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Science Forum Index » Psychology Forum » MU NO The first koan in the Gateless Gate (Wumenkuan)
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| CLONEBEAR |
 Posted: Sat Nov 15, 2003 6:26 am |
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MU NO
The first koan in the Gateless Gate (Wumenkuan), the collection of koans
compiled by the 13th century Zen master Wumen, is the koan with which he
worked for many years himself. It has come to be the first koan
usually assigned to students in the Zen Community of Boston and the
Worcester Zen Group who have made a strong commitment to the practice of
zazen and have expressed an interest in koan study. It contains
within it the seeds of awareness which are cultivated throughout Zen
practice, and Wumen's own commentary on the koan is an illuminating set
of instructions on how to practice zazen, and specifically koan Zen, and
how to find freedom from the constructions of the mind.
The word "no" is a translation of the Chinese word "wu," which is more
familiarly known to Western Zen students in its Japanese form of
"mu." "Wu" can be translated in a number of ways, including "not",
"non-" and "no", but for practice purposes "no" seems easiest to work
with. (The use of "no" in American Zen is a fairly recent
innovation. For many years Western students in the Japanese lineages
were encouraged to work with the syllable "mu" and discouraged from
attaching any meaning to the word itself.)
The following translation of the koan and of Wumen's commentary is from
Robert Aitken. I have replaced his use of Mu with the word No.
The koan itself is simple and short:
"A monk asked Chaochou, 'Has the dog Buddha-nature or not?' Chaochou
said, 'No.'"
According to the teachings of Zen, everyone and everything has the
Buddha-nature, or the nature of being inherently awake. There are no
exceptions to this. All sentient beings have the capacity to realize
their own nature, and even non-sentient beings express it. Why, then,
does the monk ask this question? And why does Chaochou answer him in
the negative?
These questions point to the koan quality of the interchange.
There is something here that disturbs, that provides a sense of not
knowing, of being unsure. The ordinary cognitive mind struggles with
understanding. Wumen's commentary that follows this koan in the
Wumenkuan is a step by step guide to understanding not only the koan,
but also how to proceed in the actual moment-by-moment practice of Zen.
"For the practice of Zen, it is imperative that you pass through the
barrier set up by the ancestral teachers."
The practice of Zen is not simply the practice of zazen, or sitting
meditation. The true practice, and the only way we can really "pass
through the barrier" is to learn to integrate what we experience while
we practice zazen into every moment of our lives. This is not casual
or intellectual study, but requires every fiber of our being. In each
moment, our practice of Zen is actualized and made available to us.
The barrier is something we encounter when we imagine that the life
we're presently living is somehow lacking – that this life is not a
life of practice. Passing through means seeing through a construction
of our own making. The ancestral teachers are our ancestors in Zen,
and they are also the embodiments of the living, breathing truth of this
moment, who accompany us on our way through the barrier. They are
rocks, stones, grass, birds, people, cars, you and me. "For subtle
realization, it is of the utmost importance that you cut off the mind
road."
It is easy to misunderstand the phrase "cut off the mind road."
Wumen is not asking us to stop having thoughts, but to stop following
them. To stop following thoughts resembles Dogen's advice: "to study the
self is to forget the self." When we forget the self we stop putting
a false construction we call the self at the center of our lives.
Similarly, when we watch the pattern of thoughts that arise moment after
moment we can follow them to their origins, which turn out to be nothing
more than fantasies, constructions of the mind. Seeing through these
fantasies and constructions, we discover a world beyond thought, in
which rain is only rain, not words or stories about rain. We come
back to our true life, our true self. The "subtle realization"
that Wumen mentions here is nothing more than this recognition of our
naked, unborn self, alive to this moment, alive to the world as it is,
not as we think or construct it to be. This smell, this taste, this
touch, sight, sound – with no description in the way – this life, in
this moment, and we along with it – perfect and complete.
"If you do not pass through the barrier of the ancestors; if you do
not cut off the mind road – then you are a ghost clinging to bushes
and grasses."
If we are honest with ourselves, we can see how our usual life of the
mind can resemble the condition of ghosts, clinging to what is useless,
attached to objects everywhere. How can we avoid this attaching, this
floating like a ghost and clinging? First of all we must recognize
and even embrace this ghost-like nature in ourselves – how our minds
wander "west of river, south of the lake" and how we cling to whatever
presents itself to us as a temporary resting-place. The bushes and
grasses are our habitual thoughts, our empty entertainments, anything
that distracts us from this moment unobstructed by opinions and
constructions. Even our relationships with those we love can take on
the quality of uselessness or distractions if we fall into taking people
for granted, unable to see them as they are, but as we want them to
be. We cling to what cannot serve us, to what is fundamentally unable
to nourish us. We are blind to the life that surrounds us, the life
that, as the Tibetans say, is "kindly bent to ease us."
"What is the barrier of the ancestral teachers? It is just this
one word, No, the one barrier of our faith."
This one word No cuts through all of the many knots of thinking that
make up the working of our minds. Everything that can be
conceptualized is, at the least, somewhat removed from reality, and at
the most, complete delusion. "People these days," says Chaochou in
another story, "see this flower as though in a dream." To wake up, to
recognize one's own Buddha nature, and the awakened nature of all
things, even dogs, demands direct perception, direct seeing, direct
intimacy. Just No, just Mu, as a temporary skillful means, leads us
to a moment, and to a life, where we exist in the world without
commentary, without interpretation. This is the skill of Chaochou,
who kindly and directly points out the deluded monk's confusion, as he
cuts through what may be, at root, the heartfelt question: "Do even I
have the Buddha nature?" In asking, the monk reveals his folly, but
also his tender heart, brave enough to ask, ready to be cut through.
"When you pass through this barrier, you will not only interview
Chaochou intimately, you will walk hand in hand with all the ancestral
teachers in the successive generations of our lineage, the hair of your
eyebrows entangled with theirs, seeing with the same eyes, hearing with
the same ears. Won't that be joyous?"
Wumen here describes one of the most tempting aspects of practice
– the opportunity to find true, intimate companionship, in the company
of people living and dead who have penetrated into this great matter.
On one level, he's tempting us with a dualistic notion – that there
are "special" people, whereas in reality, once we have touched the real
nature of things, everything and everyone becomes our best friend.
What's the difference between that cloud, the sound of that bird,
Mahakashyapa smiling? And this is the very closest intimacy –
seeing with their eyes, hearing with their ears – closer than tangled
eyebrows. As the Sufis say, we long for the Friend, and even this
longing is a trace of the Friend's constant presence.
"Is there anyone who would not want to pass this barrier?"
Wumen is enticing us again here: Enticing us with a promise of entry
into a new world, a new way of being. This way is unimaginable until
we actually experience it, live in it, and yet we tend to create
expectations surrounding "passing through the barrier," waking up to
reality. What will it be like? Will we be happy all the time,
peaceful, content, serene? What will it feel like to heal the
separation that has become so familiar to us, that seems so real --- the
separation of our opinion of ourselves from our true self. To live as
a "true person of no rank" in Linchi's phrase, to blend in with and ride
the flow and current of our lives, is something everyone has tasted at
some point – perhaps briefly and therefore unremembered and certainly
unintegrated – or maybe profoundly and life-shatteringly, but then
abandoned in the demands of consensual reality. "Isn't there anyone
who wants to?" Wumen asks. "Don't you want to experience your
wholeness, your birthright?"
"So then, make your whole body a mass of doubt, and with your 360
bones and joints and your 84,000 hair follicles, concentrate on this one
word No."
Here we have even clearer instructions, but how do we accomplish
this? Wumen is talking here about complete concentration, but not in
the way we are used to. Working with No takes not only our mind but
our entire body to accomplish itself. He is pointing to something
beyond idle or even serious contemplation. We must merge completely
with the question physically as well as mentally. We must breathe,
touch, smell, see and taste No. There can be no cracks in this
seamless work of cultivating a great doubt, a huge curiosity. What is
No? Only No, only Mu. The body and mind become the bodymind and
there is nothing but the question.
"Day and night, keep digging into it."
Every moment devoted to this practice – this is what Wumen asks of
us. What kind of a life can we lead if we are truly digging into our
practice day and night? This is the life of one fabric, perhaps not
yet realized, but enacted. We are instructed to do what we can't yet
experience. Like St. Paul's "pray without ceasing," our devotion to
practice prepares the ground for a seamless life. We are truly
cultivating a field in which seeds of reality, through hearing teachings
and experiencing life as directly as we can, begin to take root at the
deepest place, eventually to blossom into wakefulness -–into the
opening of the mind's eye. Nothing but No, at every moment, filling
our conscious and then our unconscious minds – every thought
accompanied by this one word, which functions as a stand-in for a
reality that is essentially nameless. Temporarily, everything becomes
No, every smell, sight, taste and sound, everything we touch and
think. There is no time off – there is only this one thing, called,
for the time being, No.
"Don't consider it to be nothingness. Don't think in terms of
'has' or 'has not.'"
In fact, it is the nothingness that fills the universe. Mu or No
reveals the essential nature of things, if we persist in using No
constantly, faithfully, at every turn of the mind. How are we to
understand something that is not the opposite of anything? The mind
is forever making this and that, good and bad, has and has not. No is
a single response to this dualism. It is the sound of the single
hand, the original face. It is alone and has no quality of
singleness. It accompanies, defines, and is one with everything.
Can we find a place where this one thing doesn't exist? In No
everything comes alive, a voidness full of possibilities, and a fullness
that is completely empty. The mind keeps trying to understand, and
with each attempt, we must relentlessly answer with this single word,
which means everything and has no meaning. This wonderful companion,
dear No, Muji, leads us away from the suffering implicit in duality.
"It is like swallowing a red-hot iron ball. You try to vomit it out,
but you cannot."
Obsessing on some thought or series of thoughts, something that
torments us and sticks to us like glue or velcro, is a common experience
for many of us. Here Wumen is inviting us to substitute something
more helpful for these useless constructions. We must relate to No as
we relate to something that completely preoccupies us. As strange as
it may seem, we must become obsessed on purpose. This unusual
instruction is a skillful means that directs us towards freedom. Just
as the obsessive thought eventually unwinds itself, unsticks itself,
often in a moment of sudden clarity, so No opens up, and what was foggy
and muddy becomes lucid and apparent. This opening is only possible
because of our mind's devotion to this one thing. Working with No is
a discipline that trains our mind to be centered and one-pointed. It
can feel painful or annoying because we must actually feel the
stuckness, which is nothing more than the impossibility of understanding
what is real with the dualistic mind.
"Gradually you purify yourself, eliminating mistaken knowledge
and attitudes you have held from the past." All of the mind's
constructions of reality have been acquired through a lifetime of
learning how the world seems to work. These learnings are extremely
useful in navigating the world of consensual reality, and without them
we would be fairly helpless and would find it difficult to function.
But they tend to obscure the actual workings of reality, especially if
we trust them as real, rather than know them for what they truly are.
To know that these constructions are representations of what is real but
are not actually real is to be emancipated, to be freed to lead a life
of bare attention to what is so. This freedom is the promise of No,
and it is what is realized in the moment of the mind's awakening.
Here it is, with nothing extra – just this, just this. No lights or
heavenly choirs or even blissful states of mind compare to this feeling
of rejoining our original mind, the mind that has always been present
but has been obscured by our acquiring of seemingly helpful delusions.
"Inside and outside become one, and you are like a dumb person who
has had a dream. You know it for yourself alone."
The natural ripening of a person on this path may be so gradual as to be
unnoticed, or so sudden as to feel like an explosion. Trusting this
process of awakening, we begin to taste the experience of oneness, which
is frankly indescribable. No matter how hard we try, we can't
communicate this feeling, which is so unlike our previous life, our
familiar construction of reality, that we may liken it to dreaming.
But we have actually woken up to our true life, and we are struck dumb,
wordless, in an experience that can't be described by the ordinary words
we have used all our lives. It feels impossible to talk about this
new, freshly felt life of realization, which is so amazing in its
simplicity and ordinariness. The subtlety of this part of the path is
misleading because it is actually not at all subtle. The profundity
of the shift in consciousness, when outer and inner become one, must
simply be lived, not described -–but recognized, of course, by others
on the same path.
"Suddenly No breaks open. The heavens are astonished; the earth
is shaken."
In another translation, Wumen describes this breaking open as the
disintegration of the ego-shell. How could this cause such a powerful
surge in personal energy, enough to shake the heavens and the earth?
This shell of ego is of course a false construction, and as it drops
away or wears away, the true self emerges, vividly alive and strong.
This is the freedom of oneness, as Shakyamuni Buddha meant when he said,
"In heaven above and earth below, I alone am." This is not a oneness
that is exclusive, because it can't be – it includes everything,
without exception. It draws on, joins with, truly is everything, and
therefore is inexhaustible. Sometimes the idea of breaking open can
seem frightening – after all, what are we to make of a phrase
describing the loss of an identity we have held dear for so long? We
have been fooled into identifying with a small, limited self, and cannot
imagine a sense of ourselves as bigger without more ego getting
formulated. We do not become nothing in this disintegration process,
this breaking open – we become what we truly are.
"It is as though you snatch away the great sword of General Kuan."
This path leads us to a life where we can truly meet each event, each
person, each thing intimately and directly. This intimate directness
has no hesitation in it. We perceive clearly, and we move or stay
still according to circumstances. This is snatching the sword of
Kuan, an historical warrior, and also the word in Chinese for gate or
barrier. We do not storm this barrier violently or wildly, but with
an embracing heartfulness. The great warrior is calm and centered,
full of wisdom and compassion -- a bodhisattva. "When you meet the
Buddha, you kill the Buddha. When you meet Bodhidharma, you kill
Bodhidharma."
Some of us pull away from this seemingly violent concept of killing,
so it is important to understand that what is being killed is
constructions and stories – false differentiation. What is the
difference between you and a Buddha? We cause so much harm to
ourselves by separating ourselves, by making high and low! The Buddha
nature, the wisdom of Zen masters, is all here, now, present and
available, but concealed. In the process or moment of awakening, this
wisdom is clearly and undeniably revealed.
"At the very cliff-edge of birth and death, you find the Great
Freedom."
In the boundless freedom of awakening, there are no dualities. Life
as opposed to death doesn't exist. Each moment contains both and
neither, and thus they are transcended, and we attain independence from
them. To be truly alive is to know this at the deepest level.
"In the six worlds and in the four modes of birth, you can enjoy a
samadhi of frolic and play."
What this life could be and what burdens us seem to promise
something completely different. How can we roam freely in the midst
of all conditions and states of being, the six worlds and four modes of
birth, which include difficulties as well as pleasures, joy and delight
as well as suffering? The six worlds in Buddhist mythology include
heaven and hell, the realms of hungry ghosts, animals, fighting demons
and human beings, and the four modes of birth are from the womb, the
egg, moisture and metamorphosis. Wumen is telling us that we can now
enjoy every circumstance, remaining fully present and focused wherever
we go and with whatever we encounter. This is a life that encompasses
and embraces everything. A life of ease and freedom, of frolic and
play, is possible when everything is recognized as a part of everything
else.
"So, how should you work with it?"
Here Wumen arouses, once again, our way-seeking mind with his
question, offering us the instructions that will lead us to freedom.
It is important to realize that, until we awake, we can't know what
awakening is. And yet we desire this state we do not know – we
yearn for it. Wumen knows this from his own experience. Here he is
playing with our greed – beckoning us on into an unknown land. So
much of initial practice is based on greed and desire, for
enlightenment, happiness, power, serenity, or any one of a countless
number of conceptualizations that are all we can imagine of the real
thing. Wumen's use of our desire is truly compassionate, like in the
Buddha's story of a father trying to get his children out of their
burning house by laying out all their favorite toys on the grass. We
come to his instructions eagerly, not really knowing were they will lead
us. And we become grateful for everything that keeps us on this path,
even our wanting mind.
"Exhaust all your life-energy on this one word No."
The mind naturally wanders, and is filled with imaginary constructions
of reality that bear some resemblance to the actual nature of reality
but are never the thing itself. Wumen is giving us clear medicine for
the ailment of being removed from the real. Teach the mind,
relentlessly, to focus on one thing. He asks us to bring all of our
energy, everything with nothing left over, to one point. Not letting
the attention lapse allows us to make our mind a seamless fabric of this
one thing. In a way, No is a substitute for something that is
unnamable. In this practice, we give it a temporary designation, and
we stay with this temporariness with all our might. Never letting the
other constructions take root, we devote ourselves to this particular
construction, simply returning to one thing, to No or Mu, again and
again, until this practice of returning becomes one of abiding.
"If you do not falter, then it's done! A single spark lights your
Dharma candle."
You and the universe are not separate. In penetrating No, or Mu,
in realizing our part of the essential wholeness of reality, we free
ourselves and the light of clarity that has been obscured and now is
released. There is just this one thing, penetrating everywhere.
"In heaven above and earth below, I alone am." This is not our
personal our personal light or Dharma candle. It is the light that
has always been present. We come alive to the fullness of our being,
and everything else shines with its own light. Just this, just Mu,
just No. BREATH COUNTING
We begin working on ourselves by counting the breath, counting each
inhalation and each exhalation, beginning with one and counting up to
ten. When you get to ten, come back to one and start all over. The only
agreement that you make with yourself in this process is that if your
mind begins to wander - if you become aware that what you're doing is
chasing thoughts - you will look at the thought, acknowledge it, and
then deliberately and consciously let it go and begin the count again at
one. The counting is a feedback to help you know when your mind has
drifted off. Each time you return to the breath you are empowering
yourself with the ability to put your mind where you want it, when you
want it there, for as long as you want it there. That simple fact is
extremely important. We call this power of concentration joriki.
Breath Counting Meditation
"If your mind is empty, it is always ready for anything; it is open to
everything. In the beginner's mind there are many possibilities; in the
expert's mind there are few."
Shunryu Suzuki, "Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind"
"The very essence of meditation is one-pointedness and the exclusion of
all other considerations, even when these considerations happen to be
enticing."
Meher Baba, "Discourses"
Developing concentration is fundamental to meditation. Persistently
practicing a concentration technique over a period of time is
traditionally the way to develop meditative concentration. A simple yet
effective tool for deepening concentration is the meditation technique
of counting the breath. Breath counting gives the mind something to
focus on so that when distracting thoughts arise you have a base thought
to come back to. The method is easy to understand. Perhaps not so easy
to do. The goal is to do this one thing with full mindfulness. Success
comes from patient repetition.
Breath counting is so simple that, after you get comfortable with it, it
can be done just about any place and any time when you don't have to be
concentrating on something else, on a bus or waiting in line for
instance. It is a great way to center yourself and return to a state of
mindfulness. You may find that this meditation form helps you to manage
your stress. It allows you to let go of the negative thoughts and
worries that create tension. It also induces the relaxation response,
which has many physical and psychological benefits.
We suggest that you practice this technique once or twice daily for 15
to 20 minutes. Use shorter periods if you must. The key is to do it, and
do it regularly, rather than to follow some arbitrary schedule.
Begin by finding a quiet place where you will not be disturbed. Dim the
lights if possible. You may wish to have your eyes closed or partially
closed and cast downward. Sit in a comfortable posture that will allow
you to remain still for about 20 minutes. Since our intent here is not
to go to sleep we suggest sitting upright. (Hint to insomniacs: counting
breaths is not unlike counting sheep. It can put you to sleep).
Bring your attention to your breath. Counting up to four, count each
out breath. After the fourth exhalation begin again at one.
Inhaling...exhaling "1", inhaling...exhaling "2", inhaling...exhaling
"3," inhaling...exhaling "4," inhaling...exhaling "1"...
Try to keep the count, but if you lose track, start over at "1." Give
your full attention to the count. If you have stray thoughts, just let
them go and return to the counting. Don't intentionally alter your
breathing pattern. Let your breath find its own pace and depth like a
stream finds its course.
Once you have become comfortable with counting to four, you may want to
experiment with counting your breaths up to ten. The number you use
isn't so important. The clarity of your concentration is what is
important. |
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