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Karmic affinity probably plays a role, but when I was first starting out, I was never attracted to the Theravadan tradition.

In large part this was due to what I perceived as the strong, perhaps extreme, focus on the 250 precepts for monks (and 348 for nuns.) If I had to keep all of those straight in my head, I imagined that each and every day would be occupied with worries about which shoe I put on first, and whether I was holding my bowl in the right hand.

Well, I’ve since learned that it’s a lot more simple than that.
Basically, the precepts are there to help practitioners gather energy and motivation in their practice.

To this end, the situations they address fall into several categories:

1) avoiding things that will create karmic hindrances or damage our energy and faith

2) avoiding things that cause us stress and worry

3) not putting ourselves in the path of temptation

4) not creating the appearance of wrong doing

5) the appropriate situations for teaching the Dharma

6) rules to help a large community live together harmoniously
(there’s one or two more categories that I can’t remember just now!)

The additional rules for nuns basically address their safety in an era when an unescorted female was assumed to be a prostitute, and could be treated as such.

Also for nuns, it’s important to remember who the first nuns were:  they were from the noble classes, and were the family members of the Buddha and his great disciples. So when the Buddha said that an 80 year old nun had to bow to a 3 year old monk, these are the women he was addressing. It’s as if he was saying “your family status and connections with the leaders of the sangha don’t count here.” 
       I smile when I think of what might have happened otherwise: “Ananda! Come here and give your Auntie a shoulder rub!”  🙂 
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Now for a bit of unrelated silliness:

To know when to stop,
to know when you can get no further by your own action,
this is the right beginning!
– Chuang Tzu

This blog, in its current form, has its origins in the friendships forged some years ago in a weekend Dharma study group that met at the Buddhist English Library in Seoul. The group was led by the wonderful Chong Go Sunim and was attended by a good mix of both Korean and non-Korean Buddhists. Through the group, in May 2008, during the period of the Buddha’s birthday celebrations, Joe, Joseph, Carl and myself became what we like to call Dharma Brothers when we took refuge together, in a ceremony with Chong Go Sunim, at the main Hanmaum temple in Anyang.

Most Saturdays I’d meet Joe at the veggie restaurant an hour before Sangha started, and we’d lend each other books, wonder who’d attend, make vague plans for the Sunday, and then go up to the Library. BELS, the Buddhist English Library in Seoul, is close to Angkuk station, exit six, and consists mostly of one long room lined with books on all aspects of Buddhism, and down the middle of the room are laid a long row of low tables and thick brown Korean temple cushions for people to sit on. It’s a wonderful place.

We’d arrive, bow to those already there, enjoy the snacks that many people had brought and just catch up. Chong Go Sunim in his grey robes would be sat at the end just in front of the Buddha image, and I’d usually place myself opposite the wall of books, with Joe and Carl on the other side of the table. Joseph was often there too, giving up his beloved trips to the mountains to be with us. Rinchen Gyatso Sunim often attended too while he was in Korea, in his bright Tibetan robes.

Chong Go Sunim had certain themes he’d refer back to, the core of his teaching. One was ‘Trusting Our Root’ and I remember one particular week when he made this the specific object of study. He started off with the above quote from Chuang Tzu – perfect for a room full of people who, by their own admission, tended to read and analyse too much and so (speaking for myself) actually slow down progress. We broke into groups and I remember talking to Ami about the Tao and Juingong and Buddha-nature and to Shin Hee about stopping. We discussed relying on our selves, and on other-power.

Everyone has a different practice. Some people, like myself, are more devotional than others and see things in terms of reliance upon the object of devotion, with everything given as a gift. Others see things more in terms of allowing their own Buddha-nature to shine through. I don’t believe that one approach is any more advanced than the other, and neither do I think you have to choose between them, or even see them as different. The key, for me, however,  is that it connects to the deepest part of yourself.

And I remember, in summing up, Chong Go Sunim gave us a quote from Venerable Master Lin Chi; “Friends, I tell you this: there is no Buddha, no spiritual path to follow, no training and no realization. What are you so feverishly running after?” Amazing message, isn’t it? Just stop and relax, it says, let go. After a short meditation a few of us would go out for some food and on to a coffee shop, later in the evening we’d go to a Bongeunsa to do some chanting, some bowing, or just to stop.

At other times we met up at the main temple in Anyang, with Chong Go Sunim providing cups of tea on the large table in the International Section till late at night, and there was a wonderful little tea shop just a little way up the road too. The connections made during that time are still strong, and evident not just through this blog. I’m still learning the simple truths I came across there, about letting go and trusting, and am so grateful that the Sangha, in whatever new forms it takes, is always present, teaching, learning, and sharing.

Links:
Buddhist English Library Seoul
Seoul Dharma Group

On Saturday, Chong Go Sunim picked up my family and me to go for a drive out to the Kwang Myeong Seon Center.

Along the way, we made a detour to visit the Mok-a Wood Museum. It’s owned by the man who carved the amazing work at the main hall in Hanmaum and there are wonderful samples of his work as well as historical pieces he’s collected, including antique statues, malas, some very old monk’s robes, and other items associated with temple life.

The grounds were scattered with Buddhas, Bodhisattvas, and even an image of Maria. It was a nice space, even the heavy, hot air felt a little fresher. On the way out, we passed some Nanking cherry bushes. I didn’t know about these before but my wife said they used to grow everywhere when she was younger. They used to sneak into their neighbor’s garden to pick them on the way to school.

After a few missed exits, a couple wrong turns, and a stop in a potter’s district for lunch, we made our way to Kwang Myeong Seon Center.

Since the head temple of Hanmaum is a nuns’ temple, Kwang Myeong is a place for the monks to stay. It also has a large cemetery where devotees can have their ashes placed. Chong Go Sunim pointed out the large pole with a round light on top that is lit throughout the night and can be seen from any place in the cemetery, its purpose it to give a light for the spirits to center themselves upon.

Behind the Dharma Hall, there is a huge meditation hall under construction. I always enjoy exploring temples that are under construction,  the fresh smell of the massive beams, the intricate joints, not yet covered in paint. I was especial impressed by the large copper lotus on the roof supporting the Hanmaum style  pagoda.

We continued passed the hall, up a stone stairway, the Mountain Grandfather (Spirit) Shrine. These small shrines are usually found at the back of Korea temple complexes, and are evidence of the ancient Shamanic traditions that  Korean Buddhism mixed with along the way.

The grounds around the shrine were particularly lovely, with flowers, well-groomed bushes, and a small spring fed fountain that we drank from. As we sat, Chong Go Sunim pointed to a painting above the door of the shrine. It was of a  tiger, almost the size of the hut that it sat before, with a small pair of shoes under it chest. When Dae Haeng Kun Sunim was staying in the mountains, the tiger would come at night to keep her shoes warm.  Apparently, a monk from the temple above was bringing some food one morning, when he came across the tiger. He took one look and fainted on the spot!

Although I don’t have the karmic affinity required to be a monk at this time/in this life, I’m grateful for the opportunities I’ve had, in Korea, to spend time with and even grow close to a few monks. The three monks I’ve come to know the most are from three very different cultures and backgrounds, and I’ve learned many different things from them. Although driving around the country at the speed of sound with my Korean monk friend, I was usually praying for my own life more than for others, he gave me a good glimpse into the reality of such a life. With Chong Go Sunim, it’s very comfortable coming from a similar culture. There are fewer barriers and talking about things feels very genuine. I think what I realize the most when I spend time with Chong Go Sunim, or most other monks, is that I still have a lot to learn… Sometimes it seems like the longer I practice, the more I realize I don’t know!

That’s about all I have to share for now, I hope you enjoy the photos!

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>photo gallery link<

Traveling towards the Jiri Mountains, I had spent the last few nights at Haein Temple, but was down to my last six or seven thousand Won. (It would have been about eight US dollars in those days.) I’d wanted to travel like the monks of old, going where circumstances took me. So I left without taking any extra money, determined to rely upon the kindness of the sunims at the temples I visited. Normally this isn’t a problem; visiting monks are traditionally given traveling money to take them to their next destination. In practice, it’s always more than enough, usually at least 30,000 Won (about thirty U.S. dollars), and often more. 

However, upon leaving Haein Temple, I had been given nothing. In addition, while staying there, I’d been put in a dark, dirty room behind the kitchen and told to be careful that none of my personal belongings were stolen. (After thoroughly cleaning the room) I spent a few days at Haein Temple, paying my respects to the great wood-block collection of the Buddhist canon and attending most of the daily ceremonies. After the morning cleaning, I would hike the mountains behind the temple, and meditate before the huge rock carvings of Buddha. (This photo is from here, with thanks to the photographer.) 

But for some reason, the wonju sunim (the monk in charge of guests and shopping) seemed to take a strong dislike to me. On top of this, when I left, I was given no traveling money. It was such a contrast to my previous visits to Haein Temple that I was in foul mood as I headed for the valley’s entrance. With almost nothing in my pocket, I barely noticed the lotus lanterns stretching for miles along the road, or the beautiful spring flowers on the fruit trees. Anger really makes a fool out of me. 

Arriving at the bus stop on the main road, I went over to the small police station to ask for directions to a major temple in the Jiri Mountains called Hwaeom Temple. I suspected there might not be a direct bus, but I would be able to take a connecting bus from the nearest city. Bus fare in Korea is very cheap, and with what money I had, I might just make it if I stuck to the local buses. 

Strangely enough, the policeman didn’t know which city I needed to go to, nor did he even have a road map of Korea. I had started out the morning irritated and was rapidly progressing to downright angry. “How could this be?! A policeman who doesn’t know the cities in the area or even have a road map?! And what’s with that jerk at the temple treating visiting sunims so badly?!” Anger really makes a fool out of me. 

I knew I needed a bus going west, so as I stewed, I sat and waited. But part of me knew this anger was wrong. No matter how reasonable all of those justifications and descriptions, there was something fundamentally wrong with that anger and self-righteousness. I tried to let go of it, but I just couldn’t shake it. Finally I remembered what my teacher often said about aggressively entrusting the things that confront us. Determined to experiment with what she told us, I said “Okay Juingong, you’re taking care of all things, so take care of this anger too! I don’t want to carry this around any longer.” (“Juingong” is synonymous with true nature or Buddha-nature, and literally means the one that is truly doing things, but which has no fixed form.) I was still grumpy, but it seemed to help a bit. 

A few minutes later the bus came, but flew right past the bus stop. My body bolted up and I found myself shaking my fist at the bus. The driver, seeing me in the side mirror I suppose, hit the brakes and came to a squealing stop about 50 meters past the bus stop.   

I was still pretty hot, but managed to grunt thanks as I paid my fare and found a seat. A few kilometers further on, the road passed through some rice fields. Here the road bed was raised about two meters above the fields, with only about 30 centimeters of grassy shoulder on each side. Just ahead of us, a farmer had parked his car in our lane while he checked on something in a field. The only way around was for the bus to go into the oncoming lane. But as the bus barreled ahead towards the parked car, there was a car coming towards us in the oncoming lane. It was as if our driver didn’t realize that the car ahead was parked, and that he wouldn’t be able to go around it because of the oncoming car. We were closing fast on the car blocking our lane, and the oncoming car wasn’t slowing down either. In a moment two cars and a bus would be trying to occupy the same time and place. At the last instant, the oncoming driver seemed to realize that our bus had no intention of stopping behind the parked car. He slammed on his brakes as our driver wrenched the bus into the oncoming lane, passed the parked car, and then veered back again. 

It took me a minute to remember to breathe, but as I did, I noticed that our driver’s head was rolling from side to side. Now his left ear would almost be touching his left shoulder, now with a violent jerk his head would swing up, and a moment later be almost on his right shoulder, and then back again. Seeing his bright red face in the mirror, I realized that he was drunk. Not just tipsy, but a full three sheets to the wind drunk. 

My first thought was to get off at the next stop. But before I had a chance to, I remembered something I’d heard Daehaeng Sunim say about a plane crash, “This may be hard to believe, but if even one person on that plane had been practicing, it wouldn’t have crashed.” Ugh. 

I stayed on the bus, and focused on entrusting the situation, and my fear(!), to this Buddha-nature that connects and guides all things. Finally the bus reached the terminal in the city of Geochang, and the driver got off. As I watched him head for the break room to sleep it off, I ran into a friend I hadn’t seen in several years. He was living at a large meditation hall, Sudo Hermitage, about an hour away, and invited me to stay there. Later that night, as I settled in and prepared to spend a few days, I suddenly remembered about having been angry earlier in the day. 

I couldn’t help laughing out loud, because with that terrifying bus ride, all of the anger I’d felt earlier in the day was utterly forgotten. I had raised the thought that I wanted to be free of that anger, and it had worked! By the time I got off that bus I had completely forgotten about being angry. I laughed again and thought to myself, “Be careful what you ask for!”

There’s an odd fact about non-duality, for while we each have our separate roles and appearances, we also share a common connection. Obviously this isn’t a physical connection, but it’s there nonetheless, and we can experiment with it and try to apply it to our daily life.

I’d like to ask our readers help with something. Right now, there is a very sweet Buddhist blogger suffering from severe kidney failure. Her name is Jeanne, but she’s more commonly known as the Dalai Grandma.

Please experiment with sending her love and energy, clarity of awareness, peace, and perhaps even that her kidneys should regain more of their normal function.
       Whatever speaks to you, try and offer that. Raise that thought clearly, and then let it dissolve back into you and sink down heavily within you.

Daehaeng Kun Sunim sometimes describes our fundamental mind as a communications center; if we correctly input something into it, that input is communicated through this unseen connection. Or like an electric light, when the circuit is completed, energy freely flows back and forth. 

Because this isn’t a physical connection there is no physical limitation to this energy. The saying “there’s no near or far in the Buddha-dharma” isn’t just a philosophical statement.
 
     Let’s experiment with this and see what we can do to dissolve a bit of this world’s suffering.

Thank you,
Chong Go

A few weeks ago, on the Tricycle Community, I was delighted to see some pictures of HE Gregorios, of the Eastern Orthodox Church, and Sung-Jin Sunim, from the Jogye Order, together during the anniversary celebrations of the Eastern Orthodox Church in Korea, visiting a temple and drinking tea. As Jack, who so kindly posted the pictures, originaly taken by his friend Fr Daniel Na, said, the contrast, and lack of contrast, between these two monks is amazing.

It reminded me a lot of last year’s 400-kilometer silent ochetuji pilgrimage, carried out with prostrations after every three steps, from Jirisan to Imjingak, jointly undertaken by Venerable Su Kyung, head monk at Hwagyesa Temple, and two Korean Catholic priests, Fathers Paul Moon Kyu-hyon and Simon Chun Jong-hun. They were joined in the pilgrimage by some 10,000 people, and the purpose of their journey was to help promote the cherishing of life and peace.

Father Mark Kim In-kook, from the Catholic Priests’ Association for Justice, said that the pilgrims “showed what religious communities in our society can do for the common good”, and their joint action seems to me to be a fine example of how Buddhists and Christians often work together in a spirit of friendship.

In contrast, many of the English-language Buddhist blogs often express a surprising degree of hostility towards Christianity. But this mostly comes from young converts with little experience of life in Buddhist countries and often with uncomfortable experiences of the Church. Such people are naturally keen to draw boundaries between the Buddhism they’ve adopted and the faiths they’ve left behind.

Of course sometimes it is perfectly necessary to point out differences between Buddhism and Christianity, especially when addressing an audience unfamiliar with one or the other. It is often thought necessary to explain, for example, that Christianity is a religion in which the Truth is revealed, with the job of the follower being to believe, whereas in Buddhism one is to experience truth for oneself.

And yet even this, one of the most basic distictions often drawn, if looked at from a slightly different angle, seems almost to disappear. Yes, Buddhists are to experience truth directly through the practice of wisdom, ethics and meditation, but the Dharma was first revealed through the Buddha. Is that really so different from Christianity, in which the central truth, of God’s love in this case, is first revealed, but which is then to be experienced in the everyday lives of Christians, and developed in ongoing daily practice?

Father Laurence, in The Good Heart, describes this practice:  

through meditation, we begin to experience the indwelling, the fact that Jesus is not only a historical teacher from the past, but now has an inner existence within each human being, as well as a cosmic presence.

The Dalai Lama, in the same book, talks about Buddha-nature and how to perfect it, and compares the Christian ideal of becoming one with the father with how enlightenment is described as becoming of one taste with the dharmakaya.  

But my central point here is not about the nature of enlightenment or the relationship between revealed and experienced truths, or even about the ways in which Buddhism and Christianity share certain features. My point is that Buddhism stands on its own three feet, and while some western practitioners automatically and instinctively look for points of contrast with Christianity, focusing on areas of convergence is a much healthier approach.  

So whilst I had a very different experience of the Church to Carl (during my similarly left-wing youth I often found myself on peace marches and marches for freedom in South Africa and Latin America etc, side by side with good church people, and the Church certainly does more to help the poor than any other organisation I can name), I very much welcome the way he embraces his spiritual heritage.  

Thich Nhat Hanh, in a book called called Teachings on Love, has written that: Buddhist practice can offer effective means to heal, reconcile, and reunite with one’s blood and spiritual families, in order to discover the precious gems in one’s own traditions. Thanks to the practice, people will see that Buddhism and their own spiritual tradition have many things in common, and therefore it is not necessary to reject their own spiritual tradition.  

I don’t think Thich Nhat Hanh here is calling for waves of western Buddhists to return to Christianity. What he’s suggesting is that practitioners make peace with all our traditions, to look for what we can embrace. In this we are lucky to have so many great examples. Father Laurence and the Dalai Lama. Venerable Sukyung and Fathers Paul Moon Kyu-hyon and Simon Chun Jong-hun silently walking across Korea. HE Gregorios and Sung-Jin Sunim. People whose default position is to find areas of convergence and genuine friendliness.  

Links:
Tricycle Community: HE Gregorios and Sung-Jin Sunim
UCAN: Buddhist, Catholic clergy complete 400-km pilgrimage

Here’s one of my favorite folk tales from Korea, with a deep message about life and practice.

     A traveler had spent the night at a guest house deep in the mountains of Korea. He was eager to start out early the next day and get across the mountain range before dark. There was a little snow falling that morning, but it looked as if it would soon stop. As he was getting ready to leave, one of the other guests mentioned that he was going the same way, so they decided to travel together.

     They started up the mountains, and made good progress for a while. However, instead of stopping, the snow seemed to be increasing. By late in the afternoon the snow was getting deep and they were still far from the next village. It was about this time that they came across a man who had collapsed in the snow, apparently from hypothermia.
    The traveler started helping the man up, rubbing his arms and legs, trying to get some life back into him, “Come on,” he said to the other man, “give me a hand getting this guy up on my back. If we take turns, we should be able to get him down the mountain.”
    “Leave him. Carrying him will take too much effort, and he’ll slow us down. We’d better get to the next village, or we’ll be done for as well.”
    “Well, we can’t just leave him here to die.”
    “If you want to kill yourself looking after him, that’s your business. As for me, I’m getting out of here!” With this, the second man took off into the snowstorm.

     There were a few times the traveler wondered if he wasn’t being a fool. But he struggled on through the night with the man on his back. Finally, just after dawn he staggered into a village. 

     Later, he found out that the other man he started out with hadn’t yet arrived, nor was that man ever seen again. It turns out that in trying to save the man who collapsed, the traveler had saved his own life. For in that bitter snowstorm, carrying that man on his back had protected both men’s body heat from the wind and cold, while the effort he made had helped warm them both.
      Ultimately, the one who had focused on his life alone, lost his life. And the one who had been concerned with others, saved his life.

And if you believe that this Earth, this middle realm, functions to sort beings into higher or lower realms, the traveler gained much more than merely his life.

Here’s a song that really touches me. It’s by Johnny Cash, near the end of his life.
It reminds me of the great love he had for his best friend, June, and how hard he was trying to hold to what’s true.

There’s a line or two in this song that I don’t really connect with, but overall this video has such a sense sincerity that after watching it, the usual background noise of whining and petty thoughts seems to fall away.