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HENG CH’AU: June 29, 1977. An owl’s hooting broke the pre-dawn silence, "Who, who..who..whoo." were the first sounds heard after morning recitation, matching my first thoughts of self. The owl has holding his hua tou (topic of meditation). What was I doing?
The ants again! Devouring the dying and dead flying insects and bugs--victims of morning traffic. After I am devoured who is left and where? What shape? "Who" will be false thinking of "whom" or of lunch or of enlightenment or being devoured? Who?
Are oceans reborn? Water is just a temporary combination of gases, the elements of H20. Originally it’s not wet or visible. Can’t smell, feel, or taste. It just comes from the atmosphere from empty space. What does oxygen or hydrogen look or feel like? Nothing. Our bodies are almost all water-elements combined from nothing, from empty space. Is empty space reborn? When my body goes back to empty space "who" will be where? More and more the boundaries and distinctions break down. The fog--air or water? Where does one begin and another end? "All things level and equal," it’s true.
"Hi. I’ve been watching you everyday. Just wanted to say hi. I really admire what you are doing." A man in his early 50’s. Real genuine and clear, like a young boy who never even thought of giving away his innocence.
Shakyamuni Budha was a person who asked similar questions, cultivated certain practices until he was enlightened and left a method for anybody to do the same. That method and those practices are cultivated at Gold Mountain Monastery and Heng Sure and I are trying our best. We are all very lucky.
Gold Mountain monks bowing through the town,
Bowing through the country, praying on the ground.
How will they ever, ever put it down
Three steps up and one bow down>
One of them is crippled, one of them is blind.
Constantly ahead and constantly behind.
Scared by empty shadows, blinded by his "I,"
Forever they are bowing the pilgrimage inside. Lunch test at noon. Trancas Market. Fail, buy food. Van won’t start. "Everything’s a test…"
Every day they’re tested, every day the fail.
Eight winds are always blowing and they can’t control their sails.
Their boat is full of leaks but they can’t turn back for shore
They vowed to cross over and then come back for me…
…With Dharma friends and teacher
Riding vows made long before:
"Together crossing over, always coming back for more."
Always coming back for me.
The reason for so much writing: 1) safety valve on the pressure cooker--all this new energy, takes patience and time to smelt. It’s still an outflow but better than anger or other more physical releases. 2) way station. I did so much "leaving home" in such a short time. Writing is a way of centering until I can wean away to "no replying, no dwelling."