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HENG CH’AU: May 30, 1977. When I see the most clearly there are no words. Sometimes I can tell a little of the feeling, the state behind the silence: the only thing that seem "real," not cartoons or mirages floating by on clouds, are (1) the Avatamsaka Sutra. It feels like home; like a true friend who really knows me in and out without asking or judging. (2) little openings into "my own" wisdom, which really isn’t mine. It’s difficult to explain. It’s a place inside and beyond "me" that merges with the friend of the Sutra. The Thus Come One and "I” are the same, but there is no "I." It’s here that my identity spins out and I feel like some kind of rag doll without boundaries or form. One false thought and "I" is back in the movie on Wilshire Boulevard.
Ode to a Cultivator (apologies to Christopher Robin and Pooh)
"If I were a bird that lived on high
I’d lean on the wind, when the wind came by
I’d say to the wind as it took me away
Now that’s where I wanted to go today!"
Freedom--"getting away from it all" "hitting the road” "Let’s get out of here”--freedom is America’s biggest and oldest resource. Everybody knows that. Say "freedom" and people say the U.S. and it’s always "out there” or just a "little further." The more we worship it the less we really enjoy. And not a few Americans are sorely coming to the realization that no amount of campers, clothes, money, snowmobiles, "a place in the mountains," airplanes, or vacations satisfies the itch for freedom. But to be like the bird is hard for Westerners--you’ve got to be light; without attachments. You can’t fly with a T.V., Winnebago, two dogs, and a couple of cocktails or a couple of "hits."
The wind is the Way. It you can put down the false, the empty, and the heavy, then the wind can take you "where you want to go." The pure land is your land; it’s my land. From California…and it’s made for you and me.
We can’t fly with greed, hatred, and stupidity. Trade in your afflictions for some wings (morality, concentration, and wisdom) and let the wind take you away. Stupid? Maybe, but out here bowing along the sidewalks of dream city we can feel a pulse, we can see the faces and feel the longing. People are getting hungry for some meaning, something real to shake the nightmare. It’s just a question of time and a single thought.
We saw it in the hesitating fascinated faces of two men our age who stopped to ask. What did they see? Why did they wonder and come out right in the middle of their lunch in a restaurant? They with their L.A. Fabion haircuts, shiny shoes, were slick, but they couldn’t cover their curiosity. The empty macho crap that usually kills honest talk cracked for a minute and we were just boys, brothers, sharing feelings and wishes you learn later to smother and hide as men. For a minute there was a "letting go" and everybody was touched.
Sunday morning early, bowing alone through fancy Beverly Hills/Westwood. I was suddenly filled with greed and fantasies of myself in the big houses driving the biggest cars, golfing at the finest country clubs, running with the handsome dog, escorting the finest women--all these photos flashed in y mind at once. I recoiled immediately, saw the state, and felt how foreign it was to the environment of bowing, counting, reciting the Sutra’s name, and learning to use my energy. The desire thoughts came like a sudden wind, invaded my head like a piece of sky falling through the house roof. I continued to bow and said to myself "The thing to do with these foreign, uninvited, and afflicting desirous thoughts is to have patience with your mind, have compassion on your poor tired little head and turn those thoughts into defiled wisdom." So I have gave up my alarm at the presence of the defiled idea, I resolved to concentrate on the bowing, and left the thoughts take care of themselves. I put all my faith into the principle of unmoving thusness. To help the situation I stood at one point and said, "I don’t want any of those foolish attachments. They are impermanent and not meant for me. I am not interested. Take my name off the list. I want freedom from all of that, freedom from real afflictions, freedom over birth and death and I will get it this time." As I made this vow, the thoughts vanished, my head cleared on the next bow and I continued working and pacing along as before. Smooth Sailing
One of the laypersons, an L.A. resident for many years, told us at the start of the trip: "You will have a rough time at first going through these tough neighborhoods but once your clear Lincoln Heights things will improve a lot, you’ll see. It’ll be smooth sailing from then on." We did have to work our way through Lincoln Heights, but we found the people open, honest and easy to impress with our bowing. When we reached the "good" neighborhoods, however, we found a lot of repressed, latent hostility, a kind of flash-point, unpredictable violence right on the edge of exploding. Ultimately the various streets are all the same, some people bless us, some curse us, but the quality of the response in the fancy neighborhoods was in no way better or "smoother sailing" than in the poorer ones.
In fact you could say, the first leg of the trip was rough but wait until get to the coast, then it will be "smooth sailing."
The coast highway was deserted and that starvation and dehydration was rough but wait till you get to San Francisco, then it will be okay, you’ll see. Smooth sailing.
Well, the shots they fired at you in San Francisco were hard to take but wait till you get to the City of Ten Thousand Buddhas, then it will all be okay. Just wait. Smooth sailing.
You’re still cultivating back at the monastery, but wait till you get enlightened, then you’ll see how good it can be. It’ll all the smooth sailing.
If you think the Saha world was tough, wait’ll but wait till you get transferred to another corner of the Dharmarealm to start over again as a Bodhisatta, then it will be smooth sailing.
North, south, east, west, when you truly let go. It’s all okay. When you untie yourself from your afflictions then even if you don’t have a boat, it’s all smooth sailing.
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There will come a time in America when the Sangha member’s robe and sash will bring smiles to the faces of old people. When the Buddhist principles of filiality and reverence towards seniors and elders are well-known in this country, old people will be glad in their hearts to see a left-home person approach. They will not be afraid, they will not be upset. To see two monks bowing down the sidewalk will remind them of the compassion of the Buddha and they will be at peace with their age and their future. Amitabha! Let it be so !
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As a student I often dreamed of freedom from classrooms, tests, assignments, and schedules. I fancied a life of an artist, a traveler, an athlete, a writer, someone who had the whole world before him and when he woke up he could set his face towards any direction and be totally there, free and alive. I wanted most of all to be working for the present moment, to be as good as I could be right now right here. To not eternally be preparing, treading water, passing time, waiting to grow up. Freedom then was to pass beyond the classroom doors, to climb the staircase and walk away.
Now I live in a world beyond books and schedules, beyond bells and grades. In my new world everything’s a test. I am invited, urged to be my best every minute. I am as free as I can be right now. Am I happy? I’m the only judge. I can choose to pass or fail my own tests.
Free to walk anywhere at any speed, I chose to pace north, three steps and one bow later, I stand up and take three more steps. I have external restriction than a school boy waiting for the bell to end class but the difference? Ah, the difference. When the bell rings on this class that I’m enrolled in voluntarily, I can graduate from the school of living beings, and that degree, my friend, is worth having.