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HENG CH’AU: May 19, 1977. Feel like I’ve taken something on--cramps, lower back pain, eye irritation, diarrhea--can’t think straight. Hoping the press doesn’t show up. I am inarticulate and muddy. I feel like I could not handle an interview. Case of fire gone up--yin gone down? Need to sit more to balance new surge of ch’i I feel. Have been irregular with Ch’an on the trip. It’s hard to fit everything in. The vibes in this area of Wilshire are subtle but heavy. Such pomp and pretense over money, power, prestige--unquestioned and undoubted. The contrast here is the most pronounced. All the things we rejected (clothes, hair, appearances, money, sex, display and consumption) are heralded and cultivated. Stepping out of our rusty beat-up van between a Cadillac and a Rolls Royce with two manicured poodles starting blankly at us…

One upasika keeps insisting that we are in the best neighborhood now. “All nice beautiful buildings like this the rest of the way.” Heng Sure and I see it differently.

There is an anesthesia here, dulling and veering people’s eyes and hearts. We are like smelling salts and the treated respond to us like iodine to an open cut. The twelve conditioned links and the four truths are all hidden, carefully kept out. Only young handsome secretaries and men are hired. Sensual delights everywhere. No old people, no poor people, no dead animals or even dying trees. Lots of green, artificial grass. No edge, no challenge. Sit back, relax and enjoy. Who’s steering the ship and where are we going?

“We are riding on a railroad singing someone else’s song.” Come OneHeart: May 20, 1977 (Heng Ch'au)

Home >  Inspire >  One Heart >  May 20, 1977 (Heng Ch'au)

HENG CH’AU: May 20, 1977. Yesterday shao-lin was really powerful. I felt a surge of ch’i and power like never before.

When your mind is moved by states, the precepts keep a perimeter around you. This is the palace, the Imperial Court of America. Emperors of old never had palaces like the multi-national corp. plazas, fountains, closed cirsuit T.V., security fences, entertainment…Man on bicycle stops and watches us carefully. He is not disapproving--open. As we get closer he places his palms together in prayer as we pass. Then he rides off into the smog.

Bowing states: What a wonderful, honest, and free thing to be--a monk! Passing through the smog my nose gets clogged and I can’t smell too well. The constant drone of traffic smothers other sounds; the sidewalk is one homogeneous spread:

What happens when the wind stops?

In the center of movement, stillness.

In the center of sights, blindness.

In the center of sound, deafness.

Enclosed in scents, flat. Skin and sidewalk blend without distinction. From cold ashes the fire is kindled and the light warms and illumines all directions. Which is moving, the flag or the wind? What happens then when they both stop?

When I am bowing low to the ground, completely vulnerable, I feel totally safe and ok. With all my martial arts training and experience, bowing s number one kung fu. When prostrated, everything is ok. Sock me, stab me, spit or swear--it’s all the same. No problem. I must be crazy, but it’s then that I feel safe and contented from my guts out. They don’t teach that in martial arts yet.

Fiery, hostile people harass us. “What the hell you doin’?” “I saw you peek at me!” “Go do that in a church.” “Stop disgracing people!” “You’re going to be arrested.” More anger. “What are you doing? Stop it!” Screaming, wailing, mad laughing. All those years working in mental hospitals takes some of the edge off these jabs. When it gets real thick I imagine us in fire. Pretty hard to start a lake on fire. They throw matches into the fire.

We’ve noticed that when situations start getting sticky, either a bus arrives and takes a crowd away or at least eight or nine times fire trucks have come roaring by, diverting the storm. Most interesting is a wonderfully refreshing cool breeze from the West that seems to sedate and mellows us and our antagonists. Through all of this we keep bowing and getting stronger and trying harder to plug our leaks and laugh at ourselves.

Prairie Dog Town

In the Badlands there are prairie dog towns. They are hug communities of tunneled burroughs where hundred of prairie dogs live. As you approach, the sentry stands on his hind legs and squeaks an alarm. Everybody then pops up to check the scene at a safe distance. The, like disappearing dominoes, they drop out of sight as you walk through. Once past, they pop up again and watch you leave. People gather in huge, clucking assemblies ahead of us. As we get closer, they scatter into the store, houses, and behind curtains to peek out. When they pass they swarm back to talk, stare laugh and wonder. Always they stare and always they wonder, just as predictably as we bow. Our schedule: 4:00-5:00 morning recitation 2:20-3:20 bow 5:00-6:00 t’ai chi 3:20-3:40 rest 6:00-7:00 meditation 3:40-4:40 bow 7:00-8:00 bow 4:40-5:00 rest 8:00-8:20 rest 5:00-5:45 bow 8:20-9:20 bow 5:45-6:00 transfer merit and close 9:20-9:40 rest 6:00-7:00 meditation, clean up repairs, etc. 9:40-10:30 bow 7:00-9:30 evening recitation lecture 10:30-11:30 study and write 11:30-12:30 lunch break 12:30-1:00 clean up, read 1:00-2:00 bow 2:00-2:20 rest Question: “What are you bowing to?” Answer: “To everything, everybody.” Question: “To Allah?” Answer: “No, to you.” (afterthought: Yea, to Allah too. It’s all the same. Everywhere in everyone is the Buddhanature.)

When we started bowing, its hard to explain but we are enclosed in a magic circle. Everything stops and nothing bothers or disturbs. The circle is open to sincere questions and honest comers but closes out troublemakers and the clowns. Really inconceivable. While bowing I saw Kuan Yin Bodhisattva and for some reason tears welled up. Why?

We decided to all bow to Shih Fu when laypeople want to bow to us. At this carpeted ultra-modern bank building with outside elevators there was a circle of people and two monks bobbing up and down and mumbling. A man got off the elevator and froze in disbelief and shock. “This is the 20th century America! Is nothing sacred--not even banks?”

Heng Sure is learning to use a straightedge. Less wasteful of metal (blades) and less danger to the men who mine the ore eventually. Not necessarily less danger to Heng Sure.