by reasoned
cogitation, by the acceptance of a view, after pondering it, by the
seeming competence of a speaker, or because you think, ‘The ascetic is
our teacher.’ But when you know for yourselves, ‘These things are
unwholesome; these things are blamable; these things are censured by
the wise; these things, if undertaken and practiced, lead to harm and
suffering’ then you should abandon them.”114
One of my favorites passages reports how King Pasenadi of Kosala came to
see the Buddha and praised his community. Sangha is one of the “Three
Treasures” and a tremendous springboard for going beyond the duality of
self and others. Many people enter practice because they feel inspired by a
particular group of practitioners, and the king was especially taken by the
followers of the Buddha:
“Again, venerable sir, kings quarrel with kings, nobles with nobles,
brahmins with brahmins, householders with householders; mothers
quarrels with son, son with mother, father with son, son with father;
brother quarrels with brother, brother with sister, sister with brother,
friend with friend. But here I see bhikkhus115 living in concord, with
mutual appreciation, without disputing, blending like milk and water,
viewing each other with kindly eyes.”
And:
“Again, venerable sir, I have walked and wandered from park to park
and from garden to garden. There I have seen some recluses and
brahmins who are lean, wretched, unsightly, jaundiced, with veins
standing out on their limbs, such that people would not want to look at
them again. […] But here I see bhikkhus smiling and cheerful, sincerely
joyful, plainly delighting, their faculties fresh, living at ease, unruffled,

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 subsisting on what others give, abiding with mind (as aloof) as a wild
deer’s.”116
According to the Southeast-Asian Theravada tradition, only the Pali Canon
scriptures record the Buddha’s words exactly as they were spoken. In this
collection, the standard expression for introducing each entry is “Thus have I
heard”, and this is taken very literally. The Mahayana tradition includes the
Pali Canon in its curriculum but extends the validity of “Thus have I heard”
to many other records. To determine whether a text could be considered
Buddhist or not, the so-called Four Dharma Seals were formulated. They are
considered to be the defining characteristics of the Buddhist teaching: “1) all
that is conditioned is impermanent, 2) delusion causes suffering, 3) all
phenomena are empty and selfless, 4) Nirvāna is true peace.”117
Although what we consider to be Buddhist sutras in the Mahayana tradition
share these four principles, they vary greatly in both form and content, as we
have already seen in Zhiyi’s five-period Model.

EMPTINESS OF ALL CONDITIONS

The Diamond Sutra has become quintessential for the Zen school as it so
unequivocally proclaims the principle of emptiness. Hearing someone recite
this sutra gave Daikan Eno, the sixth Ancestor, his first insight. As for me, the
last few lines in particular will stick in my mind forever:
“As stars, a fault of vision, as a lamp;
a mock show, dew drops, or a bubble;
a dream, a lightening flash, or cloud;
so we should one view what is conditioned.”118

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In this case, the last word is very telling. The principle of emptiness, although
crucially important, applies only to the conditioned world, not to the realm of
the unconditioned.
The Heart Sutra is a short text, easy to memorize, and summarizes the most
important principles in a logical and clear order. As it is very effective in
stirring up motivation to practice, the sutra has become something like an
anthem. No wonder it is translated in so many languages. In most Zen
temples throughout the world it is recited at least once a day. As the Heart
Sutra can also be seen as an overview of levels of realization, it has been a
great inspiration for me in developing the Four Modes of Meditation. For
example, it begins with the good news that Avalokiteshvara Bodhisattva
observes the emptiness of all phenomena and thereby relieves all suffering.
Taking her (or him) as an example, we can learn to appreciate this insight in
the first mode of meditation. The sutra then goes on to proclaim in detail that
even emptiness itself is empty119 and that there is ultimately
“[…] No suffering, no cause of suffering. No extinguishing, no path, no
wisdom, and no gain. And thus the Bodhisattva lives prajna paramita
with no hindrance in the mind, no hindrance and therefore no fear; far
beyond deluded thoughts, this is nirvana.”120
This is what we have tried to address in our discussion of the second mode of
meditation. Then the sutra goes on to say that “[…] all past, present and
future Buddhas live prajna paramita and therefore attain annutara-samyak-
sambodhi”, which is unsurpassable, perfect, and complete enlightenment. This
refers to the possibility of liberating ourselves from the confines of
conditioned existence and entering the realm of the buddhas. However lofty
these lines may sound they can be read in a very practical manner. I tend to
interpret them as an invitation to discover our enlightening function in any
situation. The third mode of meditation provides us with ample opportunity
to do so.

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The last lines of the sutra are perhaps the most interesting: “Gate, gate,
paragate, paramsamgate, bodhi svaha”. This can be translated as “Gone, gone,
gone beyond, gone utterly beyond, enlightenment hail!” 121, which sounds
rather transcendent or even otherworldly. Here I would like to follow the
interpretation of the Korean master Seung Sahn, who sees these lines as an
admonition to go beyond all words and all dualistic notions, and to fully
engage in this life122. “Just do it!” – one of his favorite expressions – fits here
perfectly. The implication is that we can overcome conditioned existence by
following through on our Bodhisattva calling in this very moment. In fact, it
is only in our compassionate functioning right here, right now, that we can
find true peace of mind – so let’s get on with it and do something! I would
not be able to find a better encouragement to practice what we discussed
earlier in the fourth mode of meditation: Bodhisattva activity.
I find the Surangama Sutra most interesting in how precisely it articulates
“turning one’s own light inward”, as described in my presentation of the
second mode of meditation. The sutra opens with an endearing scene
showing us how Ananda is about to give in to the overtures of a beautiful
young lady. Just in time, he remembers his monks’ vows, runs to the Buddha
and repents. The lady in question follows suit right after. The sutra is
Buddha’s elaborate response to Ananda, with turning one’s own light inward
as his key recommendation. Surangama means “indestructible”, referring to
the samadhi power that we can generate in this way and which turns out to be
essential in the practice of the Dharma. The sutra consists of different
sections, and the so-called Surangama mantra that figures in the center of the
text is an important part of the Zen liturgy. For us, chapters five and six are
especially important, and if I had to select just one short passage, it would be
this one:
“All you need to do is not to allow your attention to be diverted by the
twelve conditioned attributes of sound and silence, contact and
separation, flavor and the absence of flavor, openness and blockage,
coming into being and perishing, and light and darkness. Next,

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 extricate that faculty inward so that it can return to what is original and
true. Then it will radiate the light of the original understanding. This
brilliant light will shine forth and extricate the other five faculties until
they are completely free.”123
This passage shows us very clearly how to return to our original and true
mind, which is free from all conditions. The sutra juxtaposes this true mind
with our conditioned mind, which is subject to birth and death.
Unfortunately, we usually take the conditioned mind to be the true one – but
turning our own light inward can cure us of this misconception. What always
strikes me – especially in, for example, the Nirvana Sutra and the Lion’s Roar of
Queen Srimala Sutra – is the set of positive qualities that are attributed to true
nature: permanence, bliss, self, and purity. In the Enmei Jukku Kannon Gyo that
we recite every morning at Zen River, these four qualities are explicitly
mentioned: “Jo-Raku-Ga-Jo”. They are the exact opposite of the principles that
characterize the conditioned world: impermanence, suffering, no-self, and
impurity. Again, we can see that what counts for the conditioned world does
not count at all for the unconditioned.
Seen through enlightened eyes, our life has no beginning or end, and, in that
sense, we could call it permanent. It generates bliss, because nothing is
lacking; it is a “self” without boundaries, and it cannot be stained. This vision
found a beautiful expression the image of an intricate network of crystals,
which connects and reflects everything and everyone, and which extends
endlessly throughout space and time. In the Avatamsaka Sutra it is called
“Indra’s net”124, and as such it has been elaborated upon by many
commentators.

EXPEDIENT MEANS

The Lotus Sutra is often considered to be the pinnacle of all Mahayana

scriptures. Here the Buddha preaches the great – or Buddha – vehicle,

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deeming his earlier teachings to be provisional. In the famous second chapter,
“Upaya” or “Expedient Means”, he explains that only now has the time come
to address the highest truth. What follows next is the unforgettable parable of
the burning house.
A very wealthy man owns an old house that is about to collapse, and to make
matters worse, a fire breaks out that most likely will destroy it completely. He
is terribly distressed, because his children are playing inside, and they are so
engrossed in their games that they do not notice. He calls out to them, but
they do not understand that they are in great danger. Only when he tells his
children that there are presents waiting for them outside of the house – things
they will surely enjoy such as goat-, deer-, and ox-carts – they dash through
the door to safety. What they find, however, is something that far exceeds
their expectations: a large carriage for each one of them, beautifully decorated
with precious jewels and drawn by a strong white ox.
The father had the wisdom to resort to upaya, or expedient means, to make
his children get out of the house as quickly as possible; he promised them
things they could easily relate to. What he ended up giving them was
something they would never have been able to imagine. Like this loving
father, the Buddha wants to rescue living beings from their precarious and
painful existence but he, too, has to resort to expedient means. The goat-,
deer-, and ox-carts stand for the three lesser vehicles of shravakas,
pratyekabuddhas, and bodhisattvas. The large carriage drawn by the white ox
stands for the supreme vehicle, the only one that leads to buddhahood. The
point is that the Buddha taught provisional paths first to get our attention
and is now ready to present us with the one and only vehicle to
enlightenment. The question for us here is, of course: are we listening?
Something similar happens in the parable of the lost son in the next chapter.
In this story, the son of a wealthy father leaves home and falls upon hard
times. He even completely forgets his former affluence and ends up begging
for his food. The father, in great distress, sends out servants to look for his
son and to bring him back home. But when they finally find him, he is so

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frightened that he does not want to come. Only when he is promised a low-
skilled, low-paid cleaning job, does he agree. Little does he know that he is
now working at his father’s mansion. He does not even recognize his father
when the latter starts to work alongside him and promotes him to ever more
responsible positions. Only when the father sees that his son is ready to hear
and accept the truth, he happily hands over the family estate to the rightful
heir.
I think this is one of those timeless stories that we can all relate to. For me
perhaps the most important lesson is that realization makes us recognize our
true ancestry and that however wonderful this may be, it also gives us a lot of
responsibility. Could this possibly be one of the reasons why realization has
escaped us for so long? Ultimately, we all share this ancestry and in the Lotus
Sutra the Buddha even makes prophecies of enlightenment to a great number
of people who are in his audience. As he is doing this, those not yet
mentioned start to wonder and ask him whether there is also a chance for
them to attain enlightenment. The Buddha then generously announces that
they will do so as well: it is just a matter of time – which means that it may
take a few kalpas.
The accessibility of buddhahood is accommodated by the fact that the
Buddha happens to be always around. According to the “Life Span” chapter,
his apparent birth and death are only expedient means to arouse a yearning
for liberation. This also means that we have no excuse for not attaining
enlightenment at some point, however bad or stupid we think we are.
Devadatta, a cousin and brother-in-law of the Buddha, has been described in
other scriptures as someone who fomented division in the sangha and even
tried to kill the Buddha. Surely, he had to suffer the consequences of his evil
deeds. But in the Lotus Sutra the Buddha declares that Devadatta was one of
his earliest teachers and predicts that he will become a Buddha in the future.
The Lotus Sutra contains many other beautifully recorded metaphorical
stories and parables that leave a deep impression on anyone who reads or
hears them. I often wonder what difference it would make if youngsters were

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brought up with videos of stories from the Lotus Sutra rather than with
Instagram selfies, Facebook posts, advertisements, news, and all kinds of
entertainment on their mobile phones. “The Parable of the Medicinal Herbs”,
“Phantom City”, “Emergence from the Earth”, and many other striking
stories give such precious insights into our human condition and potential
that it would be a shame not to keep this sutra alive for the next generation.
In addition to a list of sutras, I have included in our study curriculum a
continuously expanding selection of later works by Chinese, Japanese,
Korean, Tibetan, and Western masters. This has resulted in the creation of
two Zen River anthologies, with at least one more in the making. The first
anthology is an introduction to Buddhist scriptures in general, loosely
organized in order of relevance for newcomers to Zen practice. One of these
texts is the priceless Eight Beliefs of Buddhism by Yasutani Roshi125. This
excellent overview of basic Buddhist principles had been out of print for a
long time was included in this anthology with special permission from the
publisher.
The second anthology consists of a series of short excerpts from Buddhist
texts, from the oldest Indian and Chinese scriptures up to works by
contemporary masters. As for the sutras, I followed the order Zhiyi
established in his five-period model. Altogether these excerpts give the
reader an overview of Buddhist literature throughout the ages. This
collection may show some of my personal preferences as a Zen practitioner,
but I have tried hard to present as broad a perspective as possible in this
concise format. This second anthology also serves as a teachers’ handbook. In
fact, it consists of material that I have used in study classes over the years,
and it has usually taken me some two-and-a-half years of weekly classes to
get from the oldest scriptures to the contemporary texts. Nowadays Tammy
and my assistant-teachers follow the same track when they give classes at
Zen River and at other locations.
Perhaps it is also interesting to mention the way I work with students on
these texts in study classes. Usually the group consists of about ten to forty

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participants, all sitting lined up in rows, and everybody – one after the other
– reads one sentence aloud. We pay close attention and try to make it sound
as if it is just one voice reciting. When we are finished, I first check if there are
any words that need translation or explication. Then I ask if there is any
particular passage or phrase that really resonated with somebody as we were
reading. So rather than answering questions from students, I go by what they
find inspiring, even if it is only a small part of the text. It liberates them from
trying to “grasp”, and me from trying to “explain”, what the texts seeks to
convey. This method has proven to be very effective. Even if – in some cases –
most of the text remains obscure to some students, they all end up finding
something inspiring, and this gives me an opening to share my own
inspiration.
It has become clear to me that it is very difficult to bring the later Buddhist
scriptures to life without any experience with the classic sutras. And in turn,
some of the later scriptures may shed new light on the sutras and show us
implications that we had not been aware of. Since they push the parameters
of what we find familiar, the sutras may sometimes sound outlandish. When
you take the time to really let them in, however, the sutras can be an
incredible source of inspiration. They are the expressions of people who
struggled with the same issues as we do, and who discovered something they
could not wait to share. I sometimes compare them to the medieval European
cathedrals; beautiful structures of mysterious origin that have survived the
ages. Like the builders of the cathedrals, the authors of the sutras are
unknown. They are anonymous masterpieces. As far as I know, the Platform
Sutra126 (although strictly speaking not a sutra) is the first of its kind that is
not only ascribed to a specific author – Daikan Eno, the sixth patriarch – but
even includes his autobiography. Over the ages, Dharma texts have become
more and more identified with individual masters. Nowadays it is hard to
imagine somebody publishing an anonymous text!

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 SEEING OUR LIFE IN A DIFFERENT LIGHT

The way I look at it, the sutras present us with new life-narratives.
Consciously or unconsciously, most of us foster certain accounts of our lives,
which may be positive, negative, or somewhat neutral. It can be hard to
accept when someone does not agree with these stories. After all, who could
know our life better than we do ourselves? Are we not the ones living this
life? Because we want our narrative to be confirmed, we tend to be attracted
to people who do this and avoid those who do not. Of course, small edits and
updates are fine, and sometimes necessary. But in general, we desperately try
to stick to our own story of who we are and what made us that way. The
sutras invite and even challenge us to read our life completely differently.
Yet, only the continuing practice of meditation will give us the flexibility to
fully embrace these alternative narratives.
A striking chapter of the Shobogenzo is entitled “Jisho Samadhi”. “Ji” means
“self” and “sho” means “realization” or “verification”. So here, Dogen Zenji
describes the relevance of the sutras for realizing what our life really is. He
says,
“When you follow a sutra, you thoroughly experience your skin, flesh,
bones and marrow. [...] When you follow a sutra, it emerges. A sutra
means the entire world in the ten directions. [...] When you study the
way, following a sutra, thousands and myriads of sutras that have
never existed emerge and become present.”127
Only if our samadhi is deep enough to make us forget ourselves can we realize
who we really are and verify what our function in this life could possibly be.
This is the greatest adventure we could ever hope to embark upon. As I have
seen, when we go through a personal transformation, our life does as well.
Even circumstances change as we approach them from new angles. And as
circumstances change, our mind changes even more. This can happen over
and over again, so that our life becomes more aligned with what the sutras
try to convey. Even the Avatamsaka Sutra, as spectacular as it is, can be read as

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our own biography. For example, as we see the young pilgrim Sudhana visit
one spiritual friend after another before he is ready to recognize his true life,
we may realize how many others have helped us on the path we are
following to find ourselves. Dogen Zenji puts it this way:
“Both following a teacher and following a sutra are following yourself.
A sutra is no other than a sutra as yourself. A teacher is invariably a
teacher as yourself. This being so, to visit teachers everywhere is to visit
yourself everywhere.”128
Dogen Zenji always emphasizes the importance of studying with a teacher.
But a teacher is only one person, and – ideally speaking – your teacher lives
and breathes the sutras. This gives you the opportunity not only to verify
your insights with this teacher but also with the sutras. In fact, in the
recorded Zen dialogues, it is quite common and seen as completely legitimate
for a student to ask their master, “Where can I find scriptural evidence for
what you are saying?” This was already referred to in the koan chapter. In
response, the master provides one or more examples from the sutras that
illustrate the point he was trying to make.
As we become more familiar with the sutras, we also come to realize that
practice is not a private, or even an individual affair – no matter how lonely
we may feel at times. Instead, we find ourselves participating in a grand
process of awakening that extends throughout space and time. We are
encouraged to connect with people who may seem totally different from us
and to feel at home in situations that are completely unfamiliar. Over time,
we can learn to identify with whatever comes our way and be more ready to
engage in beneficial action. As already mentioned, the Avatamsaka Sutra
concludes with the ten great vows of Samantabhadra. These beautifully
articulate how we can explore and learn to express our full human potential.
There are many other Buddhist vows that can give us clear directions for our
practice in daily-life situations, as we will see in the next chapter, which is
devoted to the sixteen Zen precepts.

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 Chapter 5
The Zen Precepts

LEARNING TO FUNCTION NATURALLY

The sixteen Zen precepts, or “kai” in Japanese, are an indispensable part of

Zen training. They serve as guidelines for learning how to express our
inherent wisdom and compassion in the most natural manner. Although
“kai” is often translated as “precepts”, this term apparently does not really
convey its deeper meaning. According to Maezumi Roshi, “kai” can also be
rendered as “natural self”129, the natural functioning of our innermost being.
In other words, they express how we would behave if we lived our life
naturally, which is to say as the life of the Buddha. For most of us, however,
being natural does not come so naturally. It requires continuous practice.
Zen students receive the precepts during jukai (lay ordination), which marks
a formal commitment to Zen Buddhism, and those who are ordained as
monastics receive them again during shukke tokudo, the “home-leaving
ceremony”. The officiant of the ceremony recites the precepts one by one, and
the recipients repeat each precept, vow to maintain it, and make full bows to
show their dedication. The precepts also play an important role during other
ceremonies such as fusatsu (atonement ceremony), weddings, and funerals.
Different versions and translations of the precepts have been made over time,
and at Zen River they read as follows:
The Three Treasures
1) I take refuge in / vow to be one with the Buddha.
2) I take refuge in / vow to be one with the Dharma.
3) I take refuge in / vow to be one with the Sangha.
The Three Pure Precepts
1) I vow to cease from evil.
2) I vow to do good.

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 3) I vow to liberate all sentient beings.
The Ten Grave Precepts
1) I vow to appreciate all life and not kill.
2) I vow to respect others’ possessions and not steal.
3) I vow to honor the body and not commit sexual misconduct.
4) I vow to be truthful and not lie.
5) I vow to be attentive and not intoxicated.
6) I vow to see the perfection in others and not talk about their errors
and faults.
7) I vow to be humble and not put down others.
8) I vow to be generous and not stingy.
9) I vow to be compassionate and not give way to anger.
10) I vow to esteem the Three Treasures and not speak ill of them.

Students are expected to make a formal request to receive jukai and, when
this is approved, they are allowed to sew a rakusu (rectangular piece of fabric
worn around the neck that symbolizes the robe of Shakyamuni Buddha).
They also draw a kechimyaku (a chart that shows their intricate connection
with the master’s lineage). Once finished, they give these items to their
master who adorns them with hand-written poems signed by a seal, and then
hands them over during the ceremony. As an important part of this rite of
passage, students also receive a Dharma name, usually in Japanese, that
signifies their entering a new phase in Zen practice.
The kechimyaku features a text in which Dogen Zenji quotes his master Tendo
Nyojo:
“The Buddha Sila (kai) are the single most important matter of our
school. In the past the Masters of Mount Grdhakuta, Shao-len, Tsao-chi,
and Mount Tung transmitted these Dharma Sila of the Tathagata to

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 their successors generation after generation until they came to me. Now
I transmit them to you.”
Dogen Zenji’s Kyojukaimon (Instruction given on the kai) also clarifies the
profound implications of the precepts. It opens with:
“The great precepts of the Buddhas are maintained carefully by all
Buddhas. Buddhas give them to Buddhas. Ancestors give them to
ancestors. Receiving the precepts goes beyond the three times;
realization continues unceasingly from ancient times to the present.”130
Following this lead, we could say that receiving the precepts means receiving
the life of a buddha. Even if participants of a jukai ceremony happen to be
complete beginners, it mysteriously involves a real mind-to-mind
transmission, an official confirmation of what we really are. In that sense, the
ceremony is a great empowerment. In the West, most people receive jukai
only once, and the format is relatively simple, with the traditional rites of
atonement and purification and the sixteen vows as its most important
components. Usually the ceremony has an intimate atmosphere, as it entails a
small group of participants, and it is often witnessed by fellow practitioners,
friends, and family members.
There is another format, however, which is not so common yet in the West
but quite popular in Japan. It takes place in the main training temples of the
Soto School and can be quite stunning. Years ago, I joined some four hundred
Japanese monks and laypeople for a traditional jukai in Sojiji, which lasted a
full week. There were no spectators, only participants. This so-called dai jukai
(Great Precept Ceremony) takes place twice a year. Many people attend more
than once, and each time everyone receives a badge that they can pin onto
their rakusu. The high point of the event is to sit right on top of the grand
main altar in the hatto of the temple, as the living Buddha. In my case, we did
this in groups of thirty or forty participants, while Itabashi Roshi, the Zenji
(abbot) at the time, circumambulated the altar with several other dignitaries,
ringing bells, offering incense, and chanting sutras. Afterwards, each one of
us personally received a kechimyaku with our Dharma name from the Zenji as
proof of our direct link with the buddhas and ancestors.

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 DEVELOPMENT OF THE PRECEPTS

The composition of the sixteen Zen precepts is the result of a long and
interesting development that I can only touch upon here. For further study I
would especially like to recommend “The Evolution of the Precepts”, study
material from the 2008 national conference of the Soto Zen Buddhist
Association.131
To start with the Three Treasures – Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha –
Buddhists from all traditions see them as their true refuge, although there are
differences in the way they are interpreted. The Theravada school, for
example, primarily uses “Buddha” to refer to the historical Buddha,
“Dharma” to the teachings of the Pali Canon, and “Sangha” to the
community of monastics. Mahayana schools add other dimensions to the
Three Treasures and, for example, also use “Buddha” to refer to our true
nature. Furthermore, they generally accept a wider variety of teachings and
commentaries as “Dharma” and consider all Buddhist practitioners –
laypeople as well as monastics – as “Sangha”.
Dogen Zenji is the one who included the Three Treasures in the list of Zen
precepts, which ended up numbering sixteen. He also gave the term “taking
refuge” a different meaning, which we try to express in English as “I vow to
be one with” the Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha. Dogen Zenji challenges us to
give our life to the Three Treasures or, as he puts it, to leap into them “the
way that a child leaps into his father’s arms”132 – without any reservation.
The jukai ceremony can be a great inspiration to do just this. We receive all
we need – or, better said, we are confirmed in what we already fully embody.
Yet we are at the stage of infant, baby buddhas that still have to grow up.
Ultimately, we need to be able to confirm ourselves. Therefore, Dogen Zenji
considers the Buddha Treasure as the most important precept. In other
words, the vow to realize buddhahood has the highest priority. It is the first
and foremost principle because trying to maintain the other precepts without
such realization will be somewhat artificial at best. Yet if we would truly turn

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our own light inward and realize the mind of all buddhas and ancestors,
living the whole list of precepts would follow naturally.
The emphasis on insight also implies that this precept is not just the first one
in a linear sequence of sixteen. It is, rather, the pivot of all the other precepts
and is like a stone thrown in a pond, creating endlessly widening concentric
circles of waves. Ideally speaking, a single profound realization of the
Buddha Treasure should be enough to know how to manifest wisdom and
compassion in all the different situations we encounter. But in actual practice,
this rarely happens. Most of us need to return repeatedly to the first vow,
while all the other vows support us in the process.
The Three Pure Precepts have their own history and can already be found in
the Dhammapada133, one of the earliest texts of Theravada Buddhism. They
were also introduced to Japan, although the meaning and the wording
changed somewhat over time. The third pure precept, for example, originally
stated: “Purify your mind”, but was at some point rephrased as “Transform
your mind” and later again as “Save all sentient beings”, to emphasize the
Bodhisattva ideal. The gatha that we recite before meals exactly follows this
sequence: “We eat to stop all evil, to practice good, to save all sentient beings,
and to accomplish the Buddha Way.”
The Ten Grave Precepts have their origin in the Brahma’s Net Sutra, where
they are called the “ten major precepts”. In the introduction it says, “Those
who keep these precepts are like wanderers in the dark, stumbling upon a
light; like the destitute coming upon a treasure; like the sick finding a cure;
like prisoners, set free; like wanderers, discovering the way home.”134
In the sutra proper, Shakyamuni Buddha takes on the position of Vairocana
Buddha and eulogizes the precepts as follows: “The precepts are like the
radiant sun and moon, like a shining necklace of gems. Bodhisattvas as
numerous as motes of dust uphold them and attain Buddhahood.”135
The Zen precepts should not be confused with the Pratimoksa, the long list of
rules that form the core of the Vinaya, the disciplinary regulations that monks
and nuns in most Buddhist traditions are expected to follow. For various
reasons, the Vinaya were never introduced in Japan, although many Japanese

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monastic codes – such as Dogen Zenji's Eihei Shingi136 – rely directly on their
Chinese counterparts, which did include them. In general, the Pratimoksa
rules are prohibitive, which means that they articulate very precisely what
activities to abstain from – such as having sex and drinking alcohol. Over
time, many of them were incorporated into the monastic codes and were not
only seen as rules for individual practice but also for promoting the cohesion
of the monastic community. So it is not surprising that they have been
transmitted throughout the ages with great care and diligence. Yet at some
point, their prohibitive nature was felt to be too limited for Mahayana
practice and the Brahma’s Net Vows were added. They express the precepts
not only in negative but also in positive and inspirational terms. For example,
the first grave precept reads:
“A disciple of the Buddha shall not himself kill, encourage others to kill,
kill by expedient means, praise killing, rejoice at witnessing killing, or
kill through incantation or deviant mantras. He must not create the
causes, conditions, methods, or karma of killing, and shall not
intentionally kill any living creature. As a Buddha’s disciple, he ought
to nurture a mind of compassion and filial piety, always devising
expedient means to rescue and protect all beings. If instead, he fails to
restrain himself and kills sentient beings without mercy, he commits a
Parajika (major) offense.”137
Interestingly enough, the current official version of the Japanese Soto School
addresses only the prohibitive side of the Ten Grave Precepts, whereas in the
West the positive side is often added and even features first, as in: “I vow to
appreciate all life and not kill.”
Since the Meiji Restoration period, most Japanese Soto Zen monks spend one
or several years in a training monastery as part of their formal training, and
there they follow a strict code of conduct. After they conclude that training,
however, they usually get married, settle in a family temple, and attend to the
religious needs of the laity as a priest. In general, they are expected to abide
primarily by the sixteen Zen precepts and use them as springboards for
developing wisdom and compassion. In fact, Japanese Soto Zen monks make

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exactly the same vows in their ordination ceremony as laypeople do during
Jukai. In that sense, the Japanese format is a real exception in the larger Asian
Buddhist world. The liberties of this model have been brought over to the
West, although not many Westerners go through the monastic training that is
mandatory for Japanese priests. This does not mean, however, that the vows
are necessarily taken more lightly. In his Kyojukaimon, Dogen Zenji offers a
very sophisticated interpretation of the precepts, conveying a depth of insight
that cannot easily be grasped, let alone be lived up to. We will discuss this in
more detail later.
I should mention here that at Zen River I have added three more precepts for
those who receive shukke tokudo, which are based on various versions once
used by Genpo Roshi:
1) I vow to serve the Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha with my whole life.
2) I vow to allow the Dharma to shape my lifestyle without attachment
to a fixed location or social context.
3) I vow to live frugally and not use the Dharma for acquiring profit or
position.

DAILY PRACTICE OF THE PRECEPTS

The practice of the precepts is most effective if they are addressed in

combination with samadhi and prajna (insight). Together these three constitute
the traditional trishiksha (Threefold or Triple Practice). If the precepts are not
informed by direct insight, they can easily become lifeless and dogmatic; if
they do not become part of your daily activities by a continuous cultivation of
samadhi, their effect will be very limited. You would just play the notes but
not the music! Nevertheless, the precepts also deserve our attention as forms
of practice in their own right, as springboards for Bodhisattva activity in
daily-life situations. As we focus on several of them, it is good to remember
that there is quite some overlap and that all sixteen precepts are intimately

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connected to one another. In a way, if we really practice one of them, we
practice all of them.
Of course, the conducive environment of a Zen temple or a retreat place, the
instruction of a teacher, and the company of fellow practitioners will make it
easier to clarify the function of the precepts. This can be an incentive to apply
them to whatever circumstances we find ourselves in. Especially for those
who primarily practice at home, it seems to work best to focus on one precept
at a time – for a few days, a week, or a little longer – and to use it as a
magnifying glass for looking at how we live our daily lives. At Zen River, we
have developed a special method to accommodate this: we take each precept
as an inspiration for engaging in the four main elements of training of zazen,
ritual, study, and social interaction.

THE THREE TREASURES

Taking refuge in the Three Treasures – Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha, marks
an important step on our Zen path. There are many ways to understand and
appreciate these treasures. Most importantly, they are called treasures
because we can really rely on them. Very often in our lives we end up relying
heavily on things that can, unfortunately, prove to be rather undependable in
the long run: health, homes, jobs, money, and relationships; even our mental
faculties may falter at some point. Everything in this conditioned world is
subject to the cycle of birth and death, flourishing and decay. Yet the Three
Treasures do not fall into that category. They are completely reliable and
immeasurably profound – we can always deepen our understanding of them.
First, we could say that “Buddha” stands for Shakyamuni Buddha and all the
ancestral masters up till now, and for our own innate enlightened wisdom
and compassion. “Dharma” can be seen as the remedial teaching of the
Buddha that cures us of our delusion, which means that it includes all the
scriptures and teaching methods. It also encompasses the entire phenomenal
world as seen through enlightened eyes. “Sangha” means “harmony” and

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usually refers to the community of followers of the Buddha and his teaching.
But it also stands for the essential harmony between Buddha and Dharma, as
well as between categories such as oneness and differences, enlightenment
and delusion. Taken as vows in our daily life, the three treasures can support
our practice in many ways.
As already mentioned, Dogen Zenji considers the first vow as the most
important one because it involves realization and energizes all the other
precepts. The vow To be one with the Buddha can probably be practiced most
effectively during zazen. If done properly, zazen gives rise to our inner
wisdom and compassion. Even if we do not quite manage to realize full
buddhahood instantaneously, merely copying the meditation posture of the
Buddha can already be highly stimulating. We can learn how to sit like the
Buddha and embody the inspiration he has engendered throughout the ages
– at least to some extent. In order to do so, it is important not only to let our
body sit but also our mind – in other words, to make room for whatever
comes up and allow it to be there, including a gnawing uncertainty about
what buddhahood actually entails. A friend once told me that when she was
doing zazen one evening, her four-year-old daughter decided to join, then got
up after five minutes to get all her dolls and teddy bears out to accompany
them. It must have been a very endearing sight.
What about us? Do we stick to our soft toys, or are we ready to face the
monsters? According to the scriptures, the Buddha was threatened by
demons of many kinds before he attained realization. So, if we vow to be one
with the Buddha, we had better be prepared for the unexpected and dare to
sit through some distressing inner turmoil. This can help to turn our zazen
into a very compassionate activity, as it may not only benefit ourselves but
may also serve as an inspiration to others. Or can we vow to bow and chant
through it all? If we really throw ourselves wholeheartedly into ritual
practice, there is always a chance that we suddenly forget ourselves and
allow Buddha to bow and chant with all the other buddhas, however strange
they may look to us.

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Pursuing our first vow while studying the scriptures could mean learning to
identify with Shakyamuni Buddha and his path to enlightenment –
something we discussed in the previous chapter. Gradually, his life story can
become our own, sometimes even in surprising detail. Confirming our life as
the life of the Buddha grants us a type of confidence that cannot be found by
pursuing worldly goals. We so often try to find confirmation from others of
who we think we are or what we have achieved, but it never seems to be
enough. The Buddha-treasure vow can make us settle into our life with less
anxiety and face our own particular Bodhisattva role with more trust.
Curiously enough, when that happens, confirmation by others often follows.
The vow to be one with the Buddha manifests itself perhaps most visibly in
social interaction. I found an interesting interpretation of the Chinese
character (kanji) for “Buddha”. This character consists of two parts (radicals);
the first one reads “person”, while the other one can mean “not really”. When
we take it this way, it can imply that the Buddha looks like a person but, in
reality, he is not. And that signifies flexibility: Buddha has no fixed form and
can fill in wherever needed, just as water takes on the shape of any container.
In another popular analogy, we become the Joker in a deck of cards. Rather
than identifying solely with the King or the Two of Hearts, we assume the
role of any card that improves the game.
I have seen some good examples of this principle in Japanese monasteries.
Once, during oryoki, one of the servers came into the zendo, carrying a big tray
with a dozen or so bowls of special food that was donated by members of the
temple. He somehow slipped as he came in and fell flat on the floor, taking
the whole tray with him – a big bang and a total mess ensued. But nobody
said a word. All the other servers immediately came to the rescue and
cleaned up in no time. They even divided the food that was left on other trays
for all the monks equally. Later, the server in question apologized in the hatto
to the whole group and that was it. I was really impressed with how they
worked together as one body and quickly found their roles in a situation that
many would find embarrassing.

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Of course, this example could also apply to the Dharma and Sangha
treasures, as all three overlap with each other. The most important point here
is learning how to use the precepts as an inspiration and, as we often say, to
work on “closing the gap” between what you have realized and how you
manifest that realization in everyday life. At times that gap may seem
enormous, yet every now and then it may suddenly seem to have
disappeared. But there is always further to go because, over time, we
inevitably raise our standards.
As our awareness grows, we become more easily tired of always following
the same old tracks of thoughts, memories, and fantasies that have not
brought us any closer to what we were looking for. To live up to the Buddha
Treasure vow, we need to dare to enter the uncharted territory of the mind
and leave no traces behind – we do not need them, because we will never go
back! In my experience, even a small insight into our ineffable buddha-nature
can help us at least to leave fewer traces – if only because they start to bother
us sooner as something unnatural. And, of course, this also applies to the
mind. As Buddha is not really a person, there is no coming or going and so –
ideally speaking – no traces are left. The mind of the Buddha is said to be
luminous precisely because it is not tainted by any mental traces. Wherever
he goes, he enlightens and inspires others.
Some time ago, I reread the diary my father wrote during wartime and found
it very touching. It opens with his meeting my mother when she was twenty
and he was twenty-three. They fell in love and – being devout Catholics –
saw this as clear evidence of God’s grace. But they hesitated to get married at
such a young age and asked a local priest for advice. He suggested they allow
their relationship to mature for two years and use that time to learn how to
really contribute to the well-being of their respective families. According to
the priest, this would be an excellent way to prepare for establishing a family
of their own. He even gave them a motto: “Practice being a ray of sunshine in
the house!” According to the diary, my parents appreciated the priest’s
advice and immediately started putting it into effect. Their motto became
part of my upbringing and it is still one of my basic tenets. In Japan, I learned

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a lot from Hojo-san’s tactics. He often surprises people by asking, “Why are
you so beautiful?” Faces invariably light up and the answers are always
worth remembering. During a taxi ride on a rainy night in Tokyo, our rather
butch-looking taxi driver visibly melted when she was asked this question.
She turned towards Hojo-san and said, “Because you ask me; nobody ever
did.”
The vow To be one with the Dharma has many similar implications for the
various aspects of training. Of course, it primarily encourages us to become
familiar with the teachings and to put them into practice. However, we need
to be careful not to get dogmatic because – like anything else in the
conditioned world – from the Mahayana standpoint, those teachings are also
considered to be devoid of any everlasting substance. So, here too, it would
be best to stay flexible and be ready to appreciate the great variety of
teachings that have been transmitted throughout the ages. In fact, in the Four
Bodhisattva Vows that we chant at the end of each day, it says that “the
Dharma gates are numberless”; and when a number is mentioned, there are
no fewer than 84,000 of them!
Of course, each of us will need at some point to clearly choose which path to
follow, which is like deciding which musical instrument one would like to
learn to play. Just as there are many different instruments that can be used for
making music, there are many different teachings that can be employed
towards cultivating our buddha-mind. Therefore, some expertise in the
source texts of the various time periods is highly recommendable as well as
knowledge of how present-day Buddhism is practiced in different cultures.
That can give us the scope we need in order to find the Dharma gate most
suitable for us, without getting overly attached to it.
The Dharma can express itself in all kinds of different forms and we should
find out which ones accord best with our temperament, aspiration, and
circumstances. In the sutras, the Buddha often teaches the Dharma as if he
were giving a press conference: various people speak up and ask questions
and the Buddha responds in ways each one of them can understand. In my
interpretation, he does not necessarily try to convince his audience of some

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exclusive doctrine but exemplifies an inspiration that can be followed by
anyone interested. I often think of Buddha’s teaching in terms of function. We
are encouraged to practice what he practiced and experience for ourselves the
beneficial effects it engenders. Buddhism is not meant to be propagated as a
belief system, although it can be tempting to do so anyway. For a long time, I
thought that it could change the world. Now I see that a little differently.
What Buddhism can change is you and me, and it is you and me who can
change the world.
Sangha literally means “harmony”. So how can the precept of To be one with
the Sangha be practiced in the various elements of training and create a sense
of all-pervading harmony? We have already seen that when you really
penetrate your own mind in zazen, you will discover that it is the mind of
everyone and everything throughout space and time. The sutras try to
convey a sense of this by mentioning – often even by name – the countless
Bodhisattvas and all other kinds of beings that are somehow involved in our
process of awakening. And in ritual observances, we recite the names of the
buddhas and ancestors to express our gratitude for welcoming us so heartily.
But for now, we may wish to focus primarily on social interaction, since that
is probably where we can practice the Sangha Treasure most actively.
Essentially, the term stands for the harmony between Buddha and Dharma,
in other words, the world of absolute equality and the one of the myriad
differences, or the harmony between what we may have realized and how we
express that insight in relation to others.
The Sangha treasure has special relevance in our modern times. Fast travel,
mobile phones, and Internet services in many different languages enable us
to connect with like-minded people all over the globe almost instantaneously.
One master138 even said that the next Buddha may not take the form of an
individual but of a Sangha, a community of practitioners working together to
bring peace, love, and joy to all sentient beings. So how can we follow
through on this beautiful vision? A traditional analogy compares Zen
students to sharp-edged stones in a riverbed that become rounded and
smooth by rubbing against one another over and over again. For that to

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happen, however, we need to leave the virtual world of computers and
smartphones now and then and start relating to the physical reality of fellow
Sangha members.
Residential training, even for short periods of time, has proven to be very
conducive to that end. It gives us the opportunity to learn how to find our
place and function in a new family – or tribe as we sometimes call it –
without being able to hide in our usual comfort zones. Although this can be
quite a challenge, it gives us a chance to take on new responsibilities and
develop unexpected skills. Simultaneously, we may be surprised to find
qualities in people we ordinarily would not choose to be with and
weaknesses in ourselves we had not been aware of. The Korean master Kusan
Sunim has said that monasteries and meditation centers are the “refineries of
man […] They are like furnaces that refine the ordinary person and transform
him into an accomplished sage.”139
Personally, I still feel that I benefit greatly from the heydays of the Kanzeon
Zen centers in Bar Harbor and Salt Lake City that Genpo Roshi set up for his
international community of students. The years I spent there gave me tools
for passing on the Dharma that I now appreciate as indispensable. Perhaps
most importantly, it made me more aware of the intricacies of the
relationship between teacher and students, as well as between those senior
and junior in training, and the respective responsibilities of all parties
involved.

THE THREE PURE PRECEPTS

The first pure precept, I vow to cease from evil, seems simple at first glance, and
to some extent it is: I vow to stop causing harm to anyone or anything,
including myself. Yet as soon as we make this vow, we may become more
acutely aware of unforeseen consequences of our behavior and discover that
even the most well-meaning actions can still have negative side-effects. So we
had better be realistic and not expect miracles too quickly. The vow primarily
involves the determination to kick our – obvious or not so obvious –

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addiction to greed, anger, and ignorance, so that our inherent Bodhisattva
qualities have more of a chance to shine.
Yet, to stop committing even some of our most common little evils can
already be rather challenging. It really should not be – doing nothing is
supposed to be much easier than doing something – but, in reality, this is not
always the case. To stop drawing too much attention to yourself; to stop
indulging in criticism; to stop justifying your mistakes; to stop interrupting
others; to stop talking when your audience has lost interest; to stop checking
your Facebook page every five minutes; to stop speeding on the freeway, or
to stop overeating – none of this is necessarily easy. Even to simply stop
wriggling during zazen or to stop chanting when you realize you are out of
tune with the others turns out to be quite hard.
While living at Kirigayaji, we would often sit around the kitchen table after
dinner with a small group of family members and friends. Every time the
conversation turned into gossip, Hojo-san would allow us to continue for
some five minutes and then get up, exclaiming, “Okay!” This would stop us
in our tracks and prompt us to embark on another topic. The open
atmosphere created that way often encouraged fresh ideas to come up. In
similar situations, Genpo Roshi had a very subtle strategy: he would just
leave the room with the excuse that he had to brush his teeth, and then he
would not return. After a while, our chatter would dry up, making us look
for something more useful to do. At Zen River, I often find myself changing
the course of a dubious discussion by asking unexpected questions to people
who have not yet had a chance to speak. I have learned this from listening to
the different voices in my own mind during zazen, and it really works!
The vow to do good is, of course, more complex. For instance, in zazen, we may
sometimes wonder, who is being served by my sitting still for such long
periods of time? That counts for many other activities we engage in. What or
who determines whether it is doing anybody any good – especially in the
long run? Generally, we are encouraged not to evaluate too quickly, because
our judgments are often based on highly conditioned notions and ideas. In a
famous koan of the Mumonkan, one monk is challenged by the Sixth Patriarch

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Daikan Eno to show his true face without thinking in terms of good and
evil140, and the “Sandokai” – the famous poem by Sekito Kisen which is part of
our daily Zen liturgy – encourages us not to judge by any standards. It would
be strange, however, to never wish to examine whether one’s practice is
actually bearing fruit; and we do this anyway – consciously or unconsciously.
So often I hear students explain to me how their practice is developing and
what they have discovered. Their realizations may or may not be the genuine
article, and most often there is much further to go. Going from Zen River to
Paris, you pass through Brussels, which already has a French atmosphere and
beautiful museums; an ill-informed foreigner might even look for the Eiffel
Tower. But in order to see that tower, you have to leave Brussels and
continue on to Paris.
In any case, doing good can happen on many different levels, and we may
not always see what level we are operating on, or what the long-term results
of our actions might be. That is the reason why self-confirmation, however
important, hardly ever seems to be enough. We also need the confirmation
from our teacher, and preferably also from other masters as well as from
fellow Sangha members. Moreover, whatever situation we are in, we can
always try to verify – or receive verification – as to whether anybody benefits.
Once, when we were starting an ango, the head-monk asked me how to
approach his position. I told him, “It is very simple; just be an inspiration!”
Yet, that may not be so simple, after all. For example, we all want to be loved,
but begging for love is not inspiring, while giving love is. Even just
complimenting others whenever this seems appropriate can be highly
inspiring and can have surprising effects.
Within this context, it may be good to emphasize that karma literally means
“action”. It is a mechanism that refers not only to the past but also points to
the future. In other words, our vision and vows are hugely important: they
are the fuel for what we would like to accomplish, not only for ourselves but
also for others. This relates directly to the vow to liberate all sentient beings.
It is the natural next step in our practice and puts quite a bit of pressure on
our diligence and determination. Over time, the suffering of others is more

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and more felt like our own and we cannot help but try to alleviate it. Of
course, there are many ways to help others, and socially engaged
Buddhism141 has become very popular lately – not only in the West but in
Asia as well. But the third pure precept also has the special connotation of
our readiness to share the Dharma with others. This means that we had better
let go of any type of sectarianism and work together, while finding our
specific function in a Sangha that nowadays has really become a global
community.
The vow To save all sentient beings can be practiced on any level, at any time.
You can start by saving them from yourself! By forgetting the self, you
liberate yourself from yourself. Would that not be a blessing? After all, who
exactly is it that gives us the most trouble? You save yourself when you see
that there is no substantial self, and you save others when you see that there
are fundamentally no others. You even save yourself from saving, because
essentially there is no one to save. That means that there is plenty of time to
make yourself useful – without making a big deal out of it. Surely, no one is
being served by a condescending attitude; Bodhisattvas push people up from
below rather than pull them up from above.
Just like zazen, ritual gives us plenty of opportunities to practice liberating
sentient beings. We can dedicate our efforts to the well-being of all people
and pray that each of them may attain the Buddha way. During morning
service at Zen River, the ino always recites the names of relatives and friends
who are ill or indisposed, and to whom we would like to send our blessings.
And quite often we hear back from them that it has a beneficial effect.
It is also easy to apply the vow to save all sentient beings to the element of
study. The scriptures have been such an inspiration for so many people and it
is paramount that their message is preserved for future practitioners.
Fortunately, we now have translations of source texts that were not accessible
even just one generation ago. But there is still a lot of work to do in this
department. The Taisho Tripitaka can be found online in Chinese and Japanese.
Yet the BDK (Bukkyo Dendo Kyokai) America, which has taken up the task of
translating the whole collection into English, reckons that it may take them

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no less than one hundred years to do this. Their dedication to such a long-
term project is truly impressive and greatly encouraging.

THE TEN GRAVE PRECEPTS

The Ten Grave Precepts are more specific than the Three Treasures and the
Three Pure Precepts. They can almost serve as slogans or simple reminders,
both in formal practice as well as in our daily life. For example, we can
investigate how to not kill time during zazen, how to not kill ritual by
allowing it to become mere routine, how to not kill the live words of the
Dharma by sticking too much to the letter, and how to not kill a conversation
or the atmosphere in social interaction. The first grave precept, I vow to
appreciate all life and not kill, can help us cultivate the living quality of
communication, including with ourselves. In that sense the first vow can
make us aware that we often kill unconsciously; so instead of vowing not to
kill we can vow to stop killing. The first vow also raises profound questions,
such as whether it is actually possible to live without killing. Often our
survival seems to depend on it. Perhaps it is our fate to learn to accept this
paradox and to try to kill as little as possible. We can also have a closer look
at what and how we kill and with what kind of intention.
Sometimes we may have to kill precisely in order to appreciate this life.
Master Rinzai says, “Whether you turn to the inside or to the outside,
whatever you encounter, kill it! If you meet the Buddha, kill the Buddha. If
you meet the ancestors, kill the ancestors. If you meet your parents, kill your
parents.”142 This is strong language and can perhaps easily be misunderstood.
What Rinzai means is that we had better kill off any fixed concepts and ideas
about the Buddha, the ancestors, and our parents – so that we can allow them
and ourselves to be fully alive. These concepts and ideas are like balloons that
we should be ready to pop as soon as they fill up with air.
The precept I vow to respect others’ possessions and not steal also has interesting
implications. Theft can take on so many forms. Throughout history, colonial
powers have robbed native people of the land they lived on. One could say

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that we collectively steal natural resources from Mother Earth without
thinking of the generations to come. But we can also simply steal by taking
the attention away from others in a conversation or by using someone else’s
words without giving any credit. We can even steal time. How often do we
rob ourselves of precious opportunities to practice the Dharma by getting
involved in trivial matters? But we can also give stealing a positive twist.
Masters of Zen are sometimes called thieves because they rob us of our
misconceptions and delusions. I once told Genpo Roshi that I had stolen the
Dharma from him when he was not looking and that I would not give it back.
In response, he laughed heartily. Ultimately, of course, it is impossible for us
to “own” anything, and acting as if we did might already be considered to be
a form of stealing.
Another precept tells us To honor the body and not commit sexual misconduct.
This is something that calls for close attention, especially within the context of
the relationship between the spiritual teacher and the student which is rather
new for most of us. The feelings that arise in this relationship can be highly
charged and easily mixed with those that are characteristic of other types of
relationship – like the ones between parents and their children, between
friends, and also the one between lovers. When teacher and student meet
mind to mind and heart to heart in the realm of oneness, it is crucially
important that they also keep recognizing the world of differences and
respect each other’s positions. In our modern times, though, equality is so
much emphasized that it can be difficult to maintain the appropriate
appreciation for the unequal or hierarchical aspect of the teacher-student
relationship. It is the teacher, of course, who bears ultimate responsibility for
setting healthy boundaries.
Different Buddhist cultures have developed different norms regarding
sexuality. They all agree, however, that greed – including within the area of
sexual relations – is one of the three poisons and can have a disastrous effect
on our life. In fact, more recent translations refer to this precept as vowing
not to be greedy. In our highly commercialized society, we are often seen
primarily as consumers, and we apparently sometimes lack “consumer

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confidence”. This means that we are not greedy enough, we do not buy
enough – we should buy more and trust that the more we buy, the better we
feel. It does not take much insight, however, to see that we will never really
be satisfied that way. Our greed is essentially caused by our not feeling
sufficient or fulfilled. That feeling of incompleteness and dissatisfaction is
exactly what is being addressed in Zen practice. I remember Maezumi Roshi
yelling at me in dokusan, “Know how to be satisfied!” And as I was just about
to leave the room, he barked again, “And know how not to be satisfied!”
In Zen, we are challenged to turn all our greed towards the Dharma and to
totally go after the welfare of everyone and everything. The Buddha
advocated having few desires143 – he did not tell us to have no desires at all.
This leaves space for the desire to liberate all sentient beings. Like all desires,
this one too will bring suffering, because it is hard to fulfill, but any real
Bodhisattva is happy to take that on.
For me, this precept also has the connotation of appreciating one’s own body
as the body of the Buddha, which means that it lends itself perfectly for
Buddhist practice. It would be a shame to waste it on indulgences and to not
employ it for sitting, bowing, chanting, studying, and compassionate
interaction. Imagine owning a top-quality piano and never playing it – or
only when you are drunk.

RIGHT SPEECH

I have always been intrigued by the fact that four of the Ten Grave Precepts
are about speech: I vow to be truthful and not lie, I vow to see the perfection in
others and not talk about their errors and faults, I vow to be humble and not put
down others, and I vow to esteem the Three Treasures and not speak ill of them.
Perhaps of all our daily activities, it is in our speech that we most easily lose
our awareness and fall into highly conditioned dualistic patterns. At the same
time, language holds a mysterious power. Do we not sometimes have a
harder time forgiving verbal abuse than actual wrongdoing? And do we not

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often wish that we had bitten our own tongue in time? Fortunately, speaking
– like anything else – can be practiced.
Right speech requires a keen insight into the workings of our own mind. For
example, even with the best of intentions, following through on the vow To be
truthful and not lie turns out to be quite a challenge. We may discover that our
assessments regarding our outer and inner worlds are not always very
trustworthy. We have plenty of thoughts and feelings – but how reliable are
they? It is not so easy to be honest with oneself and to allow all one’s different
inner voices to have their say. Which of them are truthful? If I do not know, I
may be lying all the time. In fact, again, instead of vowing not to lie, we could
vow to stop lying! But that implies that we have had some insight, however
small, into the truth – otherwise there would be no standard to go by. We
may even think that lying is quite normal and ask who does not tell a little lie
now and then?
It seems that it is impossible to “know” or “own” the truth, yet we learn to be
more in tune with it. That is why it is so important to return to the Buddha
Treasure on a regular basis and to practice the vows in connection with
samadhi and insight. It is only then that we can be really truthful and see that
there is nothing that has any fixed substance, including ourselves. And that
opens unforeseen perspectives. It increases our courage to face the facts,
which are always more diverse and multifaceted than we usually assume. In
general, we tend to overlook or deny this and, consequently, we lie. Or we
blame: “the piano has been drinking, not me, not me”144.
Zazen, ritual, study, and social interaction all give us plenty of opportunities
to stop lying. When you are really true to yourself, you forget yourself and
are enlightened by all things. So when you sit, the whole universe sits; when
you bow, everyone and everything bows; when you study, your mind
expands beyond recognition and you discover inner and outer vistas you had
never been aware of before. In social interaction, you do not get stuck on any
fixed notion or belief as easily, and even if you do, you will be quicker to
notice and find ways to make amends. You start to see that when you lie, you
are lying to yourself.

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Of course, whatever we say about anything is, on some level, a lie; it is not
what is really happening. The Belgian artist René Magritte made a big
painting of a pipe and wrote in big letters “Ceci n'est pas une pipe” (This is not
a pipe) right under it. The living reality just cannot be captured, and it
apparently takes wisdom to stay aware of that. No wonder that we have
ended up with so many scriptures! They all try to convey similar points but,
in truth, they never completely manage. So, you could say that they also lie,
even consciously! It is said that sentient beings think they tell the truth while
buddhas know that they are lying. Nevertheless, we easily seem to get stuck
on words and phrases.
For example, when Dogen Zenji talks about studying the self, we are
supposed to follow his instructions, so we can forget the self and be
enlightened by all things. But it is tempting to use those words not for
studying the self but for studying Dogen Zenji or for quoting him excessively
during lectures. In doing so, we may end up stealing his words and killing
his spirit – and ultimately our own. With continuous practice, we start to see
that whenever we kill, steal, or lie, we become our own victims. It is so ironic
– and often painfully funny – when we start to realize how far we can go in
fooling ourselves. Then we can understand why, according to Buddhism, the
human drama is not caused by evil, but by something much worse: it is
caused by stupidity!
This leads directly to the next vow about speech. If I am truthful and
acknowledge my own innate perfection, I will find it easier to see the perfection
in others. This makes it less likely for me to identify them solely with their
errors and faults. The word “perfection” is not used here as a value judgment
– as the opposite of imperfection – but rather tries to convey a sense of
completeness, independent of any particular condition. Nothing is lacking or
excluded – even imperfections are part of it. I often think that zazen is just a
way of admitting this fact, and this is really empowering. It gives us the
incentive to work on our imperfections without neurotically trying to attain
some unrealistic ideal of perfection. Koan study and ritual observances in
particular provide us with a framework in which we can put this into effect.

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We must learn how to fail and how to just get on with it. In fact, the more
proficient we become in our practice, the more clearly we see how much
further there is to go. Errors and faults take on a different meaning. They
become steppingstones across a stream. So, whether we are talking about
ourselves or others, the biggest error would be to focus on missteps alone. It
would be wiser to see where we stand and where we could go from there.
Fushin samu exemplifies this view on perfection quite well. It is a term used in
Zen temples for the daily household chores and has the connotation of
“cleaning what cannot be defiled”. From the absolute standpoint, everything
is perfect and complete; even a dusty old statue has its own beauty. We have
seen that Ummon goes as far as to call a shit-stick Buddha! Yet from the
relative standpoint, we find plenty to wipe, wash, scrub, vacuum, and mop.
And it is paramount that we see both sides, in ourselves as well as in others.
Some people may primarily talk about their own errors and faults, but most
of us see those much more easily in others and forget their innate perfection
in the process. I have seen buddhas get angry, or frustrated, or be downright
unhappy. I have even heard one or two bad-mouthing others. But that does
not take away from the fact that they are buddhas. Every person on this
planet is endowed with all the prerequisites for living this life to the full, for
attaining annutara-samyak-sambodhi, complete and perfect enlightenment.
Some of us just make a tremendous detour or regress for a few lifetimes. The
Buddha’s cousin Devadatta, who I mentioned earlier, serves as a striking
example in this respect. So, who knows? Those who veer off the path may
find out later that the path went along with them. Genpo Roshi would
sometimes talk about students who left the sangha ages ago as if they could
return at any time, and quite a few actually did!
One of the major obstacles to right speech is that words often come out so
quickly. They are like verbal missiles that you manage to fire accidentally in
the heat of the battle, and that end up causing serious collateral damage.
Only a relaxed and yet alert mind will enable you to avoid pushing the
wrong buttons and give you the opportunity to consider other options. To
stay fully aware while talking is difficult, but once we have had some success

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in turning our own light inward during zazen, we may also manage to do so
every now and then during a conversation. Usually, that opens things up:
you momentarily stop identifying with the words that are spoken and allow
alternatives to present themselves. Not focusing on other peoples’ errors and
faults can be practiced in all circumstances. But to take this vow as your
standard in the heat of a discussion is challenging and requires all your
attention.
The same is true of the vow To be humble and not put down others. We need to
start unclogging our minds from false notions about self and others in order
to undo our habitual arrogance, so we can practice adapting our speech
accordingly. Most of us believe that we are different from everybody else –
either a little better or a little worse – and our language will reflect that. If we
are not careful, Zen practice can make matters worse, because it is tempting
to assume that, over time, it will make us at least a little bit more special.
To make ends meet during my Zen training, I often needed to take on menial
jobs and, in order to get hired, I had to avoid mentioning my educational
degrees – one of those little lies we may have to resort to now and then. I
washed tons of dishes and developed a deep respect for anyone who does
this. The vow to be humble inspires the willingness to take on any position –
high or low – whatever the situation calls for. I know that Maezumi Roshi, in
his early days in Los Angeles, drove a cab and labored as a gardener, even
though he was already a fully certified priest and had completed his
Buddhist studies at Komazawa University.
Zazen, and particularly koan training, can help us to go to the darkest corners
of our mind and face up to any of the voices that can be heard there. While
we often give in to the voices we enjoy, we tend to suppress those we do not
want to listen to, and consequently look down upon people who bring them
out into the open. In this area, there is a lot to learn from practicing together
with others in close quarters. It is like living in a house of mirrors, a prime
opportunity to see our own mind reflected in multiple ways. For example, we
may get really irritated when seeing someone express anger and discover that
this irritation is primarily caused by our refusal to acknowledge the voice of

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anger in ourselves. So, again, the first job is always to study our own mind
and be completely conscious of whatever arises. This does not mean that we
are supposed to “like” everything – it is more about taking full responsibility
for it. The expression “being one with” has become popular nowadays, but
this can easily be misunderstood and even lead to indulgence. I once heard
one student complain that she had been trying to be one with her anger for
three years and that she was still furious. As was discussed earlier, we can let
any of our emotions pass through the Four Modes of Meditation, and finally
start to see how to handle them in the most responsible way.
If we would really go deeply into samadhi and own up to our own anger and
fears, we would see that they are completely empty. They fluctuate and mix
with other voices, and – as Genpo Roshi likes to point out – they can be
educated and recognized as members of our family. Over time they may even
become very useful, just like the most unusual suspects can suddenly become
our friends. The toilet of the house where I lived as a student was outside and
had no sewer connection, only a septic tank that needed to be pumped out
regularly. I was surprised to discover that the man I called in to do the job
was a totally inspired professional who could talk, in glowing terms, about
something to which we usually do not give much credit: human waste. It
clarified for me that there really is no waste in this world. Everything is
continuously recycled, and there are always opportunities for transformation.
For me, the vow to be humble also has the connotation of surrendering to the
Three Treasures. As we have seen, the Buddhist teaching is primarily
remedial. But it is always tempting to think we know better than the doctors
and follow their prescriptions only as far as they concur with our own
viewpoints. It has even become trendy to create one’s own highly individual
version of spirituality by picking and choosing elements from different
schools and then criticizing those who follow a different track.
Something similar may also happen in the teacher-student relationship. Even
if you have a great master, you may still discover certain character traits you
really do not agree with or even look down upon. Of course, one should be
very cautious in deciding which teacher to follow, but let us be clear:

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whichever way we go about it, in the end, it is only by giving up our
attachment to our own long-held viewpoints that we can open up to new and
unexpected vistas. As long as we look down on anything, we take on a
certain fixed position and may easily get stuck.
During a seminar in a Japanese monastery I once attended, one of the guest
lecturers mentioned the Greek philosopher Heraclitus, who is famous for the
expression “panta rhei” – everything flows. He wondered whether Heraclitus
included himself in this clear expression of the principle of impermanence. It
is so much easier to see everything flow all around us, rather than within our
very own body and mind. Yet, once we discover our true nature, we dare to
be more flexible and do not get so easily fixated on any one position.
The vow To esteem the Three Treasures and to not speak ill of them clearly
requires some real insight. That is probably why it figures as the last of the
sixteen Zen precepts. In a way, we are back to the first vow. Even when we
are sitting silently in zazen, our posture can speak volumes. Does it do the
Buddha treasure justice? Or does my body language speak ill of it? To esteem
the Dharma implies seeing all phenomena as teaching, appreciating whatever
happens as the Dharma – even when somebody is yelling at me. To speak in
accord with the Dharma is part of koan training: when words are needed in
our presentations, they are not used to objectify reality but rather to express
its live quality. Esteeming the Sangha treasure also demands continuous
practice. Ultimately it is our very own body that extends throughout space
and time and includes everything and everyone, from all social, cultural, or
religious backgrounds. So we had better think twice before criticizing others.
Rather than divide and polarize, we vow to hold no dualistic view of any
sentient being and Buddha, and to practice cultivating our body, mind, and
speech accordingly.
It would take too long to discuss all ten grave precepts here, but it is clear
that the ones that I have not addressed can be dealt with in a similar way.
Applying them to the various elements of training provides us with
surprisingly practical suggestions for expressing our Bodhisattva qualities
more and more naturally in all circumstances.

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There is perhaps one more thing that would be good to mention regarding
right speech. In order to really make it part of our practice, I set up an
interactive “right speech class” at our temple, and it is one of our most
stimulating gatherings. The subject varies, from basic Buddhist principles to
short passages of scriptures, and is given the day before the class so that we
can all set our minds to it. We sit in a circle with ten to fifteen people and
usually six or seven of us get a chance to deliver a short presentation on the
subject. Our members often find themselves in situations – at home, with
friends, or at work – where they are questioned about their practice, and
many do not find it easy to respond well. The class therefore addresses not
only Dharma but also speech, and we learn as we go along. At first, there was
no real plan, other than to just practice speaking up. But over time, certain
guidelines developed in a rather organic way, and they have become very
useful, even in the most mundane circumstances. The list includes the four
precepts that concern speech, but it kept growing. Here are some examples:
Regularly ask yourself who is being served by your talking. Identify with the one
listening.
Share your inspiration rather than your judgments and opinions.
Be aware of right time, right place, right position, and right amount.
Humor can enlighten, so do not take yourself too seriously.
Acknowledge the input of others and do not routinely claim “the last word”.
Express your curiosity rather than imposing what you “know”. Try to avoid
conversation stoppers.
Keep a balance between impersonal information and personal experience.
Do not pretend everything can be explained; do not indulge in definitions.
Allow different perspectives; avoid statements that need defending and can easily
lead to an argument.
Refer to your sources (e.g. “in the Lotus Sutra...”, “according to our tradition...”, or
“in my experience...”).

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Avoid generalizations and limit the use of the personal pronouns “you”, “we”, or
“one” as if what you are saying applies to everyone, when you are merely
expressing your own viewpoint.
Make sure to have clear priorities in your presentation. What is the main point?
Do not prove your point by using an exception as an example.
Share how you walk your talk.
Never assume that what is being said is the same as what is being heard.
Remember, the Dharma is remedial, not doctrinal.

Several of my students have told me they use these guidelines in their

professional environment as well as in family situations. One of them even
shared the list with his colleagues at the company where he works and,
together, they decided to use it for their board meetings.
Using the Three Pure Precepts as a framework is another way to become
more aware of the intentions that color our speech. For instance, following
through on the vow to cease from evil, we can try not to be careless with our
words, to avoid divisive or condescending language, to stop indulging in
criticism and complaints, to refrain from cutting off others and stealing
attention, or simply to stop talking for a moment.
The vow to do good can stimulate us to empower others by asking for their
input, to use language that connects, inspires, and expresses appreciation and
respect. It can translate into speech that shows empathy with those in trouble
and the willingness to reach out to resolve a conflict.
The vow to save all sentient beings through right speech can take on many
different forms. In fact, it may not always seem like right speech at first
glance. The koans and other Zen texts show us that students have been
enlightened by language that may come across as nonsensical, crude, or
downright offensive. Master Bokushu for instance, did not hesitate to address
one visiting monk as “You empty-headed fool!” 145 But for us it would be wise
to be very cautious with such language.

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 THE PRECEPTS AS KOANS

The sixteen precepts are also addressed in an additional series of koans in our
curriculum as a way to prepare for Dharma transmission. As we discussed
before, jukai marks the beginning of a real commitment to the Buddhist path
and the precepts are bestowed upon us as the essence of our life. Yet it
generally takes long and hard practice to realize this essence and learn to live
up to the vows we have made. The koans that involve the precepts address
their deeper implications and are meant to verify the understanding we have
developed over time. In a way, it can be seen as harvesting the fruits of our
labor over the years – like coming full circle.
The precept koans start with the Dogen Zenji’s Kyojukaimon poems and
involve a series of questions meant to further clarify the meaning of the Three
Treasures and the Three Pure Precepts. After that, we focus on the ten grave
precepts one by one, using Dogen Zenji’s poems and Bodhidharma’s One
Mind Precepts.146
Dogen Zenji’s poems and the One Mind Precepts are all little masterpieces.
They give us a chance to view the Zen precepts through enlightened eyes – in
other words, as real expressions of our natural self. For example, the vow to
refrain from killing – which is often taken rather literally – is infused with a
completely different meaning when seen from that perspective. Dogen Zenji
writes:

“Life is non-killing.
The seed of Buddha grows continuously.
Maintain the wisdom-life of Buddha and do not kill life.”147

So, to refrain from killing is interpreted here as refraining from killing the life
of the Buddha, which is what we do if we fail to realize the Way. In other
words, if we even think that there is something that can be killed, we kill the
life of the Buddha.

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Apparently, Dogen Zenji wrote his Kyojukaimon because he was not
completely satisfied with the text of the Brahma’s Net Sutra, and he composed
these poems to reveal deeper layers of meaning. Bodhidharma’s One Mind
Precepts” convey a similar enlightened understanding:

“The ten Dharma worlds are the body and mind.

In the sphere of the everlasting Dharma,
not nursing a view of extinction
Is called the precept of refraining from killing.”148

The message is clear: it is only by realizing the everlasting Dharma that we

can really avoid killing. The other poems follow a similar track. For example,
Dogen Zenji’s verse on the seventh grave precept – the vow to be humble and
not put down others – reads:

“Buddhas and Ancestors realized the absolute emptiness and realized

the great earth.
When the great body is manifested, there is neither outside nor inside
in the emptiness.
When the Dharma body is manifested, there is not even a single square
inch of soil on the ground (earth).”

The corresponding One Mind Precept states:

“The ten Dharma worlds are the body and mind.

In the sphere of the equal Dharma,
Not making any distinction between oneself and other
Is called the precept of refraining from extolling oneself and slandering
others.”

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Clearly, both series of poems offer a perspective on the precepts that only
opens up with non-dual insight.
To further clarify our understanding of the precepts and to examine how they
can be applied to our daily affairs, we then look at the precepts from three
different perspectives: Hinayana, Mahayana, and Buddhayana. However,
these terms are not meant to denote any particular school of Buddhism but
try to articulate three different ways of dealing with life situations.
The Hinayana perspective stands for following the precepts literally, without
any room for negotiation. Killing, stealing, lying, and so on are categorically
disapproved of and should always be avoided. Yet following these precepts
can take different forms. Ango, the traditional three-month training period
that we still schedule twice a year, was initially held in the rainy season; it
would stop the monks from traveling and inadvertently stepping on
newborn insects and other creatures.
The Mahayana perspective allows for taking the circumstances of our actions
into consideration. In fact, one may even sometimes have no choice other
than to violate one precept in order to uphold another one that is more
relevant to the situation. The Brahma’s Net Sutra exhorts us to not
intentionally kill and to always nurture a mind of compassion. In one of the
other Mahayana scriptures, however, we can find the famous example of a
Bodhisattva who rescued a large group of people on a ship by killing the
pirate who attacked them. The sutra 149 does not fail to report that this
Bodhisattva would still have to suffer the karmic consequences of his deed.
Yet these would be rather mild, as he gained so much merit by making sure
that the pirate did not kill those people and by preventing him from
collecting the bad karma this heinous act would have created.
Although the Mahayana perspective leaves more room for responding
according to our own insight, it still gives us a reasonably clear code to go by.
In this case, right action is based on four criteria: right place, right time, right
position, and right amount. These criteria can be applied to all elements of
training and are particularly useful as guidelines for social interaction.
Imagine that you have a conflict with one of your colleagues and decide to

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address it. The timing is then often crucial. Is that person ready to hear you or
do you need to exercise some patience? Next, would it be better to meet at
your workplace or in a restaurant? Moreover, what is your position regarding
your colleague? Is it even your call to set up this meeting? Lastly, how far do
you go in pushing a certain point? Do you leave room for the other person to
present an alternative reading of the situation? It is easy to imagine how we
can get into trouble if even one of those criteria is overlooked or assessed
wrongly.
Sometimes we find ourselves in situations that demand rather strict
adherence to the rules, especially when it involves safety. Just think of traffic
regulations, or the fabrication of items such as parachutes, which you would
not wish to purchase with possible minor defects. But quite often a more
flexible approach is asked for. During the Second World War, many people in
The Netherlands went into hiding, and any landlord who accommodated
some of them would, of course, lie when he was asked if he was doing this.
But we would easily forgive him, considering the circumstances. Similarly,
when the train station of my hometown was bombed, there happened to be a
train full of horses inside and they were all killed. Men from the
neighborhood ran out of their homes with knives and fetched big pieces of
horseflesh in order to feed their hungry families. In a way they were stealing,
but can you blame them?
Coming from the Buddhayana perspective, one’s responsive actions are
solely based on direct insight, the intuitive understanding of the situation one
is facing. Many koan stories present good examples of this unmediated
approach. Zen masters are known for their quick wit and for dealing with
circumstances they encounter without any hesitation – often with an
enlightening effect on the part of the student. Case 53 of the Hekiganroku
records the following: “As the great master Baso was walking along with
Hyakujo, they saw wild ducks fly past. The great master said, ‘What is that?’
Hyakujo said, ‘Wild ducks.’ The great master said, ‘Where have they gone?’
Hyakujo said, ‘Flown away.’ The great master then grabbed Hyakujo’s nose,
and twisted it. Hyakujo cried out in pain. The great master said, ‘When was

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this ‘flown away’?” Tenkei Denson comments on this koan: “When was this
‘flown away’? Do you know the wild ducks on your nose? Pressed in this
way, he now realized what he had known all along, therefore he had an
insight.”150
We may all remember certain moments where something was done quickly –
without deliberation – and yet right to the point. Once, I was on a busy
Mediterranean beach with a circle of friends. Suddenly, one of them jumped
up and ran to the sea. We had no idea what was going on, until we saw him
in the distance, dragging an elderly lady out of the waves. She had been in
danger of drowning and had waved her hands in despair without anybody
but our friend noticing.
So, although the Buddhayana approach is something that needs to be
cultivated by continuous practice, we may every now and then have a
glimpse of it. For example, many of us cannot exactly articulate what it was
that brought us to Buddhist practice. Still, there was a hidden force, pulling
us into an unforeseen direction. As far as this is concerned, we are actually in
good company. When Rinzai was asked “What was the purpose of the
(Patriarch’s) coming from the West?” The master said, “If he had had a
purpose, he couldn’t have saved even himself.”151 152
Nevertheless, this direct, no-purpose kind of activity is one that demands
great caution and it can never be used as a justification for irresponsible
behavior. If our intuition leaves room for doubt, we should be ready to adopt
a Mahayana or Hinayana approach.
Perhaps one could say that, following the Hinayana perspective, we give the
precepts all the authority and do not need to take much responsibility
ourselves – there is only one correct perspective. When adopting the
Mahayana outlook, we have to make our own decisions as to what is right
and what is wrong, given the situation we are in; there are multiple
perspectives. In the Buddhayana there is essentially no perspective. We are
one with each situation we encounter and have an unequaled opportunity to
respond without any personal agenda. Dogen Zenji’s Kyojukaimon poems and
the One Mind Precepts articulate that beautifully.

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Nevertheless, any Bodhisattva activity that is based on even the smallest
genuine insight into the Buddhayana perspective often has effects that just
cannot be paralleled. That is because such an insight simply defies the
limitations of space and time that usually bind us, and all kinds of karmic
causes and consequences can suddenly be seen from a much broader
perspective. While the Hinayana and Mahayana perspectives give us certain
insights into the workings of karma, it is only the Buddhayana perspective
that opens the door to recognizing deeply entrenched underlying causes as
well as the long-term consequences of certain actions. The scriptures record
that the Buddha, because of his profound realization, could not only
remember his past lives but could also foresee future lives 153. That is what
gave him such great clarity regarding his role in the world he lived in.
We can take the Buddha as an example and as an inspiration and learn to
trust that it really is possible to expand our vision beyond the conditioned
world, even if it is only for a short moment. I have seen people go through
dramatic changes as a result of this and get their life on a surprising new
track. I believe that it was a rare degree of exactly that unconditioned insight
that prompted the great pioneers of the Japanese Zen tradition to come to the
West and which enabled them to face all the difficulties they encountered in
transmitting the jewel of the Dharma to unknown territory. So, we are back to
where we started: the realization of the Buddha Treasure, the heart that
energizes the whole body of precepts.

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 Chapter 6
Tozan’s Five Ranks
The Five Ranks – sometimes referred to as the five degrees, positions, modes,
or relationships – are embedded in two poems by the Chinese master Tozan
Ryokai. They articulate the subtle interplay between practice and
enlightenment. In our White Plum lineage, these poems are used as koans
that figure at the very end of the whole curriculum by way of conclusion.
When approached in this way, they provide an overview of the training one
has gone through and the various insights that have occurred over the years.
That means that the profound implications of the ranks are difficult to fathom
without such experience. Yet Tozan’s poems are highly evocative and show
that the Ranks can be appreciated on many different levels, even by
beginners in practice.
The difficulty with any description of the enlightened vision is that it is
bound to fail, so we should be careful not to objectify the profound dialectics
expressed in the Ranks. Like all Buddhist teaching, their only relevance for us
is their liberating function. They need to be taken as different fingers pointing
at the moon and they can be forgotten about once you see the moon. A
popular saying, taken from a koan of the Hekiganroku, even warns us, “If you
don’t get your mind off rank, you will fall into the poison sea.” 154 Zen practice
clearly takes time and progresses in stages, yet – as we have already seen in a
koan we dealt with in chapter 2 – one day you may discover that “training
was not even temporarily necessary.” Thus, when discussing the Ranks, we
also need to address their opposite – in other words, no ranks.
Tozan’s Five Ranks illustrate how complementary principles – such as
relative and absolute, gradual and sudden, function and essence, form and
emptiness, practice and enlightenment – function in the context of Zen
practice. One of Tozan’s poems emphasizes the relative side and the need for
personal transformation. It elucidates stages of the path in an organic,
progressive order – from delusion towards enlightenment itself and then the

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stages beyond enlightenment. The other poem emphasizes the absolute side
and shows that every insight is complete in itself: it evokes the world as it is
seen through enlightened eyes. From this perspective, the Ranks may be
taken as a series of different points of view that only someone with deep
realization can entertain freely and express according to the needs of the
situation.
To add some historical details here, it was our Indian ancestor Nagarjuna
who apparently first formulated the principle of the two sides of reality, or
“two truths” as he called them. He warned us never to see them as separate
entities – in other words, not to divorce ultimate truth from the mundane
quality of our ordinary life. An important consequence of this is that nirvana
can be – and, in fact, can only be – experienced amid our samsaric existence.
We find this beautifully expressed in the “Sandokai”: “Ordinary life fits the
absolute as a box and its lid. The absolute works together with the relative
like two arrows meeting in mid-air.” Both sides are aptly conveyed in the two
poems by master Tozan.
To illustrate the harmonious interplay between these two aspects of reality
that need to be addressed in our practice, we can once again use the dynamic
analogy of a spiral that allows us to keep deepening our understanding. The
Zen journey is not meant to carry us to a particular destination elsewhere but
to make us realize – over and over again – where we actually are and what
our Bodhisattva function might possibly entail. To really appreciate this
multidimensional image, we need to be flexible enough to shift from the
relative side to the absolute and back whenever needed. Altogether, the
poems can speak to us as mysterious and very inspiring standards of
enlightenment.

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 THE FIVE RANKS FROM THE RELATIVE SIDE

1. The Shift

Following the example set by Emperor Yao,

the Emperor teaches morality to his people generously.
At times he passes by the noisy marketplace,
While all men welcome his royal rule.

For many of us, Buddhist practice requires a change in the direction of our
lives. The Buddha himself left a comfortable existence at his father’s palace to
follow a deep inner calling. And we may feel like we are in a similar position.
Perhaps we discovered that the goals we have been pursuing so far have not
really been fulfilling and we are ready to leave our comfort zone to make a
shift. A few thousand years ago, the legendary Chinese Emperor Yao – whose
wisdom and compassion are said to have served as a model for subsequent
leaders – set an impressive example by appointing a distant, but trustworthy,
relative as his successor rather than his unreliable playboy son.
His example challenges us to redirect our attention from the trivial matters
that so often keep us occupied towards a sincere commitment to spiritual
practice. For some, such a shift may be subtle and not alter much in terms of
profession and lifestyle. I know people who found an inspiring teacher and a
place to practice close to home. For others, it may imply traveling to a
faraway country, learning a foreign language, and even adopting a new
social role.
The noisy marketplace mentioned in the poem extends across the globe and
you may find what you are looking for in unexpected places. In any case –
especially if you have lost faith in the common values of society – even a
glimpse of a new standard for navigating this life is very welcome and a

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reason for great joy. Yet there may also be uncertainty. When I went to the
USA for the first time to study at the Zen Center of Los Angeles, I did not
have much of an idea of what I would find there. The only thing I knew was
that I would not be the same person when I came back.

2. Submission

For whom is the elaborate toilette now discarded?

The cuckoo’s call urges travelers to return home.
Its note continues when all flowers have fallen,
Calling further deep into the intermingling peaks.

In order to start Zen practice, we need to leave some of our old life behind. At
this point, it involves only the personal image we have cultivated – but this is
elaborate and carries much of our identity. The cuckoo’s call urges us to let
go of it and to return home. Cuckoos are inconspicuous animals and hard to
spot, but we can clearly hear their sweet voice. Similarly, we may hear
something calling from within, but we do not quite know where it comes
from. Its note continues and becomes stronger as our cherished ideas and
concepts drop away. We are drawn into a mysterious landscape where we
sometimes find ourselves on peaks that allow a clear view, and sometimes in
deep valleys that make us wonder where to go next. We can easily get lost
and start looking for a guide. Some of us may find a teacher or come across
scriptures that can be used as road maps, others discern like-minded travelers
along the way whom they are happy to join. The Buddha, Dharma, and
Sangha are seen as the most reliable guides and – although not everyone will
encounter them in the same order or value each of them in the same way – it
would be best to base one’s practice on all three together. Taking refuge in
The Three Treasures is a big step and can mark the beginning of a completely

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new life. Rather than continuing to follow slavishly the habitual patterns that
we have built up over the years, we decide to submit to the counsel of a
teacher, the value of the teaching, and the fellowship of other practitioners.

3. Achievement

The flowering of a withered tree and eternal spring.

Hunting a unicorn, a man rode backward on a jade elephant.
Now he dwells alone beyond [or “hides himself higher than”] a
thousand peaks.
Blessed with bright moonshine and pure breezes.

Flashes of insight are sudden and highly unpredictable. They can occur on
many different levels – depending on the resoluteness of the shift, the degree
of submission, and a host of unknown karmic factors. Yet every true insight
is perfect and complete: reality shows itself in all its glory – even if only for
an instant. Master Ummon was once asked, “When the tree withers and the
leaves fall, what is that?” And he replied, “Golden wind is manifesting
itself.”155 One just comes with the other: the old self dies and someone new is
reborn. Genpo Roshi often mentioned that if you give a little of your life to
the Dharma, you will receive a little back; if you give more, you will receive
more; and if you give it all, you will receive nothing because then you realize
that you already had everything you need. A unicorn is a fabled animal used
here as an image for the enlightened mind, while the jade elephant stands for
purity. Riding backward conveys leisure, playfulness, and complete trust in
the elephant, even if she goes in the opposite direction to the one we usually
take. It is a path one must travel by oneself. As we have mentioned before, it
is only by completely giving in to being alone that one can experience being
all one – being one with everyone and everything.

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 4. Advanced Achievement

Buddhas and sentient beings do not hinder one another.

The mountain is high and the water is deep.
In the midst of contraries clear understanding wins the day.
(What is the matter that ten thousand differences clarify?)
A myriad fresh flowers blooming where the partridge calls.

Master Hakuin opens his “Song of Zazen” (Zazen Wasan) by comparing

sentient beings and buddhas to ice and water – which means that they are
essentially the same. Most of us just need some serious defrosting! Once
returned to our fluid nature, we will manage to fit much more easily into any
type of container. In other words, we will be able to make the best of any
circumstances of which we are a part. The way we go through life often
seems to be dependent on a combination of inner and outer conditions. Even
promising situations can become problematic if inspiration is lacking, while
problematic situations can become promising if they are blessed with
inspiration. Thus, in order to live this human life to the full, we need a clear
understanding of our natural fluidity. Otherwise, we get lost in all the highs
and lows and are not able to find our way. First, we may see only what needs
our attention right now. But, as we have addressed already, over time our
awareness may expand and we can better anticipate what needs our attention
next. Finally following through on that intuition requires strengthening our
resolve as well as improving outer circumstances. The Bodhisattva vows are
very helpful in this respect, as they formulate a vision that goes far beyond
short-term solutions. I often try to imagine what would be important to leave
behind for the next generation. How can we keep the Dharma gates wide

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open so that future practitioners can also hear the partridge calling amid the
myriad flowers?

5. Absolute Achievement

Raising up its head’s horns even a little, it is unworthy.

A mindset on the quest of buddhahood is shameful indeed.
A far distant empty aeon, no one has known it yet.
How necessary is it to journey south to visit fifty-three sages?

Even after great enlightenment, there is no dignity in sticking out too much,
as any type of ostentatious behavior is unworthy. When living a life of
fulfillment, one has no need for anything extra. Even seeking the Dharma is
too much trouble, and no longer necessary because it is impossible to miss.
We return to the marketplace where we once started off and find ourselves
back at the beginning. We are none the wiser – and yet something has
changed. The big questions of life used to scare us and prompted us to follow
Sudhana on his long pilgrimage described in the Avatamsaka Sutra, seeking
the advice of fifty-three sages. We did not get any final answers along the
way, but we certainly grew more confident and therefore also more
comfortable with not knowing. In fact, we became more and more excited
about exploring the unknown and happy that there is plenty of it to explore!
A far-distant empty aeon that no one has yet known presents itself in this
very moment, showing its endless potential. It gives us the opportunity to
open ourselves to unexpected challenges. Without any conditioned agenda,
our life becomes the natural response of the Bodhisattva to the needs of the
world, and we feel best if we simply follow through on the vow to work for
the welfare of all beings.

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The stanzas of this poem show us five different stages we can go through on
the Buddha Way, from delusion to enlightenment and beyond. In one
analogy I often use, they form a circular chain of five links, meaning that they
really depend on each other. If one of the links is absent or broken, the whole
chain falls apart. We cannot skip any of them either. All links need to be
individually activated, and addressing them over and over again will make
the chain stronger over time. Yet they may come in different shapes and
forms, and each of the links may not carry the same weight for everyone.
Again, we need to keep in mind that we do not study the Ranks to generalize
and categorize; instead, we see them as starting blocks for understanding
ourselves and the practice we engage in. In that sense, the Four Modes of
Meditation can really help us explore the deeper implications of the Ranks, if
we use them as we did in clarifying the famous lines from Dogen Zenji’s
Genjokoan, starting with “To study the Buddha Way is to study the self.”
Particularly in the next series of poems it will not be difficult to see how the
Four Modes can give direction to the practical application of the Ranks.

THE FIVE RANKS FROM THE ABSOLUTE SIDE

1. The Relative Within the Absolute

In the third watch of the night

Before the moon appears,
No wonder when we meet
There is no recognition!
Still cherished in her (my) heart
Is the beauty of earlier days.

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The third watch of the night means midnight, and here it symbolizes the
darkness of confusion. But confusion is not necessarily seen only as negative;
we just have to own up to it. In fact, it is an indispensable ingredient for
enlightenment. Without realizing that we are in the dark, there will not be
any desire to find the light. There are moments in life when our usual value
system suddenly does not apply anymore, for instance when somebody close
to us dies or we lose something dear. This shakes up our old identity, and a
new one is not yet in sight. There is a sense of loss and understandable
nostalgia, yet there is room for beauty too, because our heart breaks open to
embrace other values.

2. The Absolute within the Relative

A sleepy-eyed grandma
Encounters herself in an ancient mirror.
Clearly she sees a face,
But it does not resemble her own.
Too bad, with a muddled head
She tries to recognize her reflection.

How long have we been sleeping and what did we wake up to? We see our
face, but it is not the one we are used to. In fact, our face seems to be
interchangeable with many other faces. We have no fixed identity. This
reminds me of the Rakanji temple in Tokyo that I have often visited. Inside
are the life-size statues of several hundred arhats – neatly lined up, sitting in
deep meditation. They are lovely, quirky characters; all very different and yet
very similar, clearly all made by the same artist – as if he portrayed himself
with each one. We too wake up to an exciting new potential, perhaps faster

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than we can comprehend, and that can leave us with a muddled head. There
is definitely further to go.

3. Coming from within the Absolute

With nothingness there is a path

Leading away from the dust of the world.
Even if you observe the taboo
On the present Emperor’s name,
You will surpass that eloquent one of yore,
Who silenced every tongue.

The dust of the world is often blinding, causing us to see others as separate
and apart from ourselves and to divide them up into friends and foes.
Fortunately, there is a way out but, strangely enough, it also happens to be a
way in. We can retreat from the world and turn our own light inward, away
from all the confusing “things” that constantly haunt us. This corresponds to
the second mode of meditation, and we have seen that this maneuver is –
although not complicated – quite difficult for most of us. We are so glued to
the objects of our observation and wrapped up in our judgments that we get
all mixed up. We think that we see all there is to see, but we really do not.
Turning around and directly facing the one who observes, we suddenly
realize our unborn buddha-mind, and that changes everything. Master
Obaku talks about it in terms of “all-pervading spotless beauty” and calls it a
jewel beyond all price!156 No words will ever be able to describe our new and
shining vistas, and yet keeping silent does not do it either. In China at the
time this poem was written, people were not allowed to call the emperor by
his name, as this was seen as undignified. We have to find ways to speak up

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without using words to name, delineate, and conceptualize. The expression
of liberation calls for language that is free and unencumbered. Aahh…!

4. Arrival at Mutual Integration

When two blades cross points,

There is no need to withdraw.
The master swordsman
Is like the lotus blooming in the fire.
Such a man is in and of himself
A heaven-soaring spirit.

Two blades cross points like the two famous arrows. The absolute and the
relative meet head-on in mid-air. There is no need to get stuck in either one of
them. In fact, bodhisattvas are able to cut the two into one and bloom amid
the fire of samsara. They forget themselves and are enlightened by all things.
The world lights up in all its colors and shows what was, what is, and what
could be. Although it may be tempting to hang on to the calm of the
mountaintop and recline in comfort, we are called to come down to face the
flames of the world, including those of our own passions. This means that the
shadows of our personality suddenly show themselves more clearly and we
become aware of the karmic burden we have collected over time. Now that
the light is on, we can start cleaning up. Unresolved issues that have been
bugging us for so long finally have a chance to be sorted out because we are
more creative in our approach and less anxious to fail, so mistakes just
become part of the process. As bodhisattvas clear their own path, they
naturally generate compassion for others who struggle in the same thickets,
and their enthusiasm spills over, so they help others to help themselves.

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 5. Unity Attained

Who dares to equal him who falls

into neither being nor non-being!
All men want to leave the current of ordinary life
But he, after all, comes back to sit among the coals and ashes.157

No rank to be seen here, no one to equal. Even the word “bodhisattva” loses
its meaning. One enters natural life, and that happens to be right wherever
we are. The six realms we may have tried to escape from become our home
and the most inspiring place to be. We find liberation in ordinary situations,
in the sorrow and joy of all fellow beings. Coals and ashes are all that is left of
our fire of transformation, just enough to keep us nice and warm. We leave
the current of everyday life by returning to the current of everyday life. We
do not see the difference anymore and could just as well start all over again.

EXCURSION TO THE BAY OF NAPLES

It is no secret that the study of The Five Ranks can easily become very
conceptual and difficult to relate to actual practice. This also explains why
interpretations vary considerably. For example, adherents of the Soto
tradition generally seem to see The Five Ranks as different but equally
important perspectives of the enlightened mind rather than as progressive
stages of development. Master Hakuin, who represents the Rinzai tradition,
emphasized the need for passing through each one of the ranks in a
sequential order and even considered this to be an indispensable requirement
for accomplishing the way.
In our White Plum tradition, we try to strike a balance between these two
interpretations. One of my primary intentions is to find ways to clarify the

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ranks in their live functioning. I hope relating them to the Four Modes of
Meditation makes for a good start on this project. Of course, there are many
other ways to go about it. Once, I went as far as trying to demonstrate the
workings of The Five Ranks by exploring the different ways we can look at a
painting.
Some weeks before, one of my students had brought a high-quality
reproduction on canvas of Albert Marquet’s famous Bay of Naples from a visit
to the Hermitage museum in Saint Petersburg, and it looked like the perfect
candidate for such an experiment. During a study class at Zen River, I had
the work shown around the group of participants so that everybody could
have a good look at it. To me, one of the interesting aspects of a painting has
always been that it reveals itself instantaneously. Unlike literature, music,
video, or film – art forms that require a certain length of time to be enjoyed –
a painting can be observed in a split second. We may not see the various
features that make it into a work of art right away, but a quick glance can
already have a great impact – just like what can happen when we meet
somebody for the first time. In both cases, however, we probably need more
time to become real friends.
The composition of the Bay of Naples is deceptively simple. It shows the bay
with some boats, a sky with clouds, and Mount Vesuvius in the background.
What always strikes me most is the shimmering surface of the water, which is
painted in subtle secondary colors that convey blue light shining towards us.
It is the wettest water I have ever seen in a painting.
Most often, however, we focus first on the forms in a composition before we
pay attention to the background. So, here we will see several boats and a
majestic mountain. We enter the painting as a world of forms; emptiness
comes second, because we usually only look at the backdrop to those forms a
little later, when we notice the space around them and what lies further
behind – in this case the water and the clouds stretching out into the endless
sky. When we look at this, we become aware of the world of emptiness that

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surrounds all forms. And that is where our observation could stop: Okay, I
have seen it, a bunch of boats and a mountain.
But if we keep looking, we may notice something mysterious about the boats,
and even the mountain. It almost feels as if we can look through them. The
whole scenery is presented with light shining towards us, with the boats and
the mountain rendered in even fields of a single color. This seem to give them
an immaterial quality and a surprising degree of spaciousness – something
you would rather expect to see in the water and the clouds. The water and
the clouds, however, show much more detail and – with some effort – they
can be viewed as opaque and substantial, with the boats and the mountain as
their background. Form and emptiness turn out to be interchangeable.
Turning from a focused to a more diffused attention reveals that forms as
well as background – boats and mountain, water and clouds – can be
experienced simultaneously as emptiness, as ungraspable, endless space.
When we see that, the whole painting starts to shine. It radiates a luminosity
that envelops us and makes us part of the whole scenery. We enter a deeper
layer of reality – the world of complete emptiness – that connects us
intimately to everyone and everything. That is what makes this painting so
profoundly enchanting.
Yet, at some point, we may suddenly be reminded that we are looking at the
flat surface of a canvas. Forms as well as the spaces around them are all
suggested by strokes of paint, masterfully applied by Marquet. So, in a way,
every detail is form. There is nothing that is not form, and not one form is the
same – this is the world of differences and they can speak to us loud and
clear.
To conclude, we may at some point start to integrate these perspectives into a
single dynamic vision and move from one to another without any hindrance.
Here they are in a quick overview:
Objects as forms, surrounded by space,
Objects as space, surrounded by form,

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Both objects and background as space,
Both objects and background as form;
The unity and dynamic interplay of all these different perspectives.
In my view, they illustrate the five stanzas of Tozan’s second poem
surprisingly well, in a similar sequential order:
The relative within the absolute,
The absolute within the relative,
Coming from within the absolute,
Arriving at mutual integration,
Unity attained.
I hope this comparison clarifies one of our main points of interest. A painting
can just hang there, and we can look at it for days. We may see different
aspects of it over time, and we may freely shift our focus from one
perspective to another. But, essentially, all the visual information is given at
once. In that sense, there are no ranks – or, at least, there is no sequential
order. An experienced art lover may need only a glance to appreciate a
masterpiece. Yet, if you are a beginner and wish to learn about art, or if you
aspire to become a painter yourself, in your education you would probably
have to go through a series of steps similar to the sequence described above
in order to fully value its quality. And, of course, in the Five Ranks it is not
the art of painting that is being addressed – it is the art of appreciating our
life and living it to the full.
As in Marquet’s painting, our first focus may be on form – in this case,
ourselves – and we may locate emptiness primarily in the world around us.
Then we can shift our attention and see that our very own body and mind
themselves are empty of any everlasting substance. Next comes the
realization that everything and everyone is completely empty. No eye, ear,
nose, tongue, body, or mind can perceive the essence of reality. Nonetheless,
it can be experienced in deep samadhi. We call this the realization of absolute

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oneness. But there is more. The light this realization generates starts to shine
upon the endless variety of phenomena. This allows us to develop and
mature and to accept our specific Bodhisattva calling. Finally, this whole
scenario describes what is, in fact, our most natural condition: responding
with wisdom and compassion to any situation we are in.158
As we have seen before, the various perspectives the Ranks offer can be
confirmed repeatedly, which will deepen our experience of the unborn
buddha-mind and broaden our vision on how to manifest it in daily-life
activities. The “Hokyo Zanmai”159 (“Precious Mirror Samadhi”), another poem
by master Tozan – and part of our Zen liturgy – suggests we “penetrate the
source and travel the pathways.” This seems to describe perfectly the way we
have been looking at practice through the lens of the Five Ranks. Clearly,
sources can be penetrated and pathways are to be followed. Interestingly
enough, both verbs are translations of the same character 通 in the Chinese
original. To me, the choice of this character beautifully illustrates the oneness
of realization and practice. Unfortunately, this little jewel is usually lost in
translation.
Perhaps we could say that practice prompts realization, while realization
prompts further practice, leading to endless cycles of ever-deepening
understanding. That is why our concluding chapter will be dedicated to the
timeless continuity of practice.

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 Chapter 7
Continuous Practice
Gyoji, or “continuous practice”, is the title of the two longest chapters of
Dogen Zenji’s Shobogenzo. “Gyo” translates as activity, conduct, or practice,
while “ji” means maintaining or keeping. As I see it, Dogen Zenji uses this
combination of terms to identify the everyday practice of each one of us as
the continuous practice of all buddha ancestors. He opens the first of these
chapters with the image of the dynamic cycle referred to in our introduction:

“On the great road of Buddha ancestors there is always unsurpassable

practice, continuous and sustained. It forms the circle of the way and is
never cut off. Between aspiration, practice, enlightenment, and nirvana,
there is not a moment’s gap; continuous practice is the circle of the
way.”160

This continuity implies that when we practice, we join the practice of all the
buddha ancestors. Even if we meditate just by ourselves, we merge with their
activity. There is a strong mutual correspondence between buddha ancestors
and sentient beings. They call upon us, and we call upon them. We just
happen to belong to the same family. And, of course, you can disagree or get
upset with your family, but you can never really undo that close connection.
You are always going to be part of it. No wonder you can feel as if something
is pulling you towards practice, without knowing where it comes from. In a
way, we cannot go wrong. A few paragraphs later in the same chapter,
Dogen Zenji writes, “Even if you might try to ignore it in order to hide a
crooked intention and escape from it, this ignoring would also be continuous
practice.”161 We may make detours, but those detours also happen to be part
of the way of all buddha ancestors. On a very profound level we are never
alone, whichever way we go.

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The Gyoji chapters are filled with interesting details from the lives of many
great masters, which are meant to inspire us to engage in continuous practice
ourselves. Dogen Zenji somehow manages to make those masters descend to
our level, or to lift us up to theirs. By joining their continuous practice, we
become more and more intimate with ourselves – including parts of
ourselves we had not been aware of. Through continuous practice we start to
recognize our true self, and this can be expressed in all kinds of different
forms. The masters Dogen Zenji mentions represent qualities we can discover
in ourselves. For example, Shakyamuni Buddha is, among other things, being
praised for his outstanding focus on practice, and his patience with the
criticism of people who did not engage in practice, while Mahakasyapa is
honored for his ascetic discipline, and Hyakujo for not letting a single day
pass without working together with his assembly. However, realizing those
qualities requires that we see through our confusing filters of attachments
and drop all the baggage with name tags we have been carrying around for
so long.
As we have seen, in the Life Span chapter of the Lotus Sutra the Buddha
explicitly reveals himself as a continuous presence. He has attained
buddhahood innumerable kalpas ago and has helped countless sentient
beings to enter the way. He may not always be visible to everyone – and may
at times even seem to have disappeared into nirvana – but all that is just
expedient means to ensure that we do not take him too easily for granted. His
energy is always around and responds to the needs of all beings with love
and compassion, qualities that are inherent in all of us. We too can come to
realize that our life is meant to serve as a natural response to samsara. We
ended up on the wheel of birth and death, and it is practice and realization
that can set us free and disclose our function. There are plenty of problems
that call for our attention, and – by joining the ranks of buddhas and
bodhisattvas – we can all find ways to help.
The once-popular notion that the development of science and technology
prompts humankind to spiral upward to an ever-greater state of well-being

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has become more and more contested. I find it ironic that television
commercials always seem to promise a better and happier future, while the
bombardment of bad news that often follows can make one yearn for the
good old days. Clearly, our evaluation of what is happening as well as
predictions of what might happen can differ greatly. In religion too, we find
the optimists and the pessimists. In Dogen Zenji’s time already many people
believed that the Buddhadharma was dying out, but he warns us not to give
in to that notion, reminding us that practice and realization will always
remain available. But he does exhort us to use our time well and not to
neglect practice for even a single moment. So, rather than trying to recapture
an idealized past or fast-forward to an idealized future, I think the job of the
present is to keep continuous practice alive during the time allotted to us.
There is birth, death, and rebirth; there is the raising of Bodhi mind, practice,
realization, and nirvana. This life is just a moment in time, and yet it is the life
of all the buddhas and ancestors.

FORGETTING TIME

When Dogen Zenji mentions or quotes Chinese masters, he often starts off by
saying, quite affectionately, “I remember...,” as if he had just seen them a few
weeks ago – even though they lived several hundred years before him. He
clearly felt that close to them. I have often wondered about this, until
something interesting happened to me in Japan. Once in Bukkokuji, I shared
my grief over Maezumi Roshi’s unexpected and early death with Harada
Tangen Roshi, a wonderful master, who I knew had known him well. Tangen
Roshi looked me in the eyes in a way I will never forget, and said, “You do
not have to worry. He is here right now!”
What is time, really? Often, it seems to just fly by. Many of us have a hard
time keeping up, as if we are always lagging a little behind. Rather than being
the masters of time, we usually act like its slaves. Impermanence is snapping
at our heels, however hard we try to escape it. As this is the only world we

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know, we may start to dream up some realm that is eternal, like a heaven, a
place of continuous bliss – even though this usually has the inconvenient
implication that there must also be a place of continuous suffering, an eternal
hell.
Perhaps there is something wrong with the concept of eternity as continuous,
endless time. If we so clearly experience the passing of time – and suffer from
it – what is it that would really set us free? Very simple: no time! Indeed, one
definition of eternity is precisely this: “a state to which time has no
application.” We can all remember moments, however brief, when we lost
track of time. In Dutch there is an expression “gezelligheid kent geen tijd”
(conviviality knows no time), and in English we can say “time stood still”.
Although time generally has a tight grip on us, on certain occasions it just
seems not to apply at all: we forget time.
In a short Dharma-hall discourse recorded in the Eihei Koroku, Dogen Zenji
uses no fewer than four times the term “uji”, which Shohaku Okumura and
Taigen Dan Leighton translate as “sometimes” 162. “Uji” is also the title of a
chapter of Dogen Zenji’s Shobogenzo, which has been rendered by Kazuaki
Tanahashi as “The Time Being” and, in the text itself, as “for the time being”.
The main point Dogen Zenji seems to make here is that as soon as there is
being, there is also time. At first sight this is a no-brainer. It seems obvious
that beings develop over time. They are born, live for a while, and at some
point they die. And most Buddhists believe that they will be reborn and go
through the whole process again and again.
Yet the scriptures often emphasize that what is passed on in this process has
no independent substance whatsoever. Dogen Zenji is very emphatic on this
point. He even has reservations regarding the term “buddha-nature” because
we may easily interpret it as a “thing” that survives birth and death. In a
way, as long as we consider something to exist eternally, we are still victims
of time. We only imagine an eternity because we suffer from time. But the
eternity we imagine is usually just endless time.

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Traditionally, sesshins last seven days, and there is some wisdom to that. The
third or fourth day is often the most difficult one, but it is also the most
interesting. It feels like we have been at it for a long time already, yet there is
still no end in sight. At this point, we may finally give up checking the
passing hours and land in the only place where something can really happen
– this very moment. In other words, now!
We can, of course, always visualize the passing of time as a series of
successive “nows”. Maezumi Roshi was fond of reporting that there are more
than six billion moments of birth and death in a single day. – they are so short
that we do not even notice. As these moments pass so quickly, we create and
hang onto a linear structure. We imagine a past and a future and we start
comparing: yesterday was wonderful, today is not great, wonder what it will
be like tomorrow? It is difficult to give in to fully experiencing “now”
because we unconsciously cut it off from the “nows” of past and future. We
forget that, in fact, it always happens to be “now”. Nobody can escape the
present moment. And that is wonderful! “Now” is always readily available: it
is always here and offers us an entry into no-time, a direct path to our
inherent timelessness.
Dogen Zenji’s “Uji” is a very profound text that challenges us to go beyond
all dualistic notions of time. On the one hand, you could say that time does
exist in a linear way – as a succession of moments – and that we can even
measure it very precisely. On the other hand, time does not really exist as an
independent agent. Like everything else, it has no inherent substance. “Uji”
starts with the following lines:
“An ancient Buddha, Yaoshan, said: For the time being, stand on top of
the highest peak. For the time being, proceed along the bottom of the
deepest ocean. For the time being, three heads and eight arms of a
fighting demon. For the time being, an eight- or sixteen-foot body of the
Buddha. For the time being, a staff, or whisk. For the time being, a
pillar or a lantern. For the time being, the children of common families
Zhang and Li. For the time being, the earth and sky.”163

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When we forget what we usually identify with and forget time, we can stand
on the highest peak and dive into the deepest ocean. We can manifest
fighting demons and a large buddha, or we can live the life of a staff, a whisk,
a pillar, or a lantern. We can be children of common human families. The
earth and the sky can be our home. But this does not happen if there is a
limited sense of self and a limited understanding of time. If we cannot forget
the self, we are not really alive. And if we cannot forget time, we are just its
slaves – chained to our oh-so-short span of existence.

THE CONTINUITY OF LIFE

In a way, we could say that practice is continuous because life is continuous.

Even when we look at life from our perspective as so-called ordinary sentient
beings, there is something very odd about it. We are living this life, but it is
clearly not our private property. We have received it from our parents – and
we should thank them for that – but they received it from their parents, who
received it in turn from their parents, and so on. We can therefore wonder
whose life is it and where did it start? Indeed, one could argue whether there
actually is a discernible beginning. As I see it, life just happens: it has always
been and will always be. It is energy that can never be lost. That also means
that it is ungraspable. We are living this life, but it is difficult to fathom its
essence. Okay, our hearts beat, we breathe, we can move our arms and legs,
we can think and talk. It is very easy to see whether somebody is alive or
dead, but what the energy is that makes us alive is hard to define.
Life and death are often considered to be opposites, as if they mutually
exclude each other. But in Buddhism, we do not see it quite that way. Instead
of life and death, we talk about birth and death. The Chinese and Japanese
characters used for “life” more often mean “birth”. Birth is seen as a moment
and death is seen as a moment, and they take turns continuously. Life itself
escapes time and includes birth and death. That view changes the whole

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picture. It seems to me that life has been given to us, and for now we manifest
it in this form. By looking at it this way, our attitude towards death may also
change. We all know that one day this lifetime will end. But according to
Buddhism, life itself just continues.
Here I cannot resist quoting from one of the famous letters of Vincent van
Gogh, one of my favorite artists:
“Because, look – it was thought that the earth was flat – that was true –
it still is today – from Paris to Asnières, for example. But that did not
prevent science proving that the earth is above all round. Which
nobody disputes nowadays.
Now, at present, despite that, we’re still in the position of believing that
life is flat and goes from birth to death. But life too is probably round,
and far superior in extent and potentialities to the single hemisphere
that’s known to us at present.”164
One analogy compares our existence to a burning candle that is lit by another
candle and will at some point light a next one. A flame is being passed on
from one form of life to the other. The problem is that we often completely
identify with the candle and do not pay much attention to what has been and
will be transmitted. We are afraid of death, but if we were able to connect
directly with life itself, we would realize that its enlightening energy is
unborn and will never die. Although it is impossible to see, hear, smell, taste,
touch, or understand the essence of our life, we can learn to fully manifest it
with our whole being. We can become intimately aware of its irrepressibly
vivid quality.
I have a very sweet memory of a conversation I had with my dad, not long
before he passed away. He was 84 at that point and had to rest a lot. I was
sitting next to his bed as he was lying there, stretched out on his back. One
moment he became very still, closed his eyes, and said: “Sometimes I practice
being dead, trying to feel what it is like not to be alive anymore. Perhaps it is

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not so bad, after all.” When he opened his eyes again, I could see some inner
peace shining.
When I now think of my parents, it is not so much their life I remember but
their kind energy that still serves me as an inspiration. It makes me look
forward rather than backward. In a way, my mission in life is to do that
energy justice. I feel the same about other relatives and friends who passed
away. Perhaps graveyards should be seen as places of inspiration rather than
of endless mourning. Behind our zendo is a small graveyard for deceased
temple members, and in the center we put up a stone monument dedicated to
Maezumi Roshi. It is not really meant to make us look back at his life but
rather to inspire us to look forward in our lives and to see how we can
continue the profound practice he transmitted.

ACCEPTING OUR FUNCTION

Insight into the continuity of life makes us appreciate our time-bound life as
something very precious – and this brings great responsibility. Sometimes I
think that one reason why real insight into our true nature is so difficult to
attain is because it shows us that there is a lot of work to do – we suddenly
find ourselves in a busy job center for Bodhisattva activity. No wonder that,
although we harbor a deep longing for such insight, we may – consciously or
unconsciously – feel some serious resistance as well. Perhaps we will be put
in charge of a project that is very different from what we expected. Yet it may
turn out to be exactly what we need to get involved in for our practice to
mature.
Fortunately, there is a great variety of employment in the world of
bodhisattvas, and plenty of opportunities to find our true calling. In Gyoji,
Dogen Zenji mentions the practice of Mahakasyapa, who was clearly very
ascetically inclined – even more so than the Buddha himself. Some of the
other disciples looked at Mahakasyapa with disdain, but the Buddha

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respected him greatly and offered him half of his seat, acknowledging that
not everybody is the same or has to do the same practice. In fact, the thirteen
most well-known bodhisattvas – including Manjushri, Kanzeon
(Avalokiteshvara), and Jizo (Kshitigarbha) – all have their own individual
focus. They help in their very own way – sometimes in surprising locations –
with each one performing their own role, doing their specific job.165
It is rather like the nice garage in our village: the people who work there
never complain about broken cars coming in. When I go there with car
trouble, they never become irritated and say: “Gosh, again?” What is a
problem for me does not faze them at all. They are happy to see me. It is their
job to fix cars, and they are quite cheerful about it.
As I mentioned before, I think that we can only be wholly satisfied if we find
and accept our true function in this life. Of course, that function is not fixed
and can change. Life is endless and we already go through so many
transformations in this one lifetime. It goes so fast that we just do not notice.
Our senses can be betrayed so easily. Movies give us the impression of people
and things in full motion, but what we are looking at is a long series of
slightly different stills that are projected in quick succession. Similarly, we
may experience ourselves and others as continuously existing entities, while
we are really being born and dying over and over again. Recognizing this
gives us the opportunity to start afresh in each moment and that, in turn,
helps us to find our function in this particular lifetime within the broad
context of our endless life.
Since whatever we do now will affect life in the future, we may wonder what
contribution we could possibly make. Is there anything in particular we
could do that makes sense in the long run? The first thing that may come to
mind is to produce more lives. For humankind to keep going, we need new,
young lives and so the bearing of children is a very honorable activity –
although we may wonder how many more humans our planet can handle.

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According to Buddhism, the life babies receive is determined not only by
genetics. They are born with a certain karmic charge that is not necessarily
passed on to them only through the lives of their parents. Some of the
positive and negative qualities you and I have developed during our life will
– after we die – be transferred to one or more of those newborn babies. So, as
we all bear responsibility, it is worthwhile considering what we want to pass
on, whether we procreate or not. Whatever my karmic constitution is when I
die, other lives will have that in their starter pack. If I have been angry my
whole life and die without having come to terms with my anger, then
somebody will be born with some of that negative energy. Yet if I have
managed to see through habitual patterns of greed, anger, and ignorance, if I
have made peace with myself and found time to support others with joy,
wisdom, and compassion, then some of that happy constitution will enter a
newborn life.
Karma forms a complicated network and we will never be able to unravel all
the connections between different lives in the past, present and future. But
one thing is certain: the way I live this life is going to affect other lives, even
without my bearing offspring of my own. Of course, if we want the life of
sentient beings to continue, procreation is important. Yet if we want the life
of the buddha ancestors to continue – in other words, the awareness that this
very life is the life of everyone and everything – then something else also
needs to happen. Although those two tracks of life are essentially one, history
shows that it is difficult to give both equal time and attention. For some
people social responsibility may come first and spiritual responsibility
second, and for others it may be the other way around. Unfortunately, this
discrepancy can breed resentment. Those who take on many social
responsibilities may find people who primarily focus on spiritual
responsibility selfish, and those who see spiritual life as their main vocation
may become haughty, assuming a superior status. To me it seems clear,
however, that continuous practice requires the energy of practitioners of both
kinds.

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As mentioned before in the precepts chapter, karma literally means “action”
and what we do in life is of course very important. But in Mahayana
Buddhism the intention behind our actions is perhaps even more important.
We all make mistakes. Even with the best of intentions, we do not always
succeed in doing what we had hoped to achieve and that will have karmic
effects. Yet our intention itself also has certain karmic effects, and those are
highly relevant to any subsequent form of life.
Maezumi Roshi once gave a video interview on the topic of birth and death.
Watching it always moves me to tears because that interview took place just
before he died and what he said was so beautiful. At the very end, Roshi was
asked, “When you would pass away, what do you think continues?” He
paused for a while and said, “My vows” 166. In Mahayana Buddhism, we
believe that the intention of just one individual can have great effects.
Perhaps you do not exactly feel like the best meditator on the planet. You
may be continuously besieged by thoughts, memories, and contradictory
feelings, altogether a total turmoil. Yet the fact that you try is already
amazing, and it will affect future lives. However small and lonely we may
feel, we should not underestimate our influence and responsibility. In the
sutras it is said that one mustard seed contains the whole universe. Physicists
describe the Big Bang as something infinitesimally small expanding into
something very big, which may one day contract before starting to expand all
over again. Maezumi Roshi’s vows have certainly strongly affected not only
himself but also a community of practitioners that keeps expanding around
the globe.
Every day during our services we recite the sentence “All Buddhas
throughout space and time”. How often do we need to repeat that line before
we really start to believe it? For sure, we should not become overly fixated on
the life between one birth and one death. We need to realize that this life of
ours is a temporary manifestation of the life of all buddhas throughout space
and time. Who knows what will happen next time around?

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Genpo Roshi once joked that he almost looked forward to dying because at
least it would be something new. There are certainly many ways of looking at
death. When you really find your connection with the life of everyone and
everything, you may become rather curious about it all. Quite a few Zen
masters I have read about died in ways that are very reassuring. When
Master Tozan was about to pass away, he became upset when everybody
started crying. He said: “What are you crying for?”, and they answered,
“We’re going to miss you; what will we do without you?” He replied, “OK, I
will postpone my passing away. Let’s have a party first.” So they had a big
party that lasted a whole week. Then he said, “Now it is time”, and died. 167
He gave his community seven days to get used to his being dead. Of course,
they were sad. It is natural. Seeing loved ones leave us is very sad – but it is
not only sad. Birth and death are interconnected and follow each other
continuously. When someone dies, it also means that someone else will be
born. In a way, we all have offspring, and our present actions will reverberate
through many generations to come. If we really appreciate this life and
would like to see that appreciation continue, there is work to do. So, with the
karmic energy that we have built up during this lifetime, will a next life be
fortunate or unfortunate?

PAST, PRESENT, FUTURE

Contemporary Buddhism is clearly in a state of major transition. Modern

culture poses unprecedented challenges to the age-old traditions. Moreover,
most of us here in the West have not been born into a Buddhist culture. So,
we are all pioneers of a whole new development. Fortunately, in our case, we
do not have to make the very first step, as Maezumi Roshi did that for us. He
was one of the adventurous twentieth-century Japanese masters who left
home, came to the USA, learned English, and worked hard to adapt to a very
different social and cultural setting. Then he dared to experiment with
training models that do justice to the way of the ancients but are still viable

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for newcomers in the field. In fact, he used the opportunity to modernize Zen
practice by breathing new life into its basic principles.
For example, he combined meditation techniques and ritual procedures
derived from different Zen schools168 and helped to translate Buddhist
scriptures and liturgical texts into English. He founded the Kuroda Institute
for the study of Buddhism and Human Values and set up a residential Zen
city center in Los Angeles that functions more like a community than a
monastery – meaning that monastics and laypeople, men and women,
practice together under one roof, often while maintaining jobs in the city. He
also initiated the construction of a more traditionally oriented training temple
– Zen Mountain Center – in the mountains of Southern California, some two
hours’ drive from Los Angeles. One of Maezumi Roshi’s qualities was that he
welcomed diversity. His twelve direct successors were then able to follow
through on his innovations, finding their own unique ways to accommodate
the next generation of practitioners.
To give just a few examples of this diversity, as we have seen, Genpo Roshi
first developed a large international Zen community and set up residential
centers in the USA. Later, he found a way to blend traditional koan training
with the Voice Dialogue format of Hal and Sidra Stone in his highly
successful interactive Big Mind process, for which the workshop model
seems most suitable. Bernie Glassman directed his attention primarily
towards socially engaged forms of Buddhism through his Peacemaker Order.
John Daido Loori and Jan Chozen Bays founded monasteries in upstate New
York and Oregon respectively and included many new approaches to Zen in
their programs. Charles Tenshin Fletcher has long been abbot of Zen
Mountain Center. There is no room here to mention all Maezumi Roshi’s
successors, but one could say that what most unites them is diversity. Many
of them have their own successors, who have their own successors, and so
on. Over the years, the group of representatives of the White Plum lineage
has grown exponentially. The total number of people who have been

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influenced by Maezumi Roshi’s teaching worldwide is now beyond
calculation.
Looking at the general context of Western Soto Zen practice, however, we see
that very few new monasteries have been established over the last twenty or
so years. Most practitioners, ordained or not, do not live together in Zen
communities but combine their practice with family life and a professional
occupation. If we consider the European situation for example, there are only
about five official Soto Zen monasteries, mostly led by disciples of Taisen
Deshimaru Roshi, that run a daily residential program. Of course, one could
wonder why we need monasteries in the first place. Zen Buddhism has
always promoted a practice that is, essentially, available to each one of us.
Why bother with elaborate structures and cumbersome institutions? In fact,
several well-known Buddhist masters – such as Chögyam Trungpa, Traleg
Kyabgon, Tsultrim Allione, Jack Kornfield, and Bernie Glassman – who were
ordained as monastics, decided to disrobe and work outside of the monastic
framework. As I understand it, this gave them more freedom to explore new
and creative ways to share the Dharma with their students.
While there are certainly advantages to this approach, it can also have its
downsides in the long run, particularly if it becomes the one and only format.
Perhaps it is time to re-examine and perhaps even reinvent the role of
monasteries and monastics. To me it seems clear that, like any field of
expertise, the Zen tradition needs at least some places where its methods can
be practiced in a conducive environment on a daily basis. In fact, I think that
Buddhism would not have had a chance to survive throughout the ages
without the existence such places.
To accommodate the situation in which we find ourselves in the West,
however, an update of the conventional format of monasteries seems to be
called for. As I see it, a modern monastery could be a place where a number
of (aspirant) monastics are given the opportunity to take on Zen practice as a
full-time vocation, while others can devote themselves to the same program
on a regular basis or join for extended periods of time. Perhaps the main

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purpose of setting up and maintaining a monastery is that it gives a
community of like-minded people a good reason to get together and work on
a common project, while supporting each other in their spiritual
development. The fact that this “intentional community” 169 consists of
individuals who otherwise might never have met makes the communal
practice even more enriching.
In 2002, after many years of practice, mostly in the USA with Genpo Merzel
Roshi, and later in Japan with Junyu Kuroda Roshi, my wife Tammy and I,
together with a group of enthused students, set up Zen River Temple, as
described in the Introduction. I see Zen River as our contribution to the
survival of the Dharma and hope that it will remain a place where the
traditional and contemporary can complement each other, and where an
international community of men and women can keep engaging in
continuous practice together. Lately we have also started to live-stream our
program online and connect with our members via Zoom and other media.
This has already proven to be a great asset for spreading the Dharma,
particularly over great distances. It allows people from across the globe to
follow at least some of the training program and be part of the community.
However, it has also become clear that even on computer screens the
monastery itself – the building and grounds – and the atmosphere it radiates
are very important factors for creating a sense of communal practice.
We have seen that our world can be taken as one grand body that needs
many limbs and organs to function. Some of us may serve better as eyes or
ears, while others can be arms or legs, the heart, the lungs, the stomach, or
one of those mysterious organs like the spleen, that nobody takes much
notice of until it malfunctions. Certain parts may look more important than
others, but there is often more than meets the eye. One of my successors
replaced the electrical wiring throughout our whole temple and tried very
hard to make his work invisible – yet it is absolutely essential. Similarly,
some small and unknown monastery in the mountains may carry on an
important aspect of training that others have forgotten about or could not

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find time for. In other words, we can all take on different responsibilities in
keeping the Dharma alive, and time will tell what the effects of our
contributions will be.
Over the ages, countless people from different cultures developed a great
variety of styles of Buddhism, and preserved training methods that we still
benefit from today. So, the question is, how can we contribute to the survival
of the Dharma for generations to come, and in what format? For many years
we have organized an annual Family Week at Zen River, during which our
members could bring their children. The program included the usual
elements of training in an adapted format, as well as sporting and creative
events especially designed for the children. Many of them came back every
year and were at some point ready for a next step. Some of them have even
received jukai and take part in sesshins regularly. Nowadays, we organize
Young Minds Weekends and five-day seminars for people up to thirty years
of age. During their stay, they take part in many of our regular activities, with
painting classes as an added feature. Most of them were raised in small
families and they seem to be particularly attracted to joining a community
that is used to living and practicing together. Meanwhile, the residents enjoy
their curiosity and youthful energy, so both parties benefit from this meeting
of minds.

A NEW MODEL FOR MONASTIC LIFE?

During a recent seminar organized by the European department of the Soto

School at La Gendronnière in France, one of the lecturers came up with an
interesting analogy. According to her, Zen Buddhism has taken root in the
West and a trunk has even become visible, but the branches and the leaves
have still to appear. Perhaps our efforts of today are meant to accommodate
future generations. If so, that gives us a lot of responsibility as to what
direction to follow.

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When it came to establishing a residential training temple, we considered
ourselves very lucky because of all the work Genpo Roshi had done
previously during his sesshin tours in Europe. Transmitting the Dharma far
and wide, he generated a broad base of interest that we were able to build
upon. In fact, during the years Tammy and I lived and traveled with him, the
idea of establishing an international monastery in Europe had come up
several times, so there was already quite some momentum going in the
international community of his students.
For us it just seemed like the next thing to do, especially since after Dharma
transmission I was given the opportunity to assist Genpo Roshi in teaching
and was often asked to substitute for him in leading the European sesshins.
Over time, we had come to think in terms of an inner and an outer temple,
meaning a cohesive community that follows a common vision, as well as a
suitable property with all the necessary facilities and equipment. For
realizing this project, Kuroda Roshi (Hojo-san) has been an invaluable
support and inspiration. He does everything he can to support the legacy of
his beloved brother.
Zen River developed into a place where resident monastics create a
conducive environment for daily practice that laypeople can join at any time,
and we are happy to see that it engenders an atmosphere of appreciation
from both sides. This model may only be provisional and may become subject
to change at some point, but it seems to operate well for now. It certainly
implies a new role for monastics. They have a chance not only to deepen their
own practice, but also to actively support that of others. Meanwhile,
laypeople have the rare chance to fully participate in the daily schedule and
retreats alongside the monastics, and quickly develop qualities of body and
mind that would otherwise take much longer to mature.
Over the years, I have seen how practitioners sooner or later start to hear
their personal calling more clearly and find their function within the greater
context of the Buddhist vision. This can imply a specific position in the Zen
community, a certain role in society at large, or just a different approach to

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daily-life situations. There happen to be myriad ways to benefit beings. New
opportunities for expressing one’s Bodhisattva activity can present
themselves at any time – all the more reason to always pay attention.
Sometimes we may suddenly receive clear hints as to which way to proceed.
When we follow them, however, it is possible that this clarity starts to fade
and we lose momentum and inspiration rather quickly.
Fortunately, we can always rely on the foundations of the Buddha, Dharma,
and Sangha to keep us going. That is why deepening our practice in all
training elements is always commendable. In zazen we can open ourselves to
unexpected perspectives; in ritual we are physically reminded of our role
within an all-encompassing, harmonious whole; the sutras provide us with
inspiring examples of those who followed their calling before us and the
precepts help us clarify whether our intuitions, speech, and actions are in
accordance with our inherent buddha-nature. Thus, even when we are trying
to find our own unique function, we are never truly alone. Most members of
our community practice mainly at home, but for many of them the monastery
has become a home away from home. They have seen that, in general, we
learn so much more together.
One aspect of our style of practice may need special mention. In most native
Buddhist traditions monastics follow the Vinaya, which, of course, includes
celibacy. Japan is a well-known exception to the rule and, as we have seen,
this model has been adopted by most Western Zen communities. Usually
ordination does not involve Vinaya vows, even for those who reside in a
monastery, and it is quite common for monks to form relationships within
their community. Several monasteries are even set up by married couples and
Zen River happens to be one of them. However odd this may seem in the
eyes of many traditionally oriented Buddhists, it is just the way things
worked out – with some clear advantages, especially in terms of social
stability. In one of the little pep talks Maezumi Roshi gave us during sesshin
tours in Europe, he emphatically encouraged Tammy and me to work closely
together and set an example for a new model of monastic life. Of course, we

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do not quite know yet if future generations will follow us in this regard. Zen
River is – as already mentioned many times – still in a pioneering phase.
When I talk to our American friends, they often seem to see us as being very
conservative. But when I talk to our Asian friends, they find us very, very
modern! So, who are we, and what are we? Really, we have no choice: we
have to be creative. I have good hopes, though, that in this format we can at
least preserve and maintain some of the most essential elements of training.
Evidently, the value of intimate relationships plays a key role in modern life
and celibacy is not necessarily always seen as a virtue. It seems to be a
delicate issue, whichever way one goes. With or without the rule of celibacy,
the modern Buddhist movement has already had its fair share of scandals,
usually concerning sexual relationships between teachers and students.
Within our own lineage, Maezumi Roshi admitted that he had an alcohol
problem, and he and Genpo Roshi both confessed that they had engaged in
extramarital love affairs with their students. And although they atoned
profusely and publicly, the effects of the commotion this created can still be
felt. In the wake of the upheavals, the White Plum Asanga agreed on a
detailed code of ethical conduct and developed a grievance and reconciliation
process. But prevention would, of course, be the best medicine. That is why
we give so much attention to the study and practice of the Buddhist precepts.
In any case, what happened presents puzzling life koans – for me personally
and for our community – and we try to learn from them to the best of our
ability. Seeing respected teachers work with their imperfections can certainly
encourage us to face our own demons with greater urgency. Practice turns
out to be continuous indeed.

CONFIRMATION

I would like to conclude with a theme that Dogen Zenji addresses in a

chapter of his Shobogenzo called “Juki”. “Juki” can be translated as

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“confirmation” or “certification”, but the original Sanskrit term signifies more
specifically the prediction of buddhahood. Dogen Zenji quotes the seventh
chapter of the Lotus Sutra, in which the Buddha predicts that all those who
are listening in his assembly will, without any exception, eventually attain
perfect and complete enlightenment. Apparently, even hearing a single word
of the sutra and rejoicing in it is enough not only to receive this confirmation
but to receive it continuously. In other words, we are continuously being
confirmed by Shakyamuni, yet in a whole array of different voices. Everyone
and everything call us by our true name, all the time.
Now, of course, some of us may notice while others may not. As mentioned
before, most of us are buddhas in denial. We are like the prodigal son
described in the same Lotus Sutra: it was only after a long time, when the son
had gained enough confidence, that the father was able to confirm him as the
legitimate heir to the family fortune. I often think that it must have been hard
for the father: he never doubted that he was dealing with his son and
confirmed him all along, but the son did not recognize himself and had to
grow slowly into his role of responsibility. Likewise, it can also take us some
time to rise to the occasion. In fact, many traditions believe that you need to
go through many lifetimes in order to do so. In Zen, we think that this is the
lifetime we have been waiting for. We are extremely fortunate to land in this
life – who knows where we have been roaming for the last couple of kalpas?
Another reason we find it hard to believe Buddha’s confirmation is that we
usually have strong ideas, not only about ourselves but also about
buddhahood. We may expect something that is not going to happen and then
be unprepared for what actually will happen. For example, it is tempting to
think that we will be free from delusion someday and that we will be
completely happy. Unhappiness will not hit us anymore. We will have finally
gotten over all our depressions. But it does not quite seem to work that way.
The function of enlightenment is to help us clarify our delusion. Or, one
could say that enlightenment includes delusion, just as real happiness does
not necessarily exclude sadness. That sounds odd, but it is very good news. It

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means that we do not have to wait for our misery to end once and for all. We
can allow ourselves to be happy in almost any situation, just as an artwork
can move us deeply, regardless of whether it portrays something cheerful or
sad. Lately I have come to think that true compassion comes about through a
combination of great joy and great sadness. Bodhisattvas are overjoyed
because they found the jewel hidden in everyone, and simultaneously full of
sorrow because they see the damage caused by most of us not recognizing
and treasuring it.
It may be good to remember that however much we wake up to our innate
buddha-nature, we are still going to be human beings this time around. And
there is an interesting characteristic of we humans, namely that we are prone
to make mistakes. Of course, we should not make them. We should not be
unhappy, unhealthy, angry, or confused. There should not be any aggression,
conflicts, or wars. There should not be … but, of course, there are! One of the
big transformations Zen practice can facilitate is that we start to appreciate
delusion instead of hating it. In order to find our Bodhisattva calling, and to
see how we could possibly be of any benefit to the world, we first need to
recognize our own delusion. It is a prerequisite for feeling the urge to
practice. So, in a way, delusion is the starting point for developing wisdom. I
have always considered Maezumi Roshi to be highly enlightened, but several
times I heard him say, “I’d rather be deluded.”
It may sound contradictory, but confirmation not only makes us stronger and
more confident, but also more open and vulnerable. We are inspired to go
beyond our usual critical attitude and, rather than finding fault, we find
perfection and beauty. Neither teachers nor students are perfect but what
happens between them can be. As for myself, I have come to the conclusion
that I am happy only when I see how much more there is to learn, and even
conventional wisdom tells us that we can learn the most from our own
mistakes. How can we keep reinventing ourselves and find joy in discovering
new ways to deal with life’s endless challenges? Sometimes I think that a
disapproving attitude should perhaps be reserved for young people. Most

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adolescents need to rebel against their parents or other authority figures in
order to find their own standards. But when we are confirmed by
Shakyamuni Buddha, we ourselves become the authority.
Even though we are blessed with ample confirmation by the Buddha, we may
still feel like an impostor, a fake buddha. But when we go through the
motions, even just copying the buddhas and ancestors over and over again,
something starts to grow in us. If we work closely enough with a teacher and
a supportive group of fellow students, practice zazen long enough, clarify
enough koans, make enough bows, chant enough sutras, study enough
records of the great masters, and perform enough acts of kindness in body,
mind and speech, confirmation will slowly come to fruition.
In the same chapter of the Shobogenzo Dogen Zenji writes:
“Confirmation is ‘When my essential teaching reaches you, it will
vigorously rise in the world.’ Confirmation is ‘You are like this; I am
like this.’ Confirmation is a guidepost. Confirmation is beyond your
knowledge. Confirmation is the face breaking into a smile.”170
This last line refers to the transmission from Shakyamuni Buddha to
Mahakasyapa:
“The World Honored One twirled a flower and twinkled his eyes, and
Mahakasyapa broke into a broad smile. The World Honored One said,
‘I have the treasure eye of the true Dharma and the wonderful mind of
Nirvana. I entrust this to Mahakasyapa’.”171
In that moment, there was confirmation. But who is confirming whom? The
Buddha confirmed Mahakasyapa, but Mahakasyapa also confirmed the
Buddha. Had he not done so, the Buddha could have stood there for a long
time. Nobody else seemed to have noticed he was twirling a flower and
twinkling his eyes. And what about the flower? Can you imagine being that
flower, twirling around but not being seen by anybody? How would that
feel? Quite lonely, I suppose. So, the flower is being confirmed too.

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The only question is: are we ready for it? Can we fully accept the
confirmation of everything and everyone, as well as the responsibility to
confirm everything and everyone ourselves? This seems to be what it takes
for making sure that the Buddhadharma survives beyond our life span and
for securing it for future generations. As I see it, we need the Buddhadharma
and the Buddhadharma needs us. As we live in the most interconnected time
in human history, we have all the tools at our disposal to help us recognize
our common nature and purpose on a global scale. Let us use them well.

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Notes

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1 This quote is taken from “Yasutani Roshi’s Introductory Lectures,” in The Three Pillars of
Zen: Teaching, Practice and Enlightenment, ed. Philip Kapleau., trans., Kyozo Yamada Roshi
and Philip Kapleau (New York: Anchor Books, 2000), 33-34.

The story of Shakyamuni Buddha’s enlightenment is referred to in many other sources in

different variations. See for example Peter Gregory, Inquiry into the Origin of Humanity: An
Annotated Translation of Tsung-mi’s Yuan jen lun with a Modern Commentary (Honolulu:
University of Hawai’i Press, 1995), 57.

The original version appears in Chapter 37 of the Avatamsaka Sutra in slightly different
terms. See “Manifestation of Buddha,” in The Flower Ornament Scripture trans. Thomas
Cleary (Boston: Shambhala, 1993), 1002-1003.

An interesting description of its use and significance within the Zen tradition can be
found in Isshū Miura and Ruth Fuller Sasaki, Zen Dust. The History of the Koan and Koan
Study in Rinzai (Linji) Zen. Revised Edition (Melbourne & Basel: Quirin Press, 2015), 227-
229.

2 See Thomas Cleary, Transmission of Light: Zen in the Art of Enlightenment by Zen Master
Keizan (Boston: Shambhala, 2002), 1.

3 Philip Kapleau, “Yasutani Roshi’s Introductory Lectures,” 33-34.

4 See for example Mark Blum, trans., The Nirvana Sutra: Volume 1 (Moraga, CA: Bukkyo
Dendo Kyokai and BDK America, Inc., 2013) and William H. Grosnick, trans., “Tathagata-
garbha Sutra” in Buddhism In Practice, ed. Donald S. Lopez, (Princeton, NJ: Princeton
University Press, 1995).

5 Buddhist Text Translation Society, The Śūraṅgama Sutra: A New Translation with Excerpts
from the Commentary by the Venerable Master Hsüan Hua (Talmage, CA: Buddhist Text
Translation Society, 2009), pp. 234-235.

6 Katsuki Sekida, trans., Two Zen Classics: Mumonkan and Hekiganroku, A.V. Grimstone ed.,
(New York: Weatherhill, 1977), 375.

7 Hekiganroku Case 16, translation White Plum curriculum.

Chapter 1 – The Four Modes of Meditation

8 This is a complicated issue, that allows for many different perspectives. See for example:
“The Five Varieties of Zen” by Yasutani Roshi in The Three Pillars of Zen by Philip Kapleau
(Anchor Books, 1989) page 48-53; “Is Zazen a Religion” by Ko’un Yamada in On Zen
Practice by Taizan Maezumi & Bernie Glassman (Shambhala 2002) page 73-76; and “Is
mindfulness Buddhist? (and why it matters)” by Robert H. Sharf (Transcultural Psychiatry
2015, Vol. 52(4)) page 470-484, especially pages 476 through 479.

9 Recording to be ordered through the Zen River office.

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10 Taizan Maezumi, “The Way of Everyday Life, Commentary on Genjokoan by Taizan
Maezumi” in Taizan Maezumi and Bernie Glassman, eds., On Zen Practice, Body, Breath and
Mind (Boston: Wisdom Publications, 2002), 139-160.

11 Seung Sahn, The Compass of Zen, Hyon Gak Sunim, ed. (Boston & London: Shambhala,
1997), 349.

12 Kazuaki Tanahashi, ed., Enlightenment Unfolds: The Essential Teachings of Zen Master
Dogen (Boston & London: Shambhala, 1999), 32.

13 Ruth Fuller Sasaki, trans. & comm. The Record of Linji, Thomas Yuho Kirchner ed.
(Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2009), 266.

14 Bassui Tokusho, “Dharma Talk on One-Mind” in Philip Kapleau ed., The Three Pillars of
Zen: Teaching, Practice and Enlightenment, Kyozo Yamada Roshi and Philip Kapleau trans.
(New York: Anchor Books, 2000), 169-172.

15 Xuyun, “Huatou and the Doubt Sensation” in Sheng Yen, Attaining the Way: A Guide to
the Practice of Chan Buddhism (Boston & London: Shambhala, 2006), 97-102.

16 Some examples of masters who have used the phrase: “turning your own light inward”

Hui Neng (Daikan Eno) (617 – 713): “Hui Ming asked further, ‘Apart from the secret
speech and secret meanings just spoken, is there yet another secret meaning?’ Hui Neng
said, ‘What has been spoken to you is not secret. If you turn the illumination inward, the
secret is with you.’” From: Buddhist Text Translation Society, trans., The Sixth Patriarch’s
Dharma Jewel Platform Sutra (Burlingame, CA: Buddhist Text Translation Society, 2002),
106.

Shitou Xiqian (Sekito Kisen) (700 – 790): “Turn around the light to shine within, then just
return. The vast, inconceivable source can’t be faced or turned away from.” From: “Song
of the Grass-Roof Hermitage,” in Taigen Dan Leighton, ed., Cultivating the Empty Field: The
Silent Illumination of Zen Master Hongzhi, Taigen Dan Leighton with Yi Wu, trans., (Boston:
Tuttle, 2000), 58.

Kuei-feng Tsung-mi (780 – 841): “Followers of the Way, heed my words: If you want to
attain Buddhahood, you must thoroughly discern the coarse and the subtle, the root and
the branch. Only then will you be able to cast aside the branch, return to the root, and turn
your light back upon the mind source.” From: Peter N. Gregory, Inquiry into the Origin of
Humanity: An Annotated Translation of Tsung-mi’s Yuan jen lun with a Modern Commentary (A
Kuroda Institute Book, Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 1995) 62.

Linji Yixuan (Rinzai Gigen) (d. 866): “When at these words you turn your own light in
upon yourselves and never seek elsewhere, then you’ll know that your body and mind are
not different from those of the patriarch buddhas and on the instant have nothing to do –
this is called ‘obtaining the dharma’.” From: Ruth Fuller Sasaki, trans. & comm., The Record
of Linji, Thomas Yuho Kirchner ed., (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2009), 266.

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Yuanwu Keqin (Engo (1063 – 1135): “The most important thing is for people of great
faculties and sharp wisdom to turn the light of mind around and shine back and clearly
awaken to this mind before a single thought is born.” From: J.C. and Thomas Cleary,
trans., Zen Letters: Teachings of Yuanwu (Boston: Shambhala, 1994), 85.

Bojo Chinul (1158 – 1210): “What has just asked me this question is precisely your mind of
void and calm, luminous awareness. Why not trace back its radiance rather than search for
it outside?” From: “Secrets of Cultivating the Mind,”, in Robert E. Bushwell, trans.,
Tracing Back the Radiance: Chinul’s Korean Way of Zen (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i
Press, 1991), 104.

Eihei Dogen (1200 – 1253): “Everyone without exception holds on to the jewel that glows
in the night. All houses naturally embrace the jewel of Mount Jing. Unless we turn the
light around and shine it within, how can we hold close the jewel when we are lost in the
outlying countryside?” From: Taigen Dan Leighton, ed., Dogen’s Extensive Record: A
Translation of the Eihei Koroku, Taigen Dan Leighton and Shohaku Okumura, trans.,
(Boston: Wisdom Publications, 2004), 268.

Muso Soseki (1271 – 1351): “But even if you drop all views of right and wrong, and do not
distinguish between self and other, if you still haven't seen your Original Face before your
parents were born you cannot be called a true follower of the Way. You must turn your
light inward and illuminate your own mind: Who is it that distinguishes between self and
other and gives rise to thoughts of right and wrong, gain and loss?” From: Thomas Yuho
Kircher, transl,. Dialogues in a Dream. Muchu Mondo (Kyoto: Tenryu-ji Insitute for
Philosophy and Religion, 2010), 119.

Bassui Tokusho (1327 – 1387): “To realize your own Mind you must first of all look into
the source from which thoughts flow. Sleeping and working, standing and sitting,
profoundly ask yourself, ‘What is my own Mind?’ with an intense yearning to resolve this
question.” From: “Dharma Talk on One-Mind,” in Philip Kapleau, ed., The Three Pillars of
Zen: Teaching, Practice and Enlightenment, Kyozo Yamada Roshi and Philip Kapleau, trans.
(New York: Anchor Books 2000), 180.

Hakuin Ekaku (1686 – 1769): “But if you turn your eyes within yourselves / And testify to
the truth of Self-nature– / The Self-nature that is no-nature, / You will have gone beyond
the ken of sophistry. From: “Song of Zazen” (Zazen Wasan) in: Zenkei Shibayama, A Flower
Does not Not Talk. Zen Essays (Rutland-Tokyo: Tuttle Publishing, 1993), 66.

Master Xuyun (1840 – 1959): “The old ancestral masters pointed directly at Mind and
[revealed that] seeing the [self-] nature is attaining buddhahood, like First Ancestor
Bodhidharma’s ‘calming of mind’ and the sixth ancestor’s [Huineng’s] exclusive teaching
on ‘seeing self-nature.’” From: Master Sheng Yen, Attaining the Way: A Guide to the Practice
of Chan Buddhism (Boston: Shambhala, 2006), 97.

17 Buddhist Text Translation Society, trans., The Śūraṅgama Sutra: A New Translation with
Excerpts from the Commentary by the Venerable Master Hsüan Hua (Talmage, CA: Buddhist
Text Translation Society, 2009), 205-248.

227
18 Kazuaki Tanahashi, ed., Enlightenment Unfolds: The Essential Teachings of Zen Master
Dogen (Boston & London: Shambhala, 1999), 32 & 33.

19 Denkoroku case 6, translation White Plum curriculum.

20 Thomas Yuho Kircher, transl., Dialogues in a Dream. Muchu Mondo (Kyoto: Tenryu-ji
Insitute for Philosophy and Religion, 2010), 114.

21 Taigen Dan Leighton, ed., Cultivating the Empty Field: The Silent Illumination of Zen
Master Hongzhi, Taigen Dan Leighton with Yi Wu, trans., (Boston: Tuttle, 2000), 69-70.

22 Tozan Ryokai, “Precious Mirror Samadhi” Sotoshu Shumucho, trans., Soto School
Scriptures For Daily Services And Practice (Sotoshu Shumucho, 2001) 33.

23 Zenkei Shibayama, ed., trans., The Gateless Barrier, Zen Comments on the Mumonkan
(Berkeley and London: Shambhala, 1974), 22.

24 Zenkei Shibayama, ed., trans., The Gateless Barrier, Zen Comments on the Mumonkan
(Berkeley and London: Shambhala, 1974), 144.

25 Charles Luk., ed., and trans., The Vimalakirti Nirdesa Sutra (Berkeley and London:
Shambhala, 1972), 100.

26 Peter N. Gregory, Tsung-mi and the Sinification of Buddhism (Kuroda Studies in East
Asian Buddhism Series, Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2002), 240.

27 Anton Tenkei Coppens, ed., Teaching of the Great Mountain: Zen Talks by Taizan Maezumi
(Clarendon: Tuttle Publishing, 2001), 14.

28 Taigen Dan Leighton, ed., Dogen’s Extensive Record: A Translation of the Eihei Koroku,
Taigen Dan Leighton and Shohaku Okumura, trans., (Boston: Wisdom Publications, 2004),
pp. 257-258.

29 Ibid. 258.

30 Shohaku Okumura and Taigen Daniel Leighton, trans., The Wholehearted Way: A
Translation of Eihei Dogen's Bendowa, With Commentary by Kosho Uchiyama Roshi (Clarendon:
Tuttle Publishing, 1997), 19.

31 The word “dharma” is a basic principle of Buddhism and can have a variety of
meanings. The most important ones are: 1) The universal law, truth or reality; 2) the
teaching of the Buddha; 3) manifestations of reality (also appearances, things, or
phenomena).

32 Sandokai can be translated as “The Identity of Relative and Absolute”, “The

Harmony of Difference and Equality”. At Zen River, we translate it as “Relative and
Absolute are One”.
33 Taigen Dan Leighton, ed., Cultivating the Empty Field: The Silent Illumination of Zen

228
Master Hongzhi, Taigen Dan Leighton with Yi Wu, trans., (Boston: Tuttle, 2000), 69-70.

34 Master Sheng Yen with Dan Stevenson, Hoofprints of the Ox: Principles of the Chan
Buddhist Path as Taught by a Modern Chinese Master (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001),
142.

35 Although Zen practice can help to relieve psychological and emotional problems,
certain people may also need the expertise of a trustworthy psychotherapist or psychiatrist
who is qualified to properly assess and address their particular needs. Moreover, people
who suffer from serious mental-health issues such as severe anxiety, trauma, or psychosis,
for instance, would be wise to consult a mental-health professional before starting an
intense meditation retreat.

36 Thomas Yuho Kircher, transl,. Dialogues in a Dream. Muchu Mondo (Kyoto: Tenryu
ji Insitute for Philosophy and Religion, 2010), 115-116.

37 Chögyam Trungpa, The Myth of Freedom, John Baker and Marvin Casper, eds
(Boston and London: Shambhala, 2002), 70.

38 Gudo Nishijima & Chodo Cross, trans., Master Dogen’s Shobogenzo, Book
(London: Windbell Publications, 1994), ix-x.

39 Asvaghosha [attributed to], The Awakening of Faith, Yoshito S. Hakeda, trans. And
comm. (New York: Columbia University Press, 1967), 101.

40 Hakuin Ekaku, “The Single Hand”,in John Daido Loori, ed., Sitting with Koans, Essential
Writings on Koan Introspection (Boston: Wisdom Publications, 2006), 218.

41 Asvaghosha [attributed to], The Awakening of Faith, Yoshito S. Hakeda, trans. and
comm. (New York: Columbia University Press, 1967), 101.

42 I decided not to use the term shikantaza much because it is often seen as a practice that
excludes koan training, and I do not think that is necessarily the case. It may be interesting
to note here that the term does not feature in Dogen Zenji’s Genjokoan and Fukanzazengi,
nor in his Eihei koroku which records the last ten years of his teaching. We can find it in his
major work Shobogenzo, but there it is often combined with modifiers such as “dropping
off body and mind”. Moreover, we should not forget that Dogen Zenji must have been
familiar with the use of koans in Zen training. Before going to China and meeting Tendo
Nyojo, he studied extensively with the Japanese Rinzai master Myozen. For sure, he does
not shy away from encouraging us to deeply question whatever ideas and concepts we
may have, especially about the Dharma. See, for example, Gakudo Yojinshu, Point 8.

43 See for instance the “Fire Sermon”, Adittapariyaya Sutta (SN 35.28) translated from
the Pali by Thanissaro Bhikkhu, Dharmatalks.org 1993. Accessed October 23 2020.
https://www.accesstoinsight.org/ati/tipitaka/sn/sn35/sn35.028.than.html.

44 See John Welwood, Toward a Psychology of Awakening. Buddhism, Psychotherapy, and the
Path of Personal and Spiritual Transformation (Boston & London: Shambhala, 2002), 12.

229
45 Hekiganroku case 25, White plum curriculum translation.

46 Mumonkan case 46, White plum curriculum translation.

47 Peter N. Gregory, Tsung-mi and the Sinification of Buddhism (Kuroda Studies in East
Asian Buddhism Series, Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2002), 238.

48 Ibid., p.239.

49 See for instance, Taizan Maezumi and Bernie Glassman, eds., On Zen Practice, Body,
Breath and Mind (Boston: Wisdom Publications, 2002), 141.

50See Helen Josephine Baroni, The Illustrated Encyclopedia of Zen Buddhism (New York:
Rosen Publishing Group, 2002), 100.

51 [Yasutani Roshi’s graphic and graphic itself will be added.]

Hakuun Yasutani, Eight Beliefs in Buddhism, Eido Tai Shimano, trans. (Jerusalem: Youval
Tal Ltd, 1966, reprinted in Zen River Anthology 1, 2015), 138-141.

52 Thomas Cleary, the translator of this text by Hakuin, uses the words “four cognitions”
instead of “four wisdoms”.

53 Thomas Cleary, Kensho: The Heart of Zen (Boston and London: Shambhala, 1997), 77.

54 Ibid., 78.

55 Chan Master Sheng Yen, Attaining the Way: A Guide to the Practice of Chan Buddhism
(Boston and London: Shambhala, 2006), 104-106.

56 See Norman Waddell, Wild Ivy. The Spiritual Autobiography of Zen Master Hakuin
(Boulder: Shambhala, 1999).

Chapter 2 – Koan Investigation

57 See Zenkei Shibayama, ed., trans., The Gateless Barrier: Zen Comments on the Mumonkan
(Berkely and London: Shambhala, 1974), 19-31.

58 Hekiganroku, case 86, White Plum curriculum translation.

59 J.C. and Thomas Cleary, trans., Zen Letters: Teachings of Yuanwu (Boston: Shambhala,
1994), 85-88.

60 See, for example: Hekiganroku, case 79, "Tosu's Buddha's Voice” White Plum curriculum
translation.

61 Hekiganroku, case 11, White Plum curriculum translation.

230
62 Chögyam Trungpa, Journey Without Goal: The Tantric Wisdom of the Buddha (Boulder:
Prajñā Press, 1981), 59-60.

63 Philip Kapleau ed., The Three Pillars of Zen: Teaching, Practice and Enlightenment,
Kyozo Yamada Roshi and Philip Kapleau trans. (New York: Anchor Books 2000), 48-53.

64 Alexander Berzin, Relating to a Spiritual Teacher: Building a Healthy Relationship (Ithaca:

Snow Lion, 2000), 58-60.

65 See also Ruth Fuller Sasaki, trans. & comm., The Record of Linji, ed. Thomas Yuho
Kirchner (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2009), 245-247.

66 Master Sheng Yen, Attaining the Way: A Guide to the Practice of Chan Buddhism, (Boston:
Shambhala, 2006), 60-62. (excerpt of “Part Two: Discourse on Chan Training, from the
records of Master Yuanyun Jiexian”, translated by J.C. Clearly with Guogu).

67 Hakuun Yasutani, Eight Beliefs in Buddhism, Eido Tai Shimano, trans. (Jerusalem:
Youval Tal Ltd, 1966, reprinted in Zen River Anthology 1, 2015), 138-141.

68 James Green, trans., and intro., The Recorded Sayings of Master Joshu: The First Full
English Translation (London: Altamira Press, 1998), xxii.

69 Charles Luk, Ch’an and Zen Teaching, First Series (London: Rider and Company, 1960),
14.

70 John Blofeld, trans., The Zen Teaching of Huang Po: On the Transmission of Mind (New
York: Grove Press, 1958), 101.

71 Zenkei Shibayama, ed., trans., The Gateless Barrier: Zen Comments on the Mumonkan
(Berkely and London: Shambhala, 1974), 229.

72 See Thanissaro Bhikkhu, trans., Patoda Sutta: The Goad-stick (AN 4.113) Access to
Insight (BCBS Edition), 8 June 2010, accessed October 23 2020.
https://www.accesstoinsight.org/ati/tipitaka/an/an04/an04.113.than.html.

73 See Shunryu Suzuki, Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind: Informal Talks on Zen meditation and
practice, Boston & London, Weatherhill (an imprint of Shambhala Publications Inc.), 1970.

74 Zenkei Shibayama, ed., trans., The Gateless Barrier: Zen Comments on the Mumonkan
(Berkeley and London: Shambhala, 1974), 158.

75 Burton Watson, trans. The Lotus Sutra (New York: Columbia University Press, 1993),
187.

76 Collection of Vines and Entanglements, case 28, White Plum curriculum translation.

77 Steven Heine, ed. Dogen, Textual and Historical Studies, ed. by Steven Heine (New
York: Oxford University Press, 2012) 257, note 105.

78 See Takashi James Kodera, Dogen’s Formative Years in China (London: Routledge &

231
Kegan Paul, 1980), 60-61.

79 This is a common expression in Zen which denotes realization. See Red Pine, trans.,
The Platfrom Sutra. The Zen Teaching of Hui-neng. Berkeley: Counterpoint, 2006), 120.;
John Blofeld, trans. The Zen Teaching of Huang Po on the Transmission of Mind (New York:
Grove Press, 1958), 65., and also case 23 of the Mumonkan. See Zenkei Shibayama, The
Gateless Barrier: Zen Commens on the Mumonkan (Boston: Shambhala, 2000), 166.

80 See Dennis Genpo Merzel, Big Mind, Big Heart, Finding Your Way (Salt Lake City: Big
Mind Publishing, 2007), 39-40.

Chapter 3 – Zen Ritual

81 Zenkei Shibayama, ed., trans., The Gateless Barrier: Zen Comments on the Mumonkan
(Berkeley and London: Shambhala, 1974), 122.

82 Traditional Japanese loose-fitting jacket and trousers that can also be used for work
(samu).

83 San Francisco Zen Center, trans., Hotsuganmon, liturgical Soto text excerpted from
Shobogenzo Keisei Sanshoku. Accessed 23 October 2020.
https://www.sfzc.org/files/daily_sutras_Eihei_Koso_Hotsuganmon .

84 Kevin W. Kelly, ed., The Home Planet (Milan: Arti Grafiche Amilcare, 1988), 138.

85 Andrew Cooper, “The Future of Religion” originally published in Tricycle: The

Buddhist Review Vol. XIV, no.1, Fall 2004. Reprinted in Zen River Anthology 1, 2015) 169
172.

86 Zenkei Shibayama, ed., trans., The Gateless Barrier: Zen Comments on the Mumonkan
(Berkeley and London: Shambhala, 1974), 154.

87 Charles Luk., ed., and trans., The Vimalakirti Nirdesa Sutra (Berkeley and London:
Shambhala, 1972), 64.

88 The Vimalakirti Nirdesa Sutra includes a story where Vimalakirti feigns illness, and
then uses his transcendental powers to accommodate thirty-two thousand large lion
thrones in his small room for a large assembly of bodhisattvas and other guests who come
to inquire after his health.

89 Hakuun Yasutani, Eight Beliefs in Buddhism, Eido Tai Shimano, trans. (Jerusalem:
Youval Tal Ltd, 1966, reprinted in Zen River Anthology 1, 2015), 138-141.

Chapter 4 – Sutra practice

90 Bhikkhu Bodhi, ed., trans., The Connected Discourses of the Buddha: A New Translation of
the Samyutta Nikaya, Volume 1 (Boston: Wisdom Publications, 2000), 231-233.

232
91Heinrich Dumoulin, Zen Buddhism: A History. Volume 1: India and China, James W.
Heisig and Paul Knitter, trans. (Bloomington: World Wisdom, Inc., 2005), 85.

92 Red Pine, trans., and comm. The Lankavatara Sutra (Berkeley: Counterpoint, 2012), 73.

93 Red Pine, trans., and comm. The Lankavatara Sutra (Berkeley: Counterpoint, 2012), 141.

94 Irmgard Schloegl, trans., The Zen Teaching of Rinzai: The Record of Rinzai (Berkeley:
Shambhala, 1975), 43.

95 See Elizabeth Morrison, The Power of Patriarchs (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 107.

96 Gerry Shishin Wick, trans., The Book of Equanimity (Boston: Wisdom Publications,
2005), 16.

97 Charles Luk., ed., and trans., The Vimalakirti Nirdesa Sutra (Berkeley and
London: Shambhala, 1972), 110-111.

98 Daisaku Ikeda, The Flower of Chinese Buddhism, Burton Watson, trans. (Santa Monica:
Middleway Press, 2009), 112-113.

99 Thomas Cleary, trans., The Flower Ornament Scripture (Boston: Shambhala, 1993), 2-31.

100 Bhikkhu Bodhi,ed. and trans., In the Buddha's Words: An Anthology of Discourses from the
Pali Canon (Somerville: Wisdom, 2005), 66-67.

101 Donald S. Lopez, ed. Buddhist Scriptures (London: Penguin Books, 2004); Edward
Conze, ed. Buddhist Scriptures by (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1959).

102 “Common Buddhist Text. Guidance and Insight from the Buddha” Chief Editor Most
Venerable Phra Brahmapundit (Phra Nakhon Si Ayutthaya:
Mahachulalongkornrajavidyalaya University Press, 2018).

103Chan Master Sheng Yen, Faith in Mind. A commentary on Sen Ts’an’s classic Ed. Karen
Zinn (Boston and London: Shambhala 2006) 5.

104 See Hekiganroku case 2. White Plum Translation.

105 KazuakiTanahashi, ed., Enlightenment Unfolds. The Essential Teachings of Master Dogen
(Boston & London: Shambhala, 1999), 32.

106Hakuin Ekaku, “Song of Zazen” in: Norman Waddell, trans. The Essential Teachings of
Zen Master Hakuin (Boston: Shambhala, 2010), xvii.

107 sGampopa. ‘Jewel Ornament of Liberation’ translated by Herbert V. Guenther

(Rider & Company, 1974).

108 Thomas Cleary, trans., The Flower Ornament Scripture (Boston: Shambhala, 1993), 1002.

109 Ibid., 702-704.

233
110 Ibid., 1489.

111 The Ten Vows of Samantabhadra are as follows:

1. To pay homage and respect to all buddhas.
2. To praise all buddhas
3. To make abundant offerings. (e.g. give generously)
4. To repent misdeeds and evil karmas
5. To rejoice in others' merits and virtues
6. To request the buddhas to continue teaching
7. To request the buddhas to remain in the world
8. To follow the teachings of the buddhas at all times
9. To accommodate and benefit all living beings
10. To transfer all merits and virtues to benefit all beings.

112 “Nibbana” is the Pali rendering of “Nirvana” (Sanskrit).

113 Bhikkhu Bodhi, ed. and trans., In the Buddha's Words: An Anthology of Discourses from
the Pali Canon (Somerville: Wisdom, 2005), 75.

114 Ibid., 89.

115 Pali word for monk, literally “beggar”.

116Bhikkhu Nanamoli and Bhikkhu Bodhi, ed. trans., The Middle Length Discourses of the
Buddha, A Translation of the Majjhima Nikaya (Somerville: Wisdom, 1995), 730.

117Buswell Jr., Robert E.. The Princeton Dictionary of Buddhism. Princeton: Princeton
University Press, 2014.

118Edward Conze, trans. Buddhist Wisdom Books. The Diamond Sutra and the Heart Sutra
(London: George Allen & Unwin LTD, 1975), 68.

119This involves a warning not to conceptualize emptiness, not to make it into

another definable “thing” that we can get attached to.

120 Heart Sutra, White Plum translation.

121 Donald S. Lopez, Jr. “Inscribing the Bodhisattva's Speech: On the "Heart Sūtra's"
Mantra” History of Religions 29, no. 4 (1990): 351-72. Accessed October 24, 2020.
http://www.jstor.org/stable/1062921.

122Seung Sahn, The Compass of Zen, Hyon Gak Sunim, ed. (Boston & London:
Shambhala, 1997), 139.

123Buddhist Text Translation Society, The Śūraṅgama Sutra: A New Translation with
Excerpts from the Commentary by the Venerable Master Hsüan Hua (Talmage, CA: Buddhist
Text Translation Society, 2009), 182-183.

234
124 Thomas Cleary, trans., The Flower Ornament Scripture (Boston: Shambhala, 1993),
362.

125Hakuun Yasutani, Eight Beliefs in Buddhism, Eido Tai Shimano, trans. (Jerusalem:
Youval Tal Ltd, 1966, reprinted in Zen River Anthology 1, 2015), 138-141.

126A.F. Price & Wong Mou-lam, trans., The Diamond Sutra & the Sutra of Hui Neng
(Boston: Shambhala, 1985).

127Kazuaki Tanahashi, ed., Treasury of the True Dharma Eye, Zen Master Dogen’s Shobo
Genzo (Boston: Shambhala 2010), 696.

128 Ibid., 697.

Chapter 5 – The Zen Precepts

129Anton Tenkei Coppens, ed., Teaching of the Great Mountain: Zen Talks by Taizan
Maezumi (Clarendon: Tuttle Publishing, 2001), 107.

130 Dogen Zenji, Kyojukaimon. White Plum translation.

131“The Evolution of the Precepts, Study Material for the 2008 National Conference of
The Soto Zen Buddhist Association”

132 Dogen Zenji, Kyojukaimon. White Plum translation.

133Juan Mascaro, trans., The Dhammapada. The Path of Perfection (Harmondsworth:

Penguin Books, 1973), 62.

134H.T. Thich Tri Tinh, Van Hien Study Group & Sutra Translation Committee of the
US & Canada trans., Brahma-Net Sutra, Moral Code of the Bodhisattvas (Bilingual Edition) (Rye
Brook: Van Hien Study Group & Sutra Translation Committee of the US & Canada, 2000),
v111.

135 Ibid., 11-12.

136 See Taigen Daniel Leighton and Shohaku Okumura, trans., Dogen’s Pure
Standards for the Zen Community, a Translation of Eihei Shingi (Albany: State University of
New York Press, 1996).

137 REF: H.T. Thich Tri Tinh, Van Hien Study Group & Sutra Translation Committee
of the US & Canada, trans., Brahma-Net Sutra, Moral Code of the Bodhisattvas (Bilingual
Edition) (Rye Brook: Van Hien Study Group & Sutra Translation Committee of the US &
Canada, 2000), 18.

138 “The Buddha, Shakyamuni, our teacher, predicted that the next Buddha would be
Maitreya, the Buddha of love.... It is possible that the next Buddha will not take the form of
an individual. The next Buddha may take the form of a community, a community

235
practicing understanding and loving kindness, a community practicing mindful living.
And the practice can be carried out as a group, as a city, as a nation.” —Thich Nhat Hanh,
“The Next Buddha May Be A Sangha” Inquiring Mind, Vol 10, No. 2, Spring 1994.

139 Kusan Sunim, The Way of Korean Zen, Martine Batchelor, trans., Stephen Batchelor,
ed. (Boston & London, 2009), 147.

140See Zenkei Shibayama, ed., trans., The Gateless Barrier: Zen Comments on the Mumonkan
(Berkeley and London: Shambhala, 1974), 166.

141 A term which signifies initiatives that link Buddhist practice with social action.
It was coined by Thich Nhat Han, who was inspired by the Chinese humanistic
Buddhist reform movement. Since then this model has been adopted by many
different Buddhist organizations East and West. In the White Plum Lineage, the
Zen Peacemaker Order, established by the late Tetsugen Bernie Glassman, is a good
example of a socially engaged Buddhist organization.

142 Irmgard Schloegl, trans., The Zen Teaching of Rinzai: The Record of Rinzai
(Berkeley: Shambhala, 1975) 43-44.

143Kazuaki Tanahashi, ed., Treasury of the True Dharma Eye, Zen Master Dogen’s Shobo
Genzo (Boston: Shambhala 2010), 771.

144 Song by Tom Waits on Small Change, a 1976 album, released on Asylum Records

145 Hekiganroku, case 10, “Bokushu and the Empty-Head”, White Plum translation.

146 The history of the One Mind precepts attributed to Bodhidharma is complicated, and
there are many different versions. They are possibly not composed by Bodhidharma
but rather arose in Japan as part of Tendai efforts to establish a new Vinaya. The earliest
extant version of the Bodhidharma One Mind Precepts dates from the mid-15th
century. (see: The Evolution of the Precepts, Study Material for the 2008 National Conference
of The Soto Zen Buddhist Association).

147 Dogen Zenji, Kyojukaimon, White Plum translation.

148 Bodhidharma (attributed to) One Mind precepts, White Plum translation.

149 See for instance Patrul Rinpoche, Words of My Perfect Teacher. A Complete Translation of
a Classic Introduction to Tibetan Buddhism, Padmakara Translation Group, trans. (New
Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2011), 125.

150Thomas Cleary, trans., Secrets of the Blue Cliff Record (Boston & London: Shambhala,
2000), 177-178.

151 Ruth
Fuller Sasaki, trans. & comm., The Record of Linji, Thomas Yuho Kirchner ed
(Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2009), 265.

152 The Patriarch mentioned here is, of course, the legendary master Bodhidharma who –
according to the Zen tradition -- travelled from India to China to transmit the Buddha

236
mind seal. The question “Why did Bodhidharma come from the West?” is another way of
asking, “What is it that he brought over?” Or, “What is the essence of Zen?” Many masters
have been confronted with this question and have come up with intriguing answers that
are often quoted in koan dialogues. For example, Joshu said, “The oak tree in the front
garden,” (See Thomas Cleary, trans., Secrets of the Blue Cliff Record. Zen Comments by Hakuin
and Tenkei (Boston: Shambhala, 2000), 56) Master Kyorin said, “Sitting long becomes
tiring,” (See Zenkei Shibayama, trans., The Gateless Barrier. Zen comments on the Mumonkan
(Boston: Shambhala, 2000), 259) Dogen Zenji said, “Crossing over the remote blue waves
for three years.” (See Steven Heine, ed., Dogen and Soto Zen, (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2015), 103.)

153See for example: Damien Keown, Buddhism: A Very Short Introduction (Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 2000), 32.

Chapter 6 – Tozan’s Five Ranks

154Victor Hori, trans., ed., Zen Sand. The Book of Capping Phrases for Koan Practice
(Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2003) nr. 8.89, p. 323, taken from Hekiganroku
Case 25.

155 Hekiganroku 27, White Plum Curriculum translation.

156John Blofeld, trans., The Zen Teaching of Huang Po: On the Transmission of Mind (New
York: Grove Press, 1958), 93.

157 This stanza is taken from Isshu Miura and Ruth Fuller Sasaki, The Zen Koan: Its
History and Use in Rinzai Zen (New York: Hearcourt, Brace & World, 1963), 71-72.

158 I was surprised to find a parallel for our analysis of Marquet’s painting in John
Welwood’s book Towards a Psychology of Awakening. Welwood, a clinical psychologist,
psychotherapist and Buddhist practitioner, describes in this book the dynamics of figure
and ground, but then applied to the workings of our mind. He recognizes four features of
the figure/background interrelationship, and here it may suffice to mention the fourth
one: “The widest ground of experience is a pure, immediate interrelational presence before
it becomes differentiated in to subject-object relationship perception.” See John Welwood,
Towards a Psychology of Awakening. Buddhism, Psychotherapy, and the Path of Personal and
Spiritual Transformation (Boston: Shambhala, 2000), 71.

159Soto School Scriptures For Daily Services And Practice (Copyright 2001 by Sotoshu
Shumucho)

Chapter 7 – Continuous Practice

160Kazuaki Tanahashi, ed., Treasury of the True Dharma Eye, Zen Master Dogen’s Shobo
Genzo (Boston: Shambhala 2011), 332.

161 Ibid., 333.

237
162 Taigen Dan Leighton, ed., Dogen’s Extensive Record: A Translation of the Eihei Koroku,
Taigen Dan Leighton and Shohaku Okumura, trans., (Boston: Wisdom Publications, 2004),
257-258.

163Kazuaki Tanahashi, ed., Treasury of the True Dharma Eye, Zen Master Dogen’s Shobo
Genzo, 104.

164 Vincent van Gogh, “Letter to Emile Bernard. Arles, Tuesday, 26 June 1888”. Accessed
24 October 2020. http://www.vangoghletters.org/vg/letters/let632/letter.html.

165 For further reference I can recommend Taigen Dan Leighton, Faces of Compassion:
Classic Bodhisattva Archetypes and Their Modern Expression (Somerville: Wisdom
Publications, 2012).

166Andrea von Troschke and Andrew Laskos, Maezumi Roshi On Life and Death, VHS
Video, Los Angeles, 1995.

167For a more detailed record see John C.H. Wu, The Golden Age of Zen, (New York:
Image Books Doubleday, 1996), 142.

168 For example, Maezumi Roshi combined the Soto-school style of shikantaza with the
Rinzai school style of koan investigation. In the ritual observances he also combined
procedures of both schools. For example, during the first zazen period in the morning and
last period in the evening, practitioners sit facing toward one another, which follows the
Rinzai style; during the other periods of zazen they face the wall, which follows the Soto
style.

169 See Bhikkhu Bodhi, ed., The Buddha's Teachings on Social and Communal Harmony. An
Anthology of Discourses from the Pali Canon (Somerville: Wisdom Publications, 2016), 111-
125.

170Kazuaki Tanahashi, ed., Treasury of the True Dharma Eye, Zen Master Dogen’s Shobo
Genzo (Boston: Shambhala, 2011), 389.

171 Denkoroku, Case 2, White Plum Translation.

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 Glossary

absolute (truth) One of the “two truths” in which “absolute” (Skt. paramartha-
satya; J. sho) is contrasted with conventional or “relative” truth (Skt. samvriti-
satya; J. hen). In many Zen scriptures, perhaps most notably in the “Sandokai”
and “Tozan’s Five Ranks”, they are addressed as two complementary
perspectives on our life. The “absolute” has the connotation of “essence” or
“equality”, whereas the “relative” can also be described as “phenomenal”,
“differentiation”, and “function”. Ultimately, absolute and relative cannot be
separated. The implication is that everything that is usually considered
relative truth is, when perceived correctly, a representation of the absolute
truth.
alaya shiki (Skt. alaya vijnana) Literally, “storehouse consciousness”. The
eighth and fundamental level of consciousness according to Yogacara
teaching which is said to store impressions of previous experiences as seeds
of future karma in this life and after rebirth. In Zen, the alaya is seen as our
original home that can be accessed by turning our own light inward in deep
samadhi. See, eight consciousnesses, Yogacara.
Ananda Attendant of the Buddha, and one of his closest students. Ananda is
known for his excellent memory and many of the sutras are attributed to his
recollection.
ango (J.) Literally, “dwelling in peace”; the traditional three-month period of
intensive training in Zen temples. At Zen River there is a Summer and a
Winter ango each year, and one of the monastics takes on the position of shuso
(head monk) as an important rite of passage. Laypeople are also given the
opportunity to do so as “head-trainee”. Ango closes with hossenshiki (Dharma
combat ceremony) during which either the shuso or head-trainee delivers a
talk and is then questioned by the community of practitioners. Registering
hossenshiki with the Soto School administration requires a qualified witness.
anuttara-samkyak-sambodhi (Skt.) Supreme, complete awakening. It is a key
phrase in the Heart Sutra: “All past, present, and future Buddhas live prajna

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paramita and therefore attain anuttara-samyak-sambodhi”.
arhat (Skt.) Literally, “worthy one”; one who has eliminated all defilements,
the ideal of certain forms of Buddhism. Mahayana Buddhism considers this
ideal as too limited and so replaces it with that of the bodhisattva who vows
to free all beings. See bodhisattva.
Avalokiteshvara (Skt.) The bodhisattva who embodies the compassion of all
the buddhas; depicted in India as male; in China as male, female, or
androgynous; and in Japan primarily as female. In China, Avalokiteshvara is
known as Guanyin, and in Japan as Kanzeon or Kannon. See Kanzeon.
Avatamsaka Sutra (Skt.; Ch. Huayan Ching; J. Kegon Kyo) Rendered as, “The
Flower Ornament Scripture”; a large collection of Mahayana texts that
describes our world as an infinite cosmos of universes upon universes,
mutually containing one another. The sutra also addresses the stages one
needs to go through in order to realize this infinite cosmos and our human
role in it. The sutra is the basis of the teachings of the Chinese Huayan (J.
Kegon) school. See Huayan school.
Awakening of Faith [in the Mahayana] An early text which encourages
practitioners to have faith in the basic principles of Mahayana Buddhism.
This terse yet highly influential scripture has traditionally been attributed to
Ashvaghosha but is contemporarily held to be of Chinese origin. It addresses
the One Mind as composed of the two complementary truths: the absolute
(essence) and relative (phenomena), and includes a surprisingly practical
meditation guide divided in two modes, “cessation” and “clear observation”.
Baian Hakujun Kuroda (1898 – 1978) Father of Taizan Maezumi Roshi and
Junyu Kuroda Roshi and the late abbot of Koshinji (Otawara) the “mother
temple’’ of the Kuroda family. He was an influential Soto priest, and gave
Dharma transmission (shiho) to Maezumi Roshi in 1955.
Bankei Yotaku (1622 – 1693) Japanese Zen master of the Rinzai school and
abbot of Ryomonji and Nyohoji; one of the most popular Zen masters of his
time. He is best known for his talks on the “unborn” (J. fusho), a term he
equates with buddha-nature. He asserts that there is no real need to seek for

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this “unborn” nature since it is innate; everyone is already born with it.
Bankei’s teaching was later severely criticized by Hakuin Ekaku.
Bassui Tokusho (1327 – 1387) One of the foremost Zen masters of the
Japanese Rinzai school. Bassui also trained in Soto Zen, but was dissatisfied
with the state of affairs of both schools. As a teacher, he emphasized the
importance of deep questioning and the use of koans for realizing one’s true
nature. He particularly recommended turning one’s own light inward by
asking oneself, “What is it that hears?”.
beginner’s mind (J. shoshin) In Zen Buddhism, “beginner’s mind” refers to a
mindset characterized by openness, interest, and freedom from
preconceptions, and is seen as indispensable at any stage of practice. One of
the most popular Zen books in English bears the title Zen Mind, Beginner’s
Mind, and is based on the teachings of Suzuki Shunryu (1905-1971).
Bendowa (J.) Rendered, “Talk on the Wholehearted Practice of the Way”; an
influential essay written by Dogen Zenji in 1231, not long after his return
from China, to introduce Japanese Buddhists to the practice of zazen. One of
the important points addressed in Bendowa is jijuyu zanmai. See Eihei Dogen,
jijuyu zanmai, samadhi.
Bodaisatta Shishobo (J.) Rendered, “The Bodhisattva’s Four Embracing
Actions”; the 28th chapter of Eihei Dogen’s Shobogenzo in which the four
“embracing” or “exemplary” actions of a bodhisattva are detailed as (1)
generosity; (2) loving speech; (3) beneficial action; and (4) identification with
others. See bodhisattva, Eihei Dogen, Shobogenzo.
Bodhidharma (Skt.; J. Daruma; 470 – 543?) Indian master who, according to
the Zen tradition, transmitted the alive essence of Buddhism (buddha mind
seal) from India to China. He became known as the First Patriarch of Zen; the
28th dharma descendant of Shakyamuni Buddha. See buddha mind seal.
bodhi-mind (Skt. bodhichitta) Literally, “awakening mind” or “mind of
enlightenment”; the mind which strives toward awakening for the sake of all
beings. See bodhisattva.

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bodhisattva (Skt.; J. bosatsu) Literally, “enlightening being”; one who
practices the Buddha Way, and postpones entering nirvana until all beings
have attained enlightenment; the ideal of Mahayana Buddhism. See
Bodhisattva Vows, pratyekabuddha, sravaka.
Bodhisattva Vows Also, Great Vows. The fundamental vows of the Zen
Buddhist path which express the bodhisattva’s resolution to attain
awakening in order to liberate all beings. Eighth-century Zen master Huineng
taught the vows and their implications, but they probably originated in sixth-
century China and may have been derived from an earlier Sanskrit gatha. At
Zen River, the vows are recited three times in the following translation, with
the second round adding the phrases “of my own mind” and “of my own
nature” (as stated in the Platform Sutra):
Sentient beings (of my own mind) are numberless, I vow to save them.
Afflictions (of my own mind) are inexhaustible, I vow to put an end to them.
The dharma gates (of my own nature) are boundless, I vow to practice them.
The Buddha Way (of my own nature) is unsurpassable, I vow to attain it.
See bodhisattva, Huineng, Platform Sutra
Bojo Chinul (Jinul) (1158 – 1210) Chinul, a Korean monk of the Goryeo
period, is considered to be the most influential figure in the formation of
Korean Zen (Seon) Buddhism, especially because of his work to unify
disparate sects into a cohesive organization. In line with Guifeng Zongmi
he emphasizes the combination of study and practice and of sudden
realization and gradual cultivation.
Brahma’s Net Sutra (Skt. Brahmajala Sutra) Traditionally, the sutra’s origin
has been attributed to Kumarajiva in 406; however, researchers now believe it
was written no earlier than 431 in East Asia by unknown authors. This short
scripture introduces Vairocana as the personification of the Dharma, or
dharmakaya. The sutra uses the metaphor of Indra’s net, and also presents ten
major and 48 minor bodhisattva precepts. It is not related to the Brahmajala
Sutta of the Pali Canon. The bodhisattva precepts of the Brahma’s Net Sutra

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came to be treated in China as a higher ethic a monastic would adopt in
addition to the Pratimoksha (Vinaya) vows. In Japan, the ten major precepts
came to replace the Pratimoksha vows almost completely, starting with Saicho
(767 – 822) and the rise of the Tendai school. See Indra’s Net, precepts, Vinaya
pitaka.
buddha (Skt.) Literally, “awakened one”; a term that variously indicates the
historical Buddha, Shakyamuni; one who has attained buddhahood; and the
essential truth or true nature of all beings.
buddha mind seal A term that is being used in Zen to signify the authenticity
of awakening which has been verified and transmitted – mind to mind – from
master to student throughout the ages. This transmission is formalized in a
ceremony during which the student receives documents that carry the inked
mark (seal) of the master as a form of confirmation. See Bodhidharma,
lineage.
Buddhadharma (Skt.; J. buppo) The teachings of the Buddha.
buddha-nature The true nature of all beings. This nature is twofold: (1) truly
empty, because it is not bound by any condition, (2) truly not empty, because
it is fully endowed with wisdom and compassion. See absolute, emptiness,
tathagatagarba.
Buddhayana One of the three “vehicles” (Skt. yanas) of Buddhist practice, the
other two being Mahayana (“Great Vehicle”) and Hinayana (“Small
Vehicle”). Buddhayana stands for non-dual wisdom, and as such is the
supreme path by which a practitioner can travel on the way to
enlightenment. See dharmakaya, Hinayana, Mahayana.
Bukkokuji Soto Zen Buddhist temple in Japan (Obama), most noted for the
late abbot Harada Tangen Roshi (1924 – 2018). From all over the world,
people came to Bukkokuji to participate in the intense training program he
conducted.
“Burmese” sitting posture One of the alternatives to the lotus posture for
zazen meditation. The legs form a triangle with both knees touching the floor,
one leg resting horizontally in front of the other. See lotus posture.

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Chögyam Trungpa (1939 – 1987) Preeminent Tibetan Buddhist meditation
master and holder of Kagyu and Nyingma lineages, Chögyam Trungpa was
recognized as a tertön and the eleventh Trungpa tulku. He was supreme abbot
of the Surmang monasteries, scholar, teacher, poet, artist, and originator of
the Shambhala Training method. A major figure in the dissemination of
Buddhism to the West, he founded Vajradhatu and Naropa University. He
also authored many books, such as the popular Cutting Through Spiritual
Materialism and The Myth of Freedom. After he passed away, a trilogy was
published based on his teachings on the Tibetan path of the Hinayana,
Mahayana and Vajrayana.
Collection of Vines and Entanglements (J. Shumon kattoshu) A late
seventeenth-century (1689) Rinzai collection of 282 koan cases, compiled in
Japan, and presented without commentary.
conditioning A simple form of learning between a stimulus and a response
which leads to the formation, strengthening, or weakening of an association
(habit). Habitual patterns can be positive (e.g. accomplishing a daily task),
neutral (e.g. answering a call), or negative (e.g. addiction). Habitual patterns
can be difficult to unlearn, and may have persisted through lifetimes
according to Buddhist teaching. The “Four Modes of Meditation” are meant
not only to decondition us, but also to build positive conditioning that can
help us live in more natural and fruitful ways.
Daihishin Dharani (J.) Literally, “Great Compassionate Mind Dharani (or
Mantra)”; an abstruse and powerful-sounding chant said to be a petition to
Kanzeon (Skt. Avalokiteshvara), the bodhisattva of compassion, for
protection from misfortune. This dharani is often recited in Zen monasteries
during daily services and at funerals. See Avalokiteshvara, Kanzeon.
Daikan Eno See Huineng.
dai-kensho (J.) This term refers to great enlightenment or the “great death”
experience, seeing completely into one’s own nature beyond all doubt. See
enlightenment, kensho.

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dark night of the soul This phrase refers to a period of spiritual desolation in
which there is no refuge, sometimes experienced by mystics, meditators, or
others involved in contemplative investigation. The phrase has been adapted
from the title of a poem (Noche Oscura) by 19th century Christian mystic, St.
John of the Cross.
Denkoroku (J.) Literally, “Record of the Transmission of the Light”; the
record of the enlightenment experiences of 52 ancestral masters from India,
China and Japan that are part of the Soto school lineage, starting with
Shakyamuni Buddha and Mahakasyapa, and ending with Koun Ejo. It was
compiled by Keizan Jokin who also wrote a commentary and a verse to each
entry. See Keizan Jokin.
Devadatta (Skt.) Cousin, brother-in-law, and rival of Shakyamuni, who
became so jealous that he tried to murder the Buddha. His assassination plot
caused a schism among the sangha, considered one of the most evil deeds,
and for which he was condemned to long sufferings in the hell realms
according to Buddhist legend. In the Lotus Sutra (Ch. 12) however, the
Buddha states that Devadatta had been one of his teachers in a past life, and
predicts that he will rise to the status of buddhahood in a future lifetime. This
story conveys that nobody is excluded from the opportunity to realize the
Way.
Dhammapada (Pali) A collection of 426 verses on basic Buddhist teaching,
very popular in Theravada Buddhism. See Theravada.
dharma (Skt.) Universal law, reality; manifestations of reality (phenomena).
When capitalized, “Dharma” refers to the collective teaching of Shakyamuni
Buddha or one of the Three Treasures.
dharmadhatu (Skt.) Literally, “realm of dharma”; in Mahayana Buddhism,
the true nature of reality that permeates and encompasses all phenomena; the
space or realm in which phenomena arise, dwell, and pass away. See
buddha-nature.
Dharma Gates The phrase used to refer to the numberless entries into
Buddhist teaching. In the Four Bodhisattva Vows, we vow to practice all of

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them. See Bodhisattva Vows.
dharmakaya (Skt.; J. hosshin) Literally, “dharma body”; absolute reality
beyond all discrimination; the unity of Buddha and all beings. Dharmakaya is
the first of three aspects (trikaya) of buddha-nature, the other two being
sambhogakaya, “body of delight”, and nirmanakaya, “body of transformation”.
See absolute truth, buddha-nature, Samantabhadra.
Dharma Seals To determine whether a text could be considered Buddhist or
not, the so-called Four Dharma Seals were formulated. They are considered
to be the defining characteristics of the Buddhist teaching: “1) all that is
conditioned is impermanent, 2) delusion causes suffering, 3) all phenomena
are empty and selfless, 4) Nirvāna is true peace.”
Diamond Sutra (Skt. Vajracchedika Sutra; J. Kongo kyo) A text highly regarded
in Zen that sets forth the principle of emptiness (shunyata) and wisdom
(prajna). Huineng attained enlightenment upon hearing a phrase from this
sutra. See Huineng, Prajnaparamita teachings.
Dilgo Khyentse (c. 1910 – 1991) Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche was a Vajrayana
master, scholar, poet, teacher, and leader of the Nyingma school of Tibetan
Buddhism. He was the custodian of a vast number of teachings, and taught
many eminent masters, including the Dalai Lama. After the Chinese invasion
of Tibet, his personal effort was crucial in the preservation of Tibetan
Buddhism.
Dogen Zenji See Eihei Dogen.
dokusan (J.) Literally, “go alone to a high one”; private meeting of student
and Zen master in which the student’s understanding is probed and
stimulated.
dualism Dualism is a perception that things or reality can be sorted into two
fundamental categories, such as self and other, mental and physical; it can
also pertain to contrasting pairs such as good and evil, light and dark, male
and female. See non-duality.

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eight consciousnesses (Skt. asta vijnanakayah; J. yuishiki) A classification in
Yogachara teaching of the levels of consciousness including the five senses:
eye, ear, nose, tongue, body (touch), and mind (the cognitive faculty); the
conveyer or permanent self-awareness consciousness (mana shiki); and finally,
the fundamental store-house consciousness (alaya shiki), which is the basis of
the other seven. According to Zen, the eight consciousnesses can be
transformed into the Four Wisdoms by turning the light of awareness around
and seeing directly into one’s own nature. Sometimes a ninth level (anmora
shiki) is added to specify one’s original self, or buddha-nature. See alaya
shiki, buddha-nature, Four Wisdoms, mana shiki, Yogachara.
Eihei [Kigen] Dogen (Dogen Zenji; 1200 – 1253) Highly influential Japanese
master who went to China where he studied and attained enlightenment
under Tendo Nyojo. Upon his return to Japan, he established first Koshoji
and later Eiheiji. He is honored as the founder of the Japanese Soto School;
author of the masterworks Shobogenzo and Eihei Koroku, and a number of
other important texts including Fukan Zazengi, a widely used manual for Zen
meditation. See Eihei Koroku, Fukan Zazengi, Shobogenzo.
Eiheiji (J.) “Monastery of Eternal Peace”; one of the two principal
monasteries of the Japanese Soto school, founded in 1243 by Dogen Zenji. See
Eihei Dogen, Sojiji.
Eihei Koroku (J.) “Dogen’s Extensive Record”; a collection of instructions
given by Dogen Zenji after his move from Kyoto to Eiheiji. Although Dogen’s
famous Shobogenzo is written in vernacular Japanese and Eihei Koroku in
classical Chinese, Eihei Koroku is actually more practically oriented, and a
great guide to Dogen’s life and teaching. See Eihei Dogen.
emptiness (Skt. shunyata) Fundamental nature of all phenomena, which,
according to Buddhist teaching is unfixed and devoid of any everlasting
substance. See absolute, buddha-nature, enlightenment.
Engo Kokugon (J.; Ch. Yuanwu Kochin; 1063 – 1135) One of the most
important Chinese Zen masters of the Rinzai school; editor of the Blue Cliff
Record (Ch. Pi-yen-lu; J. Hekiganroku); teacher of Master Ta-hui, who played a

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major role in shaping koan practice. See Hekiganroku.
enlightenment (Skt. bodhi; J. satori or kensho) A term used to describe
awakening to the true nature of reality which enables one to express the
wisdom and compassion that is inherent in each and every one of us. It is
important to note that enlightenment can be experienced on many different
levels. See dai-kensho, emptiness, kensho.
Enmei Jukku Kannon Gyo (J.) Literally, “Ten Phrase Life-Prolonging
Kannon Sutra”. An invocation of Kanzeon, recited during ceremonies for the
benefit of all beings and particularly those in need. See Kanzeon.
Five Ranks of Tozan Tozan’s Five Ranks are addressed in two poems of each
five stanzas, which describe the various stages and implications of realization
in the practice of Zen Buddhism. They express the dynamic interplay
between absolute and relative sides of reality, and the fundamental non-
dualism of Buddhist teaching. The poems are attributed to the Tang Dynasty
Chinese monk Dongshan Liangji (J. Tozan Ryokai) and may be inspired by
the famous poem “Sandokai”, by Shitou Xiqian (J. Sekito Kisen). They are
highly regarded in Soto and Rinzai schools, and are referenced in works by
other masters including Dogen Zenji (Genjokoan) and Hakuin Zenji, who
integrated them into his system of koans. The Five Ranks are referenced in
the “Song of the Precious Mirror Samadhi”’ (J. Hokyo Zanmai), also attributed
to Tozan. See absolute, non-duality, Sandokai, Tozan Ryokai.
Four Modes of Meditation A guide for the practice of Zen meditation,
developed by Tenkei Roshi in line with traditional Buddhist meditation
manuals. It includes four “modes" or ways of practice: (1) Harmonizing body
and mind, (2) Turning our own light inward, (3) Clear observation, and (4)
Bodhisattva activity. Although these modes are distinct, together they form
an undivided whole. See bodhisattva.
Four Noble Truths (Pali cattari ariyasaccani) (1) Suffering, or
unsatisfactoriness (duhkha), (2) the origin of suffering, (3) the cessation of
suffering (nirvana), and (4) the eight-fold path that leads to liberation; the
basic teaching of the Buddha.

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Four Wisdoms Great Perfect Mirror Wisdom, Universal Nature Wisdom,
Marvelous Observing Wisdom, and Perfection of Action Wisdom. See eight
consciousnesses, kensho.
Fukan Zazengi (J.) Literally, “General Presentation of the Principles of
Zazen”. An introduction to the practice of zazen, written by Dogen Zenji. It
includes fundamental instructions such as: “Take the backward step and turn
your own light inward”; and, “Think beyond thinking.” See Eihei Dogen.
Fusatsu Japanese rendering of the Chinese character for the Sanskrit word
upavasatha, often equated with “atonement”; a bimonthly ceremony
originated by Shakyamuni Buddha in which short-comings are
acknowledged, bodhisattvas are called upon, and vows are renewed. This
ancient ritual helps us to find our position and function in the larger scale of
things, beyond time and space, and join the continuous practice of all
buddhas and bodhisattvas. See bodhisattva, Bodhisattva Vows, precepts,
Three Treasures.
fushin samu (J.) Fushin samu refers to the communal cleaning duties in a
Zen temple. Samu refers to the daily routine of general temple work.
gatha (Skt., “song”, “verse”) A short chant used in Buddhist ceremonial
activities. Examples are the Meal Gatha recited before meals and the Gatha on
Opening the Sutra recited before a teacher gives a Dharma talk.
Genjokoan (J.) Rendered, “The Way of Everyday Life”; an important and
well-known fascicle of Dogen Zenji’s Shobogenzo. The term “genjokoan”
implies that what is manifest (genjo) is itself absolute reality (koan); all
phenomena are the buddha way. See Eihei Dogen, Shobogenzo.
Genpo [Dennis Merzel] Roshi (1944 - ) The second of twelve Dharma
successors of Taizan Maezumi Roshi and teacher of Tenkei Roshi. Although
based in the US, he traveled and taught extensively in Europe and serves a
large international community of students. He received transmission in 1979,
and established Kanzeon Zen Center, first in Bar Harbor, Maine, and later in
Salt Lake City, Utah. For many years the primary focus of his teaching was
zazen en koan training, often in long-term retreats. Since 1999 he developed

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an interactive style of teaching that quickly became very popular, called “Big
Mind”, inspired by the Voice Dialogue technique of Hal and Sidra Stone. He
published many books, including The Eye Never Sleeps, Beyond Sanity and
Madness, The Path of the Human Being, Big Mind, Big Heart: Finding Your Way,
and Spitting Out The Bones. See Maezumi Roshi, Kanzeon Sangha, White
Plum Lineage.
Hakuin Ekaku (1685 – 1768) One of the most influential Japanese masters of
the Rinzai school. He emphasized the balance between sudden realization
and gradual cultivation, and systematized koan training in a curriculum that
became the norm for Rinzai Zen. Hakuin wrote many essays and letters, and
composed the popular “Song of Zazen” (Zazen Wasan). See koan, Rinzai
Gigen, Song of Zazen.
half-lotus posture See lotus posture.
Hannya Shingyo (J; “Heart Sutra”) See Heart Sutra.
Hannyatara (Skt., Prahnadhara) Indian Buddhist master and teacher of
Bodhidharma. In the Soto Zen lineage he is considered the twenty-seventh
ancestor. See Bodhidharma.
Hanshan Deqing (1546 – 1623) Chinese master and poet of the Ming dynasty
who advocated the combination of Zen and Pure Land Buddhist practices.
hara (J.; also kikai-tanden) Literally “underbody, belly, gut”. In Zen, this word
usually refers to a place just below the navel, a focal point for meditative
concentration; also, one’s spiritual center.
Harada Tangen (1924 – 2018) One of the great Zen masters of modern Japan.
During WWII he was trained to be a kamikaze-pilot, but the war ended
before he could complete his mission. In great despair over the ravages of
war, he found solace in Zen practice under the guidance of the noted Zen
master Harada Sogaku, abbot of Hosshinji in Obama. Later he became abbot
of Bukkokuji, not far from Hosshinji, where he taught many students
including a great number of Westerners. See Bukkokuji

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hatto (J.) “Dharma Hall” in Zen training temples, usually the largest room of
a temple complex. Traditionally designed for Dharma lectures, the primary
use nowadays is ceremonial activities.
head monk (J. shuso) Monk who is appointed to take on certain
responsibilities during an ango (three-month training period) in a Zen temple.
It involves an important rite of passage that concludes with hossenshiki
(Dharma combat ceremony) during which the head monk delivers a Dharma
talk and answers questions from the community. Registering this ceremony
with the Soto School requires the presence of a Jokeshi (high-ranking Soto
priest) who serves as an official witness. See ango.
Heart Sutra (J. Hannya Shingyo; Maka Hannya Haramita Shingyo) A short text
that expresses the heart or core of the Prajnaparamita sutras, which deal with
the realization of prajna, or insight into the true nature of reality. The Heart
Sutra is highly revered in Zen Buddhism and often recited during
ceremonies. See prajna, Prajnaparamita teachings.
Hekiganroku (J.) Literally, “Blue Cliff Record”; a collection of 100 koans
originally compiled by Setcho (J.; Ch. Xuedou Chongxian; 980 – 1052) who
added verses that point to the meaning of each koan. The Hekiganroku was
later expanded with poetic introductions by Engo Kokugon (J.; Ch. Yuanwu
Kequin; 1063 – 1135). Dogen Zenji is credited with bringing the collection to
Japan. See Engo Kokugon, koan.
Heraclitus (535 – 475 BC) A pre-Socratic Greek philosopher famous for his
insistence on ever-present change as being the fundamental essence of the
universe; credited with the saying, “Panta rhei” (everything flows) and “No
one steps in the same river twice.”
Hinayana (Skt.) Literally, “small vehicle”; one of the three vehicles (yanas) of
Buddhist teaching, the others being Mahayana (great vehicle) and
Buddhayana (buddha vehicle). The yanas correspond to various stages of the
Buddhist path as well as to different perspectives on practice. In the White
Plum tradition, they are seen as mutually supportive and interdependent; as
such, they need to be appreciated in their respective functions. See

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Buddhayana, Mahayana, White Plum Lineage.
Hojo-san (J.) Common title used to address the abbot of a Japanese temple.
Hojo means “ten-foot square” and signifies the abbot’s quarters, while san
means “Mr.” or “Mrs.” Hojo alludes to the size of the room of Vimalakirti
who managed to simultaneously welcome there a huge number of
bodhisattvas and other beings. At Zen River, the title Hojo-san mostly refers
to Junyu Kuroda Roshi. See Junyu Kuroda.
Hongzhi Zhengjue (Ch., also Hungchih Chongchueh; J. Wanshi Shogaku;
1091 – 1157) An important Chinese Zen master. His meditation style is often
referred to as “silent illumination”, which is of particular importance to the
Chinese Caodon sect and the Japanese Soto school. Hongzhi was the author
or compiler of several famous texts, including the Book of Equanimity (J.
Shoyoroku). He also wrote poetry, including “Zazen shin”. A beautiful
collection of his Dharma teachings and poetry can be found in Cultivating the
Empty Field by Daniel Taigen Leighton. See shikantaza, Shoyoroku, Zazen shin.
Hsuyun (Ch. also Xuyun; 1840? - 1959) Chinese Chan Buddhist master and
one of the most influential Buddhist teachers of the 19th and 20th centuries.
He worked throughout Asia, including Burma, Thailand, Malaya, Vietnam,
and Tibet.
huatou (Ch.; J. wato; Kor. hwadu) Rendered variously as “word-head”, “head
of speech”, or “topic”, a short phrase that is used to focus the mind and enter
a state of deep questioning. This practice was particularly recommended by
the Chinese master Dahui (Ch.; J. Tahui) as to accommodate sudden insight.
Examples are: “What is it?”, “Who am I”, or “Who is dragging this corpse
around?” Some huatou, like “What is Mu?” are taken from koans, and focus
on the main point. The whole koan reads: “A monk once asked Master Joshu,
‘Does a dog have Buddha nature?’ Joshu answered, ‘Mu!’” See Joshu Jushin,
koan.
Huayan school A Mahayana tradition originated in China during the Tang
dynasty, and known as Kegon in Japan and Hwaeom in Korea. It was founded
by Fazang (also Fa-tsang, 643 – 712) but its earliest beginnings go back to Tu-

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shun (557 – 640) and Chihyen (602 – 668). The Chinese Zen master and
scholar Zongmi (J. Tsungmi; 780 – 841) was the influential fifth Huayan
ancestor. The school bases its teaching on the Avatamsaka Sutra, and describes
the ultimate nature of the universe (dharmadhatu) as “perfect interfusion”, the
mutual containment and interpenetration of all phenomena (dharmas). The
Huayan School uses metaphors like Indra’s net and a hall of mirrors to clarify
this principle, and has had a strong influence on Zen. See Avatamsaka Sutra,
dharmadhatu, Indra’s net, Zongmi.
Huineng (Ch. Dajian Huineng; J. Daikan Eno; 638 – 713) The sixth ancestor of
Chan in China from whom all extant Zen lineages descend. He brought a
clear Chinese character to a tradition which had hitherto been strongly
marked by traditional Indian Buddhism. His teaching, as recorded in the
Platform Sutra, stresses sudden enlightenment and the identity (non-dual
nature) of meditation (dhyana) and wisdom (prajna). See Sandokai, Platform
Sutra.
impermanence (Pali anicca; Skt. anita) In Buddhism, this term is generally
used to convey that all phenomena are transient and in constant flux; there is
nothing in the conditioned world that has any everlasting substance.
Impermanence is the first of the three “marks of existence”, the other two
being duhka (Skt. unsatisfactoriness, pain, suffering), and anatman (Skt. non-
self, no intrinsic self-nature or soul). The Buddha taught that the cause of
human suffering is delusion about existence (reality), and that the end of
suffering can be attained through the realization of the teachings of the Four
Noble Truths and the practice of the Noble Eightfold Path. See Dharma Seals,
Four Noble Truths.
Indra’s Net (Skt. Indrajala) A metaphor used to illustrate emptiness (sunyata),
dependent origination, and interpenetration as the composite nature of
reality. The metaphorical image is of an infinite net that hangs over the palace
of the god Indra. At each knot is an infinitely multifaceted jewel which
reflects the light of every other jewel. The image is mentioned in the
Avatamsaka Sutra and is used to describe how the universe is seen through
enlightened eyes, where everything and everyone is precious and

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interconnected. See Avatamsaka Sutra, emptiness, dharmadhatu, Huayan.
ino (J.) The person who holds responsibility in a Zen temple for leading
chants during services, and, traditionally, for maintaining proper etiquette
and the general atmosphere. Often the ino is also in charge of training fellow
practitioners in various other service positions.
Jainism An ancient Indian religious tradition in which life is viewed as a
stream of rebirths with the goal of destroying karma through ethical and
spiritual practices. The motto of Jainism says that the function of souls is to
help one another. See karma.
jijuyu zanmai (J.) Literally, “joyful, self-fulfilling samadhi”. According to
Dogen Zenji, this is the essence of Zen that has been transmitted from
buddha to buddha down to the present day. The characters for ji-ju-yu can be
found in the Avatamsaka Sutra and other scriptures, and together mean
something like “to receive what you really need” or “to receive your
position”. See samadhi.
Joshu Jushin (J.; Ch. Zhaozhou Congshen; also Chao-chou Ts’ung-shen; 778 –
897) One of the most important Chinese Zen masters; Dharma successor of
Nansen Fugan (J.; Ch. Nanquan Puyuan). Master Joshu features in many
koans, most notably in the first koan of the Mumonkan, where he answers the
question, “Does a dog have buddha-nature?” with “Mu”. See Nansen Fugan
jukai (J.) Literally, “receiving the precepts”. Lay-ordination ceremony in
which students receive the precepts from their teacher and vow to live by
them, thereby formally becoming Buddhist practitioners. See precepts, taking
refuge.
Junyu Kuroda (1940 - ) Baigaku Junyu Kuroda Roshi (or “Hojo-san”) is a
younger brother of Taizan Maezumi Roshi and abbot of two temples,
Kirigayaji (Tokyo) and Fujidera (Gotemba, close to Mount Fuji). He
graduated from Komazawa University in 1963 and received shiho from his
father in 1968. He completed Zen priest training (standard and advanced) at
Sojiji, and became an important representative of the Soto school. In 2012, he
received the title of Daikyoshi, one of the highest ranks in the school. See

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Maezumi Roshi.
kai See precepts.
kalpa (Skt.) Term used for an endlessly long period of time.
Kanzeon (J., also Kannon or Kanjizai Bosatsu; Skt. Avalokiteshvara) The
bodhisattva who perceives, or "sees", the cries of the world, and who
responds with compassion to save beings from misfortune and suffering.
Images of Kanzeon take many different forms. Eleven-Faced and Thousand-
Hand Kannon illustrate the ability of Kanzeon to see everywhere and to
respond with limitless expedient means to any need or emergency. The
gender of Kanzeon also varies: in India, this bodhisattva was seen as male; in
Japan, primarily female; and in China, male, female, and of indiscriminate
gender. See Avalokiteshvara, bodhisattva, Enmei Jukku Kannon Gyo.
karma (Skt.) Literally, “deed” or “action”; universal law of cause and effect.
See Dharma Seals.
Keizan Jokin (1268 - 1325) The fourth ancestor of Japanese Soto Zen and the
most important master of this school after Dogen Zenji. He founded a
number of monasteries throughout Japan including Sojiji, one of the two
primary training centers in Japan today. He is noted for supporting the
practice of laypeople, particularly that of women, and for expanding the
ritual observances of the Soto Zen school. Author of a number of works
including Zazen Yojinki and Denkoroku. See Denkoroku, Sojiji, Soto.
kensho (J.) Literally, “seeing nature”; the experience of awakening to one’s
own nature. See buddha-nature, enlightenment.
kechimyaku (J.) Lineage chart of successive ancestors and modern masters
from Shakyamuni Buddha down to the precept master and the jukai recipient.
See jukai, lineage, precepts.
kinhin (J.) Walking meditation, usually done between periods of sitting
meditation (zazen).
koan (J.; Ch. Gong-an) Literally, “public document”; recorded situation, event,
or dialogue between master and student that expresses the teaching in a

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nutshell. Koans are used in Zen training as meditative devices. Non-rational
in character, they cut through dualistic thinking and can bring the student to
experience liberation. See Hakuin Ekaku, Hekiganroku, Mumonkan, Rinzai
Gigen.
Koryu Osaka (1901 - 1985) Japanese lay teacher; successor of Joko Roshi, who
is the founder of Shakyamuni Kai, a lay Rinzai group based in Tokyo
(Hannya Dojo) with a training center on Mt. Fuji (Hannya Fuji Dojo). Koryu
Roshi was noted for his emphasis on strong zazen practice including
thorough koan training. Maezumi Roshi received inka from him in 1973.
Yamamoto Ryuko Roshi, a Japanese lay teacher who is the last surviving
successor of Koryu Roshi has visited Zen River several times to give Dharma
talks and offer dokusan. See Maezumi Roshi, Rinzai Gigen.
Kuroda Institute [for the Study of Buddhism] An independent, nonprofit
organization that seeks to promote scholarship on Buddhism, and has
published many high-quality books. Established in 1976 by Maezumi Roshi,
the Kuroda Institute was endowed with the name of his father, Baian
Hakujun Kuroda. See Baian Hakujun Kuroda, Maezumi Roshi.
Kyozan Ejaku (J.; Ch. Yangshan Huichi; 807 – 83 or 813/14 – 90/91) One of
the greatest Chinese Zen masters of his time, successor of Kueishan Lingyu (J.
Isan Reiyu) and teacher of Nanta Kuang-jun (J. Nanto Koyu). He appears in
several koans, including Case 25 of the Mumonkan. See Mumonkan.
Lankavatara Sutra (Skt.) Literally, “Sutra on the Descent to Sri Lanka”. Said
to have been given by Bodhidharma to his student, Huike, this sutra stresses
the direct experience of enlightenment, the realization of tathagatagarba (J.
bussho), or buddha-nature, which is immanent in all beings. The Lankavatara
sutra, along with the Diamond Sutra, are among the most influential
Mahayana texts in the Zen tradition. See absolute, buddha-nature, Diamond
Sutra, enlightenment, tathagatagarba.
layperson Generally, a non-monastic follower of a religious group. In Zen
Buddhism laypersons are able to receive the same bodhisattva precepts as
monastics through the ceremony of jukai. See jukai, precepts.

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Li Tongxuan (635? - 730) An influential seventh-century lay scholar who was
instrumental in the development and popularization of Huayan thought in
China; author of the Huayan-lun, a lengthy commentary on the Avatamsaka
Sutra. See Avatamsaka Sutra, Huayan.
lineage Ancestral line of those who have received the seal of approval from
their teacher. This seal is a certification of enlightenment and an
empowerment to pass it on. See kechimyaku, successor.
lion’s roar A metaphor used to describe the teaching of Buddha Shakyamuni
and that of later teachers who embody a fearless, self-possessed power in
proclaiming the Dharma. It also expresses the potency of the Dharma itself
and its uniquely liberating quality. See dharma.
Lion’s Roar of Queen Srimala An early Mahayana sutra distinguished for
teaching that all sentient beings can attain Buddhahood. Possibly written in
the third century, it became inspirational for both the Lankavatara Sutra and
the Awakening of Faith. See Awakening of Faith, Lankavatara Sutra, Mahayana.
lotus posture The meditation posture in which each foot is placed on the
opposite thigh. Variations include half-lotus, only one foot placed on the
opposite thigh, and “Burmese” in which one leg is folded in front of the
other. Siddhartha Gautama is said to have attained enlightenment while
seated in the lotus posture, and many statues and paintings portray him that
way.
Lotus Sutra One of the most important Mahayana texts, recorded in written
form circa 200 CE. In this sutra, the Buddha is not presented as a historical
person but rather as a manifestation of the dharmakaya, which is ever-present.
Its main principle is that all beings participate in and can awaken to this
fundamental nature. See dharmakaya, tathagatagarbha.
Maezumi Roshi [Hakuyu Taizan] (1931 – 1995) Japanese Zen master who
came to the USA in 1956, and became one of the most notable founders of
American Zen. He was a lineage holder in the Soto (Baian Hakujun Kuroda),
Sanbo Kyodan (Hakuun Yasutani), and Shakyamuni Kai (Koryu Osaka)
traditions of Zen, and combined koan practice and shikantaza in his training

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program. Maezumi Roshi co-founded the Zen Center of Los Angeles (ZCLA),
Zen Mountain Center, and Zen Mountain Monastery, and founded the White
Plum Asanga. He gave transmission to twelve Dharma successors, among
whom, Genpo Merzel Roshi — the teacher of Tenkei Roshi — was the second.
They disseminated Maezumi Roshi’s spiritual legacy all over the world. His
teaching has been recorded in many publications, most notably in Appreciate
Your Life and Teaching of the Great Mountain. See Baian Hakujun Kuroda.
Mahakasyapa (Skt.) A disciple of Shakyamuni Buddha renowned for ascetic
and moral strictness, and for assuming leadership of the sangha after the
death of Buddha. In the Zen tradition, Mahakasyapa came to be seen as the
first ancestor. He received the mind to mind transmission of awakening when
he alone smiled as the Buddha silently held up a flower. See buddha-mind
seal.
Mahayana (Skt.) Literally, “Great Vehicle”; Buddhist tradition that holds the
liberation of all beings as the highest ideal of practice and considers those
who focus on only individual enlightenment as followers of Hinayana,
literally, “Small Vehicle”.
manas shiki (Skt. manas-vijnana) The “conveyor" consciousness, the seventh
of eight levels of consciousness according to Yogacara teachings. The manas
shiki conveys experiences of the first six levels of consciousness (the faculties
of eye, ear, nose, nose, body and cognition) to the eighth level, the alaya shiki,
and vice versa. It is also called the shiki of the constant self (or “I” awareness)
since it holds on to the ego very firmly. See alaya shiki, eight consciousnesses,
Four Wisdoms.
Manjushri (Skt.; J. Monju) Literally, “He who is Noble and Gentle”; the
bodhisattva of wisdom, often depicted as riding a lion and holding a double-
edged sword that kills delusion and gives life to wisdom (prajna). According
to a popular saying he is able to cut two things into one. In Zen meditation
halls, Manjushri is the principal figure on the altar. See prajna.
Meiji restoration The period of cultural shift that engulfed Japan (1868 –
1912) as the Tokugawa government fell and power was returned to the

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Imperial House. Criticism by Confucians, Nativists, and Shintoists led to the
state-mandated separation of Buddhism and local elements of worship, and
an end to state support. A brief, but violent, suppression of Buddhism lasted
until 1871, during which many temples were destroyed and many monastics
were forced to disrobe.
merit A beneficial and protective force of energy which accumulates as a
result of good intention and right action (in terms of body, mind and speech).
This concept is fundamental to Buddhist ethics.
Mu (J.; also muji, the character “mu”) Literally: “no”, a negation. In the
context of Zen, Mu is a negation that transcends both yes and no; it refers to
the experience of enlightenment. When Master Joshu was asked by a monk,
“Does a dog have buddha-nature?” he answered, “Mu!” This dialogue
features as the first koan in the Mumonkan and is often given to Zen students
as the first case of their koan training. See koan, Mumonkan.
mudra (Skt.) Literally, “seal, sign”; a bodily posture or a symbolic gesture. In
Zen meditation, the hands are often held in the “cosmic mudra” (J.
Hokkaijoin) where the back of the left hand rests on the palm of the right so
that the tips of the thumbs lightly touch one another.
Mumon Ekai (J; Ch. Wumen Huikai; 1183 – 1260) Chinese Zen master and
compiler of the koan collection Mumonkan, in which the first case is “Joshu’s
Mu”; student of Getsurin Shikan. See koan, Mu, Mumonkan.
Mumonkan (J; Ch. Wumenguan) Literally, “The Gateless Gate”; a major
collection of koans consisting of 48 cases. See Mumon Ekai, Mu, koan.
Nagarjuna (2d – 3d century) One of the most important philosophers of
Buddhism, especially known for his systematization and deepening of the
teaching presented in the Prajnaparamita Sutras which laid the foundation for
the Madhyamaka (Middle Way) school. Considered the fourteenth patriarch
of Zen in the Indian lineage. See emptiness, Prajnaparamita teachings.
Nansen Fugan (J.; Ch. Nanquan Puyuan; 748 – 835) A great Chinese Zen
master of the Tang period; Dharma successor of Baso and teacher of Joshu
Jushin. Nansen appears in a number of koans of the Mumonkan and

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Hekiganroku. See Joshu Jushin.
nirvana (Skt.; J. nehan) Literally, “extinction”, which implies freedom from
the attachment to self; the blissful experience of absolute reality. In general,
nirvana is used in contrast to samsara, the world of suffering. According to
Mahayana Buddhism, nirvana and samsara are essentially one. See absolute,
samsara, six realms.
Nirvana Sutra (Skt. Mahayana Mahaparinirvana Sutra) The precise date of
origin is uncertain, but its early form may date from the second century. Only
a few fragments exist of the original Sanskrit text, but Chinese (two versions)
and Tibetan translations survive. The form used in Zen (Dharmaksema
translation) indicates that all sentient beings have the potential to attain
buddhahood. It is considered a tathagatagarba sutra in that the dharmakaya
form of Buddha, identical with ultimate reality, dwells in all sentient beings.
The Nirvana Sutra has had tremendous influence in East Asian Buddhism.
See dharmakaya, tathagatagarba.
non-duality Also, nondualism. Not two; one undivided whole, without a
second. Non-dualism can refer to the experience of the true nature of reality
in which the dichotomy of self and other has been seen through and
transcended; awareness without any dichotomies. See absolute, dualism.
Obaku [Kiun] (J.; Ch. Huangbo; d. 850) One of the greatest Chinese Zen
masters of the Tang era; teacher of Rinzai Gigen (J.; Ch. Linji) and Bokushu
(Ch. Muzhou Daozong). Obaku’s teaching centered on the “One Mind”
(Buddha) that encompasses everything and everyone throughout space and
time. See Rinzai Gigen.
Ordination In Zen there are two different kinds of ordination. Jukai
(“receiving the precepts” ceremony) is a lay ordination during which Zen
students receive the sixteen bodhisattva precepts. Shukke tokudo (“leaving
home” ceremony) is a monastic ordination; it implies entering the monastic
order and marks the beginning of priestly training. See layperson, precepts.
oryoki (J.) Roughly, “that which contains just enough”; a set of nesting bowls
which Zen students use during formal meals in the zendo. The term is also

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used to signify those meals. Monastics receive a special set of oryoki bowls at
the time of their ordination, along with robes. See ordination, precepts.
Pali Canon The scriptural texts of the Theravada school which were
composed in or translated to Pali. Pali is considered to be one of, or related
to, the ancient dialects at the time of Buddha Shakyamuni, and the Pali
Canon is the oldest surviving set of Buddhist scriptures. See Theravada.
paramitas (Skt.) Literally, “gone to the other shore”; this term refers to the Six
Perfections practiced by bodhisattvas, culminating with prajna paramita
(“perfection of wisdom”) which informs and fulfills the other five. In essence,
the paramitas are a natural expression of the enlightened mind. The six
paramitas are giving (dana), morality or ethics (sila), patience (kshanti), effort or
vigor (virya), meditation (dhyana), and wisdom (prajna). See precepts, prajna,
sila.
phenomenon Something that can be known or perceived by the senses.
Platform Sutra (Ch. Tan-chin; J. Dan-gyo) Also rendered as The Platform Sutra
of the Sixth Patriarch, and The Sutra of Hui Neng. The Platform Sutra contains
the biography, discourses, and sayings of Huineng (J. Daikan Eno), and is
considered to hold some of the most profound writings in Zen. See Huineng.
prajna (Skt.; J. hannya) Literally “insight, wisdom”; according to Mahayana
teachings, prajna refers to a direct experience of intuitive wisdom that cannot
be conceptualized. It entails insight into emptiness (shunyata), the true nature
of reality. Prajna is also viewed as one of the “perfections” (paramitas) which
is actualized in the course of a bodhisattva’s development. See emptiness,
paramitas, Three Treasures.
Prajnaparamita teachings (Skt.) Prajnaparamita means “the Perfection of
(Transcendent) Wisdom”, or “The Wisdom that Reaches the Other Shore”,
and refers to the perfected way of seeing the nature of reality. The teachings
refer to a collection of about forty Mahayana sutras that deal with the
realization of prajna and the functioning of the bodhisattva. The best known
of these sutras are the Diamond Sutra and the Heart Sutra. See Diamond Sutra,
Heart Sutra, prajna.

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pratyekabuddhas (Skt.) Literally, “solitary awakened ones”; those who have
attained enlightenment on their own and lack the desire to share it with
others. In this level of realization, they are placed between sravakas and
bodhisattvas. See bodhisattva, sravaka.
Pratimoksha (Skt.) Literally, “towards liberation”; the part of the Vinaya that
contains 227 disciplinary rules for monks and 348 for nuns. Most Buddhist
monastics follow the Vinaya; the Japanese tradition is an exception in that
respect. See Theravada, Vinaya pitaka, precepts.
precepts (J. kai; Skt. sila) Buddhist teachings regarding personal conduct that
can be appreciated as ethical guidelines and also as natural expressions of
one’s realization. In Zen, there are sixteen precepts. (1 – 3) the Three Treasures:
to be one with the Buddha, Dharma and Sangha; (4 – 6) the Three Pure
Precepts: do not commit evil, do good, and do good for others; (7 – 16) the
Ten Grave Precepts: To appreciate all life and not kill, to respect others’
possessions and not steal, to honor the body and not commit sexual
misconduct, to be truthful and not lie, to be attentive and not intoxicated, to
see the perfection in others and not talk about their errors and faults, to be
humble and not put down others, to be generous and not stingy, to be
compassionate and not give way to anger, to esteem the Three Treasures and
not speak ill of them. Students “receive” the precepts from their teacher
during ordination and ceremonies like fusatsu. See jukai, ordination, Three
Treasures.
rakusu (J.) A rectangular garment worn around the neck by monastics and
lay followers of Japanese Zen. It is made of square pieces of fabric stitched
together to symbolize the patchwork robe of Shakyamuni Buddha. Students
often make their first rakusu, and then formally receive it during a jukai
ceremony, after their master has written a poem and the student’s new
dharma name on white fabric sewed in on the backside. See jukai, precepts.
Realization In Zen, realization refers to the experience of seeing into one’s
true nature; also, “awakening”. See buddha-nature, kensho.

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refuge A condition of being safe or sheltered; something providing shelter.
See taking refuge, Three Treasures.
relative truth The reality of phenomena; one of the “two truths” of Mahayana
Buddhism, the other being the absolute truth of their essence. See absolute.
Relative and Absolute are One See Sandokai.
Rinzai Gigen (J.; Ch. Linji Yixuan, d. 866) One of the great masters of the
Tang dynasty and founder of the Rinzai (Ch. Linji) school of Chinese Zen,
noted for its emphasis on sudden realization. Successor to Obaku Kiun (J.;
Ch. Huangbo Xiyun), he became famous for his direct and confrontational
style. Rinzai’s animated discourses and dialogues with students are recorded
in the Record of Rinzai (Ch. Linji lu) and are a source of many koans. See
Hakuin Ekaku, koan, Obaku.
samadhi (Skt.; J. zanmai) Literally, “establish, make firm”; meditative state of
mind in which subject and object are not separated. Samadhi is one of three
inseparable aspects of Buddhist practice, the other two being prajna and sila.
Together they are called trishiksha (Skt., “triple practice”) and they are
intimately interwoven. The development of samadhi in meditation is gradual,
and its strength depends on continuous cultivation. It slowly creates more
and more openness for sudden, yet ever-deeper insights to occur. Samadhi is
also needed for those insights to penetrate our whole being and to gradually
transform our character and lifestyle. See jijuyu-zanmai, trishiksha.
Samantabhadra (Skt.; J. Fugen) Literally, “He Whose Goodness is
Everywhere”. An important bodhisattva in Mahayana Buddhism, seen as the
embodiment of the wisdom of the unity of sameness and difference, or the
experience of the dharmakaya. See absolute truth, dharmakaya.
samsara (Skt.) Literally, “cycle of existence”; the realm of suffering caused by
the illusion of a separate self; in Mahayana Buddhism, it is considered to be
essentially identical with nirvana. See nirvana, phenomena, six realms.
samu (J.) Literally, “work service”. The general work (cleaning, cooking, etc.)
in a Zen temple; considered to be an important part of daily practice. See
fushin samu.

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Sandokai (J.; Ch. Tsan-tung-chi) A profound and important poem by the
Chinese Zen master, Shihtou Hischien (also Shitou Xiqian; J. Sekito Kisen)
celebrating the enlightened state of mind which transcends all duality.
Sandokai is often recited communally during Zen services. The title has been
translated as “the Harmony of Difference and Equality”, “The Identity of
Relative and Absolute”, and at Zen River as “Relative and Absolute are One.”
See absolute, Sekito Kisen.
sangha (Skt.) Literally, “community, assembly”; worldwide community of
Buddhist monastics and laypersons; as one of the Three Treasures, Sangha
represents the harmony between the Buddha Treasure and the Dharma
Treasure; the realization and actualization of one’s life. See Three Treasures.
Seigen Ishin (J; Ch. Chingyuan Weihsin) Ninth-century Chinese Zen master
famous for the saying: “Before a man studies Zen, to him the mountains are
mountains and waters are waters. After he gets an insight into the truth of
Zen through the instruction of a good master, mountains to him are not
mountains and waters are not waters. But after this when he really attains the
abode of rest, mountains are once more mountains and waters are waters.”
(D. T. Suzuki, Essays in Zen Buddhism).
Sekito Kisen (J.; Ch. Shihtou Hischien, also Shitou Xiqian; 700 – 790)
Successor of Seigen Gyoshin and author of the poems “Song of the Grass-
Roof Hermitage” (Ch. Soanka) and Sandokai (“Relative and Absolute are One”;
Ch. Tsan-tung-chi). See Sandokai.
seiza (J.) Literally, “sitting in silence”; a traditional Japanese sitting posture in
which one kneels on the heels (or a bench or cushion), keeping the back
straight and the head erect. Sitting in seiza is the norm during Zen Buddhist
ceremonies and in dokusan. For zazen, seiza is an alternative to the lotus
posture. See lotus posture.
sentient beings Generally, beings with consciousness. According to
Mahayana Buddhism, all sentient beings possess buddha-nature, and it is to
them that the bodhisattva vow of compassion is pledged. Some Buddhist
traditions consider even beings that are usually seen as non-sentient (e.g.

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plants) and inanimate entities (e.g. rocks) to be sentient beings. See
Bodhisattva Vows, buddha-nature.
service Ceremonial activity that expresses devotion and gratitude through a
precisely described traditional choreography. In Zen temples, certain services
are performed daily, others on special days of the month or year. Ceremonies
such as jukai, shukke tokudo, weddings, and funerals are conducted whenever
they suit the situation. See fusatsu, jukai, ordination.
sesshin (J.) Literally, “to connect the mind”; a Zen meditation retreat
traditionally lasting seven days, but often fewer nowadays.
Seung Sahn (1927 – 2004) The first teacher to bring Korean Zen to America,
having already established temples in Japan and Hong Kong. Master Seung
Sahn founded the Kwan Um School of Zen which has more than eighty
centers and groups worldwide. His books include The Compass of Zen,
Dropping Ashes on the Buddha, and Only Don't Know.
Shakyamuni (Skt.) Literally, “the sage of the Shakya clan”. This title is used
to refer to Siddhartha Gautama, the historical Buddha, after his
enlightenment.
Shichi (J.) A little-known essay by Hakuin Ekaku on the “Four Wisdoms”,
principles he briefly referred to in “The Song of Zazen”. Part of traditional
Yogachara teaching, these wisdoms are named: (1) Great Perfect Mirror
Wisdom, (2) Universal Nature Wisdom, (3) Marvelous Observing Wisdom,
and (4) Perfection of Action Wisdom, and they correspond well to Tenkei
Roshi’s “Four Modes of Meditation”. In Shichi, Hakuin strongly advocates a
balance in practice between sudden realization and gradual cultivation. See
Four Modes of Meditation, Four Wisdoms.
shikantaza (J.) Literally, “just sitting”; the primary Soto style of meditation
usually described as a practice in which the mind is allowed to rest in a state
of panoramic awareness without dwelling on anything in particular.
Shobogenzo (J.) Literally, “Treasury of the True Dharma Eye”; the
masterwork of Dogen Zenji, generally considered to be one of the most subtle
and profound writings in Buddhist literature. See Eihei Dogen.

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Shoyoroku (J.) Literally, “Book of Serenity”; collection of one hundred koans
written by the Chinese master of the Caodong school Hongzhi Zhengjue (Ch.;
J. Wanshi Shogaku; 1091 – 1175), and compiled by Wansong Xingxiu (Ch.
1166 - 1246). See koan.
shunyata (Skt.) See emptiness.
Siddham (Skt.) Literally, “accomplished, perfected”. Siddham was the script
used to write early Buddhist scriptures that were transmitted later to China.
The practice of writing in the Siddham script was preserved in the Japanese
Shingon school.
sila (Skt.) Ethical or moral guidelines. See precepts.
six paramitas See paramitas.
six realms According to Buddhist cosmology, one is reborn continuously
through six realms of samsara until the attainment of nirvana. The realms
include three good realms (heavenly, demi-god, human) and three evil
realms (animal, hungry ghost, hell). See samsara, wheel of samsara.
skandha (Skt.) Literally, “group, aggregate, heap”; term for the five
components which together create the illusion of self: form, sensation,
perception, discrimination, and awareness. See Heart Sutra.
skillful means See upaya.
Sojiji (J.) One of two head training temples (daihonzan) of the Soto school of
Zen Buddhism. The other is Eiheiji. Keizan Zenji founded Sojiji in 1321. See
Eiheiji, Keizan Jokin, Soto.
Song dynasty (960 – 1279) An imperial dynasty of China during which Chan
(Zen) Buddhism flourished, along with Daoism and Neo-Confucianism.
Many of the classic Zen scriptures, including most koan collections, stem
from that period. In fact, much of what we know about the great Zen masters
of the Tang Dynasty Era (618 – 907), also called “The Golden Age of Zen”, has
come to us through Song Buddhist texts.
Song of Zazen (J. Zazen Wasan) Famous poem composed by Hakuin Ekaku
in praise of zazen and of samadhi in all daily activities; often chanted during

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Zen services, especially in Rinzai temples. The Japanese word wasan means:
“a poetic song of praise (ode) to be chanted or recited”. See Hakuin Ekaku.
Soto (J.) One of the two most important schools of Zen in Japan, the other
being the Rinzai (Ch. Linji) school; founded by the Chinese masters Tozan
Ryokai (Ch. Dongshan Liangjie; 807 – 869) and Sozan Honjaku (Ch. Caoshan
Benji; 840 – 901). The name “Soto” was originally made up by taking one
character from the name of each founder. The tradition of the Soto school was
brought to Japan in the thirteenth century by Dogen Zenji. See Eihei Dogen,
Rinzai Gigen, Tozan Ryokai.
Sramana Zhiyi See Zhiyi.
sravaka (Skt.) Literally, “hearer”; originally a reference to the students of the
historical Buddha. Buddhism speaks of “four holy states” (in ascending
order): sravakas, pratyekabuddhas, bodhisattvas, and full buddhas. Sravakas are
those who seek personal enlightenment and can attain this only by listening
to the teaching. See bodhisattva, pratyekabuddha.
stink of Zen This phrase refers to a strong attachment to the experience of
kensho and to showing off one’s understanding to others. It is considered to
be a common pitfall in Zen practice. See kensho.
successor A person who has been authorized by a Zen master to teach the
Dharma. An unbroken lineage of successors is a hallmark of Zen, and is
theoretically traced back to Shakyamuni Buddha. See dharma, lineage,
transmission.
Surangama Sutra Roughly, “Indestructible Sutra”; an esoteric Mahayana
text, first cited in 730 CE; especially influential in Chinese Zen Buddhism and
still widely studied. Its origins are disputed, but the sutra is believed to be a
compilation of Indic materials with extensive editing in China, rather than a
translation of a single text from Sanskrit. Its content is influenced by
Yogachara and Madhyamaka teachings, and shows an evolving
interpretation of buddha-nature. The sutra includes a story about how
Avalokiteshvara (Skt.; J. Kanzeon) became enlightened when she turned her
awareness around to investigate “What is it that hears?” The second of the

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Four Modes of Meditation, the practice of “turning your own light inward”,
was partly inspired by this story, along with other scriptures that describe the
same practice. The sutra also includes the lengthy Surangama Mantra which is
often recited during ceremonies in Japanese monasteries. See
Avalokiteshvara, Four Modes of Meditation, Yogachara.
sutra (Skt.) Literally, “thread”; discourses attributed to the Buddha.
Sutra of Complete Enlightenment A Mahayana sutra believed to be of
Chinese origin and highly esteemed in Huayan and Zen schools. A
“handbook” for meditation practice, its twelve chapters contain a series of
discussions on meditation, including issues such as ignorance, sudden and
gradual enlightenment, and original buddhahood. An important
commentary was written in the ninth century by Zongmi. See Huayan,
Zongmi.
Suzuki Shunryu (1904 – 1971). A Japanese Soto Zen monk and teacher who
helped popularize Zen Buddhism, especially in the United States. He came to
the USA in 1959, established San Francisco Zen Center and Tassajara Zen
Mountain Center, and developed a large following of monastics and
laypeople. Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind, a collection of his teachings published
in 1970, is one of the most widely read books on Zen and Buddhism in the
West.
Taisho tripitaka The canon of Buddhist scriptures collected and edited in
China in 518 CE. A modern edition (Taisho issaiko), a one-hundred-volume
collection of more than 3,000 sutras and other writings, was redacted in 1924
- 1934 by the Japanese researcher, Takaku-su.
taking refuge Ceremonies in which a practitioner publicly acknowledges the
faith and intention to turn to the Three Treasures (Buddha, Dharma, Sangha)
for refuge and guidance, thereby becoming a Buddhist. See jukai, Three
Treasures.
Tao (Ch.) Literally, “way, path”; Zen adopted this word from Chinese
Taoism and used it to indicate the Buddha way, Buddhadharma, or the
essence of Zen. Taoism is a philosophical or religious tradition which

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emphasizes living in harmony with the natural order of the universe.
tathagatagarbha (Skt.) Literally, “embryo of the Tathagata” or “seed of
enlightenment”; also equated with “buddha-nature”. According to Mahayana
Buddhism, all sentient beings are endowed with tathagatagarbha; it is a seed
that can come to fruition through diligent practice. See buddha-nature,
dharmakaya.
Tendo Nyojo (J.; Ch. Tiantong Rujing; 1162 – 1228) Chinese Caodong master
and teacher of Dogen Zenji. After training in Japan under Myozen, a Rinzai
teacher, and becoming his successor, Dogen traveled together with him to
China. There he studied with Tendo Nyojo, from whom he also received
dharma transmission. Back in Japan Dogen established the Coadong style of
training (which came to be known as Soto). See Eihei Dogen, Soto,
transmission.
tenzo (J.) The title tenzo, meaning “seat of ceremony”, is given to the head
cook at a Buddhist monastery; traditionally one of the six office-holders who
guide the monastic community.
Theravada (Pali) Literally, “teaching of the elders of the order”; the tradition
that considers the Pali Canon as the only reliable set of scriptures, and which
regards itself as the closest to the original form of Buddhism; widespread in
the countries of Southeast Asia. See Four Noble Truths.
three essentials [of Zen practice] Great faith, great doubt, and great
determination are three virtues that eleventh-century master Tahui and
eighteenth-century master Hakuin described as “essential” to serious Zen
practice. Sometimes a fourth, great anger, is inserted between doubt and
determination. For more, see The Three Pillars of Zen (Kapleau) and Hoofprints
of the Ox (Sheng-yen).
Three Marks of Existence (Skt. trilakshana) Also, “marks of existence [or
reality]”. Traditionally, these refer to the three characteristics of deluded,
conditioned existence: impermanence, suffering, and egolessness; also, karma
or impurity is sometimes added as the fourth. They are in striking contrast to
the characteristics of the unconditioned reality one can experience in

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awakening: permanence, bliss, self, and purity. This enlightened view is
expounded in the Mahaparinirvana Sutra and the Lion’s Roar of Queen Srimala.
It also features in the Enmei Juku Kannon Gyo (jo-raku-ga-jo), often recited in
Zen temples. See Enmei Juku Kannon Gyo, Lion’s Roar of Queen Srimala.
Three Treasures (Skt. triratna) Literally, “three precious ones”; also, “Three
Jewels”. The three essential components of Buddhism: Buddha (Shakyamuni,
ancestors, our innate enlightenment), Dharma (teachings, phenomenal world
seen through enlightened eyes), and Sangha (community of practitioners,
harmony). They are considered “places of refuge” which the Buddhist
practitioner can turn to and rely upon. In “taking refuge” ceremonies (e.g.,
jukai), practitioners effectively acknowledge they are Buddhist. See also
jukai, precepts.
Tiantong Temple (Ch.; J. Tendoji) A large and important Chan Buddhist
temple founded in 300 CE; located in Ningbo, China. The temple is of special
significance for the Soto school because it is where Dogen Zenji attained
enlightenment while training under Tendo Nyojo. Tenkei and Myoho Roshis
have visited Tiantong Temple several times with Junyu Kuroda Roshi. To
inaugurate Zen River’s newly-built zendo, in 2012 the Venerable Master
Cheng Xin (current abbot of Tiantong Temple) came to Zen River, along with
Master Ke Xiang of Qita Temple (Ningbo) and several other Chinese and
Japanese dignitaries.
Toshoji An internationally oriented training temple in Okayama, Japan.
Myoho Roshi and several of Tenkei Roshi’s Dharma successors have
participated in ango training at Toshoji to fulfill the requirements for official
Soto registration as a licensed priest. The present abbot, Seido Suzuki Roshi,
visited Zen River in 2013.
Tozan Ryokai (J.; Ch. Dongshan Liangjie; 807 – 869) An important Chan (Zen)
Buddhist monk of ninth-century China; co-founder of the Caodong school.
Also known for the poetic “Five Ranks” which describe the different stages
and perspectives of realization in Zen practice. See Five Ranks, Soto.
Tozan’s Five Ranks See Five Ranks, Tozan Ryokai.

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traceless practice This Zen phrase is used to refer to any activity in which the
self is forgotten; any activity which is untainted by the deluded mind.
transmission In Zen, Dharma transmission is the acknowledgment a master
bestows on a disciple who then becomes a “successor” in the master’s
spiritual lineage of teachers and disciples, theoretically traced back to
Shakyamuni Buddha. In the Soto school, the transmission ceremony is called
shiho. See successor, kechimyaku.
Tripitaka (Skt.) lit. “Three Baskets”, the complete set of Buddhist scriptures
consisting of three components: the Vinaya (rules and regulations), the Sutras
(discourses of the Buddha) and the Abhidharma (Buddhist philosophy and
psychology).
trishiksha (Skt.) Also shiksha. Literally, “threefold training” or “triple
practice”; the three inseparable aspects of traditional Buddhist practice: (1)
training in ethical conduct (sila), (2) training of the mind (samadhi), and (3)
training in direct insight (prajna). Triple practice provides a model of training
that can help us live a more natural life: a life in which we naturally respond
to the human condition with wisdom and compassion. See prajna, precepts,
samadhi, sila, Vinaya Pitaka.
Tsungmi See Zongmi.
tulku (Tib.) Literally, “transformation body”. In Tibetan Buddhism, a tulku is
a person who is recognized as the reincarnation of a previously deceased
spiritual leader.
Ummon Bun-en (J.; Ch. Yunmen Wenyen; 864 – 949) Dharma successor of
Seppo Gison (J.; Ch. Xuefeng Yicun). Ummon was one of the most influential
Chan masters of the Tang era. He had more than sixty Dharma successors.
They, and his later heirs, including Setcho (J; Ch. Hsueh-tou), played a
significant role in the preservation of Chan literature. Also, the Yunmen and
Fayan schools originated from his lineage. Ummon features in many koans
and is known for a strict style of teaching and for asking questions that he
himself would answer in profound ways.

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unconditioned reality Ultimate or absolute reality that cannot be accessed by
a conditioned mindset; it can only be experienced by oneself in deep samadhi.
See absolute, conditioning.
upaya (Skt.) Skillful or expedient means or method. In Zen, upaya usually
refers to the way a master works with students to bring them to awakening.
More generally, it is the ability of a bodhisattva to guide beings to liberation
through skillful means.
Vairocana (Skt.) Literally, “Illuminator”. One of the five transcendent
buddhas, Vairocana often represents the dharmakaya form of Buddha (as in
the Avatamsaka Sutra), and also the embodiment of emptiness (shunyata).
Vairocana is often depicted with hands in the mudra of supreme wisdom. See
dharmakaya, emptiness, mudra.
Vasubandhu (Skt.; fourth to fifth century CE) Great Indian master and
scholar of the Mahayana; a founder of the Yogachara teaching, together with
his half-brother, Asanga. See Yogachara.
Vesak (Pali) Buddhist festival held in Southeast Asian countries to
commemorate at once the birth, enlightenment, and parinirvana of the
Buddha. Traditionally, it is celebrated on the full moon day in May. Since
1999, the United Nations Day of Vesak has welcomed thousands of Buddhist
representatives from all over the world to come together for several days
(most often in Bangkok, Thailand). Upon invitation, Tenkei Roshi has
participated in many of these highly inspirational events.
vijnana consciousness See alaya shiki.
Vimalakirti (Skt.) Literally, “stainless, undefiled reputation”. Vimalakirti is
the title figure in the Vimalakirti Nirdesa Sutra, which presents him as the ideal
Mahayana Buddhist lay practitioner and a contemporary of Gautama Buddha
(5th – 4th century BCE). He is venerated as a colorful representative of true Zen
teaching, and is famous for answering with “thunderous silence” when asked
by Manjushri about the nature of the non-dual dharma. See dualism.
Vinaya Pitaka (Skt.) Also, Vinaya. The third part of the Buddhist Tripitaka in
which the rules and regulations of the life of monks and nuns are laid down.

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See precepts, trishiksha.
wheel of samsara The symbolic representation of six realms of cyclic
existence (samsara) often depicted in paintings of Tibetan Buddhism. See
samsara, six realms.
White Plum Asanga Organization conceived in 1979 by Taizan Maezumi
Roshi and formally incorporated after his death in 1995. It consists of his
Dharma heirs and subsequent successors, and forms a diverse organization
spread across the US and a scattering of locations all over the world. See
Maezumi Roshi.
Yakusan Igen (J.; Ch. Yaoshan Weiyan; 745 – 827) Zen monk of the Tang
dynasty. Although traditionally considered a student of Shitou Xiqian (J.
Sekito Kisen), biographical information suggests that he studied with Mazu
Daoyi for nearly 20 years. Dogen Zenji thought highly of Yakusan; in Fukan
Zazengi, he paraphrased Yakusan: “Now sit steadfastly and think not-
thinking. How do you think not-thinking? Beyond thinking.” See absolute,
Fukan Zazengi, non-duality, Sekito Kisen.
Yasutani [Ryoko] Hakuun (J.; 1885 – 1973) An important Soto Zen master
and founder of the Sanbo Kyodan, an independent organization of Japanese
Zen. After marrying, fathering five children, and working as a school
teacher, he entered training at age 40 under Harada Daiun Sogaku, who had
studied both Soto and Rinzai Zen. At age 58, Yasutani received shiho from
Harada Sogaku and became head of a training monastery. He later left this
position, preferring to train lay-practitioners. In Yasutani’s opinion, Soto
training had become methodical and ritualistic, and lacked emphasis on
practice and realization (kensho). His teaching became known in the United
States through the publication of The Three Pillars of Zen, compiled by his
student, Philip Kapleau. The book contains Yasutani’s “Introductory
Lectures”, some of the first instructions on zazen to be published in English.
He was one of the three teachers Maezumi Roshi studied with and received
transmission from. See kensho.

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Yogachara (Skt.; J. Hosso) Literally, “application of yoga”; an influential
school of philosophy and psychology that developed in Indian Mahayana
Buddhism starting in the fifth century CE. It was prominent in the Indian
scholastic tradition and in East Asia for several centuries, and was also
transmitted to Tibet where its teachings have become integral to much of
modern Tibetan Buddhism. Although Yogachara died out as a distinct
school, it brought a deep and lasting influence in Buddhism on the analysis of
the functions of consciousness. Yogachara teaching presents a model of eight
layers of consciousness as a map of the mind that can clarify and facilitate
spiritual practice. See alaya shiki, eight consciousnesses, Yuishiki.
Yongjia Xuanjue (Ch.; J. Yoka Genkaku; 665 – 713) Tang dynasty Zen and
Tiantai Buddhist monk, best known for his poem, “Song of Enlightenment” (J.
Shodoka), still popular in modern Zen. He was nicknamed “The Overnight
Guest” because the sixth ancestor Huineng (J. Daikan Eno) had asked him to
stay at least one night after he had acknowledged his enlightenment at their
first encounter. Yongjia credited his understanding to his independent study
of the sutras, especially the Vimalakirti Nirdesa Sutra. See Denkoroku,
Vimalakirti.
Yongming Yanshou (904 – 975) Chinese Buddhist monk and scholar best
known for attempting to synthesize the diverse and seemingly contradictory
teachings of the various schools of Buddhism. His influence has been very
strong in China, Korea, and Vietnam, and he is deeply revered in the Pure
Land school. In Japan he found less appreciation, supposedly because of his
emphasis on the combination of study and practice. Perhaps as a result,
Yongming’s work was largely ignored by Western scholarship until recently.
Yuishiki (J.; Skt., Vijnaptimatra; Ch. Weishi) Main principle of the East-Asian
Yogachara or Mind Only School based on Indian Yogachara teaching. The
codification of this teaching is attributed primarily to Vasubandhu (4th
century CE), an influential Buddhist monk and scholar from Gandhara. His
major works are “Abhidharma Storehouse Treatise” (Abhidharma-kosha-
bhasya) and “Thirty Verses on Consciousness Only” (Trimsika-vijnaptimatrata).
The “Thirty Verses” together with the “Twenty” (Vimsatika), also by

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Vasubandhu, are considered a classic synopsis of Yogachara teaching. See
eight consciousnesses, Yogachara.
zazen (J.) The practice of Zen meditation. The term zazen is a combination of
the words za and zen, literally, “sitting” and “meditation”. Although “zen” is
derived from the Sanskrit word dhyana, meaning “meditative absorption” or
“concentration”, zazen is not identical to these practices. The word has been
used over time to indicate jijuyu zanmai. See jijuyu zanmai, Zen.
Zazen shin (J.) Rendered as the “Acupuncture Needle of Zazen”, Zazen shin
is a fascicle of Dogen Zenji’s Shobogenzo in which the essential nature of zazen
is described. It also refers to a poem of the same name, written by Hongzhi
Zhengjue, and quoted verbatim in Dogen’s Zazen shin. See Hongzhi,
shikantaza, Shobogenzo.
ZCLA Zen Center of Los Angeles. Also known as “Buddha Essence Temple”.
Founded in 1967 by Maezumi Roshi, the temple offers a varied program of
community-based and residential Zen training in the Maezumi-Glassman
lineage. Wendy Egyoku Nakao, abbot of ZCLA for many years, passed the
position to Deb Faith-Mind Thoresen in 2019. See Maezumi Roshi.
Zen (J.; Ch. chan; Skt. dhyana) An abbreviation of “zazen”; the school of
Buddhism that emphasizes the practice of zazen meditation. Since the Zen
school emphasizes direct insight in into one’s true nature, the word “Zen”
also stands for the vibrant essence of our life. See zazen.
zendo (J.) Zen meditation hall.
zenji (J.) Literally, “Zen master”; an honorific title used for certain high-
ranking Zen masters; in Soto Zen for the abbots of Eiheiji and Sojiji, the two
main temples of the school.
Zhiyi (Ch.; J. Chigi; 538 – 597) Zhiyi founded the Tiantai (J. Tendai) tradition
of Buddhism, and is famous for creating a complete, critical, and systematic
classification of Buddhist teachings. His standard title, Sramana Zhiyi, links
him to the broad tradition of Indian asceticism. He is noted for breaking from
the Indian tradition to form an indigenous Chinese system; also, for
championing two complimentary modes of meditation (“stopping” and

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“seeing”) which align with foundational teachings addressed in the
Awakening of Faith. Tenkei Roshi’s “Four Modes of Meditation” are partly
inspired and verified by the two modes of Zhiyi. See Awakening of Faith,
Four Modes of Meditation.
Zongmi (Ch., also Kuei-feng Tsung-mi; 780 – 841) A famous Tang-dynasty
Buddhist monk and scholar, the fifth patriarch of the Huayan school and a
patriarch of the Heze school of Southern Chan Buddhism. His extensive
writings provide a broad overview of Buddhist teachings and stress the need
for sudden realization and gradual cultivation. See Huayan school.
Zuioji (J.) Zuioji (located in Niihama) is a traditional Japanese Soto Zen
training temple with history dating back to the 15th century. Along with five
other senior Western Zen teachers, Tenkei Roshi attended a special training
program at Zuioji in 2003. The program was a pioneering effort designed, in
part, to qualify the participants for official registration in the Soto School. In
later years, it became possible for Westerners to acquire such qualifications
by attending regular ango training in international temples such as Toshoji.

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 About the author

Anton Tenkei Coppens (Den Bosch, The Netherlands, 1949) is the abbot of
Zen River Temple. He studied visual art and art history and then worked for
almost fifteen years as a painter and art teacher. In 1976, he started Zen
practice in England and a few years later engaged in residential training at
the Zen Center of Los Angeles. There, he studied with Taizan Maezumi Roshi
– one of the great Japanese pioneers of modern international Zen Buddhism –
and Genpo Merzel Roshi, Maezumi Roshi’s second Dharma successor. In
1988, Tenkei moved to the USA to live and train full-time with Genpo Roshi,
whom he also often accompanied on extensive retreat tours throughout
Europe. Tenkei received Dharma transmission from Genpo Roshi in 1996 but
stayed with him in the USA for another four years to assist him in teaching.
In 2000 he went to Japan with his British wife Tamara Myoho Gabrysch, who
was also to become a Dharma successor to Genpo Roshi, and studied with
Junyu Kuroda Roshi, the younger brother of Maezumi Roshi. The teaching
they received from Kuroda Roshi balanced their American Zen education
with its Japanese counterpart. Eventually they settled in The Netherlands
and, with a group of close students, founded Zen River Temple in 2002. In
subsequent years they both received further training in Japan to qualify for
registration in the Soto School and developed a wide range of international
connections. Tenkei received Inka, the final seal of approval, from Genpo
Roshi in 2006. To date, he has appointed eight Dharma successors, some of
whom have set up their own temples.
Tenkei was co-editor of Beyond Sanity and Madness by Genpo Roshi and also
edited a series of Dharma talks that Maezumi Roshi gave in Europe,
published under the titles The Echoless Valley and Teaching of the Great
Mountain. Many of his own Dharma talks have been published in newsletters
and other media. Timeless Calling, Timely Response is his first full-length book.

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