Buddhism can be regarded as a fairly negative religion, especially when reading the Mahayana teachings of emptiness. This can lead to many misunderstandings as to the nature of that emptiness and what enlightenment is. Often when one hears about a Zen master or someone who has had a satori experience there is a sense in which that person is enlightened, that they become a moral authority without peer. Yet there are also many instances of masters, from all traditions, behaving in ways that do not suit them. It is as though the teaching absolves them from moral absolutes by virtue of their own experience combined with a thorough disdain for the normal world in which the rest of us live. This can lead to people abusing their position in various ways, even leading to views that seem very much at odds with Buddhism's peaceful reputation, such as described in the book Zen at War.

Over the past year I have been slowly making my way through the Vimalakirti Sutra, which tells the tale of a layman known as Vimalakirti and describes his complete understanding of the doctrine of emptiness. At the start of the book he is pretending to be ill in order to encourage visitors to come and listen to his teaching. At one point in the book he is visited by a number of bodhisattvas from a different realm of existence where enlightenment is easy to attain. They go together to meet the Buddha from our realm and put to him a question as to how he can teach in this world when there is so much wrong with it. The Buddha's answer is interesting and it addresses something of the correct way to approach emptiness. That is, while we should hold on to emptiness as a method for understanding the nature reality it is important for us to remember the rules of the world around us, of what the best of us should try to be in our relations with others. Emptiness, in other words, is not some kind of all-purpose get-out clause for our actions even if we are enlightened, and more so if we are not.

"What is meant by saying that the bodhisattva does not dwell in the unconditioned? It means that one studies and practices the teachings on emptiness, but does not take emptiness to be enlightenment. One studies and practices the teachings on nonform and nonaction, but does not take nonform and nonaction to be enlightenment. One studies and practices the teachings on nonarousal [of causes], but does not take nonarousal to be enlightenment. One views things as impermanent, but does not neglect to cultivate the roots of goodness. One views the world as marked by suffering, but does not hate to be born and die in it.... One views the world as something to be cast off, withdrawn from, yet with body and mind one practices goodness.... One embraces the view of emptiness and nothingness, yet does not discard one's great pity.... One embraces the view that all phenomena are are void and false, lacking firmness, lacking personality... yet while one's original vow remains unfulfilled, one does not regard merits, virtues, meditation or wisdom as meaningless."
Chapter 11, Vimalakirti Sutra, trans. Burton Watson, 1997, Columbia Press.

Bob Myers' Translations of Dogen Translations of Dogen available under a Creative Commons license.

Greco-Buddhism - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia: OK, so I'm placing too much reliance on simply blogging links to wikipedia or wired but this is an interesting article to me. The links between ancient greek philosophy and Buddhism are genuine and represent an alliance of like thought crossing and mingling - "Greco-Buddhism, sometimes spelled Gr�co-Buddhism, is the cultural syncretism between the culture of Classical Greece and Buddhism, which developed over a period of close to 800 years in Central Asia in the area corresponding to modern-day Afghanistan and Pakistan, between the 4th century BCE and the 5th century CE. Greco-Buddhism influenced the artistic (and, possibly, conceptual) development of Buddhism, and in particular Mahayana Buddhism, before it was adopted by Central and Northeastern Asia from the 1st century CE, ultimately spreading to China, Korea and Japan."

Last weekend I attended a three day monastic retreat at a soto zen monastery in northumbria. I have been meditating, but I realise now not very effectively, in an effort to deepen my practise but mainly to deal with the world around me. Work has been very stressful this past year, no writing to speak of, no growth, no change, at least that's how it seems even if it's not altogether true.
I wasn't prepared for how hard it is. I was so consumed by looking forward to it I didn't consider much of what it was and if i had perhaps i wouldn't have gone. Being soto everything is regulated, although it is considerably easier than that found in japanese monasteries. I arrived late Friday afternoon to a quiet, subdued atmosphere that was intimidating. Medicine meal in the evening of soup, and then a double meditation session before an hour of contemplation and lights out at ten. The location is beautiful, surrounded by trees the air is alive with the songs of birds, like stones thrown into the pool of mind. But the meditation didn't seem to be working. Lately I've become used to a kind of joy while meditating but that didn't seem to happen. Perhaps the, to me, stressful environment, the different type of meditation (doing shikantaza instead of breath counting/focus) the confusion at each stage over what needs to happen next (when in doubt - gassho!)
It's also strange, I guess, to encounter zen as religion - not merely philosophy which is how it's become for me, over the years, to see it. There were times saturday when I wondered whether it might be best to just leave, a talk with one of the monks and the encouragement to listen for the silence in all sound helped, increasing pain in my legs and back didn't.
On Sunday the morning was made a little lighter as after meditation, morning service, cleaning and breakfast we had the festival of Manjusri and then a dharma talk expanding on who and what Manjusri is. I also switched to alternating my meditation sessions so I used a chair some of the time and not just a cushion to make it easier on my poor knees. The pain in both legs and back (pain in back and shoulders I quickly realised was due to existing, long term, tensions brought out in the meditation- not all gone yet but) lessened and the sessions seemed to become shorter for a time as home time came closer, and the exercise of digging ditches released a few endorphins. I feel like the progress I made was microscopic but larger then mnt sumeru. Reading some suzuki on hui neng i glimpse some of the intuitive understanding of what he is talking about. Reading a bit of hakuin the rascal makes me laugh out loud. No satori, no great realisation or understanding. How do I include this in my life?

Rick's response:
"Blyth says at one point, "The object of (Chinese) Zen is to transcend life and death, and, really to live.To die, to rot and to live until we do- how to perform this in the best possible way is the great problem of life." This echoes your question. His advice on how to live a zen life, which is about the best I know, is contained in the following.

"Zen means doing anything perfectly, making mistakes perfectly, being defeated perfectly, hesitating perfectly, having stomach-ache perfectly, doing anything, perfectly or imperfectly, PERFECTLY. What is the meaning of this PERFECTLY? How does it differ from perfectly? PERFECTLY is in the will; perfectly is in the activity. Perfectly means that the activity is harmonious in all its parts, and fully achieves its proposed end. PERFECTLY means that at each moment of the activity there is no egoism in it, or rather, that our ego works together with the attraction and repulsion of the Egoism of the nature within and without us. Our pain is not only our own pain; it is the pain of the universe. The "joy" of the universe is also our joy, Our failure or misjudgement is that of nature, which never hopes or despairs, but keeps on trying."

This leads to the idea that active acceptance is the Way. Acceptance of toothache, acceptance of the loss of your child's innocence, acceptance of all manner of misfortune and calamity, acceptance of our feeble, ineffectual attempts to grasp the Way, actively. Not my will, but thy will be done. No ego, no self, then we can do everything PERFECTLY."

"Han Shan and Shih-te are two inseparable characters in the history of Zen Buddhism, forming one of the most favourite subjects of Sumiye painting by Zen artists. Han Shan was a poet-recluse of the T'ang dynasty. His features looked worn out, and his body was covered in clothes all in tatters. He wore a head gear made of birch-bark and his feet carried a pair of sabots too large for them. He frequently visited the Kuo-ch'ing monastery at T'ien-tai, where he was fed with whatever remnants there were from the monk's table. He would walk quietly up and down through the corridors, occasionally talking aloud to himself or to the air. When he was driven out, he would clap his hands and laughing loudly would leave the monastery."
- D. T. Suzuki, Essays in Zen Buddhism, Third Series, 1953, p. 160
Cold Mountain Buddhas (Han Shan): Biographies, Links, Bibliography, Quotes, Poems.