Cracking the walnut, p.11
Cracking the Walnut, page 11
Who among us does not abide? We are all present, laughing and talking. But if we are abiding, how can we be going? If we are going, how can we say we are abiding? Our ways of thinking do not make sense.
If the act of going is not
how can a goer be possible?
We need to contemplate: apart from the action of going, how can there be a goer? Nāgārjuna has an unusual way to help us reflect on this. He uses dialectics to help us see the absurdity of our way of thinking. Normally we act based on our illogical way of thinking, and because of this we make many mistakes. If our thinking is not right thinking, our action is not right action. Right action is only possible with right thinking and right view. Right view in the ultimate sense is the view of emptiness, conventional designation, and the Middle Way. When we have a deep understanding of these three contemplations, our thinking is right thinking. With right thinking, which is not caught in the ideas of going or abiding, not yet gone or already gone, being or nonbeing, we act as a buddha or a bodhisattva. This is called right action.
Without this right view we do not think according to emptiness, conventional designation, and the Middle Way. Our actions are misguided and bring about suffering and fear. They are not right action.
17. Someone who has gone or has not yet gone does not abide.
Someone who is going also does not abide.
Similarly someone who is going, has gone, or has not yet gone
does not arise, decay, or end.
去未去無住
去時亦無住
所有行止法
皆同於去義
We’ve already learned these four signs according to the Sarvāstivāda: arising, abiding, decaying, and ending. We cannot find abiding in that which has already gone or in that which has not yet gone. Nor can we find that which is going. What Nāgārjuna says about abiding can be used to examine arising, decaying, and ending. What Nāgārjuna says about any one of these can be understood for the other three. Here is a poem that I wrote at the beginning of 1964:*
Just like a stream that goes back to meet the great ocean
tomorrow, when you leave, remember to sing a song for the new season.
The sound of the song will resound, giving me enough strength to go on another stretch of my journey.
This reflects a worry that we all have. We are anxious and fear that when our loved one leaves us we will be alone. Just like a stream, returning to the great ocean means that sooner or later you will have to go; I will be alone. For example, someone may say: one day Thầy will have to go, and I will feel lost. Tomorrow, when you leave, remember to sing a song for the new season. When you leave me all alone, remember to offer me some sort of legacy. With that legacy I shall be able to continue another stretch of my journey. We all demand this of the person we love, whether it is our spiritual teacher or someone else we take refuge in. We demand this because we are attached.
The sound of the song will resound, giving me enough strength to go on another stretch of my journey. “Poor me! I need you. I still need you. You have to leave something behind for me! If you don’t, when you leave I will die, I will be lost and all alone.” This is a human need. Here is the response of our loved one:
At the place of departure there is the moon, the clouds, water, and wind.
And at the place of arrival, yellow flowers and the violet bamboo will be there to greet me.
Since you are a leaf, a flower, you have me from beginningless time
and the blue of the immense sky in your eyes will always be there.
But because you can’t see this, out of love, you keep talking about my departure.
I will not leave
or I will leave but never go anywhere.
This is the insight into no-coming and no-going. We see distinctly that there is no one going, there is no time of going, and there is nowhere to go. The poet speaks gently and skillfully in order to remove the obstacles of his disciples, his younger brothers and sisters.
I will not leave is a bold declaration. I will never die. I will never leave you, I will never leave my disciples, my brothers and sisters! It should be enough just to say this, but since the disciple or the younger sibling is still so attached, we need to say more. I shall not leave because I am of the nature not to depart. If you look deeply, you will see this, and once you have seen it you will have nothing to worry about.
I will not leave
or I will leave but never go anywhere.
This sentence means that I am not going anywhere. If there is no place to go to, then how can there be going?
At the place of departure there is the moon, the clouds, water, and wind.
And at the place of arrival, yellow flowers and the violet bamboo will be there to greet me.
If you say that I am going, you should see that at the place of my departure there is the moon, the clouds, the water, and the wind—all miracles. At the place of my arrival there are yellow flowers and violet bamboo. Wherever I go I am in the ultimate dimension, which means that I have not left. The moon, the clouds, the wind, and the water are not different from the yellow flowers and the violet bamboo. They are all manifestations of the Dharmakāya.
One of the beautiful names we give the Buddha is Tathāgata, which means “the one who comes from and returns to suchness.” Is there a place which is not suchness? With this insight we see that Tathāgata does not arrive and does not depart. This is not only the nature of the Tathāgata, but also the nature of the flower, the cloud, and the wind. We have to see that nature in order to realize the path of practice. Poetry has a special ability to use images to demonstrate the truth. Whereas Nāgārjuna uses dialectics, the poet uses poetic images.
Since you are a leaf, a flower, you have me from beginningless time
If you are able to see that you are also a leaf and a flower, you will see that you have always had and will always have the person you love.
And the blue of the immense sky in your eyes will always be there
But because you can’t see this, out of love, you keep talking about my departure.
When we look at the blue sky, it becomes the object of our perception. The blue sky can be seen in our eyes. Sometimes the clouds do not allow us to see the blue sky, and we believe it is no longer there; it is always there. The Vietnamese poet Trụ Vũ wrote:
It is because your eyes see the blue sky
that they reflect the color of the sky
It is because your eyes see the great ocean
that they reach as far as it does
When we love the Buddha and meditate on him, our mind reflects the Buddha. Subject and object become one; the object that is missed and the one who misses it are not two. The blue sky is always there for us, but because we do not see it we are anxious and regretful. Our ignorance is the cloud that covers up and obstructs our view of the blue sky. If we can see the blue sky in our eyes, we shall always have it. Our fear comes because sometimes we see it is and sometimes we see it is not. We believe that in the future the blue sky will be no more and we suffer. When my loved one dies what will become of me? We put ourselves in a state of anxiety and ask: How can I survive if you are not there?
We can sit with our children or our younger siblings and slowly find a way to remove their fears. My poem continues,
This morning
after the moon and stars had slept
the universe let refreshing tears fall.
As clear as crystal,
the late night dew gently rose.
Do cry, and your soul will be more beautiful.
Your tears will make the soul’s wasteland
a fresh country garden.
Their freshness will penetrate the earth, caring for each tender shoot and bud.
In the past, I would sit and watch you cry.
I let myself cry too, so that someone would comfort me.
If you want to cry, please cry; you will feel better, because there is still anxiety and fear in your heart. There is a great deal of compassion in these lines. They are the words of a mother who hugs her child and says, “If you need to, cry.”
The universe let refreshing tears fall.
If the universe can cry, you have the right to cry. Do not be ashamed.
In the West people say that men should not cry. Why not? To be able to cry when we are witnessed and comforted by the person we love is a great happiness. In our heart we have some anxiety and fear that we are unable to express. If there is someone we love sitting next to us, like our teacher, our brother, or our sister, and we can express our emotions with our tears, we should do so. The author of this poem is exceedingly compassionate! He does not say, Do not cry! There’s no death, no coming and going. That’s just foolishness. He says, You can cry, it doesn’t matter. In the past, I was just like you, I cried so that someone could comfort me. When we see others who cry are comforted, we also want to cry so that we too may be comforted. That is human nature. We can start by crying, but slowly we have to grow up.
Oh nature!
Mother with green hair, green-blue earth and sky
your smile fills the world with butterflies, birds, flowers and leaves.
As a leaf, as a flower, I have been yours from beginningless time
and in your narrow perception my true self has never manifested in the realm of birth and death.
Do you remember when mother first brought me back to life
and thanks to the five wonderful skandhas, you saw my image appear?
Tomorrow when that image disappears
please smile
and calmly look for me again
beyond the voice and form that was born and died
to see that I am still real
I never left
and I never arrived
beyond time, beyond perception,
beyond the existence of host and guest.
Oh nature!
Mother with green hair, green-blue earth and sky.
We must return to nature. If we are able to entrust our suffering and distress to nature, we will suffer much less. A French poet, Alphonse de Lamartine, in a moment of deep suffering, wrote a similar poem:
Mais la nature est là qui t’invite et qui t’aime ;
plonge-toi dans son sein qu’elle t’ouvre toujours.
Quand tout change pour toi, la nature est la même,
et le même soleil se lève sur tes jours.
The poet says: But nature is still there, inviting, embracing, loving, gracious. Enter the embrace of nature. The embrace of nature is always ready to receive you. While everything is changing, impermanent, coming, going, love, hate, success, failure; nature is always nature, your mother. You have to return to her so that she can embrace your worries, your grief, and distress. The warm sun rises every day and brightens your days.
Mother with green hair, green-blue earth and sky
Here I call nature a mother with green hair.
your smile fills the world with butterflies, birds, flowers, and leaves
Nature’s smile is the manifestation of butterflies, birds, and flowers, and we can welcome them to soothe our suffering and distress.
and in your narrow perception my true self has never manifested in the realm of birth and death
I am something that transcends the ideas of birth and death. It is because your perception of me is still narrow that you cannot see the no-birth, no-death nature of my true self, and its because of this that you are anxious and cry.
Do you remember when mother first brought me back to life
and thanks to the five wonderful skandhas, you saw my image appear?
Mother here is nature, is the universe, is conditioned co-arising—all the things that come together to make me manifest. With your narrow perception you saw me in the five skandhas. Normally the five skandhas are the five skandhas of grasping (upādānaskandha); when the five skandhas are free from attachment, they are infinitely wonderful. The Buddha has five skandhas and so do we, but we are attached to the skandhas—they become a prison. The five skandhas of the buddhas are the realm of the Dharmakāya. My image refers to the signs which make me manifest.
tomorrow when that image disappears
Do you remember that day? The image you saw was a sign—the object of your perception. You thought that when that sign manifested I began to exist and that when it went into hiding I no longer existed. This refers to the things that have gone, like the image of our beloved whom we think does not exist anymore.
please smile
and calmly look for me again
You should look for me outside the five skandhas to which you are attached. I believe you are attached to those five skandhas because you are not able to see me at other times and in other places. You should look for me with a smile, but where should you search?
look for me beyond the form and sound that arose and disappeared
to see I am still real,
I never left
and I never arrived
beyond time, beyond perception,
beyond the existence of host and guest.
Look for me in a way that does not see me in signs that manifested and to which you were attached. Recognize my presence in time, in consciousness (perception), and in the relationship between subject (host) and object (guest). See that I am a reality not subject to birth, death, abiding, or going. This is the only way to overcome anxiety, yearning, and fear.
Find me and you have a chance to find yourself.
When you see the true nature of your beloved, you see your own true nature.
You discover pristine features
showing you your nature of no birth and no death.
You will see
nothing goes, nothing is lost.
And with one arrow, you fell two flags of illusion.
This is truly wonderful! Not only the Buddha has the nature of no birth, no death, and an unlimited lifespan, you do too. You have the nature of no birth and no death; your lifespan is not limited. Seeing that the leaf is not born, does not die, does not arrive, and does not go, you see the same is true of yourself. It is truly wonderful.
The arrow is the arrow of looking deeply. The object of our meditation could be the Buddha, our teacher, or our beloved. When we see their true nature, we see our own true nature that does not arrive, does not go, does not exist or not-exist. The two flags of illusion are the goer and the abider, birth and death, being and nonbeing; each member of these pairs relies on the other to manifest. The highest aim of a practitioner is to nock the arrow, stretch the bowstring, and release it to fell two flags of illusion at once—to arrive at the Middle Way and to overcome pairs of opposites like birth and death, being and nonbeing, remaining and perishing, same and different, going and abiding.
Suchness will appear wonderfully in the midst of birth and death.
I am smiling peacefully in the present moment
and that smile blooms forever in the song of the eternal spring.
In that smile you will see that you will always be there
because you never really manifested in the illusion of existence.
The ultimate dimension will show itself in the historical dimension. Without running away from the historical you can recognize the ultimate. Your true nature, just like mine, is no birth and no death, and it transcends the illusory notions I have existed or I am existing. We are not an illusory appearance in the world of birth and death, but are wonderfully present in the ultimate dimension of no birth and no death, no coming and no going. You just need to look at my smile and you will see the eternal spring. This spring is not replaced by the summer or the winter because it is the spring of the ultimate dimension. This is the incomparable spring referred to by king Trần Nhân Tông of the Bamboo Forest meditation school of Vietnam in a verse he inscribed on the wall of a temple in North Vietnam in 1308.* Here is the last section of my poem:
Tomorrow you will see the smile you saw today,
right to the end of the path of illusion.
Nothing has gone, nothing is lost
and nothing will go, nothing will be lost.
Today the stream and the birds encourage you:
Keep being the flower that sings.
If you can recognize the smile of today, then tomorrow, at the moment you are enlightened, you will see that smile; it will not be lost. The smile of the Buddha, of your teacher, of your elder brother and sister will not disappear in the future. The smile of Thầy Giác Thanh, the elder brother we think we have lost, is sublime. Do not think that it has been lost. The moment we wake up and transcend the ideas of going and abiding, that smile will automatically be with us forever. The best thing we can do is to be a flower and sing. That is our practice.
In my poem “Butterflies over the Field of Mustard Flowers,” there are the lines:
Be the flower that stands quietly by the hedge.
Be the smile, be one part of the wonderful world of appearances.
With our practice, we do not need to go anywhere; we have nothing to worry about, once we can dwell peacefully in the nature of the Middle Way—nirvāṇa. The best thing we can do is to smile.
In my poem “Looking for Each Other” there are these lines:
The moon of freedom has returned to me,
everything I thought I had lost.
We believe that we have already lost our youth, our love, our father and mother. The truth is that nothing has passed away or been lost. Everything is there, intact in the wonderful reality of the ultimate dimension.
Today the stream and the birds encourage you:
Keep being the flower that sings.
In these lines the elder brother is saying: the best you can do in the present moment is to listen to what the stream and the birds say: keep being a flower and sing. You should be present like the flower that sings a song, the flower of the poet Quách Thoại.*
