Perfect Awakening (II)

With perfect and complete awakening thus achieved, the Buddha arose in the world; his right view, together with the whole eightfold path, laid out an even and level road, utterly free of any self or anything belonging to a self, like a fire finally extinguished once its fuel is spent.

What needed to be done was now done; he had attained the supreme path of perfect awakening, penetrated ultimate truth to its very end, and entered the very dwelling of the greatest of sages.

Darkness withdrew and the mark of brightness arose; every kind of movement and stillness fell into silent stillness; he had attained the inexhaustible Dharma itself, and the light of omniscient wisdom shone forth in full clarity.

Such was the pure and profound virtue of this great sage that the earth itself shook and trembled everywhere at once; the whole universe grew clear and radiant, gods, dragons, and spirits gathered together like clouds, and heavenly music sounded from the sky in offering to the Dharma.

A gentle, cool breeze arose, and rain fell fragrant from a cloudless sky; wondrous flowers bloomed out of their proper season, and sweet fruits ripened ahead of their appointed time.

Great mandārava blossoms, and every kind of heavenly jeweled flower besides, fell tumbling down from the sky in profusion, offered up to this most honored of sages.

Every kind of different creature turned toward every other with a heart of loving-kindness; all fear and terror was entirely dispelled, and no trace of anger or arrogance remained anywhere at all.

Every realm throughout the world became, for that moment, like a being whose every defilement had already been exhausted; the gods delighted in liberation, the evil destinies found a brief peace, every affliction came to a temporary rest, and the moon of wisdom grew gradually more radiant.

The sages of the sugarcane lineage, and all those who had been reborn in the heavens, seeing the Buddha arise in the world, were filled through their whole bodies with joy, and, there in their own heavenly palaces, rained down flowers in offering to him.

Every god, spirit, and dragon spoke with one voice in praise of the Buddha's own virtue; and the people of the world, seeing these offerings and hearing these praises resound, rejoiced together with him, unable to contain their own delight.

Only Māra, king of the heavens, felt his own heart filled with great sorrow and grief.

For seven full days, the Buddha remained there in meditative contemplation, his heart entirely pure, gazing steadily at the Bodhi tree without once so much as blinking.

"It was in reliance on this very place that I have now fulfilled the vow I made so long ago." Abiding securely in the Dharma of no-self, he surveyed sentient beings with his own buddha-eye, and a heart of the deepest compassion arose in him, wishing that they, too, might attain this same purity.

Yet he saw how greed, hatred, delusion, and every false view swept their hearts along and drowned them in its current — and he thought: this liberation is so profoundly deep and subtle — by what means could it possibly be proclaimed to them at all?

And so, setting aside for the moment any diligent effort to teach, he remained instead abiding in silence.

Yet, recalling his own original vow, the wish to teach the Dharma arose in him once more, and he surveyed all sentient beings to see in whom the afflictions had grown thick, and in whom they had grown thin.

Brahmā, knowing this thought of his, understood that the true Dharma ought properly to be turned only once it had been formally requested; and so, radiating his own Brahmā-light everywhere, he came, for the sake of delivering suffering sentient beings, to see this most honored of sages. Every mark of a great being was manifest in the Buddha as he prepared to teach the Dharma, its wondrous meaning already fully apparent, abiding securely in true wisdom, free of every fault and obstruction, with not the slightest trace of falsehood in his heart. Brahmā, filled with reverence and joy, joined his palms and entreated him, saying: "What great fortune has this world had, to encounter so great a World-Honored One!

Every kind of sentient being carries a heart clouded with dust and defilement — some with afflictions grown heavy, others with afflictions grown light.

The World-Honored One has already escaped and crossed beyond the great ocean of suffering that is birth and death — I beg you now to deliver, as well, all these sentient beings still sinking and adrift within it.

Just as a righteous man of this world shares whatever benefit he gains together with others, so the World-Honored One, having gained the benefit of the Dharma, ought surely to use it only to deliver sentient beings.

Ordinary people, for the most part, seek only their own benefit, for it is difficult indeed to benefit both oneself and others together — I beg you, then, let your compassion be shown, as the very hardest thing to accomplish in all this world."

Having entreated him in this way, Brahmā took his leave and returned to his own heavenly realm.

The Buddha, moved by Brahmā's own request, felt his heart gladdened by the sincerity it showed, and this only nourished his great compassion further, deepening still more his own intention to teach the Dharma.

Thinking now that he should go and beg for alms, the Four Heavenly Kings all came forward at once, each offering him a bowl; and the Tathāgata, for the sake of the Dharma, accepted all four together, merging them into a single bowl.

At that time there were merchants traveling by, and a friendly deity told them: "The great sage and most honored one is there in that mountain forest — a true and excellent field of merit for the whole world — you ought to go and make him an offering."

Hearing this, they rejoiced greatly, and offered him his very first meal.

Having eaten, he reflected further: "Who ought to be the first to hear the Dharma?

There was only Ārāḍa Kālāma and Udraka Rāmaputra, who were fit to receive the true Dharma — but they have both, by now, already passed away. Next, then, are the five companions, who ought to be the first to hear this teaching."

Wishing to proclaim the Dharma of quiescent extinction, like sunlight dispelling darkness, he set out on the road to Vārāṇasī, the dwelling place of the seers of old.

With the level, steady gaze of a king among oxen, walking with the calm, measured gait of a lion, he made his way toward the city of Kāśī for the sake of delivering sentient beings, turning to look back, with every step, like the very king of beasts, gazing once more upon the grove of the Bodhi tree.