Tag Archives: Zen

New article by Okumura Roshi in September 2018 Dharma Eye

— • —

Okumura Roshi is a regular contributor to Dharma Eye, the journal of the Soto Zen Buddhism International Center, providing translation of and commentary on fascicles of Dogen Zenji’s Shobogenzo. Numerous articles are available free online. For a full listing, and the latest latest article on Ikka Myoju: One Bright Jewel, please see our DI page dedicated to these articles.

— • —


Copyright 2018 Sanshin Zen Community

Advertisements

Practicing determination

Public Domain PD-1923

Dogen’s Chinese Poem (11)

「雪」

Snow

Deepening dusk in early winter, dense snow keeps falling.
On mountains in all directions, [we see] no cypress or pines.
Stop discussing snow depths, and the sinking gloom.
I want this to be like Caoxi Peak on Mount Song.[1]

将暮孟冬降密雪、 (暮れなんと将て孟冬密雪降る、)
四山無柏亦無松、 (四山柏無く亦た松無し、)
休論寸尺将陰気、 (論ずること休みね寸尺と陰気と、)
欲似嵩山少室峰。 (嵩山少室峰に似たらんと欲う。)

This is verse 11 in Kuchugen and verse 87 of volume 10 of Eihei Koroku (Dogen’s Extensive Record). It is one of the four poems about “snow” in Kuchugen. In Manzan’s version, there is a difference in the third line:

將委積論多少 (委積を將て多少を論ずることを休めよ)。
Stop discussing the amount of snow whether it is much or not so much.

There is also a slight difference in the 4th line:

欲似嵩少室峰
I wish [this scenery] is like the Caoxi peak of the high mountain, Song.

Deepening dusk in early winter, dense snow keeps falling.
On mountains in all directions, [we see] no cypress or pines.

Moto (孟冬) refers to the beginning of the winter, that is, 10th month in lunar calendar; November to December in solar calendar. Missetu (密雪) refers to heavy snow falling continuously without making any sound. When winter comes to the Hokuriku district where Dogen lived, the north wind from Siberia brings humid air from Japan sea. The wind hits the high mountains, goes up, freezes, and comes down as snow. Each winter, people in this region have huge amount of snow. Sometimes they have more than ten feet of snow which may cover the entire village unless people continuously remove the snow on the roofs and streets.

In the second line, Dogen describes the mountain scenery completely covered with white snow. The differences among various kinds of trees such as cypress, pine, and many others cannot be seen.

Stop discussing snow depths, and the sinking gloom.
I want this to be like Caoxi Peak on Mount Song.

In the third line, Dogen asks his monks not to discuss and complain about how much snow they have and how cold, humid, and gloomy the world has become. Inki (陰気) is yin-energy (as opposed to yang-energy) which makes the world cold, dark, humid, and living beings inactive, gloomy, and even depressed. Ancient Chinese and Japanese people thought that from autumn to winter, yin-energy becomes stronger, and from spring to the summer yang-energy becomes stronger. In Chinese philosophy, yin and yang (dark-bright, negative-positive) describe how seemingly opposite or contrary energy may actually be complementary, interconnected, and interdependent in the natural world, and how they may give rise to each other as they interrelate to one another.

In the final line, Dogen asks his monks to remember the incident that happened in the snow when the Second Ancestor, Huike visited the First Ancestor, Bodhidharma. Su-zan Shoshitsu-ho (嵩山少室峰, Caoxi peak on Mt. Song) was where the Shaolin temple was located. The Second Ancestor, Huike (慧可, Eka) visited Bodhidharma wishing to become his disciple. According to the legend, Huike stood in the snow all night while Bodhidharma sat facing the wall. Dogen describes the day of this event in Shobogenzo Gyoji (Continuous Practice, Part Two):

At that time, it was the final month of a year, and a very cold day. It is said that it was the night of the 9th day of the 12th month. Even if it was not heavily snowing, the winter night in the deep mountains is not a place a human being can stand on the outside ground. It was a dreadful time of the year; even a joint of bamboo would be broken [with cold]. Therefore, a huge amount of snow covered the entire earth, both mountains and peaks. He sought the Way in the snow. We cannot imagine how hard it was![2]

Huike was not permitted to enter Bodhidharma’s room (another version says that Bodhidharma was sitting in a cave). Huike kept standing in the snow almost until dawn. During that time, Huike remembered how past bodhisattvas practiced without thinking of their own bodily life, such as the bodhisattva who offered himself to a hungry mother tiger to help her seven cubs, etc. Then Huike thought to himself, “Ancient people with great capability and determination were like that, then who I am?” Huike made his aspiration stronger. Later, when he talked with Bodhidharma, he cut his arm to show his determination.

After introducing this story Dogen writes, “[His descendants] in later times should not forget this saying, ‘Even the ancient people were like that, then who am I?’”

I think this is what Dogen Zenji wants to say in this Chinese poem to his disciples. Even when the entire world is cold, humid, and gloomy, we should think of how ancient bodhisattvas practiced and renew our determination, instead of being overwhelmed and complaining about the weather. Probably Dogen was also encouraging himself.

These days, at some Japanese Soto Zen monasteries, right after Rohatsu sesshin is completed and after performing a ceremony celebrating Buddha’s Enlightenment on December 8th, they hold a Danpi (cutting-arm) sesshin and sit all night until the morning of 9th.

— • —

[1] (Dogen’s Extensive Record 10-87, p.635) © 2010 Taigen Dan Leighton and Shohaku Okumura, Dōgen’s Extensive Record. Reprinted by arrangement with Wisdom Publications, Inc., http://www.wisdompubs.org.

[2] This is Okumura’s unpublished translation

— • —

Translation and commentary by Shōhaku Okumura Roshi.


Copyright 2018 Sanshin Zen Community

False and true, good and bad

  

Photo copyright©David S. Thompson

Dogen’s Chinese Poem (10)

「雪」

Snow

In our lifetime, false and true, good and bad are confused.
While playing with the moon, scorning winds, and listening to birds,
For many years I merely saw that mountains had snow.
This winter, suddenly I realize that snow completes mountains.[1]

生涯虚実是非乱 (生涯虚実是非乱りがわし、)
弄月嘲風聴鳥間 (月を弄び風を嘲り鳥を聴く間、)
多歳徒看山有雪 (多歳徒らに看る山に雪ありと、)
今冬忽覚雪成山 (今冬忽ちに覚る雪山を成すを。)

This is verse 10 in Kuchugen and verse 90 of volume 10 of Eihei Koroku (Dogen’s Extensive Record). It is the first of four poems about “snow” in Kuchugen. In Manzan’s version of this poem, there is one small difference in the first line:

生涯事事是非乱
In our life time, regarding each and every affair, good and bad are confused.

And the second line is quite different:
對物失眞虚實
Facing things, we [sometimes] lose true [principle] between false and genuine.

In our lifetime, false and true, good and bad are confused.

In Yogacara teachings, all of the experiences we had in the past have been stored as seeds in the 8th and deepest layer of our consciousness, called alaya. Alaya means storehouse; this is translated into English as storehouse consciousness. The 7th layer is called manas, which means discrimination, and sometimes is translated into English as ego consciousness. The 7th consciousness grasps the stored seeds in the 8th consciousness as “I.” This influences the first six layers of consciousness; the first five are consciousness caused by the mutual encountering of the five sense organs (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, and body) and their objects (color, sound, smell, taste, and touch), and the 6th layer is the ordinary thinking mind. This is an explanation of how each of us, with our karmic consciousness, sees things in different ways, thinks differently, and makes different evaluations or judgements about things.

For example, in Shobogenzo Genjokoan, and also Shobogenzo Sansuikyo (Mountains and Waters Sutra), Dogen mentions that four different kinds of beings see the same water in different ways. Heavenly beings see water as jewels, human beings see water as water, fish see water as a palace, and hungry ghosts see water as raging flames or as pus and blood.

Even among people living in the same human realm, the same thing can be seen in very different ways, depending upon the person’s karmic conditions. When we are burning with thirst, water can be more valuable than any material treasure. In the East Asian countries where rice is grown as the main grain, having enough water in the summer is the most important element to get a good harvest. In ancient times, when the rice fields dried up during a long drought, farmers had to fight with others to get more water to their own fields. But when we have more than enough water, such as during a rainy season or when we are hit by a typhoon accompanied by heavy rain, or when we are struck by a tsunami after big earthquakes, we feel water is like a demon. About such happenings in nature, most people in the human realm share quite the same feelings.

However, in the case of subtler and more complicated situations, like incidents between people, each person sees things from their individual point of view, evaluates them differently, and even makes various stories, like people in Kurosawa’s movie, Rashomon. In this movie, a samurai was killed in the forest by a bandit. But the bandit, the samurai, and his wife tell very different stories about what happened. Not only those three people – even the woodcutter who finds the dead samurai and reports it to the police makes up his own story. In their made-up stories, each one of them is the hero or heroine. They make up their stories in such a way that they can be considered good or honorable people. According to the Yogacara teaching, that is the function of the seventh, the ego consciousness. This is how we see things in self-centered ways. Among people and even within ourselves, what is false or true, right or wrong is not always obvious. Still, we tend to consider the way we see things as absolutely right and others’ views as always wrong or distorted. It seems this kind of thing is happening many places in the world every day.

Religions used to be powerful systems that made their believers blindly believe in things according to their doctrines and judge other people as wrong or evil. However, it seems the same kinds of things are happening in the world of politics today. I think it is dangerous. People don’t trust others, don’t listen to other people who have different opinions, and simply call their voices fake.

While playing with the moon, scorning winds, and listening to birds,

We see the moon with different feelings depending upon the seasons and the situations in our lives. When we see the beautiful harvest moon and the clouds blown by the wind hide it, we want to scorn the wind. Listening to birds singing is the same; sometimes we feel cheered up, and sometimes we become saddened by them.

This is how our minds change depending upon the objects and the situation. We also see  external objects differently depending upon our psychological condition. Internal conditions and external views are working together. Our minds go up and down depending upon the stories we are making. When we study Buddhism, we may come to think that the views we have on each occasion change depending upon our karmic consciousness and the situation.

For many years I merely saw that mountains had snow.
This winter, suddenly I realize that snow completes mountains.

Thinking in the way I have just described above, we understand that external things and our psychological conditions are ever-changing, delusive, and impermanent. They are always floating and changing and therefore we cannot rely on them. The sceneries of the mountains – flowers in the spring, green leaves in the summer, tinged leaves in the autumn, and desolate bare trees covered by white snow – are the same as our delusive feelings influenced by the change of the situation. To be free from such impermanent and unreliable conditions, we might think we should see the mountain itself, before or beyond such transitory phenomenal conditions. We may pursue awakening to the reality beyond external impermanent things and beyond temporal mental conditions.

However, in this poem, Dogen says that he realized that there is no such substantial mountain which does not change in the process of the turning of the seasons. Rather the different sceneries of each season – flowers in the spring, the song of cuckoo in the summer, the shining moon in the autumn, and the snowy mountain in the winter – are themselves the true reality of mountains. And our mental conditions caused by these changes are the true reality of our lives at the moment, if we are not deceived and pulled by them. This is the meaning of Dogen’s waka poem entitled the Original Face:[2]

春は花    夏ほととぎす  秋は月   冬雪きえで  すずしかりけり
Haru wa hana / natsu hototogisu / aki wa tsuki / fuyu yuki kiede / suzushi kari keri

Spring, flowers
Summer, cuckoos
Autumn, the moon
Winter, snow does not melt
all seasons pure and upright

— • —

[1] Dogen’s Extensive Record 10-90, p.635. © 2010 Taigen Dan Leighton and Shohaku Okumura, Dōgen’s Extensive Record. Reprinted by arrangement with Wisdom Publications, Inc., http://www.wisdompubs.org.
[2] See more about the poem Original Face here.

— • —

Translation and commentary by Shōhaku Okumura Roshi.


Copyright 2018 Sanshin Zen Community

Bodhisattva Cricket Chirping


Naturalis [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Dogen’s Chinese Poem (9)

「同(山居)」

Mountain Dwelling (7)

Grasshopper thinking and insect chirping; how earnest.
Soft breeze and hazy moon are both calm.
Clouds envelop pines and cedars round the old hall by the pond.
By the mountain temple autumn raindrops fall on the empress tree.[1]

蛬思声何切切 (蛬の思い虫の声何ぞ切切たる、)
微風朧月両悠悠 (微風朧月両ら悠悠たり、)
雲封松柏池臺舊 (雲は松柏を封じて池臺舊りたり、)
雨滴梧桐山寺秋 (雨は梧桐に滴って山寺秋なり)

This is verse 9 in Kuchugen and verse 111 of volume 10 of Eihei Koroku (Dogen’s Extensive Record). This is one of the poems about mountain dwelling. In Manzan’s version, there is only one difference, in the first sentence:

蛬思聲何切切: Grasshopper thinking and cicada chirping; how earnest.

 

Grasshopper thinking and insect chirping; how earnest.

In modern Japanese, kyo or kirigirisu (蛬, gong in Chinese) is grasshopper. According to a dictionary however, in medieval Japan this word referred to any insect that chirps, particularly korogi (crickets). English Wikipedia says, “Grasshoppers are insects of the suborder Caelifera within the order Orthoptera, which includes crickets and their allies in the other suborder Ensifera.”

One of the differences between kirigirisu (grasshoppers) and korogi (crickets) is the time when they chirp. Kirigirisu are active in the daytime, korogi are nocturnal so they chirp in the night. In this poem, Dogen writes about an autumn evening, so I think cricket is more suitable than grasshopper. Crickets and other insects are incessantly chirping in the autumn evening. Dogen says their thoughts and voices are earnest and fervent— as if they know their life is short and impermanent. Human beings are the same. Dogen and his monks are practicing the Dharma wholeheartedly with ardent bodhi-mind because of their awakening to the impermanence of their lives.

Soft breeze and hazy moon are both calm.

In contrast, the cool, soft autumn breeze and the hazy moon in the rainy sky are calm and peaceful. In Japanese there is an expression, ugetsu (雨月), the moonlight on a rainy night. This expression is used particularly when it is raining on the full moon night of the eight month, the day of harvest moon; it is dark but the hazy moon is slightly visible. There is a well-known collection of supernatural stories written by Ueda Akinari (1734 – 1809) entitled Ugetsu Monogatari. The famous director, Mizoguchi Kenji (1898 – 1956) made a movie based on a few stories from this book. I don’t think Dogen intends to show us such mystery stories, but it is also true that this expression indicates the realm beyond the ordinary day-to-day lives where people are working hard and struggling for fame and profit.

Dogen describes the difference between living beings such as crickets, other insects, and humans who live in a limited time frame, and the things in nature such as wind, clouds, mountains, rivers, and the moon. Human beings particularly know the impermanence of their lives and yet they have desires, or wish to accomplish something within their life time, and so are always trying not to waste a single moment. This is the reason their thoughts and voices are so earnest. But these earnest activities are together with the soft breeze and hazy moon which is calm and peaceful. It seems to me that Dogen is describing the world of Bodhisattva practice in which practitioners work earnestly within peace and harmony.

Clouds envelop pines and cedars round the old hall by the pond.

By the pond, there is a tall temple building surrounded by trees such as pine and cedar. In the misty evening darkness, all these things are enveloped by the clouds and mist. In their practice, the differences of forms such as pines and cedars are concealed by the clouds and mist; they are in oneness. The old hall in which eternal Buddha is enshrined silently stands by the old pond. This is the scenery of the world of Bodhisattva vows.

By the mountain temple autumn raindrops fall on the empress tree.

Although we translated it as “the empress tree” in Dogen’s Extensive Record, according to dictionaries, this could be a mistake. The empress tree is paulownia; in Japanese, the paulownia tree is called kiri (桐). However, Dogen’s poem says aogiri (梧桐, wutong in Chinese). Kiri and aogiri are two different kinds of tree. Aogiri (Firmiana simplex) is called the Chinese parasol tree or phoenix tree in English. It is called phoenix tree because in ancient China, it was said that this is the only tree upon which a phoenix (鳳凰, fenghuang in Chinese, hoo in Japanese), the mythological king of birds, will rest. The phoenix (a bird) has been considered a symbol of union of yin and yang energy. The leaves on phoenix trees being tinged with yellow is used in Chinese poetry as the typical scenery of autumn.“Phoenix tree” is probably more suitable in this poem describing the scenery of a mountain temple in autumn. The raindrops are still falling on the leaves of the phoenix tree, making subtle sounds.

— • —

[1] (Dogen’s Extensive Record 10-111, p.641) © 2010 Taigen Dan Leighton and Shohaku Okumura, Dōgen’s Extensive Record. Reprinted by arrangement with Wisdom Publications, Inc., http://www.wisdompubs.org.

— • —

Translation and commentary by Shōhaku Okumura Roshi.


Copyright 2018 Sanshin Zen Community

A monk in zazen

Dogen’s Chinese Poems (8)

「同(山居)」

Mountain Dwelling (6)

Towers in front and pavilions behind stand splendid.
On the peak is a stupa of five or six levels.
Under the moon in cool autumn wind, a crane sleeps standing.
The robe is transmitted at midnight to a monk in zazen.[1]

前楼後閣玲瓏起 (前楼後閣玲瓏として起つ、)
峰頭塔婆五六層 (峰頭の塔婆五六層、)
月冷風秋立睡鶴 (月冷じく風秋にして睡鶴を立たしむ、)
衣伝半夜坐禅僧 (衣は伝う半夜の坐禅僧)

This is verse 8 in Kuchugen and verse 109 of volume 10 of Eihei Koroku (Dogen’s Extensive Record). This is one of the poems about mountain dwelling. In Manzan’s version of this poem, there is slight difference in the third line:

月冷風高箇時節: the moon light is cool, the wind is high at this time of the year

Traditional commentaries interpret the first three lines as a description of Eiheiji while the assembly of monks is sitting in the monks’ hall. In the short-range view, someone sees large temple buildings, and in the distant view, the stupa (a five storied-pagoda) on the mountain. Then he describes the moon in the sky and a crane sleeping calmly. This is not simply the scenery of a mountain temple, but the world of zazen in serenity.

The modern scholar Prof. Teppu Otani questions if there were so many large buildings and a five-storied pagoda on the peak of the mountain at Eiheiji during the time of Dogen Zenji. He suggests that this poem might be about Dogen’s memory of Tiantong monastery in China. The first line of the poem is actually taken from Tiantong Rujing’s own dharma words, presented at the mountain gate on the occasion of his mountain seat ceremony, when he became the abbot of Tiantong monastery. In this interpretation, this monk sitting until midnight refers to Dogen himself: the Dharma and the robe were transmitted to Dogen from Rujing.

Kodo Sawaki Roshi says that this is the scenery at Eiheiji, but in this poem I think Dogen Zenji is saying that in the world of zazen, in the beautiful scenery of a crane sleeping-standing peacefully underneath the cool moonlight in the autumn wind, Eiheiji and the Fifth Ancestor’s monastery are interpenetrating. Dogen wrote in Bendowa,

“Therefore, even if only one person sits for a short time, because this zazen is one with all existence and completely permeates all times, it performs everlasting buddha guidance within the inexhaustible dharma world in the past, present, and future. [Zazen] is equally the same practice and the same enlightenment for both the person sitting and for all dharmas.”

In his zazen, there is no separation between the night at Eiheiji and the night at the monastery when Huineng received the robe. The practice at Eiheiji and the Sixth Ancestor’s dharma transmission are taking place at the same time. In this case, the “monk in zazen” who received the robe refers to Huineng. However, this interpretation does not make as much sense to me because when he received the Dhamrma transmission, Huineng was not yet an ordained monk, but a lay worker.

I suppose that as Dogen writes this poem, the scenery at Eiheiji and at Tiangong monastery overlap. Dogen’s zazen and his assembled monks’ zazen is not separate from the zazen Dogen practiced with Rujing many years before in China.

During sesshin, I sometimes feel that my zazen at Sanshinji and my zazen at Antaiji in Kyoto, or at Valley Zendo in Massachusetts, and at many other places, are the same zazen. I still feel I am sitting together with my teacher, Uchiyama Roshi. When we sit facing the wall, we are simply facing the wall, facing the buddha, and facing the self. Sometimes, I feel like all of time and all of space are within this single period of zazen here and now.

Dogen might be remembering the vow he made when he saw Chinese monks reciting the robe-chant every day after morning zazen. Now at Eiheiji, all the monks are sitting wearing okesa together with him. I think the “monk in zazen” in this poem refers to each and every monk at Eiheiji who is sitting wearing the authentic okesa Dogen transmitted from China.

— • —

[1] (Dogen’s Extensive Record 10-109, p.641) © 2010 Taigen Dan Leighton and Shohaku Okumura, Dōgen’s Extensive Record. Reprinted by arrangement with Wisdom Publications, Inc., http://www.wisdompubs.org.

— • —

Translation and commentary by Shōhaku Okumura Roshi.


Copyright 2018 Sanshin Zen Community

New articles by Okumura Roshi in Dharma Eye

— • —

Okumura Roshi is a regular contributor to Dharma Eye, the journal of the Soto Zen Buddhism International Center, providing translation of and commentary on fascicles of Dogen Zenji’s Shobogenzo. Numerous articles are available free online. For a full listing, and the latest latest two articles on Ikka Myoju: One Bright Jewel, please see our DI page dedicated to these articles.

— • —


Copyright 2018 Sanshin Zen Community

The evening bell

Photo [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Dogen’s Chinese Poems (7)

「同(山居)」

Mountain Dwelling (5)

The evening bell rings in moonlight and lanterns are raised.
Training monks sit in the hall and quietly observe emptiness.
Having fortunately attained the three robes, now they plant seeds.
How heartwarming, their ripening liberation in the one mind.[1]

晩鐘鳴月上燈籠 (晩鐘月に鳴らして燈籠を上ぐ、)
雲衲坐堂靜觀空 (雲衲、堂に坐して靜かに空を觀ず、)
幸得三田今下種 (幸いに三田を得て今種を下す、)
快哉熟脱一心中 (快きかな熟脱一心の中。)

This is verse 7 in Kuchugen and verse 110 of volume 10 of Eihei Koroku (Dogen’s Extensive Record). This is one of the poems about mountain dwelling. Manzan’s version is exactly the same as the Monkaku version.

The evening bell rings in moonlight and lanterns are raised.
Training monks sit in the hall and quietly observe emptiness.

The first two lines are the description of an evening practice at Eiheiji (or Daibutsuji). According to The Model for Engaging the Way (Bendoho), the daily practice schedule at the monks’ hall begins with evening zazen, not with the wake-up bell in the morning. Traditionally this has been interpreted to mean that even the time of sleeping in the night is not a break from monks’ practice.

While the monk in charge (鐘司, shosu or bell manager) strikes the evening bell one hundred and eight times, it is getting dark, the moon rises, the candles are lit, and the lanterns are raised in the monks’ hall and the walkways. In the monks’ hall, training monks sit evening zazen in silence. The sublime sound of the big temple bell (梵鐘, bonsho), boundless bright moon, the small light of the lanterns, and the monks are all within calmness, peace, and harmony.

Although it says the monks quietly “observe” emptiness (靜觀空), it is not possible for monks to “observe” or “contemplate” emptiness as the object of their minds. Just sitting is itself contemplating emptiness. This is the same as is said in the first sentence of the Heart Sutra, “Avalokiteshvara Bodhisattva, when deeply practicing prajna paramita, clearly saw that all five aggregates are empty and thus relieved all suffering.” There is no such person named Avalokiteshvara beside the five aggregates. This “clear seeing” means that the five aggregates of Avalokiteshvara are simply being the five aggregates; there is no subject-object separation and relation. Five aggregates just being the five aggregates is itself clear seeing of emptiness. Within the practice of prajna paramita, or just sitting, emptiness is revealed. The boundless moonlight and small lights of lanterns, the monks’ five aggregates, and emptiness are corresponding with and interpenetrating each other. In Shobogenzo Zanmai-o-zanmai (The Samadhi that is king of samadhis), Dogen Zenji said, “Now we sit in full-lotus with this human skin, flesh, bones, and marrow, we sit zanmai-o-zanmai (the samadhi that is the king of samadhis) in full-lotus… This is the time when buddhas see buddhas. This is the very moment of living beings’ becoming buddha.”

Having fortunately attained the three robes, now they plant seeds.
How heartwarming, their ripening liberation in the one mind.

In the third and fourth lines, Dogen expresses the profound meaning of this practice in the peaceful mountains. “Three robes” translates the Chinese characters for sanden (三田, literally, three rice fields). According to Dr. Genryu Kagamishima,[2]sanden refers to the three robes (kasyaya with 5, 7, and 9 or more stripes) which are collectively called fukuden-e (福田衣, the robe of the field of happiness). Zen monks receive these three robes as part of shukke tokudo (monk ordination). Attaining the three robes means becoming Buddha’s disciples.

種 (shu, planting seeds), 熟 (juku, process of growing and maturing), 脱 (datsu, liberation as the result, or harvesting) are used in Tendai teachings as the process of arousing bodhi-mind, practice, and attaining liberation. Dogen used these in Shobogenzo Kuge:

“They only know that flowers of emptiness (kuge) are something to be discarded; they don’t know the great matter after [seeing] flowers of emptiness. They don’t know planting seeds, ripening, and coming out of the husk of flowers of emptiness (kuge).”

Here Dogen is saying that it is not that there is no process of growing and maturing, blooming, and bearing fruit, but that the entire process is within the practice of this moment.

In Dogen’s teaching, “the one mind” is as he says in Shobogenzo Sokushin-zebutsu (The Mind is Itself Buddha), “The mind that has been authentically transmitted is ‘one mind is all dharmas; all dharmas are one mind.’” The monks’ practicing zazen, seeing emptiness, is “dropping off body and mind of the self and others.”

There is an alternate interpretation of the final lines of Dōgen’s poem. According to Sawaki Roshi and other scholars, “three fields” refers to a saying from the Mahayana Parinirvana Sutra categorizing the three types of people’s quality, corresponding to the bodhisattva, the shravaka, and the icchantika. Icchantika are people who have no potential to become a buddha.

The Mahayana Mahaparnirvana Sutra Chapter Forty: On Bodhisattva Kasyapa (a)[3]  says:

“It is like three kinds of field. One is easy to irrigate. There is no sand there, no salt, no gravel, and no stones, and no thorns. Plant one, and one gains 100. The second also has no sand, no salt, no gravel, no stones, and no thorns. But irrigation is difficult, and the harvest is down by half. The third gives difficulties with irrigation, and it is full of sand, gravel, stones, and thorns. Plant one, and one gains one, due to the straw and grass. O good man! In the spring months, where will the farmer plant first?”

“O World-Honored One! First, the first field, second, the second field, and third, the third field.”

“The first can be likened to the Bodhisattva, the second to the sravaka, and the third to the icchantika.”

If we interpret the third and four lines in this way, what Dogen means is that even though there are monks who have various qualities, some who are sincere and capable, and others who are mediocre or even low quality, in their zazen here and now, they are all equally expressing emptiness and their buddha-seeds are all ripening.

I think the first interpretation is better. It is difficult to me to think that Dogen is watching and categorizing his disciples depending on their ability.

— • —

[1] (Dogen’s Extensive Record 10-110, p.641) © 2010 Taigen Dan Leighton and Shohaku Okumura, Dōgen’s Extensive Record. Reprinted by arrangement with Wisdom Publications, Inc., http://www.wisdompubs.org.
[2] The editor of Dogen Zenji Zenshu (The Complete Collection of Dogen Zenji’s Writings) published by Shunjusha.
[3] Translation by Kosho Yamamoto, edited, revised and copyright by Dr. Tony Page, 2007).

— • —

Translation and commentary by Shōhaku Okumura Roshi.


Copyright 2018 Sanshin Zen Community