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HENG CH’AU: June 8, 1977. Bowing along bluffs overlooking the ocean in Santa Monica. Lots of people out jogging, old people strolling and taking in the salt air-quiet. The presence of the ocean subdues and smoothens the roughness. People here are tolerant abut distant. Lots of conversations follow in the bowing wake. "Buddhists I think. Do they believe in the things of this world?" "Was the Buddha ever in Ireland?" "They’re praying." What do you know about Buddhist beliefs about death and afterlife?" All among themselves. Really nice to hear. More and more people recognize us as Buddhists.
Dreams last night: I am more and more alone, by myself, without friends. Contacts with my family are transitional: giving them my clothes and things as I prepare to leave for religious life=a long journey to a foreign country. Everything is unexpected and of the moment, unpredictable. My moorings and old identity are breaking up and molting. Woke up with a feeling and vision of a kind of craziness that comes with spring after a long, cold winter. Suddenly one is alone in the middle of a kind of craziness that comes with spring after a long, cold winter. Suddenly one is alone in the middle of exploding growth and change. Newness all over and nothing is like it was or fixed. Get this feeling--"Growth takes place at the tip, furthest extreme pf the plant"--literally out on a limb--of being alone right now surrounded with unexplored and unlimited new paths and potential is itself familiar. Everything is alive and budding. Where is the "who" of me? For a flash I could have been a true, flower, blade of grass, spirit, or just an invisible eye watching this time belonging nowhere, to on one, to it all and nothing. Too soon to tell but winter is over and it will be ok, as it must, in the letting go and finding.
We still haven’t found a way to avoid stepping on so many bugs and ants. Along with all sorts of vivid recollections of all the bad karma that has and continues to come from my body, my mouth, and my heart, the bugs are a constant reminder of how much harm and suffering my actions cause.
It seems when it’s quietest outside it’s deafening inside. Bowing along this serene, foggy misted coast park you’d think concentrating would come easy. But for some reason my mad mind churned at a high RPM trying to remember names of old acquaintances, favorite foods, past romances, my family. Some were "good" false thoughts and some were "bad." It didn’t seem to matter. The point was they kept coming and coming, just like the waves breaking and crashing to our left on the beach below. Constant motion: the ocean and my mind. To stop the "mad mind," I can’t imagine. "Patience, patience, got to have patience." It’s at this point I can feel it wanting to shoot out. The energy and tension builds and if I don’t pay close attention to it, anger pops out or my eyes start wandering to sight, my ears notice and dwell on sounds-I can feel irritability and impatience. The "fire" goes up and out if I’m sloppy and then more bad karma is set in motion
In some ways bowing through ghetto gangs and hostile construction crews is easier than through a peaceful park. Outside danger forces total concentration; outside pleasant, inside free to fill with garbage.
We drove ahead to check out the road. Sheer cliffs on one side and private beach houses and menacing signs. Like this all the way to Malibu and maybe further. Reluctantly we decide to keep the van for a van. "Don’t force it…accord with conditions."
A Connection
When people ridicule or laugh I started to just pretend they were my teacher laughing and scolding me for my arrogance and laziness.
"Others’ faults are just your own" took on some meaning for me: when I criticize others all I am doing is showing my own faults. That is, to put others down is just to put yourself up. Arrogance and pride. Also what I tend to criticize and be bothered by others is usually what I would like to cover over in myself.
Just now bowing down a narrow crooked street in Santa Monica another connection "synced." All sorts of déjà vus stated flooding and somehow it was clear that literally "others" and "myself" were the same. In a real, physical every-which-way there is no separation, no such thing as individuals--the connection and sameness is there, but I had never seen it because of something false that thinks "me." "Others’ faults are just your own" means exactly that. Stretch the time and space dimension and there it is. How simple. I’m crying.
This was preceded by seeing y parents in lots of people today, a scolding from my teacher and from Heng Sure, and the compassion behind it all. Vairocana’s body all.
How can you "yourself" cultivate the Way when ultimately there is no self?
"Use the false to cultivate the true."
There’s so much to learn about being a monk--deportment, rules, ceremonies, when to speak, when to shut up, who to talk with, who to avoid. It all comes hard and slow. Usually I learn quickly but here it’s not simply a question of imitating but of transforming. In other words, the understanding has to come from within. Can’t fake it. The heart and mind have to change. And that takes time, a good teacher, work, and patience. In the meantime, I blunder along slopping mistake upon gross error. I’m surprised I haven’t been wiped out by now. A phony monk will be transparent to anyone, especially himself.
After lunch the hoots and hollers began again. "Hey you guys want a joint?" The police (L.A. County) stopped to watch but didn’t question us. A lot of little miniature dogs came charging up to their fences as we passed doing their guard duties in pink ribbons. And everybody jogs here, I’ve never seen so many joggers ever before. From the time we get up until we fall asleep we hear the constant footfalls of tennis shoes and huffing all around us. People are pretty mellow here and we went through like a trickle of water along the gutter after a light rain. Hurricane karma rages within.
Lunch offering by two upasikas who drove and $10 gas money.