The Heart Sutra

In sangha, as part of the ceremony of the recitation of the Five Mindfulness Trainings (and of the Fourteen Mindfulness Trainings), we chant the Prajna-Paramita, or the "Heart Sutra." Thay has a short book about the sutra, but I am now reading the book that Red Pine (aka Bill Porter) wrote, with his own translation and commentary.

It is interesting -- and useful -- to read the sutra rather than chant it. I find I can reflect on the phrases more deeply. Here is Red Pine's translation:

The noble Avalokiteshvara Bodhisattva,
while practicing the deep practice of Prajnaparamita,
looked upon the Five Skandhas
and seeing they were empty of self-existence,
said,

"Here, Shariputra,
form is emptiness, emptiness is form;
emptiness is not separate from form,
form is not separate from emptiness;
whatever is form is emptiness,
whatever is emptiness is form.

The same holds for sensation and perception,
memory and consciousness.

Here, Shariputra, all dharmas are defined by emptiness
not birth or destruction, purity or defilement,
completeness or deficiency.
Therefore, Shariputra, in emptiness there is no form,
no sensation, no perception, no memory and no consciousness;
no eye, no ear, no nose, no tongue, no body and no mind;
no shape, no sound, no smell, no taste, no feeling, and no thought;
no element of perception, from eye to conceptual consciousness;
no causal link, from ignorance to old age and death,
and no end of causal link, from ignorance to old age and death;
no suffering, no source, no relief, no path;
no knowledge, no attainment and no non-attainment.

Therefore, Shariputra, without attainment,
bodhisttavas take refuge in Prajnaparamita
and live without walls of the mind.
Without walls of the mind and thus without fears,
they see through delusions and finally nirvana.

All buddhas past, present and future
also take refuge in Prajnaparmita
and realize unexcelled, perfect enlightenment.
You should therefore know the great mantra of Prajnaparamita,
the mantra of great magic,
the unexcelled mantra,
the mantra equal to the unequalled,
which heals all suffering and is true, not false,
the mantra in Prajnaparmita spoken thus:

'Gate gate, paragate, parasangate, bodhi svaha'."

[Stanza breaks are mine, for ease of reading.]

I haven't gotten far into the commentary yet. But two things caught my notice.

First, the artwork on the book cover. The painting is titled, "Zhao Mengfu Writing the Heart Sutra in Exchange for Tea." There's tea again! There is a legend here that I will need to look into.

Also, the acknowledgments note at the end of the introduction. "Thanks and an always ready pot of oolong tea to .... and to my wife for supplying me with the Chinese texts and tea." Well, he is a student of Zen, so it shouldn't be surprising, perhaps, that tea plays such a role in his practice and work.

He goes on, "Thanks, too, to all who have continued to support me and my family while I worked on this book, including the Department of Agriculture's Food Stamp program, the Port Townsend Food Bank, the Earned Income Tax credit program administered by the Internal Revenue Service, and the Olympic Community Action's Energy Assistance program."

Wow. I have never seen anyone admit to needing food stamps while working on a book, never mind thanking the government for them. Or a food bank, or the IRS, or an energy assistance program.

Would I be willing to persist with a project that was leaving me in such need for assistance -- public assistance? I don't think so.

Would I be supportive of my spouse persisting in such a project with such results? I don't think so.

More to reflect on.

Credit: The Heart Sutra: The Womb of the Buddhas, translation and commentary by Red Pine. Copyright (c) 2004 by Red Pine. Counterpoint Press, Berkeley, CA.

Jacket art from scroll by Qui Ying, Chinese, Ming Dynasty, 1492/5 - 1522. (c) Cleveland Museum of Art.

Red Pine photo (c) Damon Sauer 2004

Poetry Friday: Chuang Tzu And The Butterfly

A quick post today, as I am busy revising a manuscript.

Chuang Tzu And The Butterfly

Chuang Tzu in dream became a butterfly,
And the butterfly became Chuang Tzu at waking.
Which was the real — the butterfly or the man?
Who can tell the end of the endless changes of things?
The water that flows into the depth of the distant sea
Returns anon to the shallows of a transparent stream.
The man, raising melons outside the green gate of the city,
Was once the Prince of the East Hill.
So must rank and riches vanish.
You know it, still you toil and toil — what for?

— Li Po

"And still you toil and toil -- what for?"

I think that even if I were working on this manuscript only in a dream, I would toil and toil. Actually, it's not "toil": it is joyful effort striving toward clarity rather than rank and riches. Maybe that makes all the difference.

Li Po was a Chinese poet who lived from 701 to 762 CE, during the Tang dynasty. His many poems are heavily influenced by Taoism. He is considered one of the two greatest Chinese poets. (Yet another great poet to add to my reading list.)

The poem refers to a well-known passage from the work of Chuang Tzu (also written Zhuangzi), a fourth-century BCE Taoist philosopher whose work was important in the development of Chan Buddhism. (More for the reading list ...) The famous butterfly dream:

Once Zhuangzi dreamt he was a butterfly, a butterfly flitting and fluttering around, happy with himself and doing as he pleased. He didn't know he was Zhuangzi. Suddenly he woke up and there he was, solid and unmistakable Zhuangzi. But he didn't know if he was Zhuangzi who had dreamt he was a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming he was Zhuangzi. Between Zhuangzi and a butterfly there must be some distinction! This is called the Transformation of Things. (2, tr. Burton Watson 1968:49)

A Mommiful Practice

When my son was younger, he would sometimes complain, "Why do you have to be so Mommy-ful?" Meaning, why did I ruin all the fun by being "The Mommy"? (Or later, The Mom.)

My answer: Because I am The Mom. Mommiful is what I do -- it is my practice.

Sorry, son. Or what I really mean is, Count your lucky stars, my son.

I like to keep up with Karen Maezen Miller's blog, Cheerio Road. Her most recent post was, How to Raise a Buddhist Child. I hope she doesn't mind if I paste in the whole post.

1.23.2010

How to raise a Buddhist child

1. Honestly, have no idea.
2. Diligently, make no effort.
3. Faithfully, accept what is.
4. Sincerely, pay attention.
5. Be kind.
6. Otherwise, apologize.
7. Raise a Buddhist parent instead.


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Posted by Karen Maezen Miller at 7:38 PM   ShareThis

Labels: Parenthood, Trouble With Buddhism

I think this is brilliant: pithy and wise. Like a good poem, it leaves much to read between the lines. Much that the reader must supply for herself. For me, accepting what is (a child who at times displays explosive anger) and paying attention (to what the underlying issue is, beneath all the static) leaves me with a conundrum about what being kind should look like. Last night I was presented with another opportunity to practice with this koan.

It was bedtime, and my son had planned to read before lights-out time, but he had gotten distracted by the ballgame on TV, so once lights-out time came, he hadn't read yet. But he really wanted to. I mean he REALLY wanted to. Dad had said he could, I had said he could, he didn't care about the clock or the fact that, as he has admitted, mornings are horrid when he's tired. It wasn't fair!

I could see that this was one of those times when he was again resisting the nature of the universe, in particular that clocks run in only one direction. And that actions (watching TV instead of reading) can't be undone. He was frustrated with himself, disappointed, tired, and angry, but he channeled all his feelings into that last one, anger, until it became rage.

This is when Mom (and Dad) call on all the bodhisatvas for guidance. One of the bodhisatvas who comes to my rescue is Mark Epstein, the psychologist and Buddhist practitioner who wrote Going On Being and several other insightful books. He refers a lot to the psychologist D. W. Winnicott. This passage from an article in Yoga Journal summarizes well Epstein's (and Winnicott's) teaching:

It is important to respect a child’s aggression. Without it, they will have no fire, no ability to differentiate themselves, and no drive for creative expression. It is also important not to indulge a child’s aggression; obviously they have a need for limits, boundaries, and discipline.

But it is essential, in the words of the famous British child psychoanalyst D. W. Winnicott, not to retaliate and not to abandon in the face of a child’s anger. A parent’s duty is simply to survive. To accomplish this, we have to be able to deal with our own anger, not by pushing it away but not by indulging it either. Parents have to find a way to make their own anger skillful.

Mark Epstein, M.D. Yoga Journal, July-August 2001

A parent's duty is simply to survive. Exactly. To be more precise, though, what needs to survive is not one's ego, but one's ability to respond skillfully. With my son, when he is raging, the task is to set boundaries and limits to his actions without telling him not to be angry. The task is, largely, to help him contain the anger and to guide him back to those other emotions.

The task last night was more complex, though, because he started shoving. A lot. So part of staying skillful was staying safe. I had to make clear in that very moment that shoving, manhandling, force was NOT OKAY. That meant that I had to be very firm. Okay, I had to yell. But it was kind yelling -- no insults. And I corrected him, loudly and clearly, rather than retreat. I did not retaliate and I did not abandon. I used, I think, the skill of Fierce Compassion, a skill that I am hungry to learn about from teachers and books, but that I seem mostly to learn about through the engaged practice of parenting my son.

After closing himself in the bathroom for awhile, he finally calmed down. I insisted that he apologize. He didn't quite see why he had to. So I explained, firmly but more quietly (since he was now curled up on my lap) how crucial it is that he not use his bodily strength against people. He started to get it. The more he calmed down, the more he got it, the more he remembered that he already got this.

He wanted to end the evening on good terms -- he had looked forward to us both reading on his bed, all comfy -- and so I sat with him and we talked about other things for a little while. Then I left to get ready for bed myself.

It is tiring to have to go through things like this. It is tiring to think about how to teach him to notice his own rage when it is still just a seed, how to talk to his therapist about teaching him. It is tiring to think about having to carry out the consequence (no computer for two days). But I get much less upset about episodes like this than I used to. Partly, I am used to it, and partly, I am much more skilled than I used to be.

That is the Mommiful Practice.

The practice of raising a Buddhist parent.










P.S. In spite of everything, I smile to think that all of this fuss was about wanting to read. Down to the mat for a book! It could be worse.