Jizu Mountain and Conclusion
This March I completed the last of China’s great Buddhist sacred sites — Jizu Mountain in Yunnan. The five of us first stayed at a small monastery at the foot of the mountain called Guangfang Temple, and the next day set out for the Huashou Gate. The road was quite rugged. When we arrived at a small temple partway up, everyone was out of breath. I saw written above the temple gate: “All Wishes Granted.” I assumed the monastery must enshrine Guanyin Bodhisattva. Inside, the main statue looked unlike the Guanyin Bodhisattvas usually seen in monasteries. Never mind which Bodhisattva it might be — I will pray. This was the first time, of all the countless monasteries I had visited, that I prayed with complete sincerity, complete reverence, with not a single extraneous thought — praying only that the Bodhisattva would bless my parents with good health, and offering my own merit from practice as a dedication to my parents. Suddenly the statue before me radiated golden light. In the air above appeared the solemn dharma form of Venerable Mahakasyapa. He said: “I will fulfill your wish!” I saw my parents appear in the air above as well. The Venerable used the Eight-Merit-Virtue Water from the foot of the mountain to sprinkle upon their heads, and then the image faded. In that moment I suddenly realized we had already arrived at the Huashou Gate. Indeed, just behind the small temple was the cave in which Venerable Mahakasyapa is said to remain dwelling in samadhi in his preserved body. I sat down quietly outside the cave entrance. In samadhi I saw a dharma protector standing at the cave mouth with a large sword, a white bird perched on his left shoulder. This bird was the Venerable’s messenger, who often guided those with karmic connection to encounter the Venerable. The cave door opened. The dharma protector invited me inside. Walking in, the cave was large. A beam of light slanted down from diagonally above. Following the direction of the light I walked about ten steps and saw Venerable Mahakasyapa — wearing a long gray robe, holding a string of prayer beads, tall, relaxed, and at ease, standing there. He saw me walking in while looking all around and said simply: “Stop looking. There is nothing in my cave. When you leave, walk further up — there is excellent vegetarian food up ahead.” I smiled and turned to leave.
Outside the cave I found myself genuinely hungry. The others in our group were famished too, and everyone sat down at a vegetarian restaurant and ate with unrestrained gusto. We then prepared to make our way back. As I passed through the Huashou Gate I suddenly felt I should say goodbye to the Venerable. I saw Venerable Mahakasyapa emerge from the cave as though setting out on a long journey. I bid him farewell, and he simply raised a hand toward me. Just a wave. My heart felt a little put out. I thought: we have come from so far away to pay our respects to you — surely you could say something, a word of teaching. The Venerable had already understood my thought. He said: “When have you ever come — and when have you ever left?” I stood watching as the Venerable walked away into the distance, and couldn’t help but laugh at my own habitual tendencies and attachments. We are always unable to simply live in the ordinary. We are always reaching out with a grasping mind, hoping to obtain something — failing to understand that the ordinary is the true meaning of the Way. There is neither coming nor going. What was I still lingering over, still attached to?
Here I am reminded of when I first arrived in Guangzhou and went to Nanhua Temple to pay respects to the true preserved body of the Sixth Patriarch. I knelt respectfully before the Sixth Patriarch’s preserved body, prostrated several times, and then stared directly at his image, wanting to see what the Sixth Patriarch looked like. In that moment all three preserved bodies in the hall suddenly became three Bodhisattvas. They looked at me and then smiled at one another. I said: “Greetings, three Bodhisattvas! Sixth Patriarch — I would like to ask: what is the true teaching of the heart transmitted by Bodhidharma from its origin?” The Sixth Patriarch smiled slightly. From within his heart there suddenly radiated a beam of white light that in an instant filled the entire hall. Countless glowing particles swirled through the hall — and in every particle was a character: “heart,” in sizes great and small, beyond number. I was enveloped by a tremendously powerful field, feeling myself slowly dissolving. I became a form of existence — surpassing all things, simply existing — and yet I also felt myself moving with the flowing particles, becoming a kind of joyful movement. Particles and hearts spinning together. I was being purified and washed clean. I don’t know how long it was before I came out of that state. The hall had returned to stillness. The Sixth Patriarch’s preserved body sat upright and proper in its place — no Bodhisattvas, no hearts. I stood up. In the instant of walking out of the hall, a feeling of longing suddenly arose — wanting to turn back and take one more look at the Sixth Patriarch’s preserved body, and a small seed of doubt arose about the experience I had just had. In the very moment I turned my head to look back, I saw the Sixth Patriarch standing behind his own preserved image, lifting one foot and kicking the image off the offering table, and with his other hand tearing away the red curtain draped over his own head. I felt the entire hall shaking, dust falling from the ceiling in clouds. If my heart had lingered even a moment more, I felt the Sixth Patriarch would take the whole hall apart. I turned away and finally walked out with no attachment, no looking back.
My account of the journey of cultivation has reached a resting place here. I have not written about insights or what was gained — I have simply written down what I saw, what I heard, and some of the physiological experiences, as faithfully as I could. Each person, according to their differing root capacities, will have different meditative states and different experiences in practice. And each person is utterly unique — no dharma door is better than another, no one’s journey of practice is more extraordinary than another’s. These ten-some years of practice have simply made me understand more and more deeply what it means to be truly ordinary — and through that understanding, the wildly grasping mind has come to rest, and I work, live, and learn more wholeheartedly and practically, fully present in the here and now, embracing each moment of life with my whole being. For me, open eyes or closed eyes — both are meditative states. This self that is to be cultivated, and that fruit which is to be realized, and the eight states of meditative absorption — these are all just illusory meditative states. If the mind makes no distinction, and moves freely with whatever comes, then you will truly understand the meaning of eternity. I hope every practitioner on this path will not be in a hurry to affirm or deny anything, nor lightly take another person’s result in practice as your own view. Truly choose a dharma door and go deep into it with your whole body and mind. You must taste the Dharma for yourself — only then will you receive its true benefit.
(Conclusion)