Good morning. A little poem by Dogen Zenji. The Dharma like an oyster washed atop a high cliff, even waves crashing against the reefy coast like words may reach but cannot wash it away. What I believe that you are encountering by coming here to this valley today is the beginnings of a Buddhist culture rooting itself in the soil and the fog on the coast of California. This culture

[01:08]

has managed to endure for several decades, although as you all know its bright beginnings were long ago among other people in other lands, in China, in India, Korea, Burma, Korea, I said again, Japan. And you'll also find within this tiny sampling here at Green Gulch Farm all the primary elements of human society. There's the humans and the land, technology, ritual, food and shelter, sexual pairing, children, vegetables and a purpose, a purpose for which we live together in this way. I don't know if anyone has asked you lately what your purpose is for

[02:16]

living, but in the beginnings of Zen Center someone actually wrote something down. The purpose of the San Francisco Zen Center is to embody, express and make accessible the wisdom and compassion of the Buddha. So this is a pretty lofty purpose and humility rather naturally arises. However, as students of the Middle Way, we understand that where there is great humility, there is great arrogance, and therefore we can embrace this lofty purpose. Last Sunday, senior Dharma teacher, Reb Anderson, spoke from this seat about how these high ideals should be embraced, the way in which we may embrace our lofty purpose. And for nearly two

[03:26]

hours he suggested to us that we learn how to utilize what we view as our foolishness, awkwardness, our mistakes, as the very tools for shaping ourselves and shaping this land into Buddhas and into Buddha lands. And later that night, Reb gave the 16 Bodhisattva precepts to 14 people who took his advice and showed up in just that way. They chanted out of tune, they crowded themselves together so they had no room to bow. They bowed when they shouldn't and they didn't when they should. And one of them who had traveled over a thousand miles for this ceremony completely forgot

[04:32]

that he had placed a banana into his back pocket. And this banana was gently confiscated during the first moments of the ceremony. This is a true story. So all in all, it was a glorious occasion, seconded perhaps only by the indelible memories I have of my own child's first steps. And I think that that's because raising children and raising our spirits are really about the same few simple things, about courage, love, respect and faith. So in honor of these 14 dear human beings, I would like to read the libretto from the Song of Souls, which was written in 1904 by the great Italian

[05:38]

operatic composer Puccini, under contract from the Gramophone and Typewriter Company. The years, deceits and illusions have fled. Flowers and hopes have fallen dead. My brief spring vanished in vain, tortured longings. But in my heart's night, an ideal still lives, singing loud and alone, as in the middle of the starlit night, the nightingale raises her lonely hymn. Sing, sing, you are the only loud voice, my ideal. Boldly fly out of the mist to defy oblivion, hatred and death. Where there are no shadows and all is sunlight, all is sunlight. We don't get a

[06:48]

lot of good choices in this life. High school was required and college anonymous. Marriage, for me anyway, was brief. But the long-term commitments required of motherhood, livelihood and the longing for Buddhahood, have grown and deepened inside of me, day by day by day. And this is what I want to talk about this morning, about the hoods, about these qualities of being and about the ideals for which the nightingale sings. As Buddhists of the great vehicle tradition called the Mahayana, our ideals are partially represented by the statuary in this room. This tall, handsome Asian man is Jizo Bodhisattva, the guardian of

[07:58]

travelers and children. And the seated figure is the lovely Tara in Tibetan, Kanon in Japanese, Kuan Yin in Chinese, Avalokiteshvara in Sanskrit. And she is the Bodhisattva of compassion. And the large fellow there on the altar is Manjushri, the Bodhisattva of wisdom. Each of these figures has been imbued by their makers with one or more of the most admirable qualities of the human being. Their faces, their clothing and their postures are intended to evoke in us knowledge of a higher purpose. And as nice as these statues are, it's really, they're just placeholders

[09:07]

waiting for the warm-blooded mammals to arrive and take their place. That's what these black cushions all around the room are really all about. They're eggs. And this is a Bodhisattva hatchery, which explains why we sit on them all the time. And it does happen with a big, loud cry, through the infinite patience, magic and truth of these archetypal parentings, that such a human child is born. And that through their own endeavors and through the support of all things, they come to understand themselves and the universe from which they sprang. Not one, not two. One such human child was

[10:25]

Shakyamuni Buddha. That's the smaller figure on the main altar, the human being who came to live in this world. And he is our founder because he found us huddled in the dark, afraid and listening for the nightingale to sing. When people came to understand what it was that the Buddha had to offer, they asked him if they could join him. And he said, OK. From that time on, a simple ceremony, like this Bodhisattva precept ceremony of last Sunday night, has marked the granting of that wish. Like a light through a window, this ceremony reveals that visible purpose within the heart of each of those who claim the Bodhisattva path. And as part of that ritual, these 14 people received a new name and a new robe, which they had sewn by hand.

[11:44]

Before giving them their name and robe, the preceptor says, to sustain and confirm the practice of the Bodhisattva precepts, for their meaning is in the living of them. I will now give you Buddha's name and Buddha's robe to clothe you throughout this life and in times to come. This will be your name, true family and dress. And then, the ordinees take refuge in the Buddha, in the Buddha's teaching and in the family of those who have come to be taught. This is the triple treasure, Buddha, Dharma, Sangha. Next, they make a number of promises in front of their teacher and in front of the great assembly of their friends and family. They promise to embrace and sustain such rituals and ceremonies. They promise to embrace and sustain all good. And they promise to embrace and sustain all beings.

[13:02]

These are the three pure precepts. They also promise, as disciples of the Buddha, not to kill, steal, lie, intoxicate themselves or others, sexualize or slander others, praise themselves at others' expense, harbor ill will, be possessive, possessive of anything or abuse the triple treasure. These are the ten grave precepts. When we hear about such a ceremony, I wonder if we can see within ourselves the equal portion of courage and foolishness that it would take to say these things in front of witnesses. I've made these promises many times myself, as a layperson, as a priest and as a transmitter of the precepts. And still, I am deeply in awe of the impulse on each occasion which brought me to say those words.

[14:19]

In Buddhist terms, this impulse is called the bodhicitta, the mind or the thought of enlightenment. And that thought, most simply stated, is a simple wish to be awakened for the benefit of all being. This is the bodhisattva vow, the song of the nightingale, that each of us, for the sake of one another, enters the Buddha way. As some of you know, my daughter is named Sabrina and she is a remarkable nine years of age this year. And as I learn more and more about her ways, I begin to see how clearly she and all of us have fallen out of the same family tree, the primates.

[15:25]

I think it helps explain the banana. Long before there was any talking going on around here, there was among the primates, from the moment of their birth, the necessity to belong. To belong to their mothers, to their fathers, to their sisters and brothers, to their mother's sisters and brothers, to their tribe, and to their land. This belonging was so deeply encoded into their cells, that their very being, and into their very being, that without it, they most surely would die. And then, over many thousands of years, to whatever advantage it led, these primates stood up, bright, and allowed their arms and hands to be free for carrying things.

[16:38]

Carrying carcasses and infants, weapons, and beaded string. And apparently, from what I've read, our ancestors did not begin to decorate themselves until there were so many of them that they needed to be able to tell one family system apart from the other. The shell people, from the iron people, from the gold people. Who belonged and who did not. And those who did not were often killed or driven off. A friend of mine, many years ago, adopted a baby girl from China. And she went to the orphanage in China to bring her daughter home. And while she was there, she went into the nursery where there were many baby girls lying in rows on cots covered in brightly colored quilts.

[17:47]

And these baby girls were not being taught how to walk, talk, or feed themselves. They were visibly malnourished and in the process of dying. So my friend asked the people upstairs, who were most of the day watching television, about these babies downstairs. And the people said, very kind people, those babies don't have any families. Nobody wants them. Only you Americans and some missionaries come by to ask about them every now and then. Of course, we don't have to visit China or any place else to find children who don't belong, who are malnourished and dying. In our culture, it's more likely to be from diabetes, suicide, gunshot, or drug overdose.

[18:56]

I think many of you saw the pictures of the good people of Oakland marching to call all of our attention to the terrible killing that is taking their children from them. And these killings are not for food or for self-defense. They are for beaded strings and for bliss-inducing medications and for ancient cultural longing. Motherhood, fatherhood, neighborhood. All around us, families are separated from each other by names, by streets, by age, color, gender, sexual preference, styles of dress, and the ever-growing privileges of wealth, class, and education.

[20:03]

And I think we all know which side of these tracks we are fortunate enough to belong. I don't really know what I'm asking of you or of myself in bringing up these matters today. Maybe just that we don't forget that we, all humans around the world, have the same needs, the same longings. That we all want safety and love and respect. Just not to forget, because when we forget, we kill, we lie, we steal, we sexualize, and we slander one another. Those very beings that we are born to love.

[21:05]

I began working on this talk while I was listening to a CD of Kiri Te Kanawa singing these Puccini arias. They are so beautiful and so sad. Each of them is a high-throated cry to the heavens of mercy and belonging. The Buddha also learned to sing wholeheartedly of the human condition. But for me, I believe that his understanding was in the lower registers. In the place between where breath arises and falls. Not one, not two. This libretto is called Dying, and it speaks of these two contrasting elements of our human life.

[22:17]

The cry, the appeal, and the response. Dying, and who knows what sort of life it is. This one clear and bright, blossoming to charm, love, and hope. Or that, cooled to renunciation. Is it timid, quiet, simplicity, handed down like a warning? Like a secret of private virtue, so that everyone achieves their goal? Or is it not rather the vivid flash of new dreams replacing exhausted ones? Peace that is swept away, and the endless wish to desire more. Well, I don't know. But you, who are on the other bank, on the immense shore where the flower of life blossoms, I am sure that you must know.

[23:20]

We just had a visit this week from Suzuki-sensei, who we call Oksan. She is the widow of Suzuki Roshi. We were all very excited at her visit and spent a lot of time cleaning and putting on nice tablecloths and candles. This is her 88th year, and we had a birthday party for her Friday night in the Wheelwright Center. And she told us that when she's out and about in the streets of Shizuoka, which is the town in Japan where she now lives, when she runs into a teenager, she says to them in English, Hello, you must live from your hara. And then she bows and walks on. Yesterday, she and Suzuki Roshi's son, Uitsu Suzuki Roshi, sat side by side in the tea house for several hours laughing, telling stories, and drinking tea.

[24:34]

I knew at times that they were in pain, as was I, so I tried my best to join them, to be upright and sincere, and to live this life from my hara. And at one point, as I was taking myself and my task rather seriously, I glanced over at Oksan, who was looking at me. And I think I smiled rather shyly. And then that much-loved face gave me a wink. Call forth as much as you can of love, of respect, and of faith. Remove the obstructing defilements and clear away all your taints. Listen to the perfect wisdom of the gentle Buddhas, taught for the wheel of the world, for heroic spirits intended.

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Thank you very much.

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