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(Volume II)
January 2, 1979
South of Half Moon Bay, California
Shih Fu,
I had a dream last month that really moved me to work harder:
Dream: It came silently gliding in from outer space, passing galaxies and covering incredible distances in seconds. It was huge, black and a totally evil thing. Attracted by a foul, amber smog, it was honing in on our galaxy. The smog was a color, a smell, a texture and vibes of a bad energy that permeated our whole universe. This "fly" was drawn to it like a bee to honey.
Everyone thinks the smog is beautiful--like looking at a colorful sunset through layers of air pollution. No one notices the fly as it quietly zeros in on our galaxy, then our solar system, and finally Earth itself. The Earth is center of the bad ch'i the fly is attracted to. The fly is diamond-hard concentrated evil and destruction. There is no goodness whatsoever to it.
It banked around the moon. You could see the footprints of the astronauts on its surface. The astronauts were jumping and playing around like kids digging in a sand-box. They never noticed the fly. It could change shape from the size of the Milky Way down to an atom particle faster than a thought.
At the top of a tiered flight of stairs, in an awesome, idyllic place, lived an absent-minded professor-type. I asked who he was, "Oh that's God," someone said. "God the Father." It blew my mind! "I'm going back to work!" I thought, "to fight the fly." The force of the fly was way beyond God's power of influence. He was having a party, and, like the carefree child, waiting for the next surprise delight. He knew only bliss.
In a weird, yin mortuary-temple, devotees dressed in long, white Greco-Roman robes were engaged in bizarre rites about death and the dead. It was like a deviant Forest Lawn. They were pouring oils and wines over a corpse, laughing and merrymaking. The fly was there, unemotional and very at home.
A radio station in a big city: it looks on the up-and-up out front, but inside it's a nerve center for the fly. It may have even beamed the fly in with its broadcasts.
An urbane, young, unmarried "people's politician" is at the radio station. It's his campaign headquarters. His aides excitedly tell him there's a major revolution going on in the High Schools and Junior Highs. The station is broadcasting the take-overs of the schools and fomenting the violence: "Orange Jr. High has been occupied by... Glendale High School has been taken over by... The east wing of..." The politician is cool and calculating. He is going to ride the revolution to political power. There is a bloodbath--children are killing their parents and teachers.
People were in heavy trances, as if under a spell. Their hearts and minds were numb and beyond the reach of reasoning or pity.
On an airport runway all ready to go like a 707 was a fighter jet plane with an ominous rocket/missile mounted on its nose. The rocket could not be stopped. It could penetrate anything and be shot anywhere. The missile was like a silver metal sliver and it could kill a single person by entering the eye, or wipe out an entire country. There were lots of them.
The Sangha was working day and night in groups I and teams. They were not under the spell and could see the deviant energy of the fly in all its manifestations. We traveled everywhere fighting it and planting good seeds, neutralizing noxious vapors. Our method was the Great Compassion and other mantras. Wherever the Great Compassion Mantra was recited a circle of pure, bright light was produced. The light was sunny and correct, like the colors on the coast after a rainstorm when the sun comes out. The color of the fly-smog was the dense, choking amber of an old photograph, a stuffy attic without windows.
I should be a light for all living be-
ings, and cause them to attain the light
of wisdom which eradicates the gloom of
stupidity. I should be a torch for all
living beings which breaks through the
gloom of ignorance. I should be a lamp
for all living beings and cause them to
dwell in the place of ultimate purity.
-- Avatamsaka Sutra
"Kuan Shih Yin...the Bodhisattva of Great
Compassion, bestows
happiness and plucks out sufferings in miraculous
ways."
Bhikshu Heng Sure
The Sangha was pure light traveling to all places, afraid of nothing. We told people just to sincerely recite the Mantra and "light up their minds, see the nature." The Mantra helped all invisibly. Lots of people had responses to the Da Bei Jo. "Lighting up your heart"--these words registered deep inside and cut through the smog. Wherever it was recited, a clear and wholesome goodness broke through the gloom. All who saw it returned to the good.
We moved around on foot, on bikes and scooters, telling our friends and all with whom we had conditions and affinities. But the fly was huge and our efforts seemed like trying to stop a typhoon with an eyelash. And yet the power of the Mantra was indestructible and unsurpassed.
An electrician teamed-up with us and was able to cross some wires in a panel in the bowels of the radio station. The station looked like an ordinary public service company, but with the electrician's skill we were able to see that inside were the fly, the deviant death rites, the politician and a constant wave of broadcasted evil.
Everyone knew about the fly. But they saw it as auspicious. They were blind to its true nature because they were immersed in the smog. People said, "Oh, groovy, far out--just like science fiction!" They were merging their minds with it like in the mortuary cult. Even though the fly was eating them up and sucking up their lives, they were in a trance and getting off on it. No one could tell right from wrong, true from deviant--they didn't have "true eyes" anymore. The collective blindness was chilling and horrible.
It was all tied together: the fly, the jet-rocket, the radio station, the revolution in the schools, the strange religions and the slick politician. The fly was going into underground missile silos to spawn its eggs. The radio station and mortuary were its nest. Much of what went on was behind the scene. It took the mysterious electrician to penetrate the radio station.
God was like the card-playing fire chief who doesn't notice he's about to be burned by a forest fire. Right below his happy heaven were all these destructive missiles in silos, ready to be shot off. The missile silos looked like organ pipes or art sculpture and no one could see the fly go in and lay its eggs.
The electrician let us listen to the radio announcer say in a polished, sonorous voice, "And remember friends...kill, kill, kill..." Then there was a fade-in to a popular folksinger masking the evil message with a simple song, "This land is your land..." It made it palatable.
There were lots of people engaged in a colorful ceremony hanging themselves. It was a religious group. They were killing themselves in order to obtain some kind of spiritual state and salvation. Death and ignorance were feeding each other. They were in a trance, too, and had no light of wisdom.
When I awoke, my resolve was deepened. Heavy demonic forces and darkness created from bad karma could only be stopped by cultivation. What really counts is the Forty-two Hands and Eyes, the Great Compassion Mantra and the Shurangama Mantra. And most of all, a pure heart--a vast, unselfish, kind and pure heart. That's where the light was coming from in the dream, pure, peaceful, happy people reciting mantras and transferring the benefit to all living beings. The politician had color but no light. It was the color of good food and cosmetics, not the light of wisdom and compassion. The people of goodness in the dream were like little suns of kindness, compassion, joy and giving. Even though our efforts seemed small in the face of big darkness, they were pure and done with big hearts for everyone.
I should be like the sun which shines
universally on everything without seeking
repayment for its kindness. No matter
what kind of evil comes from living beings,
I can handle it. I would never give up
my vows on account of it...
Rather, I vigorously cultivate the
transference of good roots to universally
cause living beings to obtain peace and
happiness.
Even though my good roots may be few,
I gather in all living beings and using
a mind of great happiness, I transfer it
on a vast scale.
If there were good roots and I did not
desire to benefit living beings, this could
not be called transference.
-- Avatamsaka Sutra
Unselfishness and great compassion is where it's at.
Peace in the Dharma,
Disciple Kuo T'ing
(Heng Ch'au)
bows in respect
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