Ten Displays of Seeing, Part Two

Sūtra: Ānanda, receiving the Buddha's own compassionate rescue and profound teaching, wept and, hands clasped, said to the Buddha: "Though I have received this wondrous teaching from the Buddha and understand that the wondrously bright mind is originally the complete and ever-abiding ground of mind, still, my very understanding of the Buddha's present teaching depends on a conditioned, grasping mind, which is what I now rely on to look up in reverence. I have merely obtained this conditioned mind — I do not yet dare recognize it as my own original ground of mind. I beg the Buddha, in compassion, to proclaim the complete teaching and pull out the root of my doubt, so that I may return to the unsurpassed path."

Commentary: Having just poured out his whole heart, thoroughly revealing the true mind, the Buddha finds that Ānanda, unable to grasp it, gives rise instead to further doubt, and so turns back to the Buddha, asking to have the matter settled once and for all — what to take up, what to discard. "Compassionate rescue and profound teaching" describes receiving the Buddha's own pity and concern, being rescued from the suffering of upside-down-ness, deeply instructed, and granted the joy of right and universal knowing — struck by the thought that his own true nature was never truly lost, yet he had suffered as though upside-down all this time, hence these tears. "Though I have received this wondrous teaching, and understand the wondrously bright mind" refers to having grasped what the previous three displays revealed — the nature of seeing itself. Ānanda had earlier asked to have this wondrously bright mind opened up, and the Buddha, pointing directly within Ānanda's own eyes, revealed that the nature of seeing is exactly this wondrously bright mind; Ānanda has now understood the unmoving, unceasing, never-lost nature of this seeing. "Originally the complete and ever-abiding ground" — "complete" refers to the display of "never lost," encompassing all of space and pervading every phenomenon; "ever-abiding" refers to the display of "does not perish," the sense of genuine, constant imperishability; "abiding" refers to the display of "does not move," the sense of settled, unmoving stability. This much describes genuine insight upon hearing the teaching — what follows shows him crediting this insight, mistakenly, to his own discriminating consciousness instead.

"Yet my very understanding of the Buddha's present teaching depends on a conditioned, grasping mind, which is what I now rely on to look up in reverence": understanding the Buddha's teaching in this sense means merely grasping its words, without yet fully absorbing its underlying intent. Ānanda credits his own understanding entirely to the conditioned, grasping mind he used to listen — this conditioned mind is exactly the sixth consciousness, the mind that conditions upon and discriminates its objects, and it does indeed have the real capacity to hear the teaching and gain understanding from it. "Which is what I now rely on to look up in reverence" means: this conditioned mind is genuinely what he looks up to and depends upon, unable to set it aside — for if he set this mind aside, who would be left to hear the teaching and understand it at all? "I have merely obtained this conditioned mind — I do not yet dare recognize it as my own original ground of mind": every sentient being's daily activity relies, without exception, on this same [true mind's own] power, yet all remain deluded about it, unaware — and Ānanda credits this same power, mistakenly, to his conditioned mind instead, exactly as other beings do. Were he to recognize the true mind now, he would have to set this conditioned mind aside — but then how could he go on receiving the Buddha's teaching at all? Hence his hesitation, unable to decide. Seen this way, Ānanda remains doubly deluded, about both the true and the false at once: how, then, could this be called genuine awakening at all? Only at the very end of fascicle 3 — the sūtra's own fascicle, not this commentary's — where the original, wondrous mind is finally grasped as ever-abiding and imperishable, will he dare to take hold of this mind at last; only then is this genuine awakening.

"The root of doubt" refers to the very source from which doubt springs — doubt about oneself, doubt about another person, or doubt about the teaching itself; here it is doubt about the teaching. Such a root of doubt, once lodged in the mind, can be pulled out by no one but a World-Honored One of the greatest heroic strength. Ānanda seeks to have this root of doubt pulled out so that he may reach a state free of doubt entirely, and so return to the unsurpassed path — the unsurpassed path being the fruit of unborn, unceasing enlightenment itself, which can only be perfected once the unborn, unceasing causal mind is first recognized.

Sūtra: The Buddha said to Ānanda: "You are still using a conditioned, grasping mind to listen to the Dharma, and so this Dharma too becomes merely another condition — you have not grasped the true nature of the teaching. It is like a man who points his finger at the moon to show it to someone else: that person ought to look, by means of the finger, at the moon itself. But if instead he looks at the finger and takes it to be the moon's own body, then he has lost not only the moon but the finger as well. Why? Because he has taken the very finger used to point with, for the bright moon itself. Not only has he lost the finger — he has also failed to distinguish brightness from darkness at all. Why? Because he has taken the finger's own dark substance for the moon's own bright nature, confused about both brightness and darkness together, with no understanding of either at all. It is the same with you."

Commentary: The Tathāgata now works with full effort to refute the false and reveal the true — refuting the false, conditioned mind, and revealing the true nature of seeing. "You are still using a conditioned, grasping mind to listen to the Dharma": listening with the mind that conditions upon its objects means that even this very teaching becomes just one more object conditioned upon, and the true nature of the teaching itself is never grasped. The spoken teaching is only the means of expression; the true principle it points to is what is actually to be understood — hearing the teaching in a way that awakens to that true principle is the only way to do justice to what the Buddha has taught, which is exactly why the following analogy insists that hearing the teaching ought to lead one to observe the mind itself.

"It is like a man who points his finger at the moon to show it to someone else": the finger stands for the Buddha's own spoken teaching; the moon stands for the listener's own mind. The listener, upon receiving the teaching, ought to observe their own mind, just as, upon being shown a pointing finger, one ought to look at the moon itself. Hearing the teaching and awakening to the mind is exactly like using the finger to find the moon. "But if instead he looks at the finger and takes it to be the moon's own body": this illustrates clinging to the teaching itself while remaining deluded about the mind. Such a person has lost not only the moon, unable to see it, but has lost even the finger itself, properly understood. Why? Because he has mistaken the very finger used to point, for the bright moon it was pointing toward. Applied to the matter at hand: clinging to the teaching as though it were the mind itself means such a listener not only fails to reach the true mind, but fails even to grasp the teaching's own intent — because he has mistaken the spoken teaching he conditions upon for the true mind itself.

Brightness and darkness are easy enough to follow within the analogy, but harder to unpack in the underlying matter itself. Within the analogy: not only losing the finger, but failing even to distinguish brightness from darkness, means mistaking the finger's own dark substance for the moon's bright nature — doubly confused about both brightness and darkness, with no real understanding of either. Applied to the matter: the teaching itself, made up of sound, name, phrase, and written word, has no illuminating function of its own — this corresponds to darkness; the mind, whose very nature is luminous and unobscured awareness, has real illuminating function — this corresponds to brightness. A student who does not understand how to use the teaching to observe the mind, but instead mistakes the spoken teaching itself for the true mind, is not only deluded about the mind but deluded about the teaching as well — and, further, fails to grasp the very distinction between what has illuminating function and what does not. This is exactly why the Buddha says: since you listen to the Dharma with the conditioned mind, even what I teach becomes merely another condition, and you thereby lose the very nature of the teaching — no different from someone who mistakes the finger for the moon, unable to distinguish brightness from darkness at all. Hence: "It is the same with you."

Sūtra: "If you take the mind that discriminates my spoken teaching to be your own mind, then this mind ought to have its own nature of discrimination apart from the sounds it discriminates. It is like a traveler who lodges for a night at a wayside inn — he stays a while and then departs, never remaining permanently; whereas the innkeeper, who has nowhere else to go, is rightly called the host of the inn. It is the same here: if this were truly your own mind, it would have nowhere to go at all — so why does it have no nature of discrimination apart from sound? And this holds not only for the mind that discriminates sound: the mind that discriminates my own countenance likewise has no nature of discrimination apart from the visible forms it discriminates. And so it goes, on through every kind of discrimination whatsoever, down to that state where all discrimination seems gone entirely — neither form nor emptiness — which Kapila and others like him mistake for the 'obscure principle': even this has no nature of discrimination apart from the very phenomena it conditions upon."

Commentary: This directly pulls out the root of doubt behind Ānanda's inability to let go of the conditioned mind. The Buddha's point: even granting that Ānanda does not take the discriminated teaching itself for mind, if he instead takes the very capacity to discriminate the spoken teaching for his true mind, then this mind ought to retain its own capacity for discrimination even apart from the teaching discriminated — only then could it be accepted as genuinely real. This illustrates that the conditioning mind, apart from its object, has no nature of its own: it is like a traveling guest lodging at a wayside inn, staying only briefly before departing, never remaining permanently, while the innkeeper who manages the inn, having nowhere else to go, is rightly called its host. The conditioning mind does not remain fixed — when it conditions upon some object, it does so only briefly before moving on, never dwelling there for long, hence the analogy of a guest; if it were truly your own mind, it would remain fixed like the innkeeper, the host, with nowhere else to go at all — so why, then, does it have no capacity for discrimination apart from the very sound it discriminates? This refutes the discriminating mind's conditioning upon sound specifically.

And this holds not only for the mind discriminating sound alone, apart from which it has no nature: even the mind capable of discriminating the Buddha's own thirty-two marks arises when the mark is present and ceases when it is absent, having, apart from the visible form it discriminates, no capacity for discrimination of its own either. "And so it goes" refers back to this same point regarding sound and form, that apart from these objects there is no nature of discrimination; "on through" skips over the intervening senses of smell, taste, and touch, together with the portion of mental objects classified as arising phenomena, whose capacity for discrimination is likewise, in every case, entirely absent — this describes the sixth consciousness no longer conditioning upon any of the six sense-objects, the five sense-accompanying instances of consciousness no longer functioning at all, leaving only the isolated discriminating consciousness conditioning upon the remaining, ceasing portion of mental objects, since mental objects alone carry this quality of arising and ceasing. "Neither form nor emptiness" describes the state of inwardly preserving a quiet, secluded stillness — the domain of ceasing mental objects, already free of the six sense-objects' coarser marks, hence "not form"; yet still retaining a subtle, still domain of its own, hence "not emptiness" either. Meditators who reach this state can easily be misled by it, mistaking it for something final.

"Kapila and others like him" — Kapila means "cow-shed," the name of Maskarin's own mother, that is, the son of Kāśyapa, one of the six [heterodox] teachers, together with the various other non-Buddhist schools. "Mistake for the obscure principle" means: confused, not recognizing that this state is not truly real, they cling to it instead as the primordial, governing principle of reality itself. The Treatise on the Great Perfection of Wisdom says: "Non-Buddhist practitioners, through their own spiritual powers, can observe as far back as eighty thousand kalpas; beyond eighty thousand kalpas, all is dark and unknown to them" — hence they call this the "primordial" state; and since discernment is said to first arise from this point, it is called the "governing principle," also known as "the nature of the world." As for "even this has no nature of discrimination apart from the very phenomena it conditions upon," the Correct Meridian commentary observes: "Even granting that all discrimination of the mind seems entirely gone, this is only freedom from its coarser forms of discrimination — the subtle, ceaseless undercurrent still flows on, quite unnoticed; even granting that both form and emptiness, as objects, seem entirely exhausted, this is only freedom from coarser objects — the shadow-traces of what has ceased are by no means truly gone."

Sūtra: "So it is that your mind's own nature has, in every case, somewhere it returns to — how, then, could it be called the host?" Ānanda said: "If my own mind's nature has, in every case, somewhere it returns to, then how can the Tathāgata's own wondrously bright, original mind have nowhere to return to at all? I beg only that you, in compassion, explain this for me." The Buddha said to Ānanda: "Consider, for now, your own seeing of me — this seeing is the very essence of the eighth consciousness's own luminous clarity. Though this seeing is not yet the wondrous, essential, luminous mind itself, it is like the second moon seen when pressing on the eye — not a mere watery reflection of the moon, but the true moon itself, with one further trace of falseness added. You should listen closely — I will now show you the very ground that has nowhere to return to at all:"

Commentary: This "mind's own nature" is not the perfectly wondrous, bright mind, nor the precious, bright, wondrous nature — it is exactly the discriminating mind that conditions upon dust, exactly what was earlier called the "confused, agitated appearance mistaken for one's own nature of mind," which arises and ceases along with its objects and, in every case, has somewhere it returns to. What discriminates sound came from sound-dust, and returns to sound; and so on, up to what discriminates the "obscure principle," which came from that same obscure principle, and returns to it. It is exactly like a person's shadow: wherever it comes from following that person, it likewise returns, following that same person, when they leave. Having both a coming and a going, it is merely a temporary guest, never the ever-abiding host — hence, "how, then, could it be called the host?"

Hearing that the conditioned mind has somewhere it returns to, Ānanda now asks to be shown what has nowhere to return to at all. "Return" means giving something back — as when a worldly object, borrowed from someone, is returned to that same person; but if a thing is genuinely one's own, there is nothing to return at all. Wishing to reveal this teaching of "nowhere to return," the Buddha first makes clear that the nature of seeing lies extremely close to the true mind, pointing it out plainly through Ānanda's own everyday act of seeing: "Consider now, at this very moment when you see me — this seeing is exactly the essential, luminous substance of the eighth consciousness." "Essence" means the very root — hence he names it "the essence of seeing's own luminous root," exactly the true root among the sūtra's two roots, the essential consciousness, originally bright. Its substance is the seeing-portion of the eighth consciousness itself, reflected at the very gateway of each of the six sense-faculties: in the eye it is called the essence of seeing; in the ear, the essence of hearing; in the nose, the essence of smelling; on the tongue, the essence of tasting; in the body, the essence of sensing; in the mind, the essence of knowing — each inherently possessing this same essential, luminous substance, with the function of comprehending its object. But because this substance has long been permeated by falseness, it carries two kinds of distorted, false seeing; since this false seeing has not yet been removed, its essential luminosity still falls short of being fully "wondrous" — hence, "though this seeing is not yet the wondrous, essential, luminous mind itself." Yet the analogy that follows immediately affirms how close it lies to the truth: like the second moon seen when pressing on the eye — though not the true moon itself, it shares, in substance, no real difference from the true moon at all, carrying only the single added falseness of the pressing finger; release the finger, and it is the true moon entirely — quite unlike a mere reflection of the moon in water, which differs from the true moon as emptiness differs from substance, as far apart as heaven from earth. The first moon here stands for the purely true, undefiled, wondrous, essential, luminous mind; the second moon stands for the essence of seeing's own luminous root; the moon's reflection in water stands for the discriminating consciousness that conditions upon dust. The Buddha wishes to have people set aside this false consciousness and take up instead this essence of seeing, as the very cause and ground of their own cultivation.

One might ask: "Since Ānanda is seeking the true mind, why does the Buddha not point directly to the purely true, undefiled mind itself, rather than to this essence of seeing, which still carries a trace of falseness?" The answer: "The purely true mind is realized by buddhas alone; even bodhisattvas of equal enlightenment still have a portion of ignorance not yet broken through, their truth not yet entirely pure — how much less could it be pointed to directly for those still at the level of ordinary beings or the lesser vehicles? It is like pointing at ore and calling it gold: if one seeking gold discarded the ore entirely, where would any true gold be found at all? The ten displays now being shown directly, together with the later teaching on the two kinds of false seeing, are exactly like smelting ore down into pure gold — once that gold is purified, its own brilliance shines forth on its own." "You should listen closely — I will now show you the very ground that has nowhere to return to at all" refers to the original, wondrously bright ground of mind itself — exactly what Ānanda earlier called "the complete and ever-abiding ground of mind." Being already complete, it has no coming and no going, ever-abiding and unmoving — how, then, could it have anywhere to return to at all? This is exactly the ground that has nowhere to return to.

Sūtra: "Ānanda, this great lecture hall opens directly to the east: when the sun rises in the sky, there is bright radiance; in the black-moon depth of night, with clouds and fog, there is dimness and dark; through the gaps of doors and windows there is a further sense of openness; between walls there is a further sense of obstruction; where discrimination occurs, there is a further sense of what it takes as its object; in inert emptiness, there is, throughout, the nature of empty space; where dust rises thick, there is a haze of turbid dust; and when the air clears after rain, there is, once more, a sense of purity. Ānanda, you observe all these changing appearances — I will now return each of them to the place that is properly its own cause. What are these proper causes? Ānanda, of all these changes: brightness returns to the sun. Why? Without the sun there is no brightness, and since brightness has its cause in the sun, it returns to the sun. Darkness returns to the black moon. Openness returns to doors and windows. Obstruction returns to walls. The sense of an object returns to discrimination. Inert emptiness returns to empty space. Turbid haze returns to dust. Clarity returns to the clearing sky. Everything that exists in the whole world falls into one of these categories without exception.

"Now, as for the nature of your seeing that perceives these eight kinds of things — to whom should it be returned? Why do I ask this? Because if it could be returned to brightness, then, at a time when there is no brightness, it could no longer see darkness at all. Although brightness, darkness, and all these various things differ from one another, the seeing itself has no such differences. Whatever can be returned to something else is, by its very nature, not you; but that which cannot be returned anywhere — if that is not you, then what is it? You should therefore know that your own mind is, at its root, wondrously bright and pure; it is you yourself who, through delusion and confusion, have lost this original nature and undergone the wheel of rebirth, forever adrift and sinking in birth and death — and this is why the Tathāgata calls you an object of pity."

Commentary: Wishing to reveal the seeing that has nowhere to return, the Buddha first lists what does have somewhere to return. The eight phenomena form four pairs: bright and dark, open and blocked, same and different, clear and turbid — each with its own substance and appearance, as the sun's disc is the substance and brightness its appearance, down to a clearing sky as the substance and purity its appearance. This great lecture hall stands for the wondrously bright, original mind's own unmoving, unchanging substance — the great, all-inclusive gateway underlying every phenomenon; the eight phenomena stand for that same mind's substance manifesting every particular appearance according to conditions. Broadly speaking, following the two conditions of delusion and awakening, it manifests every defiled and pure appearance in turn. Brightness stands for wisdom, skillfully illuminating; darkness for ignorance, dim through the long night; openness for the sense-faculties' own unimpeded reach, touching everything directly; obstruction for the two kinds of clinging obscuring understanding, blocking at every turn; the sense of differing objects stands for good and evil; inert emptiness for moral neutrality; turbid haze for a confused, deluded nature; purity for a settled, clear mind — all of this reveals plainly that every kind of illusory transformation arises from this same wondrously bright, original mind belonging to each person; this mind never refuses to let any of these appearances unfold within it, and can serve as the very ground every appearance depends upon, exactly like this lecture hall itself. Every single person already possesses this same great lecture hall — reflect deeply on this!

This directly reveals that the nature of seeing has nowhere to return, and is thus the true host. The point: you are able to see all eight of these kinds of phenomena — this very essence of seeing is exactly the wondrously bright true nature, coming from nowhere, going nowhere, unborn, unceasing — to whom, then, should it be returned, along with all the rest? Suppose the essence of seeing were returned to brightness, having followed brightness away — then, at a time of no brightness, it ought no longer to be able to see darkness at all. Yet this is not what happens: though brightness departs and darkness arrives, though openness departs and obstruction arrives, though difference ceases and sameness arises, though turbidity ceases and clarity arises, however many thousands of variations appear among the things seen, the very nature capable of seeing them remains full and constant throughout — exactly like a bright mirror set upon its stand, reflecting whatever is placed before it: when brightness comes, it sees brightness; when clarity comes, it sees clarity; clear and unobscured, settled and unmoving, without variation, without difference, going nowhere, returning nowhere at all.

The eight phenomena arise in dependence on conditions, and so return to those same conditions — present when the condition is present, absent when it is absent; the six kinds of consciousness likewise arise in dependence on their objects, and so return to those same objects — arising when the object arises, ceasing when the object ceases. All of these have somewhere to return, and are therefore, by nature, not your own ever-abiding, unchanging true nature — you should resolve, once and for all, to set them aside, without clinging to them any further. But this very essence of seeing's own luminous nature — seeing brightness when brightness comes, seeing darkness when darkness comes — is not something you can send back anywhere; it belongs, by its very nature, to you yourself. If this is not your true nature, then what is? You should resolve, once and for all, to take hold of it, without any further hesitation.

You should therefore know: your own nature of seeing, this true mind, though it follows conditions, remains eternally unchanging. The three qualities — originally wondrous, originally bright, originally pure — are, from the very start, already present within your own sense-faculties; this is exactly the original awakening within the very gateway of birth and death. Sentient beings, in their daily activity, never depart from this very thing. Not shifted by any of these appearances, unlike the conditioned mind, which has no substance apart from its object — hence "originally wondrous." Not obscured by any of these appearances, unlike the conditioned mind, whose very nature is confusion and agitation — hence "originally bright." Not defiled by any of these appearances, unlike the conditioned mind, which discriminates and clings — hence "originally pure." "Confusion" describes clinging to the conditioned mind, lacking the wisdom to understand for oneself, caught in every degree of non-awakening from root to branch, and so losing this originally wondrous, bright, pure, awakened mind — a loss that is not truly a loss, but only seems like one. The Dharma-body, turning through the five destinies, undergoes suffering and sinking needlessly, forever adrift and submerged in the bitter sea of birth and death — exactly like a beggar who carries a priceless jewel within his own robe, the jewel itself never actually lost, yet suffering destitution for nothing — and this is why the Tathāgata calls such a person an object of pity.

Sūtra: Ānanda said: "Though I now recognize that this nature of seeing has nowhere it can be returned to, how can I know that it is my own true nature?" The Buddha said to Ānanda: "Let me ask you this: you yourself have not yet attained the undefiled, pure eye, and it is only through the Buddha's own spiritual power that you are able to see as far as the first dhyāna heaven, without obstruction; while Aniruddha sees the whole of Jambudvīpa as clearly as an āmalaka fruit held in the palm of his hand. Bodhisattvas, in turn, see hundreds and thousands of world-systems; the Tathāgatas of the ten directions see every pure land throughout the whole of space, numerous as dust motes, with nothing left unseen at all; while ordinary sentient beings' own penetrating sight extends no further than an inch or so.

"Ānanda, consider now: you and I, looking upon the palaces where the Four Heavenly Kings dwell, and taking in everything between here and there — every creature of water, land, and air — however dim or bright, however varied in form, none of it is anything but an object in front of us, distinguished and obstructed by its own nature. You should, in all of this, distinguish what belongs to yourself from what belongs to another. Let me now have you sort out, within all that is seen, which is the very substance of your own seeing, and which are merely objects seen."

Commentary: Though Ānanda has now heard that the essence of seeing has nowhere to return, he has not yet grasped this with full certainty, and so still asks how, exactly, he can know it to be his own true nature, rather than belonging to some object. Since the nature of seeing appears so vividly, so brilliantly present right before his eyes, Ānanda still suspects that seeing and its objects are mixed together, unable to decide, and does not yet dare recognize seeing as mind itself — hence the Buddha now reveals his own nature by clearly distinguishing objects from seeing.

This first lists the various kinds of seeing capable of perceiving: that of the śrāvaka, of the bodhisattva, of the buddha, and of the ordinary being. "Aniruddha," in full Aniruddha, means "without poverty," also "unceasing" — because, in a past life, he offered a bowl of coarse millet to a pratyekabuddha, his resulting blessing never ceased, and across ninety-one kalpas, whether reborn among gods or humans, he never once suffered poverty. Aniruddha was the Buddha's own cousin; because he was fond of sleeping during the teachings, the Buddha once rebuked him: "Why do you sleep so, tsk, tsk! Snails and clams sleep for a thousand years at a stretch, never once hearing the Buddha's own name." Struck with shame, Aniruddha resolved on great diligence, and went seven days without sleep, losing his eyesight as a result. The Buddha, taking pity, taught him the vajra samādhi of joyful, illuminating vision, through which he attained a kind of heavenly eye [not dependent on the physical organ] and realized perfect penetration, later saying of himself: "Not depending on the eye at all, I see the ten directions, penetratingly clear, as though viewing a fruit held in my own palm." These first two examples are the seeing of śrāvakas.

"Bodhisattvas see hundreds and thousands of world-systems": a bodhisattva of the first ground sees a hundred world-systems, of the second ground a thousand, and so on up to the tenth ground, which sees countless world-systems without limit. The Tathāgatas of the ten directions see without any limit at all, hence "throughout the whole of space, numerous as dust motes" — an image for a number beyond counting. As for "ordinary sentient beings' own penetrating sight extends no further than an inch or so," this can be understood three ways: first, contrasting the lofty with the lowly — an ordinary being's own clearest sight, set against that of buddhas and sages, extends no further than an inch or so by comparison; second, encompassing every kind of living creature — even the smallest, most limited crawling things have some narrow range of sight of their own; third, describing obstruction and loss of function — unable to see through even a sheet of paper, let alone a wooden board. This passage on seeing, taken as a whole, covers the five eyes across all ten dharma-realms: the ordinary physical eye, Aniruddha's heavenly eye, Ānanda's own wisdom-eye [attained only by relying on the Buddha's power], the bodhisattva's Dharma-eye, and the Tathāgata's own buddha-eye.

This next passage lists only what lies directly within Ānanda's own present view. The palace where the Four Heavenly Kings dwell sits at the waist of Mount Sumeru, forty-two thousand yojanas above the earth: the Eastern King, Guardian of the Nation, dwells upon a golden terrace; the Southern King, Increase and Growth, upon a lapis-lazuli terrace; the Western King, Broad Eyes, upon a silver terrace; and the Northern King, Vaiśravaṇa, upon a crystal terrace, level with the sun and moon. "Taking in everything between here and there" means: beneath the Trāyastriṃśa heaven and above the earth, surveying all around — among sentient creatures, those of water, land, and air; among insentient things, mountains, rivers, the great earth, and empty space, all their various conditions — some dim and dark, some clear and bright, every kind of form differing one from another, all of it nothing but objects distinguished in front of the eyes, obstructed and confined by their own separate natures in every direction.

Objects and seeing were never truly mixed together to begin with; Ānanda only suspected they were, and so the Buddha now has him sort this out for himself, so that his own direct verification will dispel the doubt entirely. The point: within all that you see, distinguish what belongs to yourself from what belongs to another — "yourself" meaning the nature of seeing, "another" meaning the objects seen. Let me now have you sort out, within everything presently before you, carefully distinguishing which is the very substance of your own seeing, and which are the objects you see — once seeing and its objects are clearly, unmistakably separated, you will naturally come to know your own true nature.

Sūtra: "Ānanda, trace your own seeing to its very source: from the palaces of the sun and moon — these are objects, not you; to the seven surrounding rings of golden mountains — carefully observing them all, however much light they give off, these too are objects, not you; observing further still, the clouds rising, the birds in flight, the wind stirring, the dust rising, the trees, mountains, and rivers, the blades of grass, the people and animals — all of these, too, are objects, and not you. Ānanda, all these things, near and far, however much they differ from one another, are alike observed by the pure essence of your seeing. The various kinds of things have their own distinctions; the nature of seeing has none. This essential, wondrous brightness is truly your nature of seeing."

Commentary: Having just had Ānanda sort out objects from seeing on his own, the Buddha, aware that Ānanda's own capacity falls short of the task, now unfolds the point further still, through four successive rounds of demonstration. "Trace to its very source" means to trace seeing all the way back — from the palaces of the sun and moon, the very highest thing seen, which is an object, not your own nature of seeing; on to the seven surrounding rings of golden mountains encircling Mount Sumeru — seven rings of fragrant, sweet-water ocean alternating with seven rings of golden mountains, each entirely golden in substance, named in turn Double-Holding, Axle-Holding, Wood-Bearing, Well-Seen, Horse-Ear, Elephant-Trunk, and Fish-Mouth. "Carefully observing them all" means surveying with the eyes, examining truly and thoroughly — however much light these mountains give off, they too are objects, and not your own nature of seeing. Observing further still, from high to low, from near to far: the clouds rising, the birds in flight, the wind stirring, the dust rising — all these belong to the sky above; and further still, on the ground: trees, mountains and rivers, grasses and plants of every kind, people and animals — all of these, too, are objects, and not your own nature of seeing.

This directly demonstrates that seeing is not any of these objects. The nature of seeing has already been sorted out this way, yet Ānanda still does not grasp it, so the Buddha explains once more: Ānanda, everything you see, whether near or far, high or low, large or small — every one of these objects, whatever various states or distinct differences they display before your eyes, is alike perceived by this same essence of your own seeing, a single, unbroken purity, giving rise to no discrimination of its own, perfectly bright, illuminating and beholding all of it at once. "The various kinds of things" refers to everything seen, which naturally differs in a thousand, ten thousand ways from one another, while your own nature of seeing remains, in the end, entirely without difference. "This essential, wondrous brightness" refers to this very essence of seeing itself — inherently wondrous, inherently bright: wondrous because it is never mixed together with any object; bright because it perceives every object equally — this very wondrously bright true mind is truly your own nature of seeing. Objects and seeing being now so clearly distinguished, why, then, can you not sort them out among all these things? This directly answers Ānanda's earlier question — how he might know this to be his own true nature.

Sūtra: "If seeing were itself a thing, then you ought to be able to see my seeing too. If, when we both see the same thing, that counts as your seeing me, then at a time when I am not seeing, why do you not see the place where I am not seeing? And if you could see my not-seeing, that would obviously no longer be the mark of not-seeing at all. But if you cannot see the place where I am not seeing, then it is obviously not a thing — so how could it not be you? And further: at the very time you see some object, since you see the object, does the object also see you? If so, then subject and object would be hopelessly tangled together, and neither you, nor I, nor the world at all could stand established as they are. Ānanda, when you see, it is you who see, not I; the nature of seeing is all-pervading — if it is not you, then who is it? Why do you doubt your own true nature, treating your own nature as not real, and instead seeking something from me to count as real?"

Commentary: This entire passage continues the reversed reasoning showing that seeing is not itself an object. The previous section has already made plain that objects differ endlessly from one another while the nature of seeing has no such differences at all — from which it naturally follows that seeing cannot itself be an object. The reversed argument: if you insist that seeing is itself an object, then it ought to have some visible characteristic; and if your own seeing has some characteristic, then my seeing ought to have one too — meaning you ought to be able to see my own seeing directly. What form, then, would it take? The first two lines here guard against a false answer; the next three press the refutation home. If you claim that, when we both see the same object at once, my seeing rests upon that object and your seeing of that same object counts as "seeing my seeing," then, at a time when I turn my attention inward and see nothing at all, you ought likewise to see the very place where I am not seeing. Yet, right now, when I am not seeing anything, why can you not see where my own not-seeing actually is? Since you cannot see the place of my not-seeing, your earlier claim to see my seeing of an object cannot be trusted either.

To make the reasoning fully clear: the word "that" here refers to the object itself; my own seeing is the subject that sees, that object is what is seen. If you could see the very place where I turn inward and do not see, this would naturally be my own capacity for not-seeing — and naturally not the mark of any object that is itself unseen. But if you cannot see the place of my not-seeing, then my seeing itself is naturally not any kind of object at all. Why? Because if it were an object, then, at the moment I turned my attention inward and ceased seeing, it would have to occupy some definite location, which you certainly ought to be able to see — and since you cannot see it, it is clearly not an object. And if my own seeing is not an object, your seeing cannot be an object either — hence the closing line: how, then, could this not be your own true nature?

This reverses the argument the other way, showing that objects are not seeing either. Continuing the same line: if seeing were an object, then an object ought likewise to be capable of seeing — so that, at the very moment you see some object, since you see it, that object ought equally to see you in return. "Hopelessly tangled together" means: the insentient substance of the object and the sentient nature of seeing become impossibly confused, impossible to distinguish at all. Were this truly so, then you, I, and every sentient being throughout the whole sentient world could no longer be established as we are! Why? Because if objects too could see, then sentient and insentient would be hopelessly jumbled together, and nothing could stand established at all.

This turns back to the correct meaning. The point: when you see an object, or see me, it is definitely you who sees, and not I who sees — even you and I, both sentient beings, are never confused with one another this way; how much less could a sentient being and an insentient object ever become confused together? "The nature of seeing is all-pervading" means: your present observation of the palace of the Four Heavenly Kings, together with every creature of water, land, and air, all belongs to this same all-pervading nature of your own seeing — this seeing belongs neither to any object nor to me — if it is not your own true nature, then whose could it possibly be? Objects and seeing being so clearly, unmistakably distinct, why do you still not dare to take hold of it? This continues directly from the previous demonstration that objects and seeing are clear and unmixed. The nature of seeing resides in you, and belongs to no object at all — why, then, do you still doubt your own true nature? "Treating your own nature as not real" means: this nature has always, truly, been yours — your own inherited family treasure — and yet you still do not dare recognize it as real, seeking instead to have my own words serve as proof of it.

Sūtra: Ānanda said to the Buddha: "World-Honored One, if this nature of seeing is truly me and nothing else, then, when the Tathāgata and I look upon the jeweled palace of the Four Heavenly Kings, dwelling amid the palaces of sun and moon, this seeing fills the whole Sahā world-system; yet when we withdraw to the monastery, I see only the monastery grounds, and, with a settled mind indoors, I see only as far as the eaves. ... This seeing's own substance is, from the start, all-pervading throughout a whole world — so why, now, indoors, does it fill only this one room? Has this seeing contracted from large to small? Or have the walls pinched it and cut it off?"

Commentary: Having just heard that the nature of seeing is all-pervading, Ānanda now grows doubtful: if his true nature really is all-pervading, it ought to remain so at all times, entirely unobstructed — so why does it keep being blocked by objects? Hence he asks: if this all-pervading nature of seeing is genuinely his true nature, and nothing else, then it ought to be, without exception, free of any obstruction — so why does this not seem to be the case? This recounts seeing's own apparent inconsistency in size. The jeweled palace of the Four Heavenly Kings, formed of the most excellent treasures, is called for this reason "the jeweled palace of surpassing treasure." The palaces of sun and moon likewise sit at the mid-slope of Mount Sumeru, level with the heavenly kings' own palace. "This seeing fills the whole Sahā world-system" describes viewing from these two distant palaces, where seeing extends fully throughout the whole Sahā world. "Withdrawing to the monastery, I see only the monastery grounds" describes returning from the Four Heavenly Kings' realm to the monastery, seeing only its own grounds — "monastery" here meaning literally "the multitude's garden." "With a settled mind indoors" refers to the lecture hall, where hearing the teaching purifies the mind's own ground. Settled within the hall, unable to see far, one sees only as far as the eaves and the surrounding corridor — large before, small now.

This states the doubt as a formal question. The point: if the nature of seeing is truly all-pervading, it ought to remain constantly so, free and unobstructed at all times — so why does this seeing now appear so inconsistent in size? Its own substance is, from the start, all-pervading throughout an entire world — so why, indoors now, has it suddenly become small, filling only this one room? This is false, calculating speculation, brought to the Buddha to be settled once and for all. Continuing from the seeing that fills a whole world, now filling only one room: has this seeing, confined by the room itself, contracted from a whole world's vast expanse down to this one small room's narrow scope? Or have the surrounding walls pinched off this once-unified, all-pervading seeing, splitting it into an inner and an outer portion?

Sūtra: The Buddha said to Ānanda: "All the various matters of large and small, inner and outer, throughout the world, belong to what is in front of you — one should not say that seeing itself expands or contracts. It is like seeing a square shape of space inside a square container. ... If, as you ask, seeing contracts to become small on entering a room, then when you look up at the sun, do you stretch your seeing all the way out to meet the sun's very face? And if building a wall could pinch your seeing and cut it off, then boring a small hole through it should leave some trace of the seeing having been reconnected — but this is not how it works. From beginningless time, all sentient beings have mistaken themselves for things, lost their original mind, and been turned about by things — and so, within that confusion, they perceive things as large or small. But one who is able to turn things, rather than be turned by them, is the same as the Tathāgata, whose body and mind are perfectly bright, who does not move from the place of practice, and who, on the tip of a single hair, can fully contain the lands of the ten directions."

Commentary: Every worldly matter of large and small, inner and outer — every kind of activity and function, covering every category of above and below, square and round — belongs entirely to what stands in front of the eyes, obstructed by its own nature, and has nothing to do with the nature of seeing itself. This uses an analogy to show that it is the object's own size that varies, entirely because of the object itself — remove the object, and there is naturally no obstruction at all. Here the nature of seeing is likened to empty space, and the object to a container: the object has large and small, inner and outer, while the nature of seeing has no expansion or contraction, no cutting off or reconnecting — exactly as a container may be square or round, while space itself has no fixed shape at all.

This reversed challenge is meant to make Ānanda examine his own claim and see its flaw for himself. If, as you first asked, seeing contracts to become small on entering a room, then, looking up at the sun, could you possibly stretch your seeing all the way out to meet the sun's own face? This is meant to have him examine that looking at the sun involves no stretching, and so realize on his own that entering a room involves no contracting either. And if building a wall could pinch off your seeing and cut it in two, then boring a small hole through that same wall ought to leave some trace of the seeing being reconnected — does it not? This, too, is meant to have him examine that boring a hole leaves no trace of reconnection, and so realize on his own that a wall leaves no trace of any true severing either. The suspicion of contraction, and the suspicion of severing, are both, in the end, mistaken.

This reveals the true source of apparent obstruction: clinging to phenomena. So long as sentient beings have not yet abandoned this clinging to phenomena, insisting that things exist genuinely outside the mind, obstruction inevitably follows wherever they turn. Every sentient being — ordinary beings, non-Buddhists, and those of the provisional and lesser vehicles alike — comes, from beginningless ignorance, to mistake their own true mind for mere things, failing to realize that the ten thousand things are nothing but this same mind, and so losing sight of their own originally unified true mind, clinging instead to the belief that real phenomena exist outside the mind. This very delusion is exactly the clinging to phenomena, and is exactly the source of all apparent obstruction — failing to understand that the ten thousand phenomena are mind alone, one comes to divide mind from matter, so that not only do things fail to be turned by the mind, but the mind itself is instead obstructed by things. Hence, "within that confusion," meaning within what was originally one substance, one perceives things now as large, now as small, shifting along with whatever object is encountered, obstructed by things at every turn. One should understand: things were originally nothing but mind itself; deluded into taking them for external things, they become capable of obstructing the mind — exactly as ice was originally water; once frozen solid, it becomes capable of obstructing water's own flow. If one can genuinely turn this delusion around, one can naturally turn things as well.

The power to turn things depends entirely on wondrous wisdom: awakening to the perfect principle, breaking through the clinging to phenomena, understanding clearly that nothing exists outside the mind, that every single phenomenon is mind alone, and so turning the ten thousand things into one's own self — knowing then that heaven and earth share the very same root as oneself, that the ten thousand things and oneself are a single substance. This is awakening, by way of the phenomenal Dharma-realm, into the noumenal Dharma-realm. "The same as the Tathāgata" refers to the Dharma-body Tathāgata: the Dharma-body takes principle itself as its very body, perfectly interfused and unobstructed, so that whatever single phenomenon is raised up, its very substance is the Dharma-body itself. "Body and mind perfectly bright, not moving from the place of practice" describes the substance's own freedom, belonging to the Dharma-realm of unobstructed principle and phenomena together. When sentient beings are deluded, they falsely take the four elements for their own bodily form, and so are obstructed by the four elements, never whole; they falsely take the shadow-traces of the six sense-objects for their own mental form, and so are obscured by the six sense-objects, never bright. Now, having turned things around instead, the body becomes the Dharma-nature's own body, perfectly and universally illuminating; the mind becomes the wondrously bright mind, luminously penetrating everything — body, mind, and the ten thousand things all originally one and the same substance, so that body and mind themselves are the very Dharma-realm, the unmoving place of practice itself. "On the tip of a single hair, fully containing the lands of the ten directions" describes the freedom of function, belonging to the Dharma-realm where every single phenomenon interpenetrates every other without obstruction. The tip of a hair, the very smallest thing belonging to one's own direct retribution; the buddha-lands of a great-thousand world-system, the very largest thing belonging to one's surrounding retribution — the hair's tip containing the land means the direct retribution takes in the surrounding; the land residing within the hair's tip means the surrounding retribution enters the direct. Small and large mutually contain one another, each entirely free — this is exactly the gate of broad and narrow, mutually unobstructed and entirely at ease.

Sūtra: Ānanda said to the Buddha: "World-Honored One, if this essence of seeing is truly my own wondrous nature, then this wondrous nature ought to be present right in front of me now. If seeing is truly my own real self, then what, exactly, is this present body and mind of mine? And yet this body and mind genuinely do have the power of discrimination, while that seeing in front of me has no such power to distinguish my own body at all. But if it is truly my own mind, causing me to see as I do now, and this nature of seeing is truly myself, then this body would not be myself at all! How would this differ from what the Tathāgata himself earlier objected to — that an object could see me? I beg only that you, in your great compassion, enlighten what I have not yet understood."

Commentary: This picks up the previous teaching and gives rise to a further doubt. The Buddha has been working hard to have Ānanda recognize seeing as mind, showing at length that the nature of seeing stands independently, entirely unrelated to body or surroundings — and Ānanda, still working from within his own discriminating mind, has conjured up a kind of vivid, luminous impression, filling his field of vision, calling this "the nature of seeing," as though it stood apart from body and mind as a separate thing entirely. Earlier, Ānanda suspected that seeing was mixed together with the ten thousand things; now he suspects that seeing and his own body and mind are two entirely separate substances. Hence he says to the Buddha: if this present, all-pervading essence of seeing, taking in the ten thousand things, is truly my own wondrous, essential, luminous nature, then this wondrous nature ought to be right in front of my own eyes at this very moment — which would mean it stands apart from my own body! But if it is truly my own wondrous nature, how could it possibly stand outside my own body at all?

Here Ānanda fears that recognizing seeing as himself must mean abandoning body and mind altogether. His thought: if this vivid presence, filling his field of vision, is truly his real nature, then his present body and mind must, after all, not be himself — so what, then, are they? And yet this body and mind genuinely do have the power of discrimination. This reasons from the capacity for discrimination: his present body and mind, he thinks, are what actually discriminate, possessing real function; while that seeing in front of him has no such power of discrimination at all, unable even to distinguish his own body — if it cannot even distinguish his own body, how much less could it distinguish the ten thousand things? This is exactly the same view held by ordinary worldly people: taking whatever has the power of discrimination for one's true self, and whatever lacks it for not-self.

This next line reasons from the capacity of seeing itself. His thought: if the seeing in front of him is truly his real mind, causing him to see as he does now, then this present body would instead become merely something seen — the nature of seeing standing in front of him, exactly like some external object standing there. But if that seeing is truly himself, then this present body, having become merely what is seen, would end up not being himself at all! This point continues directly from the one before: if the nature of seeing has already been set apart from himself, treated as though it were an object, and yet is somehow still capable of seeing his own body, this is exactly the same as an object being capable of seeing him — no different at all from what the Tathāgata himself had earlier objected to: "an object seeing me." Yet the Buddha had already rejected this very possibility as mistaken — so Ānanda now begs once more for the Buddha's great compassion, to open and clarify this point further, so that what remains unawakened in him may finally be awakened.

Sūtra: The Buddha said to Ānanda: "What you have just said — that 'seeing is right in front of you' — is not actually true. If seeing were genuinely in front of you, something you genuinely see, then this essence of seeing would have to occupy some definite location — could it really have no way of being pointed to at all? Consider now: you and I are sitting together in the Jeta Grove, taking in the whole view — the groves and streams, the halls and buildings, up to the sun and moon, and, before us, the Ganges itself. Right here, in front of my lion's seat, you could raise your hand and point to any of these: what is shaded is the grove; what is bright is the sun; what obstructs is the wall; what admits passage is open space — and so on, down to the finest blade of grass or twig, however large or small, so long as it has some form, there is nothing that cannot be pointed to directly. If seeing is truly right in front of you in just this way, then you ought to be able to point directly, with your own hand, to exactly what this seeing is. Ānanda, you should know: if empty space were seeing, then, once space had already become seeing, what would be left to be called space? And if an object were seeing, then, once the object had already become seeing, what would be left to be called an object? Try, then, to pick apart every single phenomenon in the finest detail, and extract this pure, essential, wondrous origin of seeing, and point it out to me clearly, the way you would point out any of these other objects, leaving no room for doubt."

Commentary: Ānanda had just mistakenly claimed that seeing and body-and-mind were two entirely separate substances, giving rise to this doubt about seeing standing "in front of him." Rather than resolving this directly by showing that body, mind, and seeing are not two separate substances, the Buddha instead refutes it by showing that all phenomena share a single substance — for two reasons. First, this is easier to argue from: if seeing genuinely stood in front of Ānanda, it ought to be pointed to as clearly as any of the ten thousand things — yet, searching among all these things, there is truly nothing that can be pointed to, either as "seeing" or as "not seeing," so that both possibilities are exhausted, with no such separate mark to be found anywhere at all, and seeing and the ten thousand things naturally turn out to be a single substance. Second, this removes both kinds of clinging at once: body and mind are the intimate basis of clinging to a self; the ten thousand things are the visible domain of clinging to phenomena. Ānanda's real fear is that recognizing seeing as himself must mean abandoning body and mind — meaning his clinging to a self is already burning brightly, while his clinging to phenomena remains, for now, comparatively subtle. Were the Buddha simply to say that seeing, body, and mind form a single substance, Ānanda would only cling further still, treating seeing, body, and mind together as his own self, and the ten thousand things as something entirely other — so that his clinging to phenomena would remain entirely unrefuted, and both kinds of clinging would only grow stronger still.

What follows distinguishes "there being no such thing as 'is seeing'" from "there being no such thing as 'is not seeing'" — this passage uses both directions at once, taking up objects and setting them aside in turn, to single out first the absence of "is seeing." The Tathāgata's question: if this essence of seeing truly stands right in front of your own eyes, something you can genuinely look at and see, then this essence of seeing must occupy some definite location — and having a location, it must have some visible form — could it really have no way of being indicated at all? This settles, in advance, that it ought to be indicable, so that Ānanda can then be asked to point it out among the objects before him. This first uses the fact that every object can be pointed to as a general example. What follows then directs him to point out seeing itself: right now, you and I, sitting together in this Jeta Grove, surveying everything around us — nearby, the groves and flowing streams; further, the halls and buildings; higher still, up to the palaces of the sun and moon; and, in the distance, the Ganges itself, directly before us — anything within sight, right here before my lion's seat, you can raise your hand and point to clearly: what is shaded is the grove, what is bright is the sun, what obstructs is a wall, what admits passage is open space, and so on, down to the finest blade of grass or twig — however large or small, so long as it has some form, there is nothing that cannot be pointed to directly.

"You should know" signals that Ānanda must pay careful attention here — to what, exactly, counts as space, and what counts as an object. The Buddha wants Ānanda to follow the exact format he has laid out, pointing to both object and seeing at once, without destroying the object's own original character in the process. First, regarding space: if space were seeing, then, once space had already become seeing, one must still, without destroying space's own original nature, be able to say what remains, properly, "space." Then, regarding an object: if an object were seeing, then, once the object had already become seeing, one must likewise, without destroying that object's own original nature, be able to say what remains, properly, "an object." This format is like painting directly onto a wall: the wall and the painting must both remain, each in its own right, for there to be any meaningful sense in which object and seeing are each their own separate substance. If "being seeing" simply erased space and erased the object entirely, collapsing everything into a single undifferentiated thing, this would contradict the very point Ānanda is being asked to demonstrate.

The previous passage sought "is seeing" while still keeping the object intact; this passage seeks "is seeing" apart from the object entirely. Seeking it apart from the object means Ānanda must show seeing's own independent substance, standing free of every object — hence the Buddha's instruction: apply yet another round of the finest, most careful effort, picking apart every single phenomenon, and extract this very origin of seeing — this is exactly seeking "is seeing" apart from every object. "The pure, essential, wondrous origin of seeing" — "essential" means what no phenomenon can blend together with it; "clear" means what no phenomenon can obscure; "pure" means what no phenomenon can defile; "wondrous" means what no phenomenon can alter — these four qualities describe the very meaning of this origin of seeing, exactly the inherent, virtuous characteristics belonging to original awakening itself. If seeing and objects are truly each their own separate substance, then seeing's own independent substance, apart from every object, ought to be just as clearly, distinctly pointed to as any of these other objects, without the slightest room for doubt.

Sūtra: Ānanda said: "Now, in this many-storied lecture hall, as far as the Ganges, up to the sun and moon — everywhere I raise my hand to point, everywhere my eyes freely roam, whatever I point to is an object; there is nothing there that is 'the seeing' itself. World-Honored One, exactly as the Buddha has said — how much less could I, a beginning śrāvaka still with outflows, or even a bodhisattva, manage to extract, from in front of the ten thousand things, a pure seeing that has its own nature apart from every one of those things!" The Buddha said: "Just so, just so!"

Commentary: This is Ānanda's answer showing that, keeping the object intact, there is nothing that "is seeing." His point: wherever he raises his hand to point, wherever his eyes freely roam, whatever he points to is an object — he cannot point out anything that "is seeing" without destroying that object's own original character — hence, "there is nothing there that is 'the seeing' itself." This next passage is Ānanda's answer showing that, apart from the object entirely, there is likewise nothing that "is seeing." "Exactly as the Buddha has said" refers back to the Buddha's own instruction: "Try, then, to pick apart every single phenomenon in the finest detail, and extract this pure, essential, wondrous origin of seeing, and point it out to me clearly." How much less, then, could I — a beginner still subject to outflows — manage to point out "seeing" apart from every object? Even an arhat or a pratyekabuddha could not do this; even a bodhisattva could not, standing before the ten thousand things, extract a pure seeing possessing its own separate nature apart from every one of them. So, apart from the object entirely, there is likewise nothing that can be pointed to as "seeing." This uses both approaches together, keeping the object and setting it aside in turn, to single out the absence of anything that "is seeing."

This is the Buddha's own confirmation. He repeats "just so" twice because Ānanda's answer has shown, in both directions — keeping the object intact, and setting it aside entirely — that nothing can be pointed to as "seeing," both equally correct, hence the double confirmation, "just so, just so." This is because the nature of seeing, in its full measure, encompasses the ten directions, its very substance pervading every phenomenon — and its relation to every phenomenon is neither identity nor separation. Precisely because it is not identical with phenomena, it can shine with its own independent, spiritual light, entirely free of both sense-faculty and sense-object, unrelated to body or world, untouched by birth and death. And precisely because it is not separate from phenomena either, it can perfectly interfuse with every land, forming a single substance with the ten thousand things, its function filling the whole Dharma-realm, form and mind never truly two.

Sūtra: Mañjuśrī, Dharma-Prince, ... said to the Buddha: "World-Honored One, this whole assembly has not understood what the Tathāgata means by asking whether the two things, the essence of seeing and form-and-emptiness, 'are' this or 'are not' this. World-Honored One, if these objects before us — form and emptiness and all such appearances — are themselves seeing, they ought to be something that can be pointed to directly; but if they are not seeing, then nothing at all ought to be perceived. Yet now no one knows where this teaching is truly leading, and so this fear has arisen — not because this assembly's roots of goodness are especially shallow or slight, as in some earlier age, but because of this very uncertainty. I beg only that the Tathāgata, in his great compassion, make clear what these various objects and this essence of seeing actually, originally are, in the space between 'is' and 'is not.'"

Commentary: This opening portion is the compiler's own account of how Mañjuśrī came to ask this question on the assembly's behalf. At that time, Mañjuśrī, Dharma-Prince, taking pity on the fourfold assembly, rose from his seat, bowed at the Buddha's feet, and, with palms joined in reverence, spoke. "Not understood" names the very root of the assembly's confusion; the "two things" are "is" and "is not." "The essence of seeing" is the seeing-portion of the eighth consciousness's own luminous clarity; "form and emptiness" together encompass every object, the perceived-portion. Mañjuśrī's point: the assembly has fallen into fear and confusion only because they have not understood that the Tathāgata's two rounds of questioning were specifically meant to reveal two things — whether the essence of seeing, together with form and emptiness, "is" this, or "is not" this. "Is this" means there is nothing that is not seeing, since nothing being "not seeing" is exactly what is meant by "is"; "is not this" means there is nothing that is seeing at all.

This describes the assembly's own confusion. If form, emptiness, and every such appearance were themselves seeing, they ought to be capable of being pointed to directly — so why can nothing be pointed to as "seeing"? And if they were not seeing at all, then nothing at all ought to be perceived — so why, then, can one still see form, still see emptiness? "No one knows where this teaching is truly leading" means: no one knows the resolution behind these two possibilities — nothing that "is seeing," and nothing that "is not seeing" — hence this fear has arisen. This is not because the assembly's roots of goodness are especially thin or slight — I beg only that the Tathāgata, in great compassion, make plain what these objects and this essence of seeing actually, originally are — in which there is neither anything that "is seeing" nor anything that "is not seeing." Should the Buddha make this clear, the assembly will understand where this teaching truly leads, and their fear will resolve on its own.

Sūtra: The Buddha said to Mañjuśrī and the whole assembly: "The Tathāgatas of the ten directions and the great bodhisattvas, abiding in their own samādhi, see that seeing itself, together with its objects and all conceived appearances, are, like flowers conjured in empty space, originally without any existence at all. This seeing and its objects are, originally, the wondrous, pure, bright substance of bodhi — so how could there be any 'is this' or 'is not this' within it? Mañjuśrī, let me ask you: besides you, Mañjuśrī, is there another Mañjuśrī who 'is' Mañjuśrī — or is there no such Mañjuśrī at all?" "Just so, World-Honored One. I am the true Mañjuśrī; there is no 'Mañjuśrī who is Mañjuśrī.' Why? Because if there were such a thing, there would be two Mañjuśrīs. And yet I am not, today, without a Mañjuśrī either — there is truly, in this matter, no such pair as 'is' and 'is not.'"

The Buddha said: "This wondrous brightness of seeing, together with all the appearances of emptiness and dust, is exactly the same. It is, originally, the wondrous, unsurpassed, pure, perfect, true mind of bodhi, mistakenly taken to be form and emptiness, hearing and seeing — like a second moon: which one, then, is 'the moon,' and which one 'is not the moon'? Mañjuśrī, there is only ever one true moon; in between, there is naturally no such thing as a moon that 'is' or a moon that 'is not.' This is exactly why, no matter how you now examine seeing and its objects, however many explanations you devise, all of it is nothing but false thought — none of it can ever step outside the very question of 'is this' or 'is not this' at all. It is precisely because of this true, essential, wondrously enlightened, bright nature that you are able to move beyond both pointing and not-pointing at all!"

Commentary: The Buddha now answers Mañjuśrī's question on the assembly's own behalf. "The Tathāgatas of the ten directions" refers to buddhas who have already realized the ultimate fruit; "the great bodhisattvas" — note the word "great" here — excludes not only the two lesser vehicles but even provisional-teaching bodhisattvas, showing this to be the domain of buddhas and perfect, sudden-teaching bodhisattvas alone. "Abiding in their own samādhi" means abiding, through their own realized, sagely wisdom, constantly within the great Śūraṅgama samādhi. "Seeing itself, together with its objects" and the following lines show that falseness has no real substance at all: "seeing" is the conditioning, seeing-portion; "its objects" are the six sense-objects conditioned upon, the perceived-portion; "conceived appearances" refers to the sixth consciousness's own false thought; the "appearances" themselves refer to the physical form of the six sense-faculties. Buddhas and perfect, sudden-teaching bodhisattvas understand clearly that the universally clung-to sixth consciousness is, at root, empty, and that the dependently-arisen sense-faculties and objects are illusory — like flowers seen in empty space by a diseased eye: arising from conditions, without any nature of their own, originally without any existence at all — not made nonexistent through some later act, but nonexistent in their very nature from the start.

"This seeing and its objects are, originally, the wondrous, pure, bright substance of bodhi": this reveals falseness as, in itself, nothing other than truth. "Objects" here encompasses sense-faculty, sense-object, and consciousness together — hence this single word takes in the whole eighteen elements, that is, body, mind, and world, both direct and surrounding retribution together. The passage above showed that every phenomenon is false, likened to flowers in space; this passage shows that the single nature underlying them is, originally, true — hence "bodhi," specifically the true-nature bodhi among the three kinds of bodhi. "Originally" here echoes Mañjuśrī's own earlier question, "what are they originally?" Why is it that this seeing-essence and the objects it conditions upon have no such thing as "is" or "is not"? Because they are, originally, the wondrous, pure, bright substance of bodhi — needing no cultivation to bring it about, wondrous from the very start; needing no washing to purify it, pure from the very start; needing no polishing to brighten it, bright from the very start. "Wondrous" corresponds to the virtue of the Dharma-body, neither existent nor empty; "pure" corresponds to the virtue of liberation, unchanged even amid defilement; "bright" corresponds to the virtue of wisdom, its own spiritual light shining independently — together, the very substance of the three virtues' own hidden treasury. Being one and the same substance, utterly beyond any question of "is" or "is not," the Buddha reveals this by turning the question back: how, then, could there still be any "is seeing" or "is not seeing" to speak of at all?

Here the Buddha borrows Mañjuśrī himself as an analogy, to show that the single true Dharma-realm has, from the start, no mark of "is" or "is not" at all. Mañjuśrī stands for the substance of this single truth; the Buddha's question: as for this very body of yours, originally one true Mañjuśrī — is there some further Mañjuśrī who "is" Mañjuśrī, or is there no such Mañjuśrī at all? Mañjuśrī, being of great wisdom, understands the moment he hears it, and answers: World-Honored One, I am originally one true Mañjuśrī — this illustrates the substance of this single truth — and, with regard to my own true self as Mañjuśrī, there is no further one to be called "the Mañjuśrī who is Mañjuśrī" — this illustrates that form and emptiness have no such thing as "is seeing" either. Why? Because if there were some further one called "the Mañjuśrī who is Mañjuśrī," there would be two Mañjuśrīs, and the single substance itself could no longer stand — meaning that, within this single substance, there is no room even to speak of "is" at all. "And yet I am not, today, without a Mañjuśrī either — there is truly, in this matter, no such pair as 'is' and 'is not'" means: within the substance of the true Mañjuśrī himself, there is truly nothing to be called "is," and nothing to be called "is not" either — since neither can even be spoken of, how could there be any pair of marks, "is" and "is not," to be found there at all? This illustrates that the single truth has no "is" or "is not": within the substance of true suchness, not one phenomenon is left over, not one phenomenon is lacking, perfectly identical with the whole of empty space itself, neither deficient nor in excess.

"This seeing" refers to the very seeing-essence capable of seeing, bound within delusion since beginningless time, yet its own spiritual light never dimmed — hence called "wondrously bright." "Emptiness and dust" together refer to every object. The Buddha's point: this seeing-essence and every object are, in truth, one and the same substance, and so have neither "is" nor "is not," exactly as with Mañjuśrī — only ever one true Mañjuśrī, with no "Mañjuśrī who is Mañjuśrī," and yet not without a Mañjuśrī either. This next passage, beginning "it is, originally, wondrous and bright," shows that falseness is, originally, nothing but truth itself, gathering everything into this single truth as one unified analogy — returning to the truth means there is no longer any "is" or "is not" at all. Unchanging while according with every condition is called "wondrous"; still, and yet ever illuminating, is called "bright." "Unsurpassed bodhi" is exactly the ultimate truth, true-nature bodhi, the very source underlying every phenomenon, with nothing whatsoever able to stand above it — hence "unsurpassed." "Mistakenly taken to be form and emptiness, hearing and seeing" reveals falseness arising from truth: from the very first moment when the nature of awakening, necessarily bright of itself, mistakenly became "awareness that is bright," the wondrous brightness was turned into ignorance, giving rise to karmic consciousness, falsely manifesting the seeing-portion and the perceived-portion. Form and emptiness are exactly this manifested, perceived-portion; hearing and seeing are exactly this manifested, seeing-portion.

The three lines beginning "like a second moon" offer separate analogies for both truth and falseness. Like pressing on the eye and seeing a second moon — with two discs now appearing, questions of "is" and "is not" immediately spring up, and one falsely calculates: which, then, is the true moon, and which is not? This corresponds to the true mind falsely becoming the two portions of form, emptiness, seeing, and appearance — within which "is" and "is not" naturally arise. "Mañjuśrī, there is only ever one true moon; in between, there is naturally no such thing as a moon that 'is' or a moon that 'is not'" illustrates truth through a single moon: only once one recognizes the single moon as true does the very question of "is" or "is not" fall away entirely, since it is then recognized as a single, undivided substance, with no second disc at all, and no room left even to speak of "is" or "is not" — one is thereby naturally freed from this whole false, speculative debate.

The three lines beginning "this is exactly why" then apply this teaching, matching each analogy to its corresponding point. The meaning: given everything explained so far, through both direct teaching and analogy, however you now examine seeing and its objects, and however many explanations you devise, none of it is anything but false thought. "Examine seeing" means the seeing-essence itself; "objects" means both the inward body and mind, and the outward ten thousand things. Continuing from the point that you have not yet awakened to the wondrously bright true mind, and so, examining seeing and its objects, fail to grasp what they originally are — however many explanations you devise, declaring this "is" and that "is not," all of it remains mere discrimination and calculation, called false thought. Giving rise to universal clinging upon what is merely dependently arisen, even were you to keep explaining until the end of time, you could never step outside this very question of "is" and "is not." This corresponds to the analogy of the second moon and its false calculation of "is" and "is not."

The two lines beginning "it is precisely because of this" describe turning from delusion back to awakening, dissolving falseness and returning to truth, understanding clearly that seeing and its objects are, originally, one single truth — and so becoming able to step entirely outside the very question of "is" and "is not." "True and essential" describes the substance free of falseness, free of defilement; "wondrously enlightened and bright" describes the nature that perfectly illuminates the whole Dharma-realm. Awakening to this substance and nature, one becomes able to move far beyond both the dependently-arisen nature and the universally-clung-to nature, so that sense-faculty, sense-object, and consciousness alike become nothing but the perfectly accomplished true nature itself, with no distinction whatsoever between self and other remaining — where, then, could there be any "is" or "is not" left to point to at all? "Able to move beyond both pointing and not-pointing" means: once one awakens to the single true Dharma-realm, the seeing-portion and the perceived-portion are both seen to belong to flowers conjured in empty space, the ten thousand things and the nature of seeing originally one and the same substance — and so one becomes able to step entirely beyond this whole question of "is" and "is not," no longer asking, among the ten thousand things, which can be pointed to as "seeing" and which as "not seeing." This is exactly like recognizing the single moon as true, at which point every false calculation dissolves entirely. One can see, then, that delusion, awakening, truth, and falseness all rest on a single thought: let that one thought be deluded, and mind and its objects become a tangled confusion, questions of "is" and "is not" springing up at once; let that one thought be awakened, and wondrous enlightenment stands perfectly clear — how, then, could any question of "is" or "is not" find room to arise at all? This display, discussing the nature of seeing as undivided, shows that where there is neither "is" nor "is not," the discriminating feelings born of true and false dissolve of themselves — among the four meanings, this belongs to the meaning of wondrousness.