Encounters: The Lineage Masters

The monk Zhichang, a man of Guixi in Xinzhou, went forth from home while still a child, and set his will on seeing his own nature. One day he came to pay his respects, and the Master asked him, "Where have you come from, and what are you seeking?" He said, "This student recently went to Mount Baifeng in Hongzhou to pay respects to the venerable monk Datong, and received his teaching on the meaning of seeing one's nature and becoming a buddha. But I have not yet resolved my remaining doubt, and have come from far away to pay my respects here, hoping the venerable monk will, out of compassion, instruct me." The Master said, "What did he say to you? Try telling me." He said, "When I arrived there, a full three months passed without my receiving any instruction. Because I was so earnest about the Dharma, one evening I went alone into his room and asked, 'What are my own fundamental mind and fundamental nature?' Datong said, 'Do you see empty space?' I answered, 'I see it.' He said, 'Do you see empty space as having any form or appearance?' I answered, 'Empty space is without shape — what form or appearance could it have?' He said, 'Your own fundamental nature is exactly like empty space: to see that there is not a single thing to be seen is called right seeing; to know that there is not a single thing to be known is called true knowing. It has no blue or yellow, no long or short — simply see that its original source is pure, its very substance of awareness perfectly bright, and this is what is called seeing one's own nature and becoming a buddha, also called the knowledge and vision of the Tathāgata.' Though this student heard this teaching, I still have not resolved it fully — I beg the venerable monk to instruct me." The Master said, "What that teacher said still retains seeing and knowing as something held onto, and this is exactly why it has left you unresolved. I will now show you a verse: "Not seeing a single thing, yet holding onto the notion of 'no seeing' — this is very much like a drifting cloud covering the face of the sun. Not knowing a single thing, yet guarding an empty 'knowing' — this is just like a flash of lightning bursting from the open sky. The moment this kind of seeing and knowing suddenly arises, how could it ever count as understanding skillful means? You should, in a single thought, recognize this for yourself as mistaken, and your own spiritual light will constantly appear of itself." Hearing this verse, Zhichang's mind opened wide, and he composed a verse of his own: "For no reason at all, I gave rise to seeing and knowing, becoming attached to marks in my search for bodhi. Holding onto the notion of a single thought of awakening, how could this ever surpass my former delusion? The very source and substance of self-nature's awareness, following each act of illumination, wrongly drifts and shifts about. Without entering the Patriarch's own room, I would have wandered on aimlessly, caught between these two extremes." One day Zhichang asked the Master, "The Buddha taught the Dharma of three vehicles, and also spoke of a highest vehicle — this disciple does not understand this, and I beg you to teach me." The Master said, "Look at your own fundamental mind, and do not become attached to any outward mark of the Dharma. The Dharma itself has no four vehicles — it is people's own minds that differ in rank. To see, hear, and merely recite is the small vehicle; to awaken to the teaching and understand its meaning is the middle vehicle; to practice in accordance with the Dharma is the great vehicle; and to penetrate the ten thousand things entirely, complete in the ten thousand things, stained by none of them, free of every mark of the Dharma, with not a single thing attained — this is called the highest vehicle. 'Vehicle' carries the meaning of practice, not of argument. You must cultivate this for yourself — do not ask me about it further. At every moment, let self-nature simply be as it is." Zhichang bowed in gratitude, and remained in the Master's service for the rest of the Master's life.

The monk Zhidao, a man of Nanhai in Guangzhou, came asking for instruction: "Since going forth from home, this student has studied the Nirvāṇa Sūtra for over ten years, without ever understanding its central meaning — I beg the venerable monk to instruct me." The Master said, "Where is it that you do not understand?" He said, "'All conditioned things are impermanent — this is the Dharma of arising and ceasing; when arising and ceasing have themselves ceased, this stillness of cessation is bliss.' It is this passage that troubles me with doubt." The Master said, "How does your doubt arise?" He said, "Every sentient being is said to possess two bodies, called the physical body and the Dharma-body. The physical body is impermanent, having both arising and ceasing; the Dharma-body is permanent, without any knowing or awareness. Now the sūtra says, 'when arising and ceasing have themselves ceased, this stillness of cessation is bliss' — but I do not understand which body it is that reaches this cessation, and which body it is that experiences this bliss. If it is the physical body, then when the physical body ceases, the four elements scatter apart, and this is entirely suffering — suffering cannot be called bliss. If it is the Dharma-body that reaches cessation, then it becomes no different from grass, trees, tiles, or stones — who, then, would be left to experience any bliss at all? Moreover, the Dharma-nature is the substance underlying arising and ceasing, while the five aggregates are its function; one substance with five functions, and arising and ceasing are constant to it. Arising is the substance giving rise to function; ceasing is the function being gathered back into the substance. If further arising is permitted, then this belongs to the class of sentient beings, neither cut off nor extinguished; but if further arising is not permitted, then it returns forever to cessation, becoming the same as an insentient thing. If this is so, then all things whatsoever are held bound and suppressed by nirvāṇa itself, unable even to arise at all — what bliss could there possibly be in that?" The Master said, "You are a disciple of Śākyamuni — why do you study the wrong views of permanence and annihilation from outside teachings, and use them to discuss the highest vehicle? By what you have said, there exists, apart from the physical body, some separate Dharma-body, seeking a cessation apart from arising and ceasing; and you further suppose that the constant bliss of nirvāṇa implies some body that experiences and enjoys it. This is nothing but clinging tightly to birth and death, indulging in worldly pleasure. You should now understand: the Buddha, for the sake of all deluded people, who mistake the coming-together of the five aggregates for the mark of their own body, and distinguish every phenomenon as an external, worldly mark, who love life and hate death, drifting on in thought after thought, not knowing that all of this is as insubstantial as a dream or an illusion, and thereby suffer needlessly through endless transmigration — the Buddha, seeing them mistake the constant bliss of nirvāṇa for a mark of suffering, and run about seeking release from it all day long, took pity on this, and so revealed the true bliss of nirvāṇa. In it, there is not, even for an instant, any mark of arising; there is not, even for an instant, any mark of ceasing; there is no further arising or ceasing left even to be extinguished — this is the very presence of the stillness of cessation itself. And at the moment this presence appears, there is not even any measure of 'presence' to speak of — this alone is called constant bliss. This bliss has no one who experiences it, and yet no one who fails to experience it either — how, then, could there be any name for 'one substance, five functions'? How much less could one say that nirvāṇa holds and suppresses every phenomenon, causing it never to arise again? This is nothing but slandering the Buddha and vilifying the Dharma. Hear my verse: "The unsurpassed great nirvāṇa, perfectly bright, constantly still, constantly illuminating — the foolish and ordinary call it death; those of outside teachings hold it to be annihilation. Those who seek the two lesser vehicles regard it as something wholly inactive — all of this belongs only to calculation by feeling, the very root of the sixty-two views. Falsely setting up empty, provisional names — how could these ever be the real, true meaning? Only a person who has gone beyond ordinary measure penetrates it fully, neither grasping nor rejecting anything at all. Knowing the Dharma of the five aggregates, and the notion of a self within those aggregates, and every outwardly appearing form of color, and every single mark of sound — all of it is equal, like a dream or an illusion; giving rise to no distinction between the ordinary and the sage, forming no interpretation of nirvāṇa at all, the two extremes and the three periods of time are alike cut off. Constantly responding through the function of every sense-faculty, and yet giving rise to no notion of 'function'; discerning every single phenomenon, and yet giving rise to no notion of 'discernment.' When the fire at the end of the kalpa burns the very floor of the ocean, and the wind stirs the mountains until they crash against one another — the true, constant bliss of the stillness of cessation is exactly like this, and no different. I now force myself to put this into words, only to cause you to abandon your wrong view; do not follow my words and take them as a fixed understanding, and I will allow that you have come to know a small portion of this truth." Zhidao, hearing this verse, was greatly awakened, and leapt for joy, bowing in homage before withdrawing.

Chan Master Xingsi was born into the Liu family of Ancheng in Jizhou. Hearing how greatly the Dharma assembly at Caoxi was flourishing, he came directly to pay his respects, and asked, "In what should one apply oneself, so as not to fall into any graduated rank at all?" The Master said, "What have you done up until now?" He said, "I have not even undertaken the noble truths." The Master said, "Then what rank could you possibly have fallen into?" He said, "If I have not even undertaken the noble truths, what rank could there be to speak of at all?" The Master, recognizing his depth, held him in great regard, and made Xingsi the head of the assembly. One day the Master said to him, "You should go and transform one region of the world — do not let this teaching be cut off." Having received the Dharma, Xingsi returned to Mount Qingyuan in Jizhou, where he spread the teaching and carried on its transmission. (He was posthumously honored with the title Chan Master Hongji.) Chan Master Huairang was a son of the Du family of Jinzhou. He first went to study under National Teacher Hui'an of Mount Song, who then sent him on to Caoxi to seek instruction. When Huairang arrived and bowed in homage, the Master asked, "Where have you come from?" He said, "From Mount Song." The Master said, "What is this thing, that comes in this way?" He said, "To say it resembles any single thing would already miss the mark." The Master said, "Then can it be cultivated and realized?" He said, "Cultivation and realization are not without their place, but it cannot be stained or defiled." The Master said, "It is exactly this very freedom from staining and defilement that every buddha holds and guards in mind. You are already so, and I am exactly the same. Prajñātāra, in India, once prophesied: 'Beneath your feet a colt will emerge, and it will trample to death everyone under heaven.' This should be held within your own mind — there is no need to speak of it too quickly." At this Huairang understood completely, and remained in the Master's service for fifteen years, growing daily more accomplished in this profound teaching. He later went to Nanyue, where he greatly proclaimed the Chan teaching. (He was posthumously honored by imperial decree with the title Chan Master Dahui.)

Chan Master Yongjia Xuanjue was a son of the Dai family of Wenzhou. In his youth he studied the scriptures and treatises, and became expert in the Tiantai method of śamatha and vipaśyanā. Later, reading the Vimalakīrti Sūtra, he had an awakening of the mind-ground. By chance the Master's disciple Xuance came to visit him, and in their vigorous discussion, Xuanjue's own words happened to agree closely with the teaching of the patriarchs. Xuance said, "From whom, sir, did you receive the Dharma?" He said, "I have listened to the teachings and treatises of the extended vaipulya sūtras, each with its own line of transmission; but later, through the Vimalakīrti Sūtra, I awakened to the buddha-mind school, without anyone yet having confirmed this for me." Xuance said, "Before the Buddha Bhīṣmagarjitasvararāja, this might have been possible; but after that buddha, to awaken by oneself without a teacher is nothing but a natural-born heretic." He said, "I hope you, sir, will confirm this for me." Xuance said, "My own word carries little weight. At Caoxi there is the Sixth Patriarch, to whom people gather from every direction, all of them receiving the Dharma there. If you go, I will go together with you." Xuanjue then came with Xuance to see the Master, circled around him three times, and stood there shaking his monk's staff. The Master said, "A śramaṇa ought to be complete with three thousand rules of deportment and eighty thousand fine points of conduct. Great Worthy, from what direction have you come, giving rise to such great pride?" Xuanjue said, "The matter of birth and death is great, and impermanence comes swiftly." The Master said, "Then why not embody the very fact of no-birth, and see for yourself that there is no swiftness at all?" He said, "To embody it is itself no-birth; to understand it is, from the start, without any swiftness." The Master said, "Just so! Just so!" Only then did Xuanjue arrange himself with proper deportment and bow, and a moment later took his leave. The Master said, "Are you returning so very quickly?" He said, "It was never moving to begin with — how could there be any swiftness in it?" The Master said, "Who is it that knows there is no movement?" He said, "You yourself, sir, are the one giving rise to this distinction." The Master said, "You have grasped the meaning of no-birth very deeply indeed." He said, "How could no-birth have any 'meaning' at all?" The Master said, "If there is no meaning, then who is it that could make any distinction?" He said, "Even to make a distinction is not itself a 'meaning.'" The Master said, "Excellent! Stay the night here a while." At that time people called this "the one-night enlightenment." He later wrote the Song of Enlightenment, which became widely known throughout the world. (He was posthumously given the title Master of No Mark, and was known in his own time as Zhenjue, "the truly awakened.")

The Chan practitioner Zhihuang had first studied under the Fifth Patriarch, and believed he had already attained true absorption; he dwelt alone in a hermitage, sitting continuously for twenty years. The Master's disciple Xuance, traveling about, arrived north of the Yellow River, and hearing of Zhihuang's reputation, went to his hermitage and asked him, "What are you doing here?" Zhihuang said, "Entering samādhi." Xuance said, "When you say you enter samādhi, do you enter it with a mind, or without a mind? If you enter it without a mind, then every insentient thing — grass, trees, tiles, and stones — should equally attain this samādhi; but if you enter it with a mind, then every sentient being possessed of consciousness should equally attain this samādhi as well." Zhihuang said, "At the very moment I am entering samādhi, I do not perceive the existence of any mind of 'existing' or 'not existing.'" Xuance said, "If you do not perceive the existence of any mind of existing or not existing, this is itself constant samādhi — how, then, could there be any entering or leaving it at all? If there is entering and leaving, this is not the great samādhi." Zhihuang had no answer. After a long silence, he asked, "Whom does your own teacher succeed?" Xuance said, "My teacher is the Sixth Patriarch of Caoxi." Zhihuang said, "What does the Sixth Patriarch take dhyāna-samādhi to be?" Xuance said, "What my teacher describes is a wondrous, profound stillness, its substance and function both just as they are. The five aggregates are fundamentally empty; the six kinds of sense-objects are not truly existent. There is no leaving and no entering, no settling and no confusion. The nature of dhyāna is without dwelling, free even of dwelling in the stillness of dhyāna itself; the nature of dhyāna is without arising, free even of the notion of a dhyāna that arises. The mind is like empty space, and yet is without even the measure of 'empty space.'" Hearing this, Zhihuang went directly to see the Master himself. The Master asked him, "Where have you come from, sir?" Zhihuang related everything that had happened. The Master said, "It is truly just as he described it to you. Simply let your mind be like empty space, without becoming attached even to the view of emptiness; let its function be unobstructed, its movement and stillness both without any fixed mind; forget the distinction between the ordinary and the sage; let subject and object both dissolve away; let nature and mark remain just as they are — and there will be no time at all that is not this very samādhi." At this Zhihuang was greatly awakened, and the mind he had held onto for twenty years vanished entirely, without a trace. That night the people north of the Yellow River heard a voice from the empty sky, saying, "Chan Master Zhihuang has attained the Way this very day." Zhihuang later took his leave and returned north of the river, where he taught and transformed the fourfold assembly. A monk once asked the Master, "The final instruction at Huangmei — who received it?" The Master said, "Whoever understands the Buddha-dharma receives it." The monk said, "Then has the venerable monk himself received it?" The Master said, "I myself do not understand the Buddha-dharma."

One day the Master wished to wash the robe he had received, but there was no good spring nearby. He went about five li behind the temple, and there saw a place where the forest grew thick and lush, with an auspicious energy circling about it. The Master struck his staff into the ground, and a spring gushed forth at once, gathering into a pool; he then knelt on a rock beside it and washed the robe. Suddenly a monk came and bowed before him, saying, "My name is Fangbian, and I am a man of western Sichuan. Recently, in southern India, I saw the great teacher Bodhidharma, who charged me: 'Go quickly to the land of Tang. I transmitted Mahākāśyapa's true Dharma-eye treasury, together with the patched robe, and it has now passed down through six generations, to Caoxi in Shaozhou — go there and pay it homage.' Fangbian has come from far away, and wishes to see the robe and bowl transmitted to my teacher." The Master then brought them out to show him, and asked in turn, "What is your own occupation, sir?" He said, "I am skilled in sculpture." The Master said, with a serious expression, "Then try sculpting something for me to see." Fangbian, at a loss, did not know how to respond. Several days later, he completed a true likeness, about seven inches high, capturing every subtlety with wondrous skill. The Master laughed and said, "You understand only how to sculpt physical nature — you do not understand buddha-nature." The Master then stretched out his hand, placed it upon Fangbian's head, and said, "May you forever be a field of blessing for gods and humans." (The Master repaid him for this with the robe. Fangbian divided the robe into three parts: one he draped over the sculpted image, one he kept for himself, and one he wrapped in palm fiber and buried in the ground, vowing, "In a future age, whoever recovers this robe will be myself, born again, to serve as abbot here and rebuild these very halls." In the eighth year of the Jiayou era of the Song dynasty, a monk named Weixian, repairing the temple hall, dug into the ground and recovered the robe, still as fresh as new. The image itself remains at Gaoquan Temple, and prayers made before it are answered without fail.) A monk once cited a verse by Chan Master Wolun: "Wolun has a certain skill: he is able to cut off a hundred kinds of thought. Facing every circumstance, no mind stirs within him — and bodhi grows greater, day by day." Hearing this, the Master said, "This verse has not yet made clear the ground of the mind. To practice according to it would only add further bondage." And he offered a verse of his own: "Huineng has no particular skill at all: he has never cut off a hundred kinds of thought. Facing every circumstance, the mind stirs again and again — and how, then, could bodhi ever grow?"