given by Nomon Tim Burnett
San Juan Island Retreat
September 20, 2003
Good morning. Thank you for coming to sit today. The point I want to bring up this morning is that our way of practice is the way of mutual support. This is an easy point to make at the first retreat of the sangha here on San Juan. There is no way a retreat like this can happen without cooperation and mutual support. It might be possible to make the arrangements for a retreat like this with a narrow or mean spirit I suppose, but then we wouldn’t really be able to sit together with a good spirit like we are this morning. No, to really have a good retreat, and to really have a sincere and useful practice as part of your life the only way is to open up to the mutual support and cooperative spirit of practicing in a sangha. So it’s very clear that has happened here and I really appreciate it. This is a rare and beautiful thing to do together, and believe me I know very well that it takes a lot of effort, a lot of just plain work, a lot of interpersonal work, many compromises, and a lot of dedication.
In our culture we really value being first. And that’s okay, we can enjoy together the delight and poingancy of sitting down together for the first dharma talk of the first Zen retreat on San Juan Island. Let’s hope it’s the beginning of many years of practice here in this beautiful place. But of course the excitement of new beginnings is just a temporary little boost we get at the beginning. Really to be useful and helpful in our life and to the world our practice can’t be only about beginning, it has to be about continuing. Suzuki-roshi taught that our way is the way of continuous practice. Fundamentally our practice has no beginning, no middle, and no end. There is just this. This moment. This breath. This opportunity to recommit ourselves to our life just as it is. And this moment of practice continues endlessly.
And we all know that continuing something, day in and day out, is the real challenge of our life. Continuing our working life, day after day. Continuing our relationships, day in and day out regardless of how delighted or grumpy we happen to feel about the other person. Continuing our sitting practice, sitting regularly at home as best we can whether we feel like it or not. This spirit of continuing, unlike the excitement of beginnings, is not as well supported in our American culture, you know? You don’t see commercials that feature people getting up and doing the same old thing every day, you see commercials of new things you can buy to make your life fresh and new and exciting.
This lack of cultural support for continuous practice is another reason why we really do need sangha. And sangha doesn’t have to be some big & grand thing as you are discovering here on San Juan. It can be a small group of people who come together to sit for an hour once a week. This doesn’t sound like much on the face of it, but as you are finding it is a huge thing. An important thing. And something well worth continuing. In some ways it’s better to be in a really small sangha because it’s so obvious how essential every person is. And since you know you are essential you show up whether you feel like it or not. I always feel like being in a sangha is a good way to harness the power of embarrassment. I think part of what’s help me keep up my practice over the years is that I would be much too embarrassed to stop now!
Another support to practice is to take our inspiration from the tradition itself. Zen has a great reverence for our ancestors in the Way. We have the beautiful idea of a long chain of people learning from each other, teacher to student, passing on a lived understanding of Buddha’s way. We say that some deep understanding has been transmitted from open hand to open heart, from one generation of practitioners to the next. A long chain of ancestors stretching back from today to Shakyamuni Buddha, and if you get into the more cosmological aspects of it all, even further back to all kinds of other buddhas of this world and many other worlds as well.
So we can study the literature of Zen and learn about our ancestors, get some feeling for the way they practiced and what their understanding was. And we can take some guidance and some inspiration from our Zen ancestors as we find our own way of practice within our own life conditions. Not that we hope to be exactly like them. And also not that we idealize them, thinking that those were the good old days and now we are probably too busy and too confused to be anywhere near as sharp as they were. Just as I say to take some inspiration, a little guidance, and I think most importantly to allow these old stories to come alive in our life today.
This morning I want to bring up some stories of Dongshan. Dongshan Liangjie was a ninth century Chinese Zen master who is credited as the founder of the Chan school which became Soto Zen when it moved to Japan many years later. Of course I don’t think he ever thought to himself, "oh I know, I’ll found a new school of Zen," that was decided later. The history of Chinese Zen includes a great deal of organizing things after the fact. I think we share that strong tendency with the Chinese Zen scholars of the Sung dynasty in China - we like things organized and tidy. So later on they decided that he had founded the Soto school. I don’t know if he did anything so radically different from his teacher, Yunyan, or not, but that’s what we say today: he founded the school. In any case he certainly comes across as a wonderful and insightful practitioner. And one who really embodies the spirit of mutual support that I’m trying to talk about.
The traditional way of learning about the understanding of these old masters in Zen is through koan study. People think that in the Soto school we don’t care about koans, that’s only those toughs in the Rinzai school who work with koans. But actually is just a matter of working with koans in different ways. Because of the way koans and the idea of a koan we first introduced to America that is a huge amount of confusion about them which I won’t have time to go into too much right now. For sure they are not some kind of puzzle to figure out, I have to at least say that much. They are actually just stories. Important stories. Seminal stories. Highly polished stories. And they are always stories of interaction. And out of the interaction in the koan arises a non-conceptual feeling for the actual nature of reality.
And since the reality these koan stories point to is non-conceptual we do find them a little puzzling at first. This makes sense right? We usually understand things with our minds by connecting things together into ideas and concepts. If actual reality is beyond concepts and these stories are bringing up this reality, we aren’t always going to be able to make a conventional sort of sense from them. And part of the genius of the Zen koan literature is that even though koans don’t always make sense to us in this conventional way, somehow as you read them, think about them, and sit with them there is a deep sort of feeling of really making sense. A kind of making sense that’s deeper than our usual idea of it. Something beyond our little selves. What kind of sense does the exhalation mean? It’s that kind of thing.
And there is no need to freak out too much about figuring out ultimate reality. Ultimate reality takes care of itself. Our job is to just keep working with our mind. To just keep paying attention. Attentive on each breath. Attentive on the waves of emotion, the waves of desire, the waves of aversion. Sitting as still as we can in the middle of the tempest that’s brewing inside our head. Studying koans, or sitting zazen, is not really about figuring something out. It’s more like developing an appreciation for the way things are beyond our ability to figure things out. So now I’ve probably got everyone quite worried about this koan - sorry about that. So procede anyway.
This is case 49 from the on of the major koan collections called the Book of Serenity: Dongshan Presents Offerings Before the Image.
There is an introductory verse:
It can’t be depicted, can’t be drawn - Puhua just turned a flip, Longya just showed half his body. Ultimately, who is in what state?
And the case itself:
As Dongshan was presenting offerings before the image of Yunyan, he retold a story from before about depicting reality. A monk came forward and said, "When Yunyan said, ‘Just this is it,’ what did he mean?"
Dongshan said, "At that time I nearly misunderstood my late teacher’s meaning."
The monk said, "Did Yunyan himself know it or not?"
Dongshan said, "If he didn’t know it is, how could he be able to say this? If he did know it is, how could he be willing to say this?"
These stories are highly referential, so the first part is referring to a story you’re probably just supposed to know if you are a well educated Chan monk. Yunyan was Dongshan’s transmission teacher, and the story is that Dongshan asked him towards the end of their time together, "After your death, if someone asks me if I can describe your reality, how shall I reply?" After a while, Yunyan said, "Just this is it." Dongshan was lost in thought for a minute and Yunyan told him, "You are in charge of this great matter; you must be most thoroughgoing."
Then Dongshan went on a walk to ponder all of this, which seems like a good plan, wouldn’t you go on a walk at this point? And he very famously saw his reflection in the river and had a great awakening experience.
One of the aspects of this literature that’s a little confusing at first is that it seems like these guys were constantly popping off and getting hugely enlightened. Left and right: the teacher says the right thing and BAMMO the student is totally enlightened. It’s a little intimidating to read this stuff. I mean, what’s wrong with us?
But the thing to remember as how highly condensed these stories are. They were written down, but they were also a kind of oral literature that the monks would all learn and talk about. So the stories had to be short, and it was understood that one story like this one about Dongshan’s enlightenment implies many, many years of steady practice with lots of support and instruction. I don’t know if it’s recorded how old Dongshan was when he had this experience by the river, but we do know that he started exploring the dharma as a young boy.
As a boy he heard the village priest chanting the Heart Sutra, just as we will chant the Heart Sutra in a few hours. And when he heard the part about "no eye, no ear, no nose, no tongue, no body, no mind..." he said to the priest, "But I have eyes, ears, a nose and so on. Why does this sutra say there is none?" That’s a good question, don’t you think? So the dumbfounded priest sent him off to a monastery to study, and some years later at the age of twenty-one he ordained as a monk and started a full-time career of Zen practice. So anyway it does take more than one little interview with the right teacher and a walk by the river.
This kind of misinterpretation of koans is probably part of what led us to the sort of cultic idea of the Zen Master who can dispel all of our delusions with one clever witty saying. And some people get caught up in that kind of idea and drift from teacher to teacher, from practice to practice, trying to get someone else to enlighten them. Such a person can be quite vulnerable to manipulation and cultic stuff, but that’s another topic.
We do need teachers, definitely. And probably if you really want to get into it you need to eventually build a strong relationship with one primary teacher to go to for guidance and support in your practice. But the teacher can’t really give you any understanding. The teacher can help turn you for sure. I can’t tell you how many times I have been deeply convinced of some hair-brained idea or other and I went in to meet with my teacher in the dokusan room. A lot of times just sitting down to start talking my ideas would evaporate and my understanding would deepen just a little. And if I am really confused he will usually say something that help’s me realize my own confusion. Sitting with a teacher you have come to really know and trust, especially within the context of a meditation retreat, can be a very deep form of intimacy and mutual support. A very key part of the Zen style of practice and training.
Getting back to the case:
As Dongshan was presenting offerings before the image of Yunyan, he retold a story from before about depicting reality. A monk came forward and said, "When Yunyan said, ‘Just this is it,’ what did he mean?"
So Dongshan had just performed a memorial ceremony for his teacher, one does this every month on the day of the month that the teacher died, and this inspired him to tell this story about his meeting with his teacher many years previously. And one of his students asks him what did he mean by "this is is it" teacher?
And Dongshan replied: "At that time I nearly misunderstood my late teacher’s meaning."
A very humble reply. It suggests that "I have had really had to work with this saying." And this is in fact a great saying to work with. You could try working with it during these next periods of zazen if you feel like it. On the exhalation, saying to yourself "Just this is it." Just this is it. Just this is it. And ultimately you don’t need to consciously bring up those words, you can just breathe into the feeling of just this. Just this is it.
The monk in this story is really our stand-in. He is there asking for us. And he can inspire us with his honesty and forthrightness. He didn’t understand so he asked. And then he misses completely Dongshan’s suggestion that he work with "Just this is it", as I’m sure I would have too, but he doesn’t just get embarrassed and clam up. Instead he keeps asking and he tries another tack. Well, he says, did your teacher understand what he meant by "just this is it"?
The monk said, "Did Yunyan himself know it or not?"
And Dongshan’s reply is very beautiful once you get used to the style of this literature, you can appreciate it I think.
Dongshan said, "If he didn’t know it is, how could he be able to say this? If he did know it is, how could he be willing to say this?"
In other words, I respect my teacher’s deep understanding too much to try to pin this down. You can’t say it meant this exactly. And you can’t say it didn’t mean this exactly. He’s saying Yanyan himself was constantly working with "just this is it" - that Yanyan had complete confidence in the dharma so he could say it, but he also had a deep understanding and knew that there is nothing that really can be said.
This dialectic is a really fundamental one in Zen. The universe is vast and wide. Our brains, as incredible and sophisticated and clever as they are, can’t sum up the universe and organize it into some sensible idea. Definitely we can deepen our understanding for how things are, for how our mind works, and settle a little more deeply into our life, but on the other hand we can never really understand how things are in our usual way of approaching understanding something. And out of that acceptance of not-knowing comes peace and some freedom to just be.
And this is not a process we can undertake on our own to any useful effect. If we try to make practice into something I do for myself, by myself, to get something for myself it gets twisted into just another desire, just another project to busy ourselves with, just another unfulfilled goal. Sitting becomes one more thing on our list - darn it! didn’t get around to that today. It becomes just one more thing to feel guilty about, or inadequate about, or prideful about depending on our particular personality.
If instead we take up the practice together with others. With a spirit of mutual support, we can let go a little more of our own desires. We can practice with others, realizing that our showing for practice benefits them and their showing up for practice benefits us. And that by practicing together we benefit everyone around us in a great circle like ripples on a pond.
I’ll close with another story about Dongshan - at least I think this was Dongshan, if I have mixed him up with someone else I apologize. As Dongshan was leaving Yanyan for good to go off on a pilgrimage which would eventually result in founding his own center, Yanyan said to him, "Now that you are going it will be hard to meet." Dongshan replied, "It will be hard not to meet."
"Now that you are going it will be hard to meet." "It will be hard not to meet." We can meet in this deep way. We really can. And from this meeting itself, awakening arises. Please let’s continue practicing for this last short time together, but with the faith that even after we part we will still be meeting, over and over again.
Thank you very much.
Resident Priest Nomon Tim Burnett has been a student of Zoketsu Norman Fischer since 1987 when he was a resident at San Francisco Zen Center's Green Gulch Farm. After sitting practice periods at Green Gulch and Tassajara Zen Monastery, Tim helped found the Bellingham Zen Practice Group in 1991. Tim was ordained as a Zen Priest by Norman in June, 2000. Like his teacher, Tim is interested in the possibility of deep and complete practice by lay people.
A person of wide-ranging professional interests, Tim has been a botanist, elementary schoolteacher, writer, and computer programmer. In addition to his work at the Resident Priest of Red Cedar Zen Community, Tim works as a software developer.