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
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.
About Awakin Circles
Awakin circles started when three friends got together in 1996 to sit in silence, every Wednesday, in an ordinary living room in Silicon Valley. Instead of closing the door, they left it open ... to all. The rest, as they say, is history.
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