This podcast is offered by the San Francisco Zen Center on the web at www.sfcc.org. Our public programs are made possible by donations from people like you. Well, good morning to all of you. It's wonderful to be in this zendo together with people I do know and people I do not know. And who knows what other beings are here among us. I always have to start, when I talk here, saying that I first came here, my second session, and I believe I sat here, and it would have been like 1972 or 73. And then I came back and lived here for a couple of months in 1976. And then Norman and I went to Tasahara, for four years, and then we came back in with our four-year-old twins who left here to go to college.

[01:05]

So we spent a lot of time here, and it's really, I feel, a really deep coming home whenever I come to Green Gulch and walk into this zone. You know, I wish we had time to hear each and every one of your stories like that, because we have so many wonderful stories among us, introductions to the life we lead, introductions to what was precious to us in our practice, in our lives. That would be nice. What I'd like to talk with you about today is the Shinshin Me. The Shenzhen Ling is an old, old poem. It was written in, we don't actually know, but we think the 6th century.

[02:07]

It's very old, and it is referred to, lines from the Shenzhen Ling are referred to by all kinds of teachers and practitioners throughout these poems. some 1,500 years since it was probably written. It was really important. And I've been studying it and teaching from it for most of this year. So I'm really immersed in it at the moment. So that may be good for you. That may be bad for you. The Shenzhen Ming was attributed to third Chinese Chan, his then ancestor.

[03:07]

His name was Sung Tan. He was a disciple of Hui Ka, the second Chinese then Chan ancestor, who was said to have cut off his arm to offer to Bodhidharma, demonstrating the sincerity of his wish to be Bodhidharma's student. Don't do that. Ever. Bodhidharma, our first Chinese Zen ancestor, was a Yogacara teacher, a Yogacara adept. So he brought a different flavor of Zen to China. I think I'll call it Zen. In Chinese, of course, it's Chan, but Zen is... the word that we have come to use and know, so I think I'll mostly say Zen. The flavor of Yogacara Zen in Bodhidharma's hands emphasized sitting as the core of practice, hence the name Chan, or Zen, which means meditation.

[04:21]

And we certainly have inherited that emphasis today. Sang San was over 40 years old when he became a disciple of Hue Ka, Hue Ka, Bodhidharma's disciple. Sang San, having been a Taoist prior to meeting his teacher, lived at a time of persecution of Buddhism and was forced to remain out of sight. The government at that time, the emperor, and I'm talking now like... 574 to 577 in there. According to record, the government attempted to exterminate Buddhism by closing temples, destroying written records and monuments, and defrocking Buddhist clergy. There's all kinds of reasons for this, but so many of the reasons of this period of history or speculation or

[05:28]

or not very well backed up. So we don't really know. We don't really know too much. By the way, you know, I'm still a recovering school teacher, which means that sometimes I start talking and I forget to stop. So is there a timepiece? I taught school in Mill Valley for 28 years. So the few things that are speculated about Tsantan, he was a Taoist and would seek out Taoist sites, possibly to heal himself, because it seemed as though he was sick. He often spoke about his sickness.

[06:30]

And there is speculation that he had leprosy because of the medicines that he was seeking out. But we don't know. We don't know this. So he lived quietly during this period of persecution and on the move. He was on the move during those years. At some point, when the persecution subsided somewhat, a 12-year-old boy, Gao Xin, found Tsung San. impressed him and stayed on with him studying for nine years. That 12-year-old boy grew up to become the fourth Chinese Zen or Chang ancestor. And Daoxin was the first Zen ancestor to live during the Tang Dynasty, which is considered the golden age of Chinese culture, art, governance, and Buddhism, especially Zen.

[07:36]

For the most part, the Tang Dynasty was a period of religious tolerance. So the period prior to the Tang Dynasty was kind of like the wild, [...] wild west. It was pretty rough, pretty violent, subject to the whims of rulers. That's a little about the context of Song Song, his life. the third Chinese ancestor of Zen. And like I said, he's credited with writing the Xin Xin Ming. But there's no way with what was going on in Chinese society and politics at that time to verify much about Zhang Tan or the origin of the Xin Xin Ming. The poem itself is a series of epigrams. which means each stanza can stand alone, or it can stand together as a whole collection.

[08:41]

The teachings found in the Xin Xin Ming, quoting one translator, Red Pine, are an essential part of Zen instruction around the world and a good example of how teaching that eschews the use of language can convey its message using language. There are at least 32 translations of the Xinxian Ling, each of them offering a unique angle on this almost 1,500-year-old poem. Translators make decisions carefully, and taken together, all the translations, fills out for us the subtlety and the depth of the poem. Today, I'll mostly use Red Pine's translation. So, and my intention here is to bring out, or bring forward, the practice strengths of this poem.

[09:46]

The poem is very beautiful, very supportive, and very specific for practice. The first three stanzas read, The way isn't hard to find, just avoid choosing. So I'm going to probably be saying that phrase a number of times in my talk, and I'm going to add picking, because we kind of know that phrase as just avoid picking and choosing. So in the interest of, you know, calling up any familiarity you might have with that stanza, I'll say it that way. The way isn't hard to find, just avoid picking and choosing. When preferences are gone, It's perfectly clear. The slightest distinction parts heaven and earth. To find it right now, stop taking sides. Fighting over sides is an illness of the mind.

[10:51]

I'll stop there on that stanza. So finding our way in this poem takes an examination of the language. One thing about our language, I can't speak for other languages, but I think this is true of our language, is that it tends to throw us to the object of the sentence. In other words, the way isn't hard to find, just avoid picking and choosing, as though picking and choosing is something that we could decide to stop doing. I don't think that's what's going on in this sentence. Xin Xin Ming is usually translated as faith in mind or trust in mind. So this is about practicing with mind. It's about the habits and tendencies of the mind. And so where is the mind functioning in these sentences?

[11:56]

As we know, picking and choosing is something we do all day long. We cannot avoid picking and choosing. So what is it in our practice, in our picking and choosing, that we can focus on? And I see over and over again in this poem that the theme is attachment. It's choosing with the thought I'm going to pick the right thing instead of the wrong thing. It's passing judgment about what I'm picking and what I'm not picking. And then passing judgment on who else is picking the wrong thing and who's picking the right thing. And the people who are picking the right thing are in my camp. So it just goes to the human dilemma. We pick and choose. Our ancient ancestors, picked food that wasn't going to harm them. They picked against food that was going to harm them.

[13:05]

Did I get that right? You get the idea. But the mental activity of passing judgment on what we don't pick or passing judgment on what we do pick and passing judgment on other people who do or don't pick it, that's the extra piece. That's the mental activity, the illness of the mind. So how is it that we can practice going about discerning what is needed, choosing what is needed, not choosing what is not needed, and not feeling that the world is divided up into good and bad, or this and that. So there's where our practice is. And in language, it's hard to get at.

[14:09]

In our practice, it's a little more clear. The judgmental mind, as it arises, is pretty clear to us, if we've been around the world at all, we're very familiar with that mind. And we learn through practice how in some cases, maybe not always, but some cases, how to allow that mind to just fall away. It's not needed right now. Thank you very much. And go on to the next thing. This is to me, over and over again, what these verses in the Shenzhen may show us. So in that way, it's a study of the mind. It's not a list of rules. You can read a verse like this and feel like, oh my God, I can't possibly live this way.

[15:10]

How can I do my day? But I think that's not what this is about. In fact, the second verse in Red Pine's version is, the slightest distinction parts heaven and earth. To find it right now, Stop taking sides. Fighting over sides is an illness of the mind. So there it is. Our fight instinct, or some instinct, arises before we notice it sometimes, and we're running with it. So there is our area of examination. The way is without difficulty, just avoid picking and choosing. Most of us, at least I, learned that line not from the Xinjiang Ming, but from the Leucliffe record, case number two, in which Zhao Zhou, addressing the assembly, says, the ultimate path is without difficulty. Just avoid picking and choosing.

[16:13]

That is where I was introduced to this beautiful line, and I thought it was Zhao Zhou's brilliance. But no, he was quoting this old poem. Everybody knew the poem. Zhao Zhou's years are about 790 to, he lived to be 120, we're told, 790, so that would be 910, 910. So he lived to pretty much the end of the Tang Dynasty. And he was born 200 years, some 200 years after Sun Tsang. And of course, Deng San did not live in the Tang Dynasty at all when the Zen culture that we hold dear really flourished. Tang Dynasty Zen culture flourished. So Zhao Zhou knew that poem, and he quoted it in this dialogue with a monk. But here's what I really love about this story. He says, the ultimate path is without difficulty, just avoid picking and choosing.

[17:19]

As soon as there are words spoken, this is picking and choosing. This is clarity. Then he says, this old monk does not abide within clarity. This old monk does not abide within clarity. To me, that's just a beautiful statement. Our language, as I said, throws us to the word clarity, as though he's opposed to clarity. What's his problem with clarity? But it's not that he's against clarity, and it's not that he's against non-clarity. It's that he doesn't abide. He doesn't take a stand. He doesn't squat in clarity. He doesn't hold fast to a particular viewpoint.

[18:21]

He doesn't cling. That's his practice. He doesn't cling to clarity, and he doesn't reject confusion. He doesn't abide anywhere. There is no abiding, he is saying. We don't abide. If you've ever dipped a toe into Madhyamaka or Nagarjuna, this is total Nagarjuna. There is no fixed place, and that is called the middle way. The middle way is no fixed place. Katagiri Roshi used to call it total dynamic working. So that's what he's saying here. He's saying that this old monk does not abide within clarity. And again, it catches us by surprise because I thought I was going after clarity here. I thought that's what I was doing in my practice.

[19:24]

I need more clarity. But no. And this brings to my mind a beautiful line from Walt Whitman's poem, A Song of Myself. He says, Do I contradict myself? Very well, then, I contradict myself. I am large. I contain multitudes. Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself. I am large. I contain multitudes. For me, this is the quintessential Zen teaching right in the middle of our own culture and literary history. And it's the same statement that Zhao Zhou is saying, I don't abide in clarity. I include the whole thing. I contain multitudes. I abide in all of it and nowhere, all at once.

[20:27]

It's all moving, it's all dynamic. Back to picking and choosing. As we know, we spend our whole day, all day long, making choices. So for me, The practice I ask of myself is not, do I like it? Do I not like it? Is it good or is it bad? The question that I ask myself is, would this be useful right now? And if it's not useful right now, that doesn't imply a judgment about it. I can just say, well, this may be wonderful, but it's not useful right now, so I'm not going to choose it. Like if I go into the bathroom to brush my teeth, and I reach over and I pick up a hammer, what sense would it make to pass judgment on the hammer? I just picked up the wrong tool for the task I'm planning to do.

[21:33]

I just need to put the hammer down and pick up my toothbrush. My rambunctious and overutilized judgmental muscle is likely to kick in out of habit. So, with practice, we can strengthen the habit of leaving that muscle alone, give it a rest, allowing the judgmental thought to fall away of its own weight, like a falling leaf, like falling leaves. That is a practice we can do. You know, it's like those three questions that we might ask ourselves before speaking to someone. Is it true? Is it kind? Is it useful right now or timely? All three of those questions want to be satisfied before I speak. And it's a practice I can do.

[22:33]

I can forget to do. I can remind myself to do. I can do, and then I can forget again. That's our practice. It's very experimental, this thing we're doing, this practice. When we have a broader awareness, when we don't have to focus on something in particular, often we do, that's our life, but when we don't have to focus on something or judge something in particular, when we can give that muscle a break, the world opens up wide to us. Here's another story about Zhaozhou. Beautiful conversation between Nanquan and Zhaozhou from the Koan, ordinary mind is the way. Zhaozhou asked Nanquan, what is the way? And you know, when you read this story a few times, you get the impression, Zhaozhou's been practicing with Nanquan a long time, and you can feel that he's just like so frustrated, and you know,

[23:42]

Tears are rolling down his cheeks. What is the way? What is this practice? And Nan Chuan answers, ordinary mind is the way. And Zhao Do says, should I direct myself toward it? Or, one translation, should I try to seek after it? Nan Chuan says, if you try to turn toward it, you'll be going against it. If you try to follow it, you're going in the wrong direction. Jiaojou then says, then how can I know the way? And Nan Chuan answers. You know, the unique thing about this koan is how thoroughly Nan Chuan answers. It's not too usual in koans that you get, like, a thorough answer. But Nan Chuan gives Jiaojou this answer. Nan Chuan answers. The way does not belong to knowing or not knowing.

[24:45]

Knowing is delusion. Not knowing is just stupid. It usually is translated blank consciousness or confusion. But I like just stupid. Nanshwan goes on. You will find the way as vast and boundless as outer space. In his conversation with Nan Quan, Zhao Zhou was able to give his agenda muscle, his wanting directions muscle, his seeking after something he thought he didn't have muscle, a rest. And he found the whole vast and boundless outer space right there waiting for him. So we have this possibility in which we can designate a specific half an hour, or whatever we do, for this practice of when preferences, agendas, strivings for whatever arise, allowing them to fall away.

[25:48]

I like the image of falling leaves because falling leaves don't belong to me. And these judgmental thoughts, you don't have to feel that they belong to us. They came from somewhere. We don't need them. We can let them fall away. So we have this possibility in which we... Where was I here? Falling away. And when we do this over time, the world as it is opens up to us. It's not transcendent. It's just the world as it is. And, you know, the koan stories are always these, like, big fireworks stories, you know, like, whoa, somebody said something and he got enlightened.

[26:53]

And we humans do things like, you know, the story about how a rock hit a tile and the sound, hearing the sound, somebody got enlightened. Well, it's a very human thing to do to book ourselves a flight to China and go to that monastery and see that rock and that tile. I want to touch that tile and see if I can get enlightened. But, you know, the story is about we are constantly surrounded at all times with this possibility of opening. It just takes a rock and a tile. It's not a special rock. It's not a special tile. It's all around all the time. We spend a lot of time treating the world as though it were a grocery store. But the world, as it opens up to us, when we begin to train our mind to have another mode other than grasping and judging.

[27:55]

And again, we have to make choices. And we have to sometimes make strong choices and judgments. But we also have this capacity to allow that choice muscle, that judgment muscle, to relax. And when it does, the world as it is, is different. It's not a grocery store. You know, our practice doesn't have to be grim. I mean, it can be grim. Sometimes we're grim. But it also can be really creative. It's a creative practice. Our meditation is creative. We generate it ourselves. So these kinds of guidelines and instructions and so on, they're always very general in the sense that no one can tell you exactly how to apply it to who you are in that body.

[28:59]

in that place at that time. So you can be creative. No one's keeping score. There's no rule book here. There's no need to worry about breaking rules. We do this practice on our own and then we talk to each other. That's how it works. So that's my preface to say that you really can play around with preferences. How about, for example, thinking of what would be best, instead of the preference being my own, instead of acting on my own behalf or my own satisfaction, how about if I flip it around and act on someone else's preferences or someone else's behalf? I don't mean making sacrifices, busying ourselves, doing everything for other people. That's another familiar habit, which can be not that helpful. But we can kind of play around.

[29:59]

preference arises and we can say, oh, I prefer this, but I wonder what that person would prefer. Maybe I'll try their preference. Not shutting down my preferences, just swapping them out from time to time. Using whatever we can, whatever we can find to enliven the practice, to find a way of opening to the practice is pretty good. One way to do that, just in our daily life, when we catch ourselves spinning off on thoughts of plans for the future, regrets about the past, judgments about this and that, or whatever, return our attention to the present moment. If you're walking or running, you can put your attention on the bottom of your feet. Just put your attention on the contact

[31:01]

of your foot in the earth over and over again. Just return your attention to that place. You can, of course, return your attention to your breath. You can return your attention to the quality of light as it falls on you, not using the light to go shopping for things, but allowing the light to just fall on you. Allow your gaze to fall where it will. Thank you for listening to this podcast offered by the San Francisco Zen Center. Our Dharma talks are offered at no cost and this is made possible by the donations we receive. Your financial support helps us to continue to offer the Dharma. For more information, visit sfcc.org and click giving. May we fully enjoy the Dharma.

[31:59]

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