16 May 22 – An Enlightened Guest Poet – Eihei Dogen

The Startling Nature of Enlightenment

Note: Considerable introductory information is available in last week’s post (9 May 2022). 

The Soto Zen sect focuses on the act of “awakening.” Briefly described, the three characteristics of Zen: 

1) it is experiential, 

2) it is beyond words, and 

3) it is beyond logical thinking.

This Web site provides brief descriptions of most of Dogen’s writings/teachings, as well as descriptions of “miraculous events association with him.  

Here are more poems from Dogen for your consideration. 

Worship

Beneath the snows

the hidden world of winter grass.

And in the field of white, a white heron

hides himself.

from This Dance of Bliss: Ecstatic Poetry from Around the World, 

edited and translated by Ivan M. Granger

Commentary by Ivan M. Granger

Looking out my window, I see a quiet winter morning, mist trickling in among the bare branches, yesterday's snow still new upon the ground. I think of this poem…

Reading this poem, we immediately ask what a white heron in snow has to do with worship, as suggested by the title.

Have you ever watched a heron fishing, wading at the edge of a lake? Its entire being is focused. Even when it moves it seems utterly still. Because of these qualities, the heron is a natural symbol for the meditator.

We have a being of white -- the heron, the meditator—disappearing into an environment of white -- the snow-covered field. In fact, the heron is not passively disappearing, it is actively engaged in the process. He “hides himself” in the snow. How does the heron hide? Through stillness. The heron settles into its own nature. It is already as white as the snowy world it inhabits. The heron just has to grow quiet, be itself, and it naturally disappears from sight.

Snow represents the glowing world as perceived by the enlightened awareness. Everything, when draped in new-fallen snow, becomes one. Everything is the same “white” radiance. Everything comes to rest within this shared glow of being. The idea of separation is lost in that light. Beings and objects are suddenly seen as a fluid continuity within that “field of white.”

So this, according to Dogen, is what constitutes true worship: Through meditation and stillness we recognize our own incandescent nature in the midst of the bright field of being. As we settle into ourselves, we gently merge with the luminous reality that surrounds us.

Dogen is building on a classic spiritual image: the mind as a lake or pool of water. When the mind is still, it becomes clear, and its calm face reflects the gentle light of heaven (the moon).

This is so much of what meditation practice aims for, settling the mind. Sometimes our meditation is filled with effort, even aggression, attempting to subdue the movements of the mind. Sometimes our meditation is more forgiving, we stop interfering with the mind and simply observe it until, of its own accord, it quiets and calms.

All in order to see clearly the light of the moon. But so often, with or without effort, that agitated mind just doesn't want to settle. What then, meditators?

Like tangled hair

Like tangled hair,

The circular delusion

Of beginning and end,

When straightened out,

A dream no longer.

Zazen

The moon reflected

In a mind clear

As still water:

Even the waves, breaking,

Are reflecting its light.

from The Zen Poetry of Dogen: Verses from the Mountain of Eternal Peace, 

translated by Steven Heine

Background:

Dōgen, also called Jōyō Daishi, or Kigen Dōgen, (born January 19, 1200, Kyōto, Japan—died September 22, 1253, Kyōto), leading Japanese Buddhist during the Kamakura period (1192–1333), who introduced Zen to Japan in the form of the Sōtō school (Chinese: Ts'ao-tung).

Dogen reminds us that, if we learn to really look, we can glimpse the reflected light even in the moving waves of the mind. The mind may move, or it may yet grow still, but the goal is already reached.

And so the last of our excuses falls away. We meditate effortlessly, we meditate with effort. We meditate with still mind, and we meditate amidst busy mind. Clarity is still found.

The Problems of Lineage

Though Dogen emphasized the importance of the correct transmission of the Buddha dharma, as guaranteed by the line of transmission from Shakyamuni, his own transmission became problematic in the third generation. In 1267 Ejō retired as Abbot of Eihei-ji, giving way to Gikai, who was already favored by Dōgen. Gikai introduced esoteric elements into the practice. Opposition arose, and in 1272 Ejō resumed the position of abbot. Following Ejō's death in 1280, Gikai became abbot again, strengthened by the support of the military for magical practices.[63] Opposition arose again, and Gikai was forced to leave Eihei-ji. He was succeeded by Gien, who was first trained in the Daruma-school of Nōnin. His supporters designated him as the third abbot, rejecting the legitimacy of Gien.

A notable successor of Dogen was Keizan (瑩山; 1268–1325), founder of Sōji-ji Temple and author of the Record of the Transmission of Light (傳光錄 Denkōroku), which traces the succession of Zen masters from Siddhārtha Gautama up to Keizan's own day. Together, Dōgen and Keizan are regarded as the founders of the Sōtō school in Japan.

Exploration 1: Do the concrete images in Dogen’s poetry catch you surprise? If so, to what effect?

Exploration 2: Is enlightenment attainable. If so, how? If not, why not?

Exploration 3: For any reader interested in knowing more about Dogen’s teachings, I’ve added a condensed selection of just that from his Genjo Koan, as it appears in Dōgen's Extensive Record: A Translation of the Eihei Kōroku, translated by Robert Aitken and Kazuaki Tanahashi:

1 When all dharmas are buddhadharma, there are delusion, realization, practice, birth and death, buddhas and sentient beings.

2 When the myriad dharmas are without a self, there is no delusion, no realization, no Buddha, no sentient being, no birth and death.

3 The Buddha Way, basically, is leaping clear of abundance and lack; thus there are birth and death, delusion and realization, sentient beings and buddhas. Yet in attachment blossoms just fall, and in aversion weeds just spread.

4 To carry the self forward and illuminate myriad dharmas is delusion. That myriad dharmas come forth and illuminate the self is enlightenment.

5 Those who have great realization of delusion are buddhas; those who are greatly deluded about realization are sentient beings. Further, there are those who continue realizing beyond realization, who are in delusion through delusion.

6 When buddhas are truly buddhas, they do not necessarily notice that they are buddhas. However, they are actualized buddhas, who go on actualizing Buddha.

7 When you see forms or hear sounds fully engaging body-and-mind, you intuit dharmas intimately. Unlike things and their reflections in the mirror, and unlike the moon and its reflection in the water, when one side is illuminated, the other side is dark.

8 To study the Buddha Way is to study the self. To study the self is to forget the self. To forget the self is to be actualized by myriad things. When actualized by myriad things, your body and mind as well as the bodies and minds of others drop away. No trace of enlightenment remains, and this no-trace continues endlessly.

9 When you first seek dharma, you imagine you are far away from its environs. At the moment when dharma is correctly transmitted, you are immediately your original self.

10 When you ride in a boat and watch the shore, you might assume that the shore is moving. But when you keep your eyes closely on the boat, you can see that the boat moves. Similarly, if you examine myriad things with a confused body and mind you might suppose that your mind and nature are permanent. When you practice intimately and return to where you are, it will be clear that nothing at all has unchanging self.

10b Firewood becomes ash, and it does not become firewood again. Yet, do not suppose that the ash is after and the firewood before. You should understand that firewood abides in the phenomenal expression of firewood, which fully includes before and after and is independent of before and after. Ash abides in the phenomenal expression of ash, which fully includes before and after. Just as firewood does not become firewood again after it is ash, you do not return to birth after death. This being so, it is an established way in buddhadharma to deny that birth turns into death. Accordingly, birth is understood as no-birth. It is an unshakable teaching in Buddha’s discourse that death does not turn into birth. Accordingly, death is understood as no-death. Birth is an expression complete this moment. Death is an expression complete this moment. They are like winter and spring. You do not call winter the beginning of spring, nor summer the end of spring.

11 Enlightenment is like the moon reflected on the water. The moon does not get wet, nor is the water broken. Although its light is wide and great, the moon is reflected even in a puddle an inch wide. The whole moon and the entire sky are reflected in dewdrops on the grass, or even in one drop of water. Enlightenment does not divide you, just as the moon does not break the water. You cannot hinder enlightenment, just as a drop of water does not hinder the moon in the sky. The depth of the drop is the height of the moon. Each reflection, however long or short its duration, manifests the vastness of the dewdrop, and realizes the limitlessness of the moonlight in the sky.

12 When dharma does not fill your whole body and mind, you may assume it is already sufficient. When dharma fills your body and mind, you understand that something is missing. For example, when you sail out in a boat to the middle of an ocean where no land is in sight, and view the four directions, the ocean looks circular, and does not look any other way. But the ocean is neither round nor square; its features are infinite in variety. It is like a palace. It is like a jewel. It only looks circular as far as you can see at that time. All things are like this. Though there are many features in the dusty world and the world beyond conditions, you see and understand only what your eye of practice can reach. In order to learn the nature of the myriad things, you must know that although they may look round or square, the other features of oceans and mountains are infinite in variety; whole worlds are there. It is so not only around you, but also directly beneath your feet, or in a drop of water.

13 A fish swims in the ocean, and no matter how far it swims there is no end to the water. A bird flies in the sky, and no mater how far it flies there is no end to the sky. However, the fish and the bird have never left their elements. When their activity is large their field is large. When their need is small their field is small. Thus, each of them totally covers its full range, and each of them totally experiences its realm. If the bird leaves the air it will die at once. If the fish leaves the water it will die at once. Know that water is life and air is life. The bird is life and the fish is life. Life must be the bird and life must be the fish. Besides this, further steps can be taken. Thus there are practice and enlightenment, which encompass both eternal life and limited life. Now if a bird or a fish tries to reach the end of its element before moving in it, this bird or this fish will not find its way or its place. When you find your place where you are, practice occurs, actualizing the fundamental point; for the place, the Way, is neither large nor small, neither yours nor others’. The place, the Way, has not carried over from the past, and it is not merely arising now. Accordingly, in the practice-enlightenment of the Buddha Way, to attain one dharma is to penetrate one dharma, to meet one practice is to sustain one practice. Here is the place; here the Way unfolds. The boundary of realization is not distinct, for the realization comes forth simultaneously with the mastery of buddhadharma.

14 Do not suppose that what you attain becomes your knowledge and is grasped by your consciousness. Although actualized immediately, the inconceivable may not be apparent. Its appearance is beyond your knowledge. Zen Master Baoche of Mount Mayu was fanning himself. A monk approached and said, “Master, the nature of wind is permanent and there is no place it does not reach. Why, then, do you fan yourself?” “Although you understand that the nature of the wind is permanent,” Baoche replied, “you do not understand the meaning of its reaching everywhere.” “What is the meaning of its reaching everywhere?” asked the monk again. The master just kept fanning himself. The monk bowed deeply. The actualization of the buddhadharma, the vital path of its correct transmission, is like this. If you say that you do not need to fan yourself because the nature of wind is permanent and can have wind without fanning, you will understand neither permanence nor the nature of wind. The nature of wind is permanent; because of that, the wind of Buddha’s house brings forth the gold of the earth and makes fragrant the cream of the long river.

Written in mid-autumn, the first year of Tempuku [1233], and given to my lay student Koshju Yo of Kyushu Island. [Revised in] the fourth year of Kencho [1252].