Regulation

Root Text: Now, when a practitioner first learns to sit in meditation, wishing to cultivate the Dharma of every buddha of the ten directions and three time periods, one should first give rise to the great vow: to bring every sentient being across, and to aspire to the unsurpassed buddha-path, with a mind firm and unbreakable as vajra, advancing with courage and diligence, never sparing body or life, never turning back until every buddha-dharma is accomplished. Only then, while seated, should one hold correct mindfulness and reflect on the true mark of every dharma — that is, wholesome, unwholesome, and neutral dharmas; every outflow-bound afflicted dharma among the inward faculties, outward sense-objects, and false consciousness; and every conditioned dharma of birth-and-death, cause and effect, within the three realms — all of it arising because of mind. Hence the Daśabhūmika Sūtra says: "The three realms have no separate existence of their own; they are made by mind alone." If one knows that mind has no fixed nature, then no dharma is truly real; and once the mind clings to nothing, every karmic activity of birth-and-death comes to rest of itself. Having made this contemplation, one should then, in due order, take up the practice itself.

Commentary: Chapter 2's rebuking of the five desires kept outward objects from entering; chapter 3's discarding of the five hindrances brought the inward mind to purity. With both inward and outward alike now pure, one is well placed to settle the mind and cultivate calming and insight — but one must, further, regulate five things into proper balance before real benefit is gained, hence chapter 4 explains regulating these five: body, breath, mind, sleep, and food.

"Ten directions" means east, west, south, north, the four intermediate points, and up and down; "three time periods" means past, present, and future; "buddha-dharma" means the unsurpassed, wondrous Dharma of bodhi, nirvāṇa, ultimate purity, and the supreme truth of the middle way — a Dharma incomparable to that of any of the [other] nine dharma-realms of beings, whose own dharma is defiled rather than pure, a dharma of confusion and darkness rather than awakening. Only the buddha-dharma is ultimate, awakened, unborn and unceasing, and pure. This is why a practitioner who wishes to cultivate the teaching of every buddha of the ten directions and three time periods should first give rise to the great universal vow — that is, the four universal vows themselves... aspiring to this unsurpassed buddha-path, vowing to realize it to the very end.

A practitioner does not merely give rise to a resolve of this kind — that resolve must, moreover, be utterly firm and unbreakable, exactly like vajra... Giving rise to a mind as firm and indestructible as vajra, advancing with courage and diligence, never sparing body or life, never turning back, seeking only the unsurpassed buddha-path with all one's strength, bringing every sentient being broadly across — this is what is called the very foremost vigorous person within the Buddhadharma. "Never turning back" is said of three kinds: never turning back in one's own stage of attainment... never turning back in one's own practice... and never turning back in one's own mindfulness... Once this is accomplished, one then sits with body upright, cultivating calming and insight, and, while seated, holds correct mindfulness and reflects on the true mark of every dharma. "Correct mindfulness" is precisely no-thought — a thought that is no-thought is called correct mindfulness; a true mind's correct mindfulness is called correct reflection. "True mark" is precisely true reality itself, also called true nature. Mark is nature: true reality being neither marked nor unmarked, true nature being neither natured nor unnatured — this is called true mark, true nature.

As for "every dharma" — one must reflect correctly and examine it closely, to fully penetrate the true mark of every dharma. But how, then, can one come to know the true mark of every dharma? One should know that every outflow-bound afflicted dharma, every dharma of birth-and-death, cause and effect, arises entirely because of mind — manifested by mind alone, given substance by mind alone; without mind, there would likewise be no distinction among the myriad dharmas at all — hence mind is the very root of every dharma. The Śūraṅgama Sūtra says: "Whatever dharmas arise are manifested by mind alone" — every cause and effect, every world, down to the smallest mote of dust, is given substance by mind. Hence it is said: "The three realms have no separate existence of their own; they are made by mind alone."

Yet if one investigates through the four possible modes of arising, mind and its object, right where they stand, arise neither of themselves, nor from another, nor from both together, nor from no cause at all — arising through conditions, they have no fixed nature, and their very substance is, from the start, still. From this one knows that one's own mind has, from the start, no fixed nature; and since one's own mind has no fixed nature, no dharma is truly real either — since no dharma has any fixed nature of its own, one's own mind, too, is not truly real. In this way, mind has no nature, and dharmas too have no nature — this natureless nature is called true nature, also called true mark. Once correct mindfulness rests in true reality itself, the mind clings to nothing at all, and craves no dusty object — from this, every karmic activity of birth-and-death is entirely set aside, brought to rest without remainder.

One must understand that the very reason we have, since beginningless time, constantly revolved along the path of birth-and-death is precisely this: the root sickness of being unable to bring afflicted karmic activity to rest, unable to see through or discern the true nature of any circumstance whatsoever, and so falsely giving rise to clinging attachment — that is, giving rise to the fruit of birth-and-death through the cause of affliction, and so never coming to rest. Once a practitioner is able to observe deeply that their own mind cannot ultimately be found at all, that every dharma is illusory and unreal, every karmic activity of birth-and-death is brought to rest — for whatever has a mark is entirely illusory, and marks that are not truly marks are precisely true reality itself.

Root Text: What is meant by "regulation"? Let us borrow a ready simile to illustrate this method. Just as a potter in the world, wishing to make various vessels, must first skillfully work the clay so that it is neither too hard nor too soft, and only then set it upon the wheel; or just as a lute-player must first tune the strings, so that they are neither too loose nor too tight, and only then can begin to play, drawing out every wondrous melody — a practitioner cultivating the mind is exactly the same. Skillfully regulating the five things, bringing them necessarily into balance, allows samādhi to arise easily; if any is left unregulated, many obstacles follow, and wholesome roots become difficult to bring forth.

Commentary: The opening line raises the question itself: what is meant by "regulation"? — illustrating this method through a simile. Just as a potter in the world, firing bowls, basins, and clay jars, wishing to make vessels of every kind, must first skillfully work the clay so that it is neither too hard nor too stiff, nor too weak nor too soft, brought into proper balance, and only then set upon the wheel, moving without the slightest hindrance; or just as, before playing a lute, one must first skillfully tune its strings — not too loose, for a loose string gives no sound when plucked, and not too tight, for a tight string easily snaps — the strings must, above all, be brought to just the right tension, and only then can one begin to play, drawing out clear, wondrous melodies pleasing to the ear.

This is why one should know that a practitioner cultivating the mind is exactly the same. If one can skillfully regulate all five things into proper balance, samādhi arises easily, and the path flourishes of itself! But if any of the five is left unregulated, one merely exhausts body and mind for nothing — not only without benefit, but actually increasing sickness and harming one's own health. Hence it is said: many obstacles follow, and the roots of every wholesome quality become difficult to bring forth from this point on — is this not deeply regrettable? A practitioner must, then, be careful with the mind, and regulate all five skillfully into balance.

Root Text: First, regulating food. Now, food as a matter of practice is meant, at root, to sustain the body so that one may progress along the path. If one eats to excess, the breath grows constricted, the mind feels swollen and full, the hundred channels fail to flow freely, the mind becomes blocked, and sitting in meditation becomes unsettled. If one eats too little, the body grows weak, the mind feels unmoored, and one's own thinking loses its stability. Neither of these two is the way to attain concentration. If one eats unclean or defiling things, this leaves a person's mind and consciousness clouded and confused; if one eats something unsuited to oneself, this stirs up old illness and throws the four great elements out of balance. This is something to be extremely careful about at the very beginning of cultivating concentration. Hence a sūtra says: "When the body is at ease, the path flourishes; know moderation in food and drink; constantly delight in dwelling in a quiet, unoccupied place; let the mind be still and take joy in diligence — this is called the teaching of every buddha."

Commentary: Regulating the five things: the first is regulating food and drink — if food and drink are not regulated, the body is not at ease, and the path does not flourish. Food, as a matter of practice, exists at root to nourish this physical body so that one may progress along the path. Although this body is itself an illusory, unreal thing, one must presently rely on this very body to cultivate the path — borrowing the false to cultivate the true, moving from the conditioned toward the unconditioned. Since one has a physical body at all, one must rely on food to nourish it. An ancient worthy said: "Before the wheel of the Dharma turns, the wheel of food must turn first" — enough to show how necessary food and drink are to the human body. But one must not crave food and eat to excess. If one overeats, the breath grows constricted and the body feels swollen, breathing becomes labored and the body heavy, the hundred channels fail to flow freely because of this, the ground of the mind becomes closed and blocked, laxity of mind arises from this, a hundred illnesses crowd in, body and mind fail to find peace, and one's practice along the path is thereby abandoned.

Yet one must also not reduce food to excess. If one goes hungry, the body grows weak and the mind feels unmoored, one's own thinking loses its stability — the body grown thin and weak, the mind left hanging empty, thoughts and considerations scattered in confusion, the body feeble and strength depleted, the spirit insufficient, gloomy and depressed from morning to night — how, then, could the path possibly flourish? From this we know that both overeating and undereating fail to be the way to attain concentration: too much leaves the body swollen and the breath constricted, too little leaves the body weak and the mind unmoored.

One must, further, first come to know what may and may not be eaten. Unclean or defiling things, if eaten, increase illness; anything that increases sleepiness or affliction should not be eaten at all, since it leaves a person's mind and consciousness clouded and confused. Something that settles the body and cures illness, able to aid the path and do no harm to health, may accordingly be eaten; something unsuited to oneself should likewise not be eaten, since eating it stirs up old illness and actually throws the four great elements out of balance — this is precisely the meaning of the saying "illness enters through the mouth." In sum, regulating food means neither hungry nor overfull — too little should not leave one depleted, too much should not exceed what is fitting — the key lies in knowing moderation and being content. This is the very first expedient for one cultivating concentration in regulating food, and must be attended to with the greatest care. Hence it is said: "When the body is at ease, the path flourishes. Know moderation in food and drink; constantly delight in dwelling in a quiet, unoccupied place, body and mind still, advancing with courage and diligence — this is called the teaching of every buddha."

Root Text: Second, regulating sleep. Now, sleep is a covering cast by ignorance and delusion, and must not be indulged. If one sleeps to excess, this not only abandons the cultivation of the sacred Dharma but also destroys one's own effort in practice, leaving the mind dull and one's wholesome roots submerged. One should awaken to impermanence, and subdue sleep, so that the spirit remains clear and bright, mindfulness remains luminous and pure — only in this way can the mind settle into the sacred realm, and samādhi manifest before one. Hence a sūtra says: "Do not let even the first or last watch of the night go to waste — do not, through the mere circumstance of sleep, let an entire lifetime pass by empty, with nothing gained. Bear constantly in mind the fire of impermanence, burning through every corner of the world, and seek your own deliverance without delay — do not sleep."

Commentary: Second, regulating sleep — this too must be brought into proper balance. Too much sleep leaves the mind and consciousness dull and clouded; too little leaves the body depleted — both must be carefully regulated. Sleep itself is a dark dharma of ignorance, able to delude and cover over one's own bright, awakened nature, and so must never be indulged. Before falling asleep, everything stands utterly clear and distinct — but the moment sleep sets in, consciousness grows dull, the six senses shut dark and closed. Sleeping to excess not only abandons the cultivation of the sacred Dharma but also wastes precious time and destroys one's own effort in practice, leaving mind and consciousness dull and clouded, obscuring every wholesome root, which from this point sinks down and is lost.

This is why a practitioner must never indulge in lying down to sleep, but should rouse themselves sharply, awaken to impermanence, and seek their own deliverance without delay — urgently subduing sleep, keeping the spirit constantly clear and bright, so that mindfulness naturally becomes luminous and still — only in this way can the mind settle into the sacred realm, and true samādhi-concentration naturally manifest before one. The sūtra says: "Do not let even the first or last watch of the night go to waste" — one must press forward diligently, not only through the first and last watches but with a mind both still and alert, alert and still, at every hour; even in the calm depths of the middle of the night, when the four great elements rest at ease, one should remain luminous and unclouded, seeing through with utter clarity, constantly bearing in mind that this day has already passed and one's own life has diminished along with it — like a fish in ever-shrinking water — what joy is there in this? Never let the mere circumstance of sleep let an entire lifetime pass by empty, with nothing gained.

One should, further, constantly bear in mind that the fire of impermanence burns through every corner of the world — the three realms find no peace, exactly like a house on fire, filled with every kind of suffering, truly a thing to be feared — and one must urgently seek to escape and be delivered from it without delay, never clinging fondly to sleep. As it is further said: "If this body is not delivered in this very life, in what life will it ever be delivered?" This is, in truth, a clear and sober teaching — a practitioner ought to reflect on it sharply.

Root Text: Third, regulating the body; fourth, regulating the breath; fifth, regulating the mind. These three should be applied together, and cannot properly be explained apart from one another — but the method differs at the beginning, middle, and end of a sitting, so that the mark of entering, dwelling in, and leaving concentration differs correspondingly.

Commentary: The two outward things above, sleep and food, are now regulated; inwardly, one must, further, regulate the three things of body, breath, and mind. Yet these three must be regulated together, since they are never truly separate from one another — the essential point is that the body be regulated to be neither too slack nor too tense, the breath regulated to be neither too rough nor too smooth, and the mind regulated to be neither sinking nor floating; nothing matters more than this. But the method differs at the beginning, middle, and end: first the body is regulated, next the breath, and last the mind, with the mark of entering, dwelling in, and leaving concentration each differing in turn. Entering concentration moves from coarse to fine; leaving concentration moves from fine to coarse — and whether regulating body, breath, or mind, each has these same three marks of entering, dwelling, and leaving, hence the difference.

Root Text: As for regulating the body when first about to enter dhyāna: a practitioner wishing to enter samādhi and regulate the body properly must, even while still outside of concentration, be careful and attentive in every movement — walking, standing, advancing, stopping, every motion and stillness alike. If one's own conduct is coarse and rough, the breath follows it and becomes coarse as well; and because the breath is coarse, the mind becomes scattered and hard to hold, and, moreover, once seated, one feels agitated and ill at ease, the mind unable to settle into calm contentment. Though the body remains, at this point, still outside of concentration, one must already apply the mind in advance, preparing the way skillfully — so that, once one actually enters dhyāna, the body can be well settled into its proper place.

Commentary: This directly explains the mark of regulating the body at the very start of entering concentration. A practitioner, first entering concentration, must first regulate the body's own proper condition before concentration can actually be entered. That is, even before entering concentration, while still outside of it, this body's every walking, standing, advancing, stopping, and moving — coughing, spitting, swinging the arms, coming and going, greeting guests and seeing them off, dressing and eating — throughout all four bodily postures, must be carefully attended to, regulating the body into its proper condition. If everything one does is coarse and rough, the breath that follows becomes coarse as well, and the mind becomes scattered and hard to hold — a confused mind finds it hard to settle on any one thing — so that, once seated, one feels agitated and ill at ease, unable to settle into calm contentment, and concentration of mind is thereby obstructed! A practitioner must therefore understand that even while the body remains outside of concentration, one must already apply the mind in advance, preparing skillfully ahead of time. "In advance" here carries the sense of beforehand, or early — meaning one must prepare this skillful method well ahead of time, regulating the body into its proper condition so that it is never coarse or rough. As it is said: "Walking is itself dhyāna, sitting is itself dhyāna; speaking or silent, moving or still, the body remains at ease."

Root Text: When first taking one's seat, one should first settle the sitting place itself, making sure it is stable and comfortable, so that it causes no difficulty even over a long sitting. Next, one should position the legs. In the half-lotus posture, place the left foot on top of the right thigh, drawing it in close to the body, so that the toes of the left foot align with the right knee, and the toes of the right foot align with the left knee. For the full-lotus posture, then also place the right foot atop the left in the same way. Next, loosen the belt and straighten the robes all around, so that nothing comes loose while seated. Next, position the hands: place the left palm on top of the right, one resting evenly upon the other, set upon the left foot, drawn in close to the body, and settled level with the heart. Next, straighten the body: first stretch and shift the body and every limb and joint, back and forth some seven or eight times, as in a method of self-massage, taking care that hands and feet remain evenly matched; having done this, sit upright and straight, letting the spine be neither bent nor thrust out. Next, straighten the head and neck, so that the nose aligns directly with the navel, neither tilted nor slanted, neither lowered nor raised, resting level and centered.

Next, exhale turbid breath from the mouth. The method for exhaling: open the mouth and release the breath, taking care that it is not coarse or hurried, but drawn out slowly and continuously, letting the breath flow freely out, imagining that wherever the body's hundred channels are blocked, the breath, released, carries the blockage out along with it. Then close the mouth and draw clean breath in through the nose. Do this up to three times; if body and breath are already well settled, once is enough. Next, close the mouth, with the lips and teeth lightly touching and the tongue resting against the upper palate. Next, close the eyes, only enough to shut out the outward light. One should then sit with the body upright and settled, as steady as a placed stone, allowing no shaking whatsoever of body, head, or limbs. This is the method for regulating the body at the very beginning of entering dhyāna-concentration. Stated in brief: neither too slack nor too tense is the mark of a properly regulated body.

Commentary: The half-lotus posture is a single-leg posture, drawing the left foot up onto the right; the full-lotus then draws the right foot up onto the left as well. "One resting evenly upon the other" means extending the left palm evenly and resting it atop the right palm, left and right aligned together, exactly as in forming Amitābha's own mudrā. Once the hands and feet are properly arranged, one must, further, stretch and lift the chest and abdomen, rousing the spirit — the body neither bent nor thrust upward, the head neither hanging low nor tilted back, leaning neither to the left nor to the right, the body as steady as a placed stone. This is the mark of regulating the body upon entering and dwelling in concentration.

Root Text: Fourth, the method for regulating the breath at the very start of entering dhyāna: the breath has four characteristic states — wind, panting, coarse breath, and true respiration. The first three are unregulated states; the last alone is the regulated state. What is the windy state? While seated, if the breath moving in and out through the nose is felt to make an audible sound, this is wind. What is the panting state? While seated, if the breath makes no sound but its passage in and out catches and does not flow freely, this is panting. What is the coarse-breath state? While seated, if the breath makes no sound and does not catch, yet its passage in and out is not fine, this is coarse breath. What is the state of true respiration? Making no sound, not catching, not coarse, its passage in and out drawn out continuously, as though barely there and yet never quite gone, sustaining the spirit in settled ease, the feelings themselves at rest and content — this is true respiration.

Dwelling on the windy state leaves the mind scattered; dwelling on panting leaves it knotted; dwelling on coarse breath leaves it strained; dwelling on true respiration brings concentration itself. If, while seated, the wind, panting, or coarse states are present, this is called unregulated — and if one applies the mind while in this state, it becomes, further, a affliction of the mind, and the mind too becomes hard to settle. If one wishes to regulate it, one should rely on three methods: first, settling the mind low, at rest; second, letting the body relax at ease; third, imagining the breath passing in and out through every pore of the body, flowing freely everywhere without obstruction. Refining the mind in this way, letting the breath become ever so faint and subtle — once the breath is regulated, no affliction arises, and the mind settles easily. This is the method by which a practitioner regulates the breath at the very start of entering concentration. Stated in brief: neither rough nor too smooth is the mark of properly regulated breath.

Commentary: This explains the method for regulating the breath after a practitioner sitting in meditation has already regulated the body. "Breath" here means the continuous passage in and out through the nose, of which there are four distinct kinds — wind, panting, coarse breath, and true respiration — differing among themselves in coarseness or fineness, wholesomeness or unwholesomeness; without clearly distinguishing and attending to them, one's effort is spent for nothing, hence one must set aside the coarse states and attend instead to the fine one.

When a practitioner sits in meditation, the presence of the windy, panting, or coarse-breath states is called an unregulated state. Applying the mind in such a state is not only without benefit but actually harmful — one often sees practitioners, while sitting in meditation, suffer from a pain in the chest, entirely because the breath was left unregulated, so that body and mind alike find it hard to settle.

If one wishes to set aside the three coarse states of wind, panting, and coarse breath, and attend instead to the fine state of true respiration, one should skillfully regulate the breath into its proper condition, relying on three methods to accomplish this. What are these three methods? First, settling the mind low, at rest: the practitioner turns the mind's attention inward, setting everything else down, so that it does not run about scattered — that is, fixing the mind single-mindedly on the elixir field below the navel. Second, letting the body relax at ease: everything should proceed entirely naturally, without excessive restraint. Third, imagining the breath pervading the entire body, passing in and out through all eighty-four thousand pores, flowing freely everywhere without the slightest obstruction. With all three methods in place, one moves from the coarse into the fine, and the mind naturally settles, the spirit naturally at ease.

Once none of the coarse states of wind, panting, or coarse breath remains, and the mind can be refined so that the breath passes in and out ever so faintly, as though barely there and yet never quite gone, continuous and fine, neither rough nor too smooth — this is the regulated mark of the breath. Once the breath is regulated, no affliction whatsoever is able to arise, and the mind settles easily. This, then, is the method by which a practitioner regulates the breath at the very start of entering dhyāna.

Root Text: Fifth, regulating the mind at the very start of entering concentration has three aspects: entering, dwelling, and leaving. Entering itself has two aspects: first, subduing scattered thoughts, not letting the mind run loose beyond itself; second, bringing sinking and floating, slackness and tension, into their proper balance. What is the mark of sinking? While seated, if the mind grows dull and dark, retaining nothing at all, the head inclined to droop — this is the mark of sinking. At such a time one should fix the attention on the tip of the nose, holding the mind within this single object, allowing no scattering of attention — this can cure sinking. What is the mark of floating? While seated, if the mind is prone to drift and wander, the body too ill at ease, the attention drawn toward outward, unrelated objects — this is the mark of floating. At such a time one should settle the mind downward, fixing the attention at the navel, restraining every scattered thought, so that the mind settles and grows still, and calm comes easily. Stated in brief: neither sinking nor floating is the mark of a properly regulated mind.

Commentary: This explains the method for regulating the mind upon entering concentration, which likewise has three aspects for bringing the mind into balance. First, subduing scattered, disordered thoughts in the mind, not letting them run loose beyond it — "run loose" means going beyond, "beyond" means unrestrained — that is, fixing the mind's own attention single-mindedly on one object, not letting it stray beyond one's own mind. Second, bringing floating and sinking, slackness and tension, into their proper balance, explained as in the text above — sinking is dullness, floating is agitation. Third, setting aside distracting objects — meaning the mind, scattered in various directions, fixes on some sense-object of the past, whether one of the five sense-objects (form, sound, smell, taste, touch), or one of the five sense-faculties (eye, ear, nose, tongue, body) — each different from the last, hence called a "distracting object"; none of these constitute a regulated mind. In sum, being able to keep the mind neither sinking nor floating is called the mark of a properly regulated mind.

Root Text: The settled mind also has marks of being too tense or too slack. The mark of the tense affliction of the settled mind: through gathering the mind and applying thought too tightly while seated, one enters concentration in this way, and as a result feels a sharp pain rising toward the chest. One should relax the mind and let it loosen, imagining the breath flowing downward everywhere, and the affliction will resolve itself. As for the mark of the slack affliction of the mind: one feels the will grow lax and scattered, the body prone to sag and sprawl, saliva perhaps flowing from the mouth, or the mind at times grown dark and dull. At such a time one should draw the body in and sharpen one's attention, holding the mind fixed within a single object, body and mind mutually sustaining one another — this is the cure. The mind also has marks of being rough or too smooth, which can be understood by the same reasoning. This is the method for regulating the mind at the very start of entering concentration.

Commentary: What follows explains that the settled mind also has two kinds of afflicted mark, tense and slack. Given the subduing of idle thought and reflection explained above, so that the mind is neither sinking nor floating, this is called the mark of a settled mind — but should one grow careless within it, two further marks can arise: a tense mark and a slack mark, both arising within an already-settled mind.

The tense affliction of the settled mind arises when a practitioner, gathering the mind while sitting still, applies a certain kind of thought — a thought that is, in truth, a false, illusory thought, not a genuine, correct mindfulness — and by applying the mind in this way, enters concentration; as a result, one often suffers a sharp pain rising in the chest, body and mind unable to find peace. One often sees practitioners advancing diligently in cultivating concentration, whose mind has not yet actually settled, and yet the symptom of a tense, painful chest has already set into the body. To cure this affliction, one should relax and loosen the mind, imagining the breath flowing downward everywhere, and the affliction will resolve of itself. This symptom arises entirely from applying the mind to excess, gathering it too tightly with sharpened thought — if one can relax and loosen the mind, letting go entirely of every floating thought, scattered idea, coarse mental force, and violent energy, never letting it rise upward, as it is said: "Extinguish the fire at the heart's own center, remove the heat and attain coolness; leave every hundred thoughts far behind, and restore to me my own pure mind" — if one truly does this, the sickness of the mind resolves of itself!

As for the slack affliction of the mind: what follows explains this mark within the settled mind. A practitioner begins to notice their own will and resolve growing lax and scattered to the point of being unable to gather it back in, the body constantly wanting to sag and sprawl — "sagging and sprawling" describes a listless appearance, meaning the spirit feels gloomy, oppressed, and displeased — saliva perhaps flowing from the mouth at times, or the six senses growing dark and dull at times — marks of this kind are all the slack affliction within concentration. When marks of this kind begin to arise, a practitioner must recognize them early, drawing the body in and sharpening one's own attention, not letting the mind run outward in search of anything, and settling it back within a single object. One must understand that the slack affliction arises from excessive laxity — if one gathers the mind and stills one's thought, focusing single-mindedly on one object, gathering in all six faculties together, this pure mindfulness continuing without a break, rousing the spirit and never letting the mind grow lazy or indolent — taking this as the true remedy for the sickness, the slack mark resolves of itself, root and all.

Yet within a settled mind, there are not only the tense and slack marks, but also a difference between rough and too-smooth marks. "Rough" here means lacking smoothness... speaking precisely of how, in regulating the mind during concentration, the slightest carelessness leaves it rough and obstructed, difficult to regulate. "Smooth" means slick, that is, without any catching or resistance at all... If one is able to regulate the mind skillfully, these rough and too-smooth marks resolve of themselves, and, as the water clears, the fish within it becomes visible. This principle is not especially deep, and is very easily understood — hence it is said that it "can be understood by the same reasoning," without need for further elaboration. Everything explained above is the one method for a practitioner regulating the mind at the very earliest stage of entering concentration.

Root Text: Now, entering concentration always moves from the coarse into the fine: the body being the coarsest of the three, the breath standing between, and the mind being the finest and stillest of all. Regulating the coarse to approach the fine, bringing the mind to settled stillness — this is the initial expedient for entering concentration, and is called regulating these things at the very start of entering concentration.

Commentary: The method of entering concentration always moves, at root, from the coarse into the fine — first regulating the body, next the breath, and last the mind. The body, being coarser in its very nature, comes first; the breath stands in between; and the mind, being finest and stillest of all, comes last. This is what is meant by regulating the coarse to approach the fine — in this way the mind is brought to settled stillness, with no thought arising at all, as it is said, "skillfully guiding the horse of wisdom, one can cut off the raging torrent." This is the very first expedient for entering concentration.

Root Text: Second, regulating the three things while dwelling in a sitting: a practitioner, throughout a single sitting, however long or short — whether lasting one of the twelve double-hours, or extending to two or three — must gather the attention and apply the mind. Throughout this, one must skillfully recognize the regulated or unregulated marks of body, breath, and mind. If, having already regulated the body at the start of a sitting, the body then becomes tense, or leans to one side, or bends, or droops, or tilts upward, no longer sitting upright and straight, one should, on noticing this, correct it at once, settling the body at ease, with nothing too slack or too tense, resting level and upright.

Further, within a single sitting, though the body may be well regulated, the breath may not be. The marks of an unregulated breath are as explained above — wind, panting, or a constricted breath, the body feeling swollen and full — and one should apply the same methods as before to treat it, letting the passage of breath become continuous once more, as though barely there and yet never quite gone. Further still, within a single sitting, though body and breath may both be regulated, the mind may float, sink, grow tense, or grow slack without settling — and when this is noticed, one should apply the same methods as before to bring it back into balance. These three things have, properly speaking, no fixed order — one regulates whichever is unregulated, so that, throughout the sitting, body, breath, and mind are all brought into balance, none in conflict with the others, blended together as one. In this way old afflictions can be removed, obstacles fail to arise, and the path of concentration can be accomplished.

Commentary: The regulation of body, breath, and mind at the very start of entering concentration is now complete; this second part explains regulating body, breath, and mind while dwelling within concentration. What is meant by "regulating the three things while dwelling" is that a practitioner, throughout a single sitting — from the very moment of entering concentration to the very moment of leaving it, however long or short the interval between — must, throughout, gather the attention and apply the mind. "Gathering the attention" means drawing in every scattered, disordered thought; "applying the mind" means using the mind skillfully, settling the spirit and stilling one's own reflection. While gathering the attention and applying the mind in this way, one must, above all, clearly and skillfully recognize the regulated or unregulated marks of body, breath, and mind — recognizing that a regulated body must be neither too slack nor too tense, a regulated breath must be neither too rough nor too smooth, and a regulated mind must be neither sinking nor floating; being able to do this is a regulated mark, and failing to do so is an unregulated mark.

Suppose, then, that at the start of a sitting the body has already been regulated, so that one can sit upright and cultivate contemplation. But after sitting a long while, fatigue sets in, laxity arises, and further idle thought is born, so that the body grows too slack or too tense, leans or bends, droops or tilts upward, sometimes swaying to one side or the other, sometimes hunching forward or leaning back — no longer sitting upright and straight in any of these various ways. As soon as this is noticed, one should correct it at once, and never simply let it continue, making sure the body settles at ease, with nothing too slack or too tense, resting level and upright once more. This, within concentration, is the mark of regulating the body while dwelling in it.

"Further" means, again, in addition to this. Within a single sitting, the body may already be well regulated, neither too slack nor too tense, and yet the breath may not be regulated — whether rough, too smooth, windy, panting, or constricted, with the body feeling swollen or overfull — all of these being marks of an unregulated breath, which must be treated using the same three methods as before: first, settling the mind low, at rest; second, letting the body relax; third, imagining the breath passing in and out through every pore, without the slightest obstruction. With this method, the affliction of an unregulated breath can be treated, ensuring that the passage of counted breaths becomes continuous and fine, as though barely there and yet never quite gone, present and yet almost absent, moving faintly in and out — sustaining the spirit in settled ease, the feelings themselves at rest and content. This is the mark of regulating the breath while dwelling in concentration.

If a practitioner, in the midst of sitting still and cultivating contemplation, finds body and breath already well regulated, and yet the mind floats, sinks, grows tense, or grows slack without settling — when afflictions of this kind arise, one should apply the same method for regulating the mind explained before, to treat it: settling the mind downward, fixing the attention at the navel, restraining every idle thought and not letting it run loose, bringing floating and sinking, slackness and tension, into their proper balance. This is the mark of regulating the mind while dwelling in concentration — hence it is said one should apply the same method as before, bringing it back into balance.

Yet these three things have, properly speaking, no fixed order — one regulates whichever is unregulated: if the body is unregulated, one regulates the body; if the breath is unregulated, one regulates the breath. In sum, throughout a single sitting, body, breath, and mind are all brought into proper balance, none in conflict with the others, blended together as one. With all three harmoniously unified — neither the body nor the breath out of accord, nor the mind's own intention straying beyond itself — every old affliction can thereby be entirely removed, no obstacle obstructing the path arises, and the path of dhyāna-concentration can naturally be accomplished!

Root Text: Third, regulating the three things upon leaving a sitting: when a practitioner's sitting is about to end and one wishes to leave concentration, one should first release the mind toward some other object, open the mouth and let the breath out, imagining it dispersing freely from every one of the hundred channels, and then move the body very slightly — next moving the shoulders, arms, hands, head, and neck, then the two legs, letting them all grow supple — next using the hands to rub every pore of the body, then rubbing the hands until warm and covering both eyes with them before opening them. Only once the body's own warmth has settled somewhat should one move freely in and out as one likes. If this is not done, and one leaves concentration too abruptly after having settled the mind well while seated, the fine states have not yet dispersed and remain lodged within the body, causing headaches, stiffness through every bone and joint, exactly like a wind-induced ailment, and restless unease in later sittings as a result. This is why, when the mind is about to leave concentration, one must always be attentive to it. This is the method for regulating body, breath, and mind upon leaving concentration — moving from the fine back out to the coarse — and this is called skill in entering, dwelling, and leaving.
As a verse says:
"Advancing and stopping each have their own order; coarse and fine must never be at odds — just as one who skillfully guides a horse can make it stop, or make it go, at will."

Commentary: This third part explains the mark of regulating body, breath, and mind upon leaving concentration. Entering concentration earlier moved from coarse into fine; leaving concentration now moves from fine back out to coarse. What is meant by "regulating the three things upon leaving concentration" is that when a practitioner's sitting is about to end and one wishes to leave concentration, before actually leaving it one must first release the mind toward some other object — whether toward names and their conceptual marks, toward the six faculties, or toward the six sense-objects. Because at the very start one gathered the attention and returned it to oneness in order to enter concentration, if, upon leaving concentration, one fails to release the mind toward some other object and let it unwind naturally, this may, over time, give rise to affliction — hence one first lets the mind loosen, directing it toward some other object.

Next, open the mouth, release the turbid breath, and draw in clean breath, imagining the hundred channels flowing freely as one wishes; then move the body very slightly, taking great care never to be coarse or forceful about it. Next move both shoulders and arms, then both hands, head, and neck, then both legs, letting them grow supple, never left stiff or hard. Next use the hands to rub every pore over the entire body — since, during quiet sitting, every pore of the body has opened wide, and if they are not rubbed closed, the moment the body moves, wind and damp air can enter it, easily bringing on a wind-and-damp ailment. Next rub both hands together until warm, and gently press them over both eyes before finally opening them; only once the body's own warmth has settled somewhat should one move freely in and out as one likes, without the slightest hindrance.

Otherwise, though the mind may have settled well while seated, if one leaves concentration carelessly, coarsely, and too abruptly, the fine states have not yet dispersed and remain lodged within the body, causing the practitioner to suffer headaches, or stiffness through every bone and joint, movement and stillness alike thrown out of harmony, exactly like a general wind-induced ailment, a disorder of dampness — hence it is called "wind-affliction." Suffering from this, one becomes restless and ill at ease in later sittings, a real hindrance to the path of concentration. This is why a practitioner, when the mind is about to leave concentration, must always attend to it carefully, never moving carelessly or hastily in a way that harms the body — this must be kept firmly in mind.

This is the method by which a practitioner regulates body, breath, and mind upon leaving concentration — moving from fine back out to coarse — and being able to do this is called skill in entering, dwelling, and leaving, regulating these three things throughout. As the verse says: "Advancing and stopping each have their own order; coarse and fine must never be at odds." Leaving moves from fine out to coarse; entering moves from coarse in to fine — each in its own proper sequence, never thrown into disorder. It is like a person who skillfully guides a horse, without the slightest discord: wishing it to go, it goes; wishing it to stop, it stops — going and stopping entirely at will, without the least resistance.

Root Text: The Lotus Sūtra says: "These bodhisattvas of the great assembly have already, across measureless hundreds of thousands of myriads of koṭis of kalpas, striven with diligence for the sake of the buddha-path, skillfully entering, dwelling in, and leaving measureless hundreds of thousands of myriads of koṭis of samādhis, attaining great spiritual powers, cultivating pure conduct over a long span of time, and skillfully practicing every wholesome dharma in due order."

Commentary: This cites the Lotus Sūtra as proof. "Fǎ" (法) means the wondrous Dharma; "huá" (華) means the lotus flower — taking Dharma and simile together as its name. This sūtra is the World-Honored One's own final and highest proclamation, the culminating teaching of the five periods, expounding the wondrous principle of true reality and revealing the non-dual Dharma-gate. Yet what it teaches to be cultivated is nothing other than regulating body, breath, and mind, skill in entering, dwelling, and leaving — the buddhas of the past relied on this to cultivate the path, and the buddhas of the future will cultivate it in exactly the same way. As it is said, already cultivated, presently cultivated, and yet to be cultivated — the buddhas of all three time periods, without exception, cultivate it in just this way.

"Bodhisattva" is a shortened form of the Sanskrit, in full bodhisattva, translated as "an awakened sentient being," meaning one skillfully able to awaken every sentient being with feeling. "Sattva" itself carries the sense of courage and vigor, meaning a practitioner able to advance with courage and diligence in seeking unsurpassed bodhi — hence "bodhisattva." It is also rendered as "one who opens the way," "a lofty person," "a great being," and other such varied names — in sum, anyone who seeks the unsurpassed fruit of buddhahood is called part of the bodhisattva, Mahāyāna assembly. The word "and others" refers to those śrāvakas and pratyekabuddhas who have turned their minds toward the Great Vehicle.

A bodhisattva is a person at the causal stage; a buddha is a person at the fruit stage. At the causal stage, relying on this same skill in entering, dwelling, and leaving concentration to put in the effort of cultivating calming and insight, from the very first arising of the resolve until now, has already taken measureless hundreds of thousands of myriads of koṭis of kalpas, all for the sake of seeking the wondrous path of unsurpassed bodhi. "Kalpa" is short for kalpa proper — the very longest measure of time, as the instant is the very shortest — a span of time that cannot be reckoned in ordinary years, months, days, or hours at all, meaning an extremely long stretch of time indeed.

These bodhisattvas and others have not merely, for the sake of the buddha-path, striven with diligence without rest for one or two kalpas, but across measureless hundreds of thousands of myriads of koṭis of kalpas — seeking the buddha-path, striving with diligence, skillful in entering, dwelling, and leaving, cultivating calming and insight without rest, advancing with courage and vigor — and so, at the level of fruit, are able to skillfully enter, dwell in, and leave measureless hundreds of thousands of myriads of koṭis of samādhis, attaining great spiritual powers, entirely free and unobstructed.

These wondrous spiritual powers were, from the very start, already possessed by everyone alike, each person lacking nothing of them at all, requiring no fabrication and needing no further proof to bring them about — it is only that we sentient beings have, for so long, been covered over by ignorance and the dust-and-sand afflictions, so that the merit, the Dharma-wealth, and the wondrous spiritual functioning within our own mind have been lost though never truly lost at all — a truly pitiable state. Now, fortunately, we have this method of calming and insight — if one can rely on it and cultivate this same skill in entering, dwelling, and leaving, removing even one small portion of one's own confused habits reveals, correspondingly, one small portion of one's own mind's merit and wondrous functioning; and were one able to remove every last portion of confused habit entirely, the merit and wondrous functioning would manifest in full.

This is why the World-Honored One, beneath the bodhi tree, immediately upon attaining the path, exclaimed three times in wonder: every sentient being already possesses the Tathāgata's own wisdom and virtuous marks in full — it is only through false thought and clinging attachment that this cannot be realized. One often sees students of the Buddhadharma who, having grasped some small point of terminology within the teaching, refuse to genuinely take up the practice of calming and insight — no different from a painted cake failing to satisfy hunger, or describing food and counting another's treasure. Now, in this age when the Dharma has entered its final decline and sentient beings' own defilements run deep, even should one cultivate some other approach and gain a certain benefit from it, this benefit is as fleeting as a flash of lightning, gone the moment it appears — far better, then, to hold fast to a single recitation of Amitābha's name from within the very effort of quiet sitting itself. As it is said, still yet alert, alert yet still — holding to this single recitation of Amitābha's name until the mind becomes single-pointed and unconfused, accomplishing the samādhi of buddha-recollection itself — this, indeed, is the most wondrous of the wondrous.