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Sunday, July 1, 1979
Above Russian Creek north of Jenner, California
Dear Shih Fu,
As your way progresses, the tests increase. As the saying goes:
The Way grows an inch,
the demons grow a foot.
The Way grows a foot,
the demons
are already on top.
Venerable Abbot
May, 1979
Olema, California
New territory and new tests. We have entered steep, winding mountain roads that rise up from the cliffs on the coast. It's a little like Big Sur.
Yesterday a car-full of very strange men and women in long white robes stopped. "What group are you with?" one demanded. I gave them a hand- out. "Have you met Christ's family?" asked another in a hostile and aggressive voice. Today another car pulled up while we bowed, "You ought to try Taoism...yes, or try drugs," said a man. Then he got really angry and screamed, "You guys are losers!" He tossed a rock. It missed.
At the end of the day, we were bowing on the top of a road that winds down a steep canyon, crosses Russian Gulch, and then turns into a series of switchbacks up a mountain on the other side of the canyon. It's very spacious and quiet--no towns or houses. I suddenly notice two men watching us from behind some bushes on the slope of the hill to our right. Way below on a deserted beach someone yells up to us. Heavy winds drown out the words. We bow and do transference and start back for camp. From behind, a young man comes running up the road, "Hey, followers!" he shouts at us. He catches up and asks what we are doing. "Living off the land?" he asks. I indicate we don't talk and give him a handout. He doesn't read it. Something comes over him and he suddenly gets very angry and threatening.
"Lips sealed, huh?" he challenges. "You should be Christian. This isn't the way. You're wrong...all wrong." He's working himself into a frenzy of hate. We keep walking back to the car, as there is no reasoning with him.
"You're stupid, really stupid!" he screams. His whole face and body are out of control, like he's possessed. He starts throwing rocks with an intense violence. "You guys are on the wrong road. You're headed toward death." By now the rocks are coming fast and heavy--about the size of softballs. They're smashing all around us on the asphalt. Even though he's real close, the rocks keep missing us. He's not the least bit shy or holding back. He's throwing the biggest rocks he can find as hard as he can. What to do?
When we get to the car, the two men who appeared earlier in the bushes on the hill walk up. "Hey, our car broke down. Could you give us a ride to the nearest phone?" they ask. The young man who is heaving rocks has come back with his friends. They're loaded up with rocks and heading our way.
"Which way?" I ask the two men.
"That way," they say, pointing in the opposite direction of the charging young men.
"Okay. Hop in."
The car starts, then it dies. "Namo Kuan Shih Yin Fu Sa." I try it again. It starts. We turn around and head toward Jenner. The rocks are crashing all around. Out of the rear mirror we see them throwing on the run, chasing the car as we pull away. The road is covered with broken rocks. No hits to us or the car.
"Hey, they were throwing rocks at you, huh?" laughs one of the men in the back seat. I nod. They're only kids," he says in a kind and understanding voice. I recall this verse we heard the Master recite as the way to be when facing adversity.
The Old Fool wears second-hand
clothes
And fills his belly with tasteless
food,
Mends holes to make a cover against
the cold,
And thus the myriad affairs of life,
According to what comes, are done.
Scolded, the Old Fool merely says,
"Fine."
Struck, the Old Fool falls down to
sleep.
"Spit in my face, I just let it dry;
I save my strength and energy
and give you no afflictions,"
Paramita is his style.
He gains the Jewel within the Wonderful.
Know this news and then
What worry is there of not
perfecting the Way?
Sing this song and you can't go wrong. But the Old Fool's song isn't what I've been singing. The way of the Old Fool is new to me. I was brought up in the culture of the "fighting Irish" and Manifest Destiny. I am so used to fighting and winning, it's really hard to sit back and take insult, suffering, slander, and loss. It's equally hard not to be pleased by praise, smiles, benefit, and success. One pleases me, the other I can't bear. Wanting the sweet and not being able to take the bitter are both a kind of suffering. Being free is: seeking nothing, fearing nothing. But it takes practice.