I'd just like to welcome you back to the St. Center, the City Center, the students, a very long time ago here, and it's wonderful to see you back, it's wonderful to have you back. Thank you. It's also a bit of a plug that we used, you know, in the last work, the spiritual work, spirituality and practice in the workplace, a wonderful book. And it's going to be another book coming out, which I'm looking very much forward to, and I hope that you'll come back and talk with us about it. Okay, thank you, thank you. Yeah, I'm Lou Richmond, I really am. And I used to be here a long time ago. I don't think I've really given a Dharma talk in this hall for about 20 years, but it doesn't seem so long, really, it looks pretty much the same. A few more statues, maybe.

[01:06]

Some of these statues, I was part of the process of buying them, like that stone statue up there. I was telling Michael, oh, I'm recording this for a friend. I don't know if everybody realizes how unusual that statue is. It comes from Afghanistan, you know, Gandhara. Gandhara is Afghanistan, which was a great center of Buddhism. In the first place that statues of the Buddha were made, and they were made because of the Greeks. The Greeks had statues of their gods, Apollo in particular. And when the Buddhists in that area saw that, they kind of got into that and they started making statues, as you can see, with a western face and that looked kind of like Apollo, although they're sitting like a Buddha. So it's kind of an Apollo Buddha.

[02:08]

And if that thing is an authentic original, there's no museum, I think, anywhere in the world, except maybe in Afghanistan before they destroyed all the statues in the museums that's as good as that. So I hope you all appreciate it, it's beautiful. I haven't seen it in a long time, so it's nice to see it. It's kind of like an old friend. How am I doing voice-wise? Everybody feel like I'm mumbling? Well, I thought coming in here, the old familiar drive from Marin County, I don't know any of these people I'm going to be talking to. I have no idea who they are or why they're here or anything or how long you've been here. And it's a little hard for me to rattle on without knowing that, because unlike most types of lectures or sermons or whatever,

[03:12]

in the school of Buddhism that we practice, it's very direct. So I'm kind of interested to find out. So let's see, who's here for the first time today? Anybody? A couple, yeah. Who's been doing this thing for, let's say, a year or less? Aha, now it begins to, how about five years or less? Okay, any five years or more? All right, good mix. Well, usually, and I guess today, Thea told me there's something going on in the dining room, so we do question and answer here. So I want to start modulating your legs accordingly, although when the questions start, it's perfectly all right with me. In fact, it's all right now if you want to just put your knees up.

[04:16]

I'm not sure you'll get any great benefit from that. You'll get greater benefit from my words by having your legs crossed, but that's up to you. So usually the usual form is, at least the one I remember, is somebody gives a talk and then there are questions. Well, I don't see why that has to be the case. Why don't we start with a few questions, and then I'll get to know you a little bit, and that might help me know what to talk about more or how to couch what I say a little better. So I remember being in this hall when Suzuki Roshi was alive and after, and my overriding priority was not to be embarrassed. That was the most important thing, I think. I'm being very frank now. I certainly would have admitted that to anybody at the time. So I occasionally asked questions,

[05:18]

but they were not the questions that were really on my mind. They were questions that were safe to say. So I got answers that were more or less in accord with that. They weren't that pointed for me. Now I wish there are many regrets when your teacher dies young, and one of them is there are so many things now I wish I could ask him. What should we do with Osama bin Laden? What about Israeli-Palestine? What about this or that? The things that really weigh on us all, the real-life questions. But as he's not here to answer, I have to go my own way. I don't know if I know much, but I may know a little bit more than some of you. So even if I don't, it's a good exercise to ask a question. So maybe we could have three or four from anybody who wants to raise their hand

[06:20]

and isn't afraid of what they might say. The only reason really is to give me a chance to know you a little bit. Yeah? Why is posture so important? Okay. I didn't tell you I was going to answer them right away, but I'm collecting them. That's a very good question. I like that. I like that a lot. I probably had that question a lot when I was first starting out. So I'm definitely going to address that at some point. Yes? How come it's been 20 years since you've been in this hall? That is also a good question. I don't know if I'm going to answer that one, at least not really, because it would take the whole time and more. Yes? How do you feel it changed your life after you came here as opposed to before you were here and spent time here? Boy, these are really good questions. We didn't hear that. He said, how has being here changed my life? How has following the path of the Buddha made life different for me?

[07:20]

You mean 20 years ago when you spent time here? Oh, when I was here, I was in Zen Center for about 15, 16 years. So it was a long time. It's been 20 years since that 15 years. What are the questions that you didn't dare ask that you would ask now? How do I get enlightened? Are you, meaning the person that's up here, know anything about that? Do you have some special knowledge that I don't have? What's the point of all this? How can I not have pain in my legs? From the ridiculous to the sublime, but I appreciate your asking. But those were my questions. They were very much the questions of a very energetic and determined but quite confused young man of 20 or so. I don't know that person anymore, so it's hard for me to remember to tell you the truth. But I remember the feeling of, gosh, I can't possibly.

[08:25]

I look so stupid. Everybody here must know except me. I remember having that feeling. The feelings, you know, it's funny the things that last. Let's see, I'm looking at the hair and the age. I think some of you probably are old enough to remember Winston Tastes Good Like a Cigarette Should, Brill Cream, A Little Dab Will Do Ya, Land of Sky Blue Waters. It's just incredible how powerful those 50s and 60s TV ads are. I remember that stuff better than I remember Buddhist sutras and things like that, which were supposed to be important. So it's interesting what sticks. I'm sorry? Yeah. Maybe one more, one more thing. Yeah. I read about you in Shoes Outside the Door. Uh-huh. I'm in there. The book. My feelings about the book? Feelings about the book. Oh, okay. Well, the book answers one of those other questions, is why haven't I been here for 20 years?

[09:26]

But, um, so maybe I could just put the two of you together and then I wouldn't have to answer the question. Yeah, well, it's kind of really putting me on the spot to ask me what I think, but I'll probably think of something to say that won't tell you that. Because I know Michael Downey and he worked very hard for a long time on that book for, you know, why he did it, I don't know, but, you know, he... I'll actually address that a little bit. He didn't set out to write an expose of Zen Center, you know, or air our institution's dirty laundry. He was very interested, as many people are, with the social phenomenon of Zen Center in the 70s in San Francisco area. You know, Jerry Brown, the governor, you know, famous people coming, Mick Jagger, you know, the list goes on and on. It was a very Stewart Brand, Whole Earth Catalog, Eric Erickson, there was a real all-star cast

[10:28]

coming through these doors at that time. And we had a big influence on the situation here at that time and also in the whole country, and that just fascinated him. He was just amazed that nobody had written about that because it's so interesting. It's so interesting because it has a big impact on our culture and on America and still does. So that's why he set out to write the book, and then he sat down with his tape recorder and he started to talk to people, and they wanted to talk about something rather different. So the book ended up taking a left turn, and it's what it is. I mean, he was very, I think, clear that he was going to essentially write an oral history, and what was in the book would be what people actually said, all 80 that he interviewed, including me, not what he thought, pretty much. Now, you can't be an author and not think something, so his point of view is in there, but as much as possible, he tried to just present the rachman of

[11:28]

this person thought this, this person thought that, without trying to say, well, here's what it really was, which is, I think, a very Buddhist approach. I like that, for a non-Buddhist, to figure that out is good. After I left here, and I left for complicated reasons, which I won't go into, I went my own way, as many people did from that time, and I entered the business world, about which I knew nothing, and I returned to my life as a musician, about which I knew a great deal, but paid nothing. And eventually, as Taya said, I wrote a book, and I'm writing more books. So I'm... But, you know, if you study the history of Zen, it's very common for that sort of thing to happen. In fact, it's even scripted into some of the traditions, particularly in Japan, that after you finish your training,

[12:30]

you are required to disappear, absolutely required, for maybe 15, 20 years, which is more or less what I did, because they don't feel that, fresh out of the monastery, you don't really know anything real. I mean, you may know something, but go out in the world and find out if you really do hit up against the real stuff. Get held up on the street, get sick, have the people you love die, all of which kind of happened to Suzuki Roshi. And maybe there's a war or two in there. Live like a beggar, live like a rich man. You know, let life be your teacher, ultimately. That's an important, but perhaps not well-established, tradition yet in this country, but I did that. And I won't argue the merits for anybody else, but it was right for me. I don't have any regrets, and here I am. Can't get rid of me, you know. As to your question, you're hidden behind this woman in the jacket,

[13:33]

but I like that, thank you. To put me on the spot is good. How has all these years of formal and then informal Buddhist practice changed my life? Is that pretty much what you asked me? Good enough? Yeah. Basically the feeling that you had before, while you were in here, and then after you left. Because it's part of me in seconds, so it's going to, so to speak, as far as the physical world, and spend time in a monastery or temple, and not have my daily life be about me, but just give and do what everybody does here.

[14:40]

I see. Fair enough. I don't think I was so different when I came here. I was very confused, but there was some part of me that wasn't confused, but I didn't know it. And now I'm not so confused. So that's a change, I think. I don't mean to trivialize it, but that's probably the most basically true thing I can say in answer to your question, is I'm less confused. And that's not a trivial thing to say. Most sentient beings are confused. And I'm not saying I'm not confused, I'm just saying I'm less confused. I'd like to address the why you're here part of the question by talking to your question about posture. I haven't forgotten you.

[15:40]

Why are you here? One of the things I learned, and I'll tell you, is that Buddhism is mostly about a feeling. It's about feeling, it's not about thinking. And I mean feeling in a very, very deep sense that we can't even talk about. I'll try to talk about it a bit later if we have time, but in ordinary language, if somebody said to me, What is Buddhism? Why are you doing this? I'd say... Well, it's kind of like falling in love. You know, you can't really describe it, but you know that it's happening to you.

[16:50]

It's a feeling. And if you've never sat this way before, and most people haven't much, maybe a little when they were in college or something, but if you've never sat this way for extended periods of time, it gets you into the feeling that we're talking about. But that doesn't mean there's a right way to do it. The only posture that matters is any posture that allows you to sit still. So some people can't sit this way. I'm fortunate that at age 54 I can still do it pretty well. That's great. There was a famous Zen master who had a lame leg, could never do this, and so he sat in a chair his whole life, and when he died, according to the story, most of which are fiction, he broke his leg so he could die this way. Big deal. But that's kind of a story for novice monks to get,

[17:54]

Aha, that's the way. I bet he didn't do it. I bet he just died like a regular person. But it's a nice story. So it's a feeling. And it's your feeling. It's not anybody else's feeling. So it's not like, well, my shoulders have to be straighter and pulling. It's not like phys-ed at all. There's a statue upstairs, I guess a new one Michael just showed me, of Avalokiteshvara Kuan Yin, who is the bodhisattva of compassion. I can't talk about Avalokiteshvara and say he the way you're supposed to. I always say she, because actually Avalokiteshvara doesn't have gender. Avalokiteshvara is whatever. Avalokiteshvara can be a dog. It takes any form that will help.

[18:57]

In this case, the statue is sitting just like I'm sitting, and the hands are in gassho just like you all do all the time. And it's surrounded by all these implements. Kathy and I looked at them. Most of them are weapons. Sword, spear, axe, whip. Some of them aren't. I mean, there's a scroll and a leaf. Kathy noticed there was a leaf. It's great that the implements are all there, usually in these old statues, You can really see the iconography. What's the message of all of that? I never liked the idea of statues much when I was younger. I even objected to getting this one. It's the one statue I feel foolish about having objected to, because I probably would have moved heaven and earth to get that statue from the drug dealer we bought it from, even though it was smuggled, because that statue is beyond belief. But I'm realizing now the whole point of Buddhist statues,

[20:00]

and the Taliban destroyed them all because they were graven images. We don't worship anything. Total misunderstanding. But you have to be a Buddhist to understand. The statue is to help you get the feeling. Buddhism arose in cultures where nobody read. Maybe the monks, that was a special thing. But most people, they lived. The statues were a non-conceptual, non-verbal communication about the feeling. So what does the statue mean? It's gold. It had a halo, which I guess they took away because it was a little much for Zen Center, I suppose. Is that right, Michael? Ornate. A little ornate for our style, but it's okay. But the implements are about, I don't know, how many were there, about 25 or a lot? All these arms, and they're holding a spear and a sword. Different kinds of swords, too. There was a machete-type sword and a long sword.

[21:03]

It's like a Dungeons & Dragons litany of stuff. So what's that all about? First of all, why is the statue in the posture that you sit in, that you come here to sit in? And why is she, he, it holding all these things? Those are real things that people use, or at least did. Swords, axes, leaves, scrolls of scripture, bowls of medicine. I mean, they're kind of a collection of basic things that human beings use in their life, including to kill each other. Okay, I mean, that's included. Anybody who thinks Buddhism is a sort of reflexively pacifist religion should look at the statue and really think about whether all these things are metaphors for cutting through wisdom, or whether there's something a little bit more, you know,

[22:04]

down-home about these weapons that are there, you know. But the statue is supposed to convey a feeling, and, you know, it just so happens that the one text that you all recite constantly, the Heart Sutra, is about Avalokiteshvara. That's who, that's who the sutra is about. It's not about the Buddha. Usually a sutra says, thus I have heard at one time, the whole, you know, the great ones stayed at the grove, at Jada Grove, and said this or that. The sutra is usually spoken by a disciple about the Buddha. Then the Buddha talks in the sutra, and at the end, you know, he arranges his robes and leaves, and it's a very standard thing. Well, in this sutra, the Buddha isn't there at all. It's Avalokiteshvara, Kuan Yin, Kanji Zai, Kanji Zai Bosatsu. Those are the first words of the Heart Sutra, Kanji Zai Bosatsu. Do you still chant it in Japanese here? Yes. Kanji Zai Bosatsu Gyojin Anya.

[23:05]

I've sort of forgotten it, but I know the first part. I noticed I'd forgotten the lecture chant in Japanese. I know it in English. So you start to forget. That's another way I've changed. I remember what's important. I remember the feeling. So I can answer your question, because I've done that feeling for a long, long time. If I have nothing else to offer you, I have 30 years of that feeling behind me, sitting this way, and other ways, too. This isn't the only way to have the feeling. That's another thing. There's nothing magic about this posture. And if you think that there is, I refer you to one of Suzuki Roshi's favorite stories. It's actually a koan. So your ears perk up. You probably all know it. I love it. I used it as my teaching story at my shuso ceremony a long time ago. It's about...

[24:07]

I don't remember the Chinese for Hyakujo. Baijiang. Baijiang and mazu. I prefer to use the Chinese. Thank you. You all know this story. Baijiang is doing zazen. He's in the posture that you're talking about, same posture exactly that you try to do. So you're Baijiang in this story, okay? We're all Baijiang. We're also mazu, too, because another aspect of the posture is, my gosh, this is the posture that a Buddha takes. Isn't that unusual? It's not like you get to be a Buddha first, and then you have permission to sit like a Buddha. You start out sitting like a Buddha from day one. So Baijiang is sitting like a Buddha. And mazu, in the way the story is worked out, of course, it didn't happen this way, but it's couched this way so it can teach us something.

[25:08]

What are you doing? Now, when we're practicing the way, a question like, what are you doing, is not so obvious. It's like the old psychiatrist joke where the two psychiatrists pass on the street, and one of them says, hello, and the other one says, hello, and then the way the cartoon goes, as they pass, one of them scratches his head and says, now, what did he mean by that? So what are you doing is like a big question. That's like the reason that we come to this. What am I doing? What am I doing here? I'm born. I'm here. I don't know. I'm lost. It's like being dropped into an outward-bound program with no equipment. You wake up and, ah, I'm in the world. That's what it means. What are you doing? What are you doing? So what does Baijiang say?

[26:10]

Do any of you know this story? He says, I'm doing zazen. I'm sitting in the posture. So I said before, it's a feeling. You can't, it's like falling in love. If somebody says, well, what's it like, man? Tell me about it. I'd like to know. I haven't had that experience. And you say, well, gosh, she's so beautiful. But that's not it, is it? I mean, a lot of women are beautiful. I love women. They're all beautiful. I'm speaking from a guy who likes women. So forgive me if I'm offending anybody, but I'm trying to make a point here. He said, well, what's it really like to be in love? Well, I don't know. Hard for me to say. I just can't get my hands around it. It's just, it's great. It's great. I feel so wonderful. I'm just on cloud nine. I don't care about anything. I mean, she's so beautiful. And the guy says, Dan, you're out of it.

[27:13]

When you come down to earth, talk to me, because I'd kind of like to know what's going on, but I can't make any sense of what you're saying. This is, we're starting to get into the feeling a little bit. And this is why, how did the Zen school, the Chan school start? Well, it started in China many centuries after Buddhism had come to China, many centuries. And there were great, vast monasteries with beautiful statues just like this place and very well established. And there were monks who spent their lives there. There were generations of monks. And the best of the monks, the brightest of the monks, the ones who really had a deep sense of seeking outside the box, outside the box we say now, said, you know, I'm not sure this is it. I don't recall that it says the Buddha lived this way. In fact, he didn't chant sutras. The sutras are about him, so he didn't do it. You know, obvious point.

[28:15]

And all that we really recall that the Buddha did was he sat under a tree. We know that he did that. So why don't we do that? See what happens. So I'm kind of making it like a child's tale, but that's kind of what happened. Some of the monks siphoned themselves off from the big monasteries, and they went either into a room that wasn't being used in the monastery, or eventually they had their own little places out in the country. And they did what all of you are doing, what all of us are doing. They sat down like the Buddha did, and they started to get into the feeling that they didn't feel that in the big monastery. They knew all the sutras. They could recite them by heart. They could recite them in three languages, maybe. They had a complete understanding of the Abhidharma, the 75 unchangeables, conditioned and unconditioned, the wholesome dharmas, the unwholesome dharmas, et cetera, et cetera, you know. But something was missing. Something wasn't quite right. The feeling wasn't there, and all they really knew was, hey, the Buddha did this,

[29:18]

and he sat this way, and he sat for a long time. So why don't we do that? Let's be an experiment here and see. And that's how I got started. And if you think that it happened in 7th century China, look around. It's happening right here in this room, in this place, in America. We're here. We're Americans. It's happening again. Same idea, you know. People have some sense in their heart, some deep feeling that is not being satisfied by their life or their world. They don't know what to do, and somehow you end up on a cushion. This is Zen. Boy, I really digressed. I was trying to talk about the story.

[30:20]

Well, so what did Mazu say? He could have said a lot of things. He could have said, I don't think so. Or he could have said, good, great, trying to become a Buddha, yeah, right on. He could have said, well, okay, but you don't look so good to me. I mean, I'm just trying to think of the possible responses that he might, that are in the realm of the head, the thinking, you know. What's this guy doing? But he doesn't do any of those things. Again, these stories are about people that know each other very, very well. That's why I talk about falling in love. I mean, the standard idea we have, because it's not in our culture, is that a spiritual teacher is somebody that teaches you something. Wrong. Not exactly wrong, but sort of wrong.

[31:21]

Because there's only one person that can really teach you anything that matters, and that is you. The teacher is something like a midwife or a friend. A friend, a very, very good friend who, you know, with a good friend, if you get into trouble, if things go bad, if life isn't so great, you like want to end it all, you don't know what to do, but you have your friend, you know, and so you can get by. You know, we all need a friend at some point in our lives. There is some point in our lives where we cry out. We cry out. And I'll come back to this crying out in a minute, because it's connected to Avalokiteshvara, but to be able to have a friend when you cry out is so important. We can't really live as human beings

[32:25]

without that, without... First of all, both things are necessary. You have to be able, as a human being, to cry out at a certain point. And there also has to be somebody who can respond. So, here's a story... Excuse me. Oh, thank you. How nice. Here's a story about a kind of crying out. What are you doing? I'm trying to become a Buddha. They're friends. They're very good friends. Matsu is his best friend in the whole world. He'll do anything for Bajang. He'll die for Bajang, and Bajang will die for him. That's how deep it goes. You know, they're like blood brothers, you know? Blood brothers. It's that strong. And so, what are you doing? It's like the whole world is on the line

[33:29]

with that kind of a question. And Bajang says, well, he can't fuss around. He can't pretend. It's Matsu there. It's his best friend. He can't tell a fib. He can't modulate. He's just got to say what he really thinks. And he says, I'm trying to become a Buddha. And I think you all know, Matsu doesn't say anything. He picks up a roof tile, you know, ceramic tile, the kind they put on a Chinese roof, and he starts to rub it. And again, they're friends. So, it's not like Bajang is willing to just let that go. He knows that Matsu isn't doing that just to pass the time of day, or because he's bored and he likes to rub tiles or something. He's rubbing the tile for Bajang. It's like a gift. And so, Bajang can't do anything else but say, what are you doing? You know, what are you doing?

[34:31]

And Matsu says, I'm trying to make a mirror. This is a story between friends. In fact, the fact that we even know about it is kind of extra. The real stuff that happens between friends, or people who are married, or people that are very close, is, you know, I have conversations with my wife of 35 years that none of you could ever understand. Because you haven't been married to me for 35 years, you know, sorry. If you have, maybe you would. But, you know, she just knows me and I know her. And it's like, there's a feeling there we can't talk about, and I can't even explain to you how it is. If any of you have been married a long time, maybe you understand, or if you've had a friend for a long time. So there's this tremendous sense of, you know, there's nothing held back between these two people, and they're just talking about something so basic that we can't even really, anything Mazu could say

[35:34]

would not really get to it. You know, he has to do something more physical, like, this is physical, you know. When you do something physical, you get a feeling, you know. You get a feeling. And that's the beginning. It's very interesting, there are so many tools in the arms of Avalokiteshvara. I think this is very important, that there are so many tools. So let's look at what the sutra says. Avalokiteshvara Bodhisattva, when practicing deeply the Prajnaparamita, perceived in her own being, I'm sorry, perceived that all five, that all dharmas in their own being are empty, and was saved

[36:35]

from all suffering and distress. This is approximately what it says. What it really says is in Sanskrit, and the words are a lot more complex. But in English, that's approximately what it says. Literally, the word Avalokiteshvara, shvara just means lord, or high being. Avalokitesha means he or she who looks down, who sees. Or maybe the one, often the one who hears. I mean, over time, Buddhism has decided that Avalokiteshvara's specialty is hearing. And even it goes further in some of the commentators, and they say, hearer of the cries of the world. Avalokiteshvara, hearer of the cries of the world. Now I said the verses the way we usually chant them,

[37:35]

Avalokiteshvara Bodhisattva, when practicing deeply the Prajnaparamita. What does all that stuff mean? I mean, let's be honest, what does it really mean? You can go to a class, oh yeah, you know, Prajnaparamita, blah, blah. The Heart Sutra, it's called the Heart Sutra because it's the pith, or the rendering down of a vast body of teaching called the Prajnaparamita, which means something like transcendental wisdom. The Heart Sutra means the heart of that, the essential point of it. That's what the scholars say. But I don't say that. I used to say that. I used to teach classes like that. But today I say it's this heart. The Heart Sutra. It's the sutra that comes out of your heart, not out of your mind, you know. And let's dwell a little bit on hearing the cries of the world. There's various ways to

[38:39]

to to confront this sutra. One is to think of it as a sutra written around 100 A.D., 100 B.C. to 100 A.D., etc., etc. The other way, and the way that the Zen school looks at it more, and why we chant it all the time, is this sutra is about you. It's about me. Avalokiteshvara is me. When you sit in the posture of the Buddha in the Zendo, you are Avalokiteshvara. You are the hearer of the cries of the world. And if you aren't, then you need to open your ears because you can't even get the sutra going until you take on the mantle of Avalokiteshvara, the hearer of the cries of the world. And it doesn't mean hearer of the cries of the world. It means hearer of the cries of the world. It's a little easier now

[39:41]

with TV. We can really hear the cries of the world. They come on TV and we see people with their legs blown off. We see kids who are starving. I mean... And you have to include your own cry in that too. To really get into hearer of the cries of the world, you have to include what is in your own heart, which is a cry in the world. The cry in your own heart is no different than the cry of everybody's heart. That's why you can hear it. Because the cry... The cries of the world are the song of life. That's... And we're life. We're alive. So we don't need to have a telephone to hear the cries of the world. You start with the cry that's in your own heart and then you understand this is no different. No different than anybody else's cry. So Avalokiteshvara becomes you at the point that we... or becomes us at the point at which we

[40:42]

get in touch with the feeling of crying out in the world. And maybe that's what brings you here. I don't know. It's kind of what brought me here, although if you'd asked me 30 years ago, I'd never have been able to say it. So I'm telling you now to let you know. But we go on a little bit. Generally speaking, the usual attitude when we open up even a little bit to hear the cries of the world or our own cry is we just flat out can't stand it. How can anybody... I mean, let's be really literal here. Avalokiteshvara is the hearer of the cries, in the plural, of the world. Let's just take human

[41:45]

beings. Right away, there's 6 billion plus cries, okay? Imagine that we have a nice computer, maybe a Cray supercomputer that can process all the cries as... I'm a computer... I run a software company, among other things, so this is my lingo. Sorry if it goes over some people's heads. But let's suppose that we have a sample, a sound sample, one second of each person's cry. And we load it all into this Cray supercomputer somewhere in Kansas. Okay, anybody from Kansas here? Anybody from the Midwest? We're all coast people here, I guess. We're the blues, not the reds. That's what they're saying on the map. Anyway... So we sit down in

[42:46]

Kansas. We put on the earphones. We're Avalokiteshvara now, and we punch the button to boot up the first hundred cries. Ah! Oh! Help me! Mama! I'm dying! I'm starving! How many of those could we stand before we just have to turn the bloody thing off and go away? Because how can you hear those cries? How can you even hear your own cry? I mean, a lot of us Americans have a pretty hard time hearing our own cry, much less anybody else's. So, it's hard. But, here's where the sutra starts to stick it to you. Okay, we're willing to be Avalokiteshvara. We've tried the Cray computer, but we turn it off after 50, and we have to go put our head under the pillow for a few days because it just was too much. But Avalokiteshvara doesn't have that reaction. She is coursing. This is the literal... Charya is coursing like a comet courses. Coursing in the deep progeny of

[43:47]

Haramita, Hanya Haramita, Maka Hanya Haramita Shingyo. It means great heart, transcendental wisdom sutra. The word coursing goes through several languages. Gyo, Kanji, Zaibosatsu, Gyo, Gyo. I used to know all this stuff. And Gyo ends up in Japanese as Shugyo. Guess what the word is from Suzuki Roshi on down. We translate in this place the word Shugyo. Shugyo is the English word that you are familiar with called practice. Shugyo is practice. So Gyo, coursing. I'm a pianist, so the word practice was always a little bit off for me because we pianist musicians practice in a somewhat different way than we're talking about. This is not Gyo. Gyo is not doing your scales.

[44:50]

Gyo is the posture. Gyo is the feeling. when she is doing this, she has an insight, a transcendental insight, that all five skandhas, all conditioned dharmas in their own being are empty. Ghastly word. Doesn't work. I don't like it. But it's okay. It's what shunyata means more or less. Shunyata is a Sanskrit word that's always translated as emptiness. But let's be very precise. Sometimes in Buddhism it's important to be very precise. Shunyata comes from the Sanskrit word that means a gourd or a dried squash, something like that. So it looks very big. It's this big

[45:51]

thing. You know how gourds are. They're sometimes very big. They rattle and stuff. But you open it up. What's inside? Nothing. It's more than just empty. It looks like something, but when you look more deeply, it's not quite there in the way that you thought. So with that insight, Avalokiteshvara doesn't suffer. It says in the English, save from all suffering and distress. I've chanted that for years. You can go by it pretty fast. It's suffering. Again, we're just talking about human beings here, not the whole biosphere. It's suffering to the six billionth power.

[46:51]

That's the suffering we're talking about. It's not just suffering. It's six billion versions of crying out. Somehow, with this thing, this Prajnaparamita, whatever it is, and the Chinese and the Japanese never translated it. In Sanskrit, it's Prajnaparamita. Avalokiteshvara puts on the headphones in Kansas. Is that where we decided this machine was, in Kansas? Okay. She's able to process the whole six billion. Generally, when we think of being saved from suffering, we think of something like morphine. Morphine is an anodyne. It saves you from pain. I can speak from personal experience. Morphine's a pretty good drug when you're in pain. Believe me. But this is a different kind of save from suffering.

[47:51]

One way to be saved from suffering is for somebody to say, I ain't ever going back to Kansas. I'm not going to listen to that thing. You can erase it, as far as I'm concerned, because I don't want to suffer. I don't even want to hear my own cry, much less anybody else's, so forget it. But this is different. This is like the headphones stay on. Time is no consequence. We're outside of time, and all six billion cries get through, and there is a stability that allows that to be absorbed, to be heard, to be heard. It's in Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind. It's one of my favorite passages. You think it's theoretical. It's not. Suzuki Roshi says in there, and I'm paraphrasing, suppose your child is dying. Your only child is dying. A cry from the world,

[48:54]

from somebody that you love more than anything, and what can you do? You pace, you cry out, you call your friends, you do whatever, and I'm elaborating on what he said. But the best thing to do is to sit. It doesn't mean your suffering goes away. It doesn't mean anybody's suffering goes away. The child's still going to die, but somehow we've entered a realm in this posture which allows us to have a different kind of feeling about the world. Feelings, of course, we have a very deep feeling about our child. We're in grief. We're crying. We're hysterical. We want to kill ourselves, but we can't because our child's depending on us. It just ties our gut up in knots. It's awful. And it doesn't get any less awful if we cross our legs and sit down with our backs straight, but he says,

[49:58]

if you don't have this experience, you're not a Zen student. Now, like a lot of things Suzuki Roshi said, that kind of went by me pretty fast for a long time. And I'm only beginning to get the full resonance of that. I realize now that in some ways, during most of my years of formal training, I wasn't much of a real Zen student in the way he's talking about because I wanted to change my life. I'm going back to what you asked me. I really wanted to change my life. I wanted my life to be different. I wanted to be a wise person. I wanted to be a Zen master. I wanted to be a rumi or Buddha or somebody really special. I was a very ambitious person. In some ways, I still probably am. My technical term for all of that in a Zen context

[51:00]

is bullshit. It really is some kind of transcendental bullshit. And it's not until we start to recite the sutra with a real sense that it is me that I am talking about and each word... Remember, the Heart Sutra has how many verses does it have as opposed to the 100,000? It's like 25, right? It's the Prajnaparamita and 24 verses. Well, the Big Sutra... Okay, go to the kitchen. When you pick up the knife, remember it's one of Avalokiteshvara's implements. I know, I'm over.

[52:07]

Put your legs up or whatever. I don't care. Here, I'll put mine up. That'll make you all feel better. How's that? I'll stop pretty soon. When I was in the second grade, my lowest grade was talks out of turn in class. And it hasn't gotten any better. Anybody who knows me knows that. Well, I'll try to wind up and then we can have some questions. I realize that I have left the Bajang story unfinished, so let's finish that. No, I didn't forget. I'm pretty good at remembering the things that I said five minutes ago most of the time. There's more to the story, but that's really the main part of the story. He says things like, out of compassion for his very good friend, Bajang Matsu, who was probably the greatest Zen teacher ever, arguably, said,

[53:12]

well, when a horse cart doesn't go, do you whip the horse or do you whip the cart? If you put your arms around the same story, which is what Dogen, whose birthday it is today, said in one of his fascicles, it's kind of like a fish looking for where the water is. You know, Bajang, I want to become a Buddha. And it's not enough to say, well, gosh, Bajang, you're already a Buddha. Isn't that neat? He doesn't feel that way. And if he thinks that he is, that's not right either. So, what does he do? The way to work with these stories, just as we work with the Heart Sutra, is you bring it in to yourself and you enact it in your own experience, in your own body.

[54:13]

So, we become Bajang. We become Avalokiteshvara. We take the whole thing very seriously, but at the same time, we don't get weighed down by it. If you walk around with the weight of six billion cries on your shoulders, you'll collapse. So, that isn't the right way to hear it either. Somehow, Avalokiteshvara is able to work with the whole situation. And you look at all these tools, of all these arms, and you realize this is a being that isn't just listening to the cries and saying, oh, how terrible there are cries. She has all these tools, so she's out there. She's in the situation. She's in the world. And, to finish up, just the last thing is, you know, I was like you. I wanted to be a monk. I wanted to replicate the authentic experience that I'd read about of this great wisdom tradition called Buddhism, called Zen. And that's necessary.

[55:14]

Anybody who thinks you can thoroughly understand the standpoint of Avalokiteshvara or Matsu or Baijong without doing that, it's not so easy. But at the same time, the monastery isn't the end of it. You know, the monastery is a place where you can kind of train your ear. But eventually, you have to go to some place where people are crying out. And that's the tools. That's the work. That's the work of Avalokiteshvara. There's a tool set. There are implements. And you're in the middle of it. To put it another way, it's the tenth ox-herding picture. You know, the guy in the butcher shop drinking wine. You have to eventually be there. And in fact, it's not a matter of time. One of the messages of the Baijong story is it's not a conveyor belt that starts with guest student and ends with enlightened master.

[56:16]

It doesn't work that way at all. You're not doing zazen to sort of log your cushion time because after a certain number of hours of cushion time, something happens. If anything, time goes backwards. You start from Buddha and work back to where you are. So there's no sense of time in this interchange. Baijong may think so, but that's just his thinking. It isn't the feeling. Feelings don't exactly live in time. They live in a different kind of space. And I guess I'll close by saying that if I had anything to say for you to take away is that Buddhadharma is the best way to say it if you're going to say it at all is it's some kind of a feeling that you can't talk about but it's so basic that it's like water for a fish. And you can't live a fish can't live outside of water. So maybe I've answered the questions you asked me.

[57:21]

I don't know. Usually I guess everybody gets up and stretches their legs and goes into the dining room. I tell you what, why don't I do the formal stuff that I do. My friend has heard enough. And then those of you who want to stay and don't feel you're insulting me by leaving, it's perfectly fine to leave. We'll gather in here which is the only room available and you can sit with your knees up and I will too. And then we'll talk like friends. Okay.

[57:53]

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