Chan teaching · Hongzhi Zhengjue
The Matter of Investigating Chan
A Dharma Talk by Teacher Hong Wenliang on a Teaching of Chan Master Hongzhi Zhengjue
Posted by Soh · Original Chinese Text: 参禅一段事-洪文亮老师开示
Teacher Hong said: You must understand the true meaning of the three Chinese characters “脱生死”—to be free of birth-and-death. Otherwise, the Buddhism you are studying is merely your own Buddhism.
Source post attribution: 额尔德克巴克什 · 2009-12-03 05:00:44
“The matter of investigating Chan is, in truth, to be free of birth-and-death. If you cannot be free of birth-and-death, what could possibly be called Chan? Tell me: what is birth? What is death? What is it to be free?
“If, in a single thought, you lose sight of the root and follow feeling, you are pulled about everywhere, tangled and confused, stuck and disturbed. Having been born without freedom, you likewise die without freedom. But one who clearly understands originally comes from nowhere. Understanding this functioning clearly, at all times and in all places one is completely free, with nothing to rely on, and stands out amid the myriad phenomena. At such a time, one does not bring along the four great elements and five aggregates; only then is there a way out.
“On the thirtieth day of the twelfth month, go just the same way. As it is said: coming, from nowhere; going, arriving nowhere. At that time, utterly clean, without entangling connections, open and without location, the three times are cut off and the six sense-gates are empty. Therefore it is said: vast and expansive, radiant and bright, far beyond the bounds of thought and deliberation. Thought cannot reach it; deliberation cannot reach it. The moment a mental thought sprouts, it becomes a flowing current. If all mental thoughts are exhausted, neither heaven nor hell comes to you. The empty space of the ten directions is pure and stainless, open and clear.
“Coming thus, lucid and awake, is how all buddhas and bodhisattvas take birth. Deluded craving sows the seed; this is how sentient beings take birth. Within this, good and evil are carried along, giving rise to good and bad destinies. If good and evil are like floating clouds, however, their arising and ceasing have no place at all; here neither sentient being nor Buddha can be established.
“The Sixth Patriarch said: ‘Think neither good nor evil. At just such a time, show me, Head Monk Ming, your original face before your parents were born.’ Brothers, if you have not stopped, stop; if you have not rested, rest. If you can rest completely and settle securely, a thousand sages cannot carry you away. The place where even a thousand sages cannot carry you—that is you yourself. Do not construct principles and chew on words and phrases. Wild staff-blows and random shouts are nothing but the flow of karmic consciousness. If, moreover, you take another’s instructions and accept another’s guidance, that too is clinging to grass and attaching to trees.
“What is required is simply teacherless wisdom and natural wisdom. Upon seeing one’s nature, no Buddha is retained; in great awakening, no teacher remains. Only then is there a little of the air of a patch-robed monk. Tell me: how do you conduct yourself so as to cut off birth-and-death and transcend both ordinary beings and sages? Under the shadowless tree, together in the same boat; in the crystal palace, there is no one who knows.”
— Chan Master Hongzhi Zhengjue
Today we are discussing a teaching by Chan Master Hongzhi. Are all of you familiar with him? Hongzhi Zhengjue was someone Dōgen Zenji often praised as a living Buddha—a genuine living Buddha. His writings are collected in the Extensive Record of Chan Master Hongzhi, volumes one through eight. The contents are excellent; when there is time, we should introduce more of them. Today we will discuss one passage, The Matter of Investigating Chan.
Have you ever thought about this? We study Buddhism, read sūtras, and whether we follow Vinaya, Pure Land, or some other tradition—what exactly are we studying Buddhism for? After studying Buddhism, you still have to eat and earn money to support everyone. Everyone likes to wear better clothes, live in a luxurious home, eat good food, live longer, and have pleasant people around them at work. Everyone hopes for these things. But must you study the Buddhadharma to obtain them? Can they be obtained without studying Buddhism? People’s needs differ: some demand more, some less. If all you want is an ordinary worldly life that satisfies you, must you practice the Buddhadharma? Have you thought about this? Even if, through studying Buddhism, you ultimately attain great accomplishment, become a Buddha, or become a greatly awakened Chan master, you still have to eat, drink tea, walk, chat, use the toilet, and, when the time comes, say goodbye. Then why study Buddhism? Have you thought about it yourself?
In today’s passage, Hongzhi points directly to what he considers most important: the principal reason for studying Buddhism is to be free of birth-and-death. If you are after something else, you do not necessarily need Buddhism. You could study some method that is not ultimate or thorough and still calm the mind for a while and gain temporary ease. But Master Zhengjue—the living Buddha revered by Dōgen—held that if you truly want to learn from Śākyamuni Buddha, then it must be like this. That is what this passage is about, so please pay special attention. Since we have been studying Buddhism all along, let us listen to what Hongzhi says. This is also one reason he himself studied Buddhism.
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First look at the opening line: “The matter of investigating Chan.” Do not see the word “Chan” and assume this concerns only the Chan school. It does not matter whether you practice Esoteric Buddhism, Pure Land, or something else. Do not say, “I study Vinaya, so I do not need to hear this.” That is not the meaning. The “Chan” in “investigating Chan” is not Chan in that narrow sense. What is the real meaning of investigating Chan? What does it mean to truly learn from the Buddha? That is investigating Chan. It does not necessarily mean investigating kōans or sitting in meditation. Investigating Chan means genuinely studying Buddhism, whatever your school or lineage. So do not misunderstand “investigating Chan” as a concern only for Chan practitioners. This “matter of investigating Chan” is not addressed only to friends who study Chan; everyone who truly wants to study Buddhism, regardless of school or tradition, needs to pay attention to it.
Then he immediately gives the answer. Why study Buddhism? To make money, enjoy health and longevity, or have a harmonious family? You do not necessarily need Buddhism for those things. He says: “In truth, it is to be free of birth-and-death.” Why come to hear the Dharma? Why go home and still have to sit? Why do many traditions recite the Buddha’s name, offer incense, chant mantras, form many mudrās, and carry out all sorts of practices? Why? In truth, it is to be free of birth-and-death. That is his answer.
So let me ask all of you: what does it mean to be free of birth-and-death? Was Śākyamuni Buddha free of birth-and-death? A classmate of mine, who did not study Buddhism, once said: “You people talk about being free of birth-and-death. Hong Wenliang, let me ask you: did Śākyamuni die or not? He still kicked the bucket. So this talk of being free of birth-and-death is a joke—it is deception.” How would you answer?
Does being free of birth-and-death mean dying in a very relaxed way, departing happily, with no worries and nothing left unresolved? Is it that simple? Many people have done that. They leave peacefully, with no remaining concerns; the property has been left to the children and wife, the estate tax settled, even the best coffin purchased. Many people can die like that. Is that freedom from birth-and-death?
If we casually read past what a great Chan master such as Hongzhi means by “free of birth-and-death,” there is a problem. Many people fail to understand the essential point of Chan’s true Dharma because they think that once they have read the words and intellectually understood them, they know what freedom from birth-and-death means. A person dies without much fuss—as suddenly as a handclap, or with a sneeze, and then, ah, gone. Is that the right understanding? Is that freedom from birth-and-death? If so, there would be no need to waste time listening to teachings here or go home and endure aching legs in meditation.
Every school has various practices, and many worldly methods can satisfy worldly needs. But this freedom from birth-and-death is something only the Buddha’s true Dharma can accomplish. The question is: what exactly does “free of birth-and-death” mean? Does living a very long life count? That is the cultivation of longevity and immortality spoken of in Daoism. But however long you live, will you someday die? Of course. Is that freedom from birth-and-death? If freedom meant simply never dying, then Śākyamuni Buddha would have deceived us, because he too died. So what exactly does freedom from birth-and-death refer to? First you must understand this. Not dying is not what it means, nor is merely living a very long life without dying. Everyone must understand the true meaning of “free of birth-and-death” in Hongzhi’s teaching. This is a genuine essential point of the Buddha. If you do not get this straight, what you call studying Buddhism is merely studying your own Buddhism.
Hongzhi continues: “If you cannot be free of birth-and-death, what could possibly be called Chan?” If you cannot be free of birth-and-death, how can that be called studying Buddhism? It does not matter whether you are monastic or lay, whether you study Vinaya, Esoteric Buddhism, or any other method. It does not matter whether you are a famous master or someone nobody knows. If you study for an entire lifetime, toil for an entire lifetime, spend both time and a great deal of money, but cannot be free of birth-and-death, then fundamentally you are not qualified to call yourself a student of the Buddha.
Next he explains: “Tell me: what is birth? What is death? What is it to be free?” What is birth? What is death? What is freedom from birth-and-death? The important purpose of studying Buddhism is freedom from birth-and-death, but if you have misunderstood what birth and death themselves are, how can you speak of freedom from them? You are told to be free of birth-and-death, yet the ideas in your head about birth and death are different from what Śākyamuni Buddha taught. Then discussion is useless; discussing it that way is meaningless.
So Hongzhi asks what truly counts as birth and what truly counts as death. All of you are bound to find that strange. Who does not know what birth is? We are alive right now. When we see someone pass away, we say that person has died. What question could there be about birth and death? It seems perfectly clear. Speaking, getting angry, being greedy, seeking this and seeking that—those are activities during life. Once dead, one does not speak, does not see, does not hear, does not respond when called, and after a few days the body decomposes. That is death. So why ask what birth is and what death is? Is the question redundant? Have we ever examined it carefully? More than ten years ago I gave a talk on Tibetan teachings about birth, death, and rebirth. That was only to whet everyone’s appetite; it was not the genuine Buddhadharma. Today, look carefully at how the Chan patriarchs speak about birth and death.
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“If, in a single thought, you lose sight of the root and follow feeling, you are pulled about everywhere, tangled and confused, stuck and disturbed. Having been born without freedom, you likewise die without freedom.” He explains it very concisely. This is extremely important, especially for people who study Buddhism. With every sentence, you should deeply examine yourself.
What does it mean to be unable to free yourself from birth-and-death? It does not mean never dying. It means that birth-and-death itself obstructs you—that this very matter we call birth-and-death is what obstructs you. To use a Taiwanese expression, it has already tormented you for your whole life, and at the point of death it still will not let you go; it torments you even then. Why are you deceived and confused by it? Because we continually lose sight of the root and follow feeling.
Not knowing what you truly are is what it means to lose sight of the root. What is it that you truly are? Whether you do good or evil, whether you study some great Dharma or some technology, if you fundamentally do not know what you truly are, that is losing sight of the root. This “root” does not mean a principle, a theory, or some cosmic truth. It does not mean the highest moral standard, nor the most perfected expression of a teaching. That is not what he is talking about.
If you do not know what you truly are, you will inevitably be carried away by your own feelings and emotions. That is called “following feeling.” Happiness, frustration, sadness, dissatisfaction—these are all feelings. Following feeling means moving along with them. Notice: he does not say that these feelings must never arise. If that were so, then after accomplishing Buddhist practice you would become a stone or a wooden dummy—never angry, never happy, never liking or disliking anything. Do you think that would mean not following feeling? No. Following feeling means being carried away by feeling, letting it lead you. It does not mean that Buddhist practitioners no longer have feelings. Do not misunderstand.
Why do you follow feeling? Because you are moved by it. Feeling becomes the boss and takes command; you follow behind its tail. Whatever temporary emotion arises at the moment governs you. Even when you want to cultivate what is good or study some great Dharma, feeling moves first and then you move. This matter of following feeling is crucial. If you follow feeling, you cannot be free of birth-and-death. Even if you live to ninety or one hundred, at the end of life, if you are free of birth-and-death, you will go cleanly, freely, and without entanglement.
How does Hongzhi describe someone free of birth-and-death? Losing sight of the root and following feeling no longer arise. Such a person does not lose sight of the root and does not follow feeling. Only then is there hope of being free from birth-and-death. So if you do not lose sight of the root, naturally you will not follow feeling. The problem lies in this “root.” Do you understand what it is? This is very important. The Buddhadharma is precisely asking you to clarify this root.
Do not fabricate it in thought: “It is the great principle of the cosmos; it belongs neither to existence nor non-existence; everything that can be put down has been put down...” Do not compose essays in your own head. Once you have this “root” right, you certainly will not follow feeling. If you know the road, you will not go astray. Because you do not know the directions, when you should go east, you go west—that is following feeling. If you truly know which way east lies, would you wander north, south, or west? No. The central issue is simply not losing sight of the root.
We spend a lifetime like this—hearing Dharma, reading Buddhist scriptures, sitting, reciting the Buddha’s name, and chanting mantras. These practices are all fine; they are methods. What are they for? To clarify the root, so that at death we are not muddled and carried away by feeling. Where is the problem? Scholars have their own idea of a “root”; superstitious people have theirs. What the Buddha truly wanted to transmit is difficult to transmit. Why? Because it is perfectly clear and naked—right here, right now, functioning as all of this—and yet people fail to understand it. Instead they search for strange, complicated things and then think those things must be the root. Do you think that only after spending money and time, reciting the Buddha’s name more than a hundred thousand times and doing more than five hundred thousand full prostrations, there will finally be a root for you to grasp? It is not that kind of thing.
“If, in a single thought, you lose sight of the root and follow feeling.” Have you noticed the words “in a single thought”? Why does he add them? Because losing the root and following feeling goes wrong in just that instant. Turn it around: if that single instant does not go wrong, there is no problem.
This is why there is the saying, “You are not permitted to travel by night; at daybreak you must arrive.” Do not travel at night, yet by tomorrow morning you must meet me in Kaohsiung. It is a matter of one thought. Why, when Shigong heard Mazu ask, “How many deer can you kill with one arrow?”—ah!—did he leap free from losing the root and following feeling in that very instant, in a single thought? Can one break free in a single thought? If that were impossible, the Buddhadharma would be useless. It is because this possibility exists that the Buddhadharma is called wondrous and inconceivable.
But do not imagine in your head, “Ah, in one instant I will simply turn my thought around.” That is imagination. The “single thought” here is not a discriminating thought that I can turn whenever I choose. When an apple ripens, it falls: one instant, one thought. Before it ripens, will a green apple fall? No. But once it is ripe, that instant in which it drops—isn’t that a single moment? The conditions have matured. The apple ripens gradually, and once ripe, it falls. When I go to Malaysia, sometimes a ripe durian falls right down from above. When it is ripe, it falls. Is it because it wants to fall? There is no question of wanting or not wanting. Even if it does not “want” to fall, when the time comes, it falls.
When that one thought of losing the root and following feeling drops away, that too is a single thought—an instant. But before that instant, do you need to practice? Of course. You must hear, reflect, and cultivate. If you do not pass through hearing, reflection, and cultivation and simply sit there waiting for that one thought to arrive, begging it and hoping it will come—there is no such thing. You must mature yourself.
So now we are talking about “in a single thought, losing sight of the root and following feeling.” Not knowing your own root is losing sight of the root. Once the root is known, naturally you are no longer lost. Because you do not know the root, you take something else to be your foundation and then follow feeling. The principle is very clear.
Now let us describe what losing the root and following feeling looks like in daily life. We can see it everywhere: many people all around us are losing sight of the root and following feeling. Chan Master Fayan once pointed to a curtain. Two monks saw their teacher point, so they went and opened the curtain. Fayan said, “One gains, one loses.” Ha! That is losing the root and following feeling. We will not discuss that kōan now.
Ordinary people do not know what the root is. They study Buddhism and do good deeds, yet still lose sight of the root. All Śākyamuni Buddha asks is that you not lose the root. If you do not lose it, then everywhere you can correspond exactly. What does that mean? In a valley you call “Ah—!” and the echo answers “Ah—!” You call “Ee—!” and it answers “Ee—!” That is exact correspondence. The valley does not intentionally imitate your cry; naturally, “Ah—!” comes back as “Ah—!” and “Ee—!” as “Ee—!” This is called the valley spirit resounding: exact correspondence.
Can we do this? Must we chant mantras, read scriptures, or memorize the entire Buddhist canon before we can correspond exactly? Aren’t your ears corresponding exactly right now? As I speak, your ears resound with it at the very same time. Can you separate what is my speaking from what is your hearing? Where do your capacity to hear and the sound I speak meet? You cannot find such a place at all. Isn’t that exact correspondence? When I do not speak, there is silence—silence corresponds. Ahem!—the cough corresponds as ahem! Exact correspondence, like the valley spirit echoing.
Its free and unobstructed movement is like wind blowing through empty space. When pressure is lower over there, air moves from higher pressure toward lower pressure; the greater the pressure difference, the stronger the wind. That is called “the wind spirit moving through space”—they use the word “spirit” for the wind—going whoooosh through the sky. This too is exact correspondence.
After “exact correspondence,” they often say “distinctly unmixed.” When red is encountered, it is red and never turns black. When green is encountered, it is green. A tall bamboo pole is clearly tall; a broad leaf is broad; a fine pointed leaf is fine and pointed. Not the slightest error. This is what we call distinctly unmixed, or distinctly without discrepancy. Is that your personal skill? Is any skill of yours involved in it? Not only these things: illness, coughing, fever—distinctly without discrepancy, exactly corresponding.
When what we call the phenomenon of life comes to an end, it is like wood that has finished burning: the fire goes out and everything turns to ash. When it is time to go, the fuel is exhausted, it becomes ash, and the fire goes out. Is it “you” who dies? It is simply the appearance of dying that manifests. Dharma follows dharma; each dharma simply moves as it should. There is no master above it, no “you” standing there. Depart from this, and that is losing the root and following feeling.
Hongzhi is afraid that we still do not clearly understand losing the root and following feeling, so he continues: “You are pulled about everywhere.” Everywhere you are pulled. What pulls us most easily? The main motive that pulls a person changes over a lifetime. When young, just entering puberty, one becomes especially interested in the opposite sex and gets pulled by that. After marriage and children, what pulls you? Money. To get money, to gain greater fame and more money—you are pulled by money again. When people get older—like me, into their sixties or seventies—what pulls them then? Health and longevity. All day long they do things for the sake of living longer. Forgive me for saying it: living ten years longer does not help anyone else at all.
Different periods bring different things that pull us, and the force of that pull differs from person to person. “Pulled about everywhere” is the inevitable result of losing the root and following feeling. You say, “I am not pulled by any of those things.” Then what are you pulled by? Empty reputation. “I do not want any of that. I look down on it!” Who is asserting that? Who is putting on that show? Still you.
You do not understand exact correspondence or what it means to be distinctly unmixed. This fine point is difficult to get exactly right. A person who has thoroughly awakened and discovered what they truly are does not need to insist, “I must obey this rule; I must keep this precept.” Such a person can correspond exactly. Look at an echo in a valley: it is neither too much nor too little; it neither jumps ahead of the beat nor falls behind it. It is exactly thus, distinctly without error. When anger is appropriate and you instead grin, isn’t that crazy? “I have the Way. If anger arises, I smile like this—heh, heh, heh. I have the Way; I do not get angry.” Is that really it? Exact correspondence! Why are you behaving like that? Who is getting angry? I tell you: anger itself is getting angry!
“Tangled and confused, stuck and disturbed.” This gives a more detailed picture of being pulled about everywhere. Because you are pulled everywhere, this side does not work, that side does not work; attending to this, you lose that; attending to that, you lose this. You are stuck and disturbed, as though powerful adhesive were smeared over the soles of your shoes so that every step takes great effort. Fame and gain pull you along, so every step is exhausting. What is this called? Losing the root, following feeling, and not being liberated. Does a liberated person still walk? Of course—still walking.
“Having been born without freedom, you likewise die without freedom.” There are many passages like this in the Extensive Record of Chan Master Hongzhi. When one of Hongzhi’s students died, Buddhists would ordinarily cremate the body. At the cremation, Hongzhi would give the student final instruction and guidance. He guided his students at every stage; even at the end of life, he did so with such intimacy, helping them depart well. Hongzhi’s Extensive Record is excellent; later we should introduce more of it.
The matter of investigating Chan is, in truth, to be free of birth-and-death. If you cannot be free of birth-and-death, then all of you have wasted your effort; do not bother studying. Otherwise you will forever remain muddled in the three realms, like a sleepwalker wandering through them. So no matter what school you study, first and foremost clarify that the main point is freedom from birth-and-death. What does that mean? You must understand birth and death clearly. If you do not know what birth is or what death is, how could you be free of them? Where is the essential point? Do not lose the root and follow feeling. Why do you follow feeling? Because you do not know the root. What is the root? What you truly are. Once you have actually grasped, encountered, and touched what you truly are, you will not follow feeling. Like the valley echo: exact correspondence, distinctly unmixed. I repeat this again and again because I want to deepen everyone’s impression. We study Buddhism for this freedom from birth-and-death; otherwise it is useless. A whole lifetime of wealth and glory—what will you become in the next life? How do you know? If merely being satisfied and comfortable for this brief stretch of life is enough for you, then you do not need Buddhism; many other things can achieve that.
Now Hongzhi describes concretely what being pulled everywhere by losing the root and following feeling looks like: what happens when you come, and what happens when you go. “Having been born without freedom.” What does it mean to be born without freedom? None of us remembers when we were born. Does anyone here remember being born? Raise your hand. No one does. Why? Because our birth is not free.
We hope to be born into a good family with a healthy body. Are you free to decide that? No. Do you even know how you came to take birth? You had no freedom in it at all. That is what it means to be born without freedom. Anyone who has not truly learned from the Buddha as one should is like this. Being born is not up to you. Was your birth up to you? No—there was no way to control it. Can anyone confidently raise a hand? Was it up to you to come this time around? You do not even know how you were born.
And what about going? We are alive now; suppose all of you live long lives—perhaps a hundred years from now it will be time to go. If you still have not learned well from the Buddha, what happens? “You likewise die without freedom.” Your death too is not free. What does that mean? Tibetan teachings on birth and death speak of wrathful deities, auspicious deities, and many other things: when they appear, remember the mantra your teacher taught you, remember to chant it, remember to bow to Avalokiteśvara, and so on. There are many instructions. The Chan patriarchs simply tell you this: at death, you still die without freedom.
When a friend passes away and we attend the farewell ceremony, I always hope that person goes clearly. If you remain muddled, never having understood what you truly are, then you will certainly be pulled away by circumstances. Some experience appears; you become afraid and avoid it. A scene you really like appears, or a beautiful woman you really like, and you move toward it—you may end up reborn among the asuras. This is what it means to die without freedom.
Every sentence that follows is important and directly concerns us. I have told all of you this again and again: whatever school you study, whatever teacher you follow, whatever method you practice, everyone passes through this matter. Hongzhi is now telling us the Buddha’s true Dharma as authentically transmitted—what Śākyamuni Buddha taught about how you are born and how you die. We have already been born; this time we came muddled and without freedom, so leave that aside. But a hundred years from now, when we go, we hope not to die without freedom. What should we do?
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“But one who clearly understands...” Does someone become such a person simply by understanding a great deal of Buddhist doctrine? Does sitting for two hours without aching legs make you one who clearly understands? Does knowing how to form many mudrās and recite mantras very well make you one who clearly understands? Completely irrelevant! What does “one who clearly understands” mean here? Someone who is the same as Śākyamuni Buddha, without the slightest difference—that is one who clearly understands.
Such a person discovers that what they had taken to be “me” was false, and that what they truly are is not so small and insignificant. This must be personally realized. Do not merely talk about it as a theory—anyone can do that. Anyone can say, “I and the universe arise from the same root.” That is not it. Knowing many doctrines, or seeking teachings that temporarily satisfy your needs—does that make you one who clearly understands? No. When you actually accomplish what the Buddha truly wanted us to accomplish, then you are one who clearly understands. Only such a person deserves to be called a genuine student of the Buddha.
What is one who clearly understands like? “Originally, there is nowhere from which one comes.” Can you accept that? We originally come from nowhere. Do you know where you came from? Suppose you say that in your previous life you were the eldest child of some wealthy family. Is that “coming from nowhere”? No. Only one who clearly understands can truly grasp what “coming from nowhere” means.
This phrase is difficult to understand. You see the words “coming from nowhere” and say, “I do not know what I was in my previous life or where I came from in this life, so that must be coming from nowhere.” That is not it. If you say, “I do not know where I came from,” then at least you already know the fact that you do not know. That is not what “coming from nowhere” means. We are often deceived by words.
You see “coming from nowhere” and say, “I am not sure where I was in the previous life. I should ask a psychic.” The psychic says, “In your last life you were the eldest son of the Mitsubishi family in Japan.” Ah! The listener is delighted and goes home saying to friends, “I used to be the eldest son of the Mitsubishi family—do not look down on me!” The deceiver has it easy and the person deceived is delighted; both are happy. Is that “coming from nowhere”?
Coming from nowhere does not mean merely not knowing where you were in a previous life—whether you were a dog, a bird, a heavenly being, or even a great pastor somewhere. It is not talking about that. Even if you knew that in your last life you were a Shinto priest in Japan, and even if in Buddhist terms you truly did come from there and were influenced by that life into your present appearance, it is still called coming from nowhere. You say, “I know what I was before, so I know where I came from.” No—that is not what this phrase means. Even if you know, it is still coming from nowhere. Have you got it? Everything that exists comes from nowhere. Do not use human knowledge and concepts to say, “In my previous life I was the eldest child of some wealthy family in such-and-such country,” and so on. That is not what coming from nowhere means.
What does it truly mean? Take a piece of wood and set it alight. The fire burns. Where did the fire come from? Did it come from inside the wood? Is there fire in the wood? Yet it is indeed this piece of wood that burns and not some other piece. Clearly it is this wood. Can you therefore say that the fire came from this wood? In ordinary human language, yes. But in the true sense, this fire comes from nowhere.
Is there fire inside the wood? Where is it hiding? Does fire possess an intrinsic nature? Does something called “this fire” really exist? Clearly this piece of wood burns and becomes this flame, not some other piece of wood. To say, “This flame came from this piece of wood, so I know its place of origin”—that is human conceptual knowledge. What is it in actuality? The wood is burned and the fire appears. How did this fire truly come? As the phrase here puts it: “The nature of emptiness is true fire; the nature of fire is true emptiness.” It comes from nowhere. We continually make the mistake of saying, “Of course it came from the wood,” and therefore cannot understand the Buddhadharma. Do you understand what “coming from nowhere” means?
“Understanding this functioning clearly.” Then you understand that we are all dependently arisen and empty of self-nature—empty of self-nature and dependently arisen. When it is time to cry, cry. When there is pain, there is pain. When a cold comes, have a cold. “Understanding this functioning clearly” means this is clear. When mind does not arise, no dharma arises; one realizes the Way of no-mind. As the saying goes: “With no-mind, realize the Way of no-mind; once the Way of no-mind is realized, let even that go.”
Think again about the example I just gave. You burn a piece of wood and fire appears. In ordinary language you can say that this fire came from this piece of wood rather than another. But in actuality, if you are not losing the root and following feeling, you will not take the fire to be something that truly came out of this wood. Once that is clear, you understand this functioning clearly: wherever you are, life is sufficient in its way. If you catch a cold, then there is a cold. If there is diarrhea, there is diarrhea. If there is happiness, there is happiness. If there is comfort, there is comfort. If there is money, there is money. If bad luck comes and there is no money, then there is no money. Just this.
Be at ease in dependent arising. Everything is simply how dependent arising actually is. Sometimes this is called “letting things function naturally in accord with conditions.” Here it is called “understanding this functioning clearly.” They mean the same thing. It does not mean that there is a “you” who clearly knows, “If I turn left, that is heaven; if I turn right, that is the asura realm.” That is not what it means. If the conditions are such that birth occurs in a cow’s womb, one is at ease right in that cow’s womb. That is “understanding this functioning clearly.” Everything lacks self-nature; there is no central “I” moving it. In the wood-and-fire example, do not take the fire as truly produced by the wood. Once this is clear, there is no problem.
“Originally coming from nowhere; understanding this functioning clearly.” Such simple words—and yet many people read so many scriptures and recorded sayings, hear so much teaching, and still interpret Buddhism according to their own Buddhism. Why? Because they rarely cross their legs and sit quietly, allowing the six sense faculties to function without adding some method or subtracting some method. The six faculties themselves move according to the rhythm of the universe. Do they not move? Of course they do. The heart beats, the breath moves, blood circulates, metabolism proceeds. Are you moving them?
You sit there with your hands in a mudrā and your mouth closed; the six faculties all function for you just as they are—no, not “for you.” They are doing what the host does. Ordinarily, this false host of ours pushes them off the stage and then imagines, “I am the one living.”
“Originally coming from nowhere; understanding this functioning clearly.” Even if you knew where you came from in your previous life, the life before that, and the one before that—going back tens of millions of lives—it would still be coming from nowhere. If you can understand this, then “at all times and in all places, you are completely free, with nothing to rely on.”
At all times and places—including at the end of life—various experiences arise: frightening experiences, delightful experiences. The eyes close; the six sense-gates no longer function, yet many intermediate-state experiences manifest. Because you understand that we originally come from nowhere and understand this functioning clearly, you are at ease in whatever condition is present. Even in hell, you become Buddha there. This is what the Buddhadharma truly is!
What does “completely free, with nothing to rely on” mean? Dependent arising has no intrinsic nature—that is what “with nothing to rely on” means. In scholarly terms, this “nothing to rely on” means dependent arising without self-nature. I like to use the example of the four great elements from Shitou Xiqian’s Cantong qi (Sandōkai): fire, earth, water, and wind. Where do the four great elements come from? Fire is the easiest example. Burn wood and fire appears. After it burns out, the fire disappears. Where did the element of fire come from? Where did it disappear to? Once the flame is extinguished, it is gone—but where does it go? Can you find where it goes, where it returns, what “home” it goes back to? The wood has already become ash. Where did the fire come from, and where did it disappear?
We too are earth, water, fire, and wind. These are like the flame that seems to emerge from wood. We think the fire came from inside the wood, but that is only an illustrative way of speaking, a concrete example that is easier to understand. In actuality, where did earth, water, fire, and wind themselves spring from? To be completely free, with nothing to rely on, means that originally there is not a single thing. Precisely because there is not a single thing, appearances have no bound or measure. Accordingly, all kinds of different forms appear in accord with conditions; at the same time, what is without bound or measure can appear in finite forms.
Isn’t your present appearance finite? You differ from me and from everyone else. Emotions differ, lifespans differ, intelligence differs, dullness differs, hearts are hard or soft in different ways. Are the possible differences unlimited? Yes. But when a particular appearance manifests, is it finite? Of course—otherwise how would you know what your character is like? The unlimited is the limited; the limited is the unlimited. Within brightness there is darkness; within darkness, brightness. Same is different; different is same. Presence is absence; absence is presence. Look at how real Śākyamuni Buddha’s Dharma is. Yet once translated into our concepts, we insist, “Presence is presence, not absence.” If you cannot even clarify this, then do not study Buddhism at all.
Does the element of fire truly exist? Yet the functions of light and heat still appear. Speaking and thinking are like light and heat: when our four elements assemble in this way, thought and emotion can function. After the burning ends, where does the fire disappear? Where has it gone? No coming place can be found and no going place can be found. Thus an unlimited, boundless, immeasurable variety of forms can appear, yet when you search for their origin, no origin can be found. The very appearance is the origin. The root is the branch; the branch is the root.
If you use a dualistic way of thinking, you become confused again: “The root is the root, not the branch; the branch is the branch, not the root.” This dualistic habit is like mistaking the reflection of a bow in a cup for a snake. If you do not understand this, you truly cannot touch what Śākyamuni Buddha was speaking about. Touch it, and that is awakening. There is nothing else to awaken to outside this.
To be completely free, with nothing to rely on, is “originally, not a single thing.” Only when mind moves is there such an appearance; if mind does not move, fundamentally there is no such appearance. Isn’t this so? The eyes encounter many forms and the retina receives many images, but if mind does not move, do you know what is being seen? Vibrations in the air reach the eardrum and the eardrum vibrates. If mind does not participate, even if the eardrum vibrates until it splits, is there sound? Without mind’s participation, there is no sound. Yet is there vibration? Yes.
“With no-mind, realize the Way of no-mind; once the Way of no-mind is realized, let even that go.” This is how one speaks; this is how one sees. When it itches, scratch it. Do not think, “I possess the Way, so while talking with people, even if I itch I must endure it to demonstrate how accomplished I am.” It is not like that.
Our birth and death lie within a single inhalation and exhalation. Do not say, “I am still young; there will be plenty of time.” Not necessarily. Recently I heard that three or four of my classmates had been hospitalized only briefly—two days, and in one case just a single night before he was gone. Dying without freedom is terrible. Can you manage to die freely? Dying freely means going clearly. Studying Buddhism is about becoming clear about this. If your purpose is something else—wealth and glory and the like—why come here to hear Dharma? There are other methods for wealth and glory that are simpler, more direct, and faster. There is no need to study Buddhism. So please pay attention: every sentence Hongzhi speaks carries great weight, because it was spoken by a great Chan master with genuine realization.
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“Standing out amid the myriad phenomena; at such a time, one does not bring along the four great elements and five aggregates; only then is there a way out.” He has been explaining what birth is, what death is, what it means to be born without freedom, and what it means to die without freedom. If you have become like Śākyamuni Buddha and understood the Dharma he transmitted, then you understand that he transmitted it so that you can be free of birth-and-death. We will all certainly die, so to truly study Buddhism we should learn according to his way and his example. Everything else is worldly business; having those things is fine, and not having them is no big deal.
Now we are getting more and more into how this works in practice. What does “standing out amid the myriad phenomena” mean? In daily life, how we conduct ourselves and go about our affairs—earning money, being an eloquent lawyer, teaching well, being a surgeon who operates skillfully—these are all among the myriad phenomena. Playing the stock market is one of the myriad phenomena. Studying Buddhism, chanting mantras, visiting teachers, investigating Chan—all are appearances among the myriad phenomena. Not losing the root amid the myriad phenomena is what it means to stand out amid them, because one has discovered what one truly is.
Favorable and unfavorable circumstances are both among the myriad phenomena. Thoroughly awakening to the original face does not mean that favorable conditions alone remain and adversity disappears. Adversity still comes; it is dependently arisen. When the wind is strong, clouds move quickly; when the wind is weak, waves are small. Everyone is like this. So in ordinary life, amid favorable and unfavorable conditions, good and bad events are all included. One stands out amid the myriad phenomena and is different from others. Why? Because one knows what one truly is, rather than taking oneself to be only this small body-mind.
Such a person naturally behaves differently. It is easy to see: the heart is very soft. Someone with a soft heart will definitely be all right; one day they will certainly attain great accomplishment. If the heart is rigid and intensely self-centered, then even if you can recite Hongzhi’s recorded sayings fluently from memory—sorry, it is useless. Why can one stand out amid the myriad phenomena? Because one no longer loses the root and follows feeling. So amid favorable and unfavorable conditions, such a person differs from others—not by deliberately putting on a show of having the Way or of strictly observing the precepts, but because their conduct naturally differs.
“At such a time, not bringing along the four great elements and five aggregates.” What is “at such a time”? Whenever—at any time and in any place—you are not carried away by earth, water, fire, and wind, or by form, feeling, perception, formations, and consciousness. The four elements and five aggregates are the various functions of body and mind. The body is structured the way it is; when emotions and thoughts move, those movements are the functioning of the four elements and five aggregates.
Why then does he say “not bringing along the four elements and five aggregates”? After Śākyamuni Buddha saw the morning star, awakened, and became Buddha, when he stood up and walked, did he not bring his body with him? Did his stomach still get hungry? Did the five aggregates still function? The text plainly says not to bring along the four elements and five aggregates, yet he clearly still brought the four elements and five aggregates along. How are we to understand this?
If you can let the delusions of self drop away completely, with nothing left to depend on—put them all down, until not even a trace of “I have put them down” remains—then even attachment to Dharma is gone. If you say, “I have already dropped body and mind,” then you still retain something called “having dropped.” What is it like when even the dropping of body and mind is absent? Then one is very free and at ease. This is why such a person can stand out amid the myriad phenomena.
Suppose you become friends with such a person, do business together, interact, or even fall in love. At such times, what are they like? At all times and places, they do not “bring along the four elements and five aggregates.” Does that make sense? They still eat and drink tea. How could they not bring the four elements and five aggregates?
It means not being deluded by the functioning of the four elements and five aggregates and taking them to be “I.” It does not mean the body stops functioning. Not bringing the four elements and five aggregates means not being led around by the nose by their functions. The four elements and five aggregates are dependently arisen. Like a piece of wood set on fire: a larger piece gives a larger flame; a stronger wind produces a stronger blaze, so the appearance differs. But does that fire really have a form of its own? No. Where is it?
Before the fire has arisen, before your parents were born—there lies the true meaning of the four elements and five aggregates. That is what “not bringing them along” points to. The fire still burns, still gives light and heat. You still get hungry, catch colds, have a runny nose, have diarrhea. But you are not carried away by the operations of the four elements and five aggregates.
Didn’t Śākyamuni Buddha, near the end of his life, have colitis and diarrhea? You say that if you pay respects to a great master or practice some method, the diarrhea will immediately get better. Then was Śākyamuni Buddha stupid? He taught so many students; all Buddhist Dharma came through him, yet he could not even cure his own colitis and diarrhea? He could not chant a mantra and stop it? If he could not even stop diarrhea, what Dharma was he transmitting? Ah—that is to misunderstand him.
Do you understand what “at such a time, not bringing along the four elements and five aggregates” means? Do not think, “These four elements and five aggregates really are my body and mind, my flesh, my bones.” You feel, “This is my body. This is my blood. This can perceive.” The microphone in front of us, by contrast, has no perception or emotion. We often say mind and object are nondual: mind is the “I” that can know, object is the microphone that is seen, and mind and object are nondual, the same. Then you cannot make sense of it. “The microphone has no blood moving inside it. It does not get angry or happy. I get happy, I get angry. How could I be the same as it?” Yet the patriarchs and Śākyamuni Buddha repeatedly speak of the nonduality of mind and object. Where have you gone wrong?
You have taken these four elements and five aggregates—this body-mind that can see the microphone—to be a concrete, truly existent thing. Then you say, “The microphone has no feelings; I have feelings.” You take this “I” that has feelings to possess intrinsic nature, to be some truly existing entity. How could that ever be the same as the microphone it sees? Of course it cannot. Once you treat your body-mind as a concrete, truly existent thing, how could you say it is the same as a stone or metal object opposite you? That is why you cannot understand.
Because of dependent arising, it burns in this form; the conditions that make up “me” likewise burn in their own form, so the resulting flames look different. You cannot say that because the flames differ, one is insentient and the other sentient—that is not the point. All of it is one great expanse of light, dependently arising and appearing as different forms of light, each like a different flame. Then what problem is there with the nonduality of mind and object? Is there still a problem? If an earthworm is cut in two, has one life become two lives? That is just nonsense.
Then, when all of us reach one hundred and it is time to go, “only then is there a way out.” Hongzhi does not say that only after thoroughly reading the entire Buddhist canon, sitting for more than a hundred thousand hours, or having a great master perform assistive chanting for you at death do you then have a way out. He says no such thing. The genuine Dharma transmitted by Śākyamuni Buddha does not speak such deceptive language. Rather, it asks you to clarify for yourself what you really are and not to take these paltry four elements and five aggregates as yourself.
You keep dragging the four elements and five aggregates around, hanging on to them, running here and there in confusion. “At such a time, do not bring along the four elements and five aggregates”: at every moment and place, you are not simply this existence of four elements and five aggregates. To take this body-mind as truly existent, and then to take that existence as “me,” is a double absurdity.
Without that double confusion, when you reach a hundred and it is time to go, only then is there a way out: you go clearly, freely, and without entanglement. Do you still need friends or monks to come perform assistive chanting for you and send you off? Open your eyes and look. This concerns each person personally. Only by not bringing along the four elements and five aggregates is there a way out.
In intermediate-state experiences, all kinds of scenes can manifest. Sometimes what manifests is a terrifying lion by the roadside, or a fierce tiger high above about to leap on you. Why could such things not appear? They can. But do not think they are so frightening. Or you see a beautiful woman, graceful and alluring, beckoning toward you: “Ah! This is exactly what I like; this is my favorite!” and you run toward her—then there is trouble. At that point, if you have clarified what you truly are and no longer lose the root and follow feeling, if you have truly clarified that what you are is the great cosmos itself, only then is there a way out.
Because you are not bringing along the four elements and five aggregates, how could those appearances toy with you? How could the roadside lion or the beautiful woman manipulate you? They cannot deceive you. The power of form, feeling, perception, formations, and consciousness is enormous, so pay close attention to this “not bringing along the four elements and five aggregates.” In studying Buddhism, you must recognize this clearly; only then is there a way out. There is only this in the Buddhadharma; beyond this there is nothing else. Do not talk about all sorts of other nonsense.
“On the thirtieth day of the twelfth month, go just the same way.” The “thirtieth day of the twelfth month” means the time of death. Whether you believe in Buddhism or not, whether you practice this method or that one, everyone has to go. “Go just the same way.” What is moving? Is it a problem whether you go to hell, the asura realm, or a heavenly realm? Chan Master Guishan once told everyone, “After I die, I will become a water buffalo below the mountain.” The problem is not which realm you are reborn into. Even if you go to hell, you are not afraid at all; nor are you afraid of the animal realm. Therefore: go just the same way.
“Coming, from nowhere; going, arriving nowhere.” Coming thus, going thus. How do you come thus? Coming from nowhere is coming thus. And going? Going nowhere. Someone hears this and says, “I still do not know how to go.” Then you really do not know how to listen. There is nothing one can do. You ordinarily do not apply yourself, and after so much has been explained you still foolishly ask, “Teacher, when you say ‘go just the same way,’ how exactly do I go? By train? By plane? Walking? Do I wear a hat? Do I need shoes? Should I stick a blade of grass on my head?”
“Coming, from nowhere”—it is still the example of burning wood. Strike a flame and whoosh! the fire appears. Where did it come from? From nowhere. When the wood is exhausted and becomes ash, the fire goes out. Where did it go? It arrived nowhere. Yet when conditions gather again, whoosh! fire appears again. We use firewood and such things only as metaphors. In the Dharma realm, even that is unnecessary.
That is why it is said, “With no-mind, realize the Way of no-mind; once the Way of no-mind is realized, let even that go.” The Sixth Patriarch also said, “Originally, not a single thing.” All these are illusory appearances of dependent arising; the four elements and five aggregates are illusory appearances. You do not know they are illusory and instead take them to be real, then spend all that time practicing on that basis.
But do not then say, “Now I know these are illusions, so I will ignore them.” I ask you: who is going to ignore them? Your four elements and five aggregates assert, “Fine, then I will ignore all this. If I starve to death, let me starve.” Who is making that assertion? Still the five aggregates. So if you have not fully taken in the Dharma, you immediately use your own ideas to speculate about what the Buddha said.
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Now let us discuss the later passage: “Coming thus, lucid and awake, is how all buddhas and bodhisattvas take birth.” When we reach a hundred, all of us will have to pass away. If during this life we properly learn the true Dharma from the Buddha and clarify our true face, then we go with ease, clearly, distinctly and without error. Coming thus, going thus—conditions arise, conditions cease. That is “thus.”
“Lucid and awake” means clear, not muddled like a sleepwalker. Coming thus, lucid and awake—even if one enters a hell realm or animal realm, by human standards that is considered bad. But ask a lion, “How do you feel about being born as a lion?” It would say, “Very happy, pretty good.” Ask a fish in the sea, “How pitiful—you were reborn as a fish, in the animal realm.” The fish would answer, “What do you mean by animal realm? I think you humans are the animal realm!” Animals could equally say the human realm is the animal realm: people kill one another all day, throw atomic bombs back and forth, then see one tiny creature and cry, “How pitiful! We must protect it!” Killing masses of people on one side while talking about protecting small animals on the other—truly incomprehensible.
If you are one who clearly understands, then you come thus, lucid and awake. This requires actual strength in practice; only with genuine capacity can you speak of it. “Lucid and awake” does not mean that right now I clearly know I am in Taichung giving a class. That is not it; that is discriminating consciousness moving. You are alert, not anemic, not suffering from high blood pressure, stroke, or dementia, and therefore can identify where you are—do not take that as the meaning of “lucid and awake.” That is merely discriminating consciousness functioning relatively well.
Do not see the words “lucid and awake” and say, “I can clearly recite ‘Amitābha Buddha,’ so I am lucid and awake,” or “I have not mistaken a steamed bun for a stone, so I am lucid and awake.” That is not the meaning. “Coming thus, lucid and awake, is how all buddhas and bodhisattvas take birth.” When buddhas and bodhisattvas take birth again, they come in this way—lucid and awake, thus.
“Deluded craving sows the seed; this is how sentient beings take birth.” What about ordinary people? They have not learned the Buddhadharma well and have not truly understood what the Buddha is saying. They use their own opinions to seek the Buddhism they personally like. Inevitably, that is the seed being sown by deluded craving.
This sowing of the seed by deluded craving does not apply only to seeking wealth or profit. Even seeking Dharma can be the same. You hope to understand Buddhism and learn something from the Buddha, but because you have not clarified it, the direction is wrong. The aspiration is right and good, but the method and direction are mistaken, and one studies according to one’s own deluded craving. That is what is meant by “deluded craving sowing the seed.” When such a person comes again, they still lose sight of the root and follow feeling; they take birth following feeling, and the main force behind rebirth is still following feeling. Why do they come following feeling? Because of deluded craving.
People with especially strong craving should be careful—I am saying this for your own good. Do not treat studying Buddhism as one matter and human life as another. Do not split them into two. How could the Buddhadharma have two disconnected halves? But pay attention: sympathetic concern and deluded craving are different. Deluded craving seeks only to satisfy one’s own pleasure and one’s own physical and psychological needs. Sympathetic concern always takes the other person into account, hopes they can find the true direction, and is willing to sacrifice something of oneself—“If I do not enter hell, who will?” That is not deluded craving. That is coming thus, lucid and awake.
Thus, “deluded craving sows the seed” means acting solely for one’s own fame and gain, then being carried along by that emotion and that driving force. A bodhisattva returning to this world comes lucid and awake. Even knowing perfectly well that this person is bad, if I do not go in and stay with them, there is no way to transform them; so I go down together with them. That is “coming thus, lucid and awake.”
“Deluded craving sows the seed; this is how sentient beings take birth.” So everyone, never turn the Buddhadharma into a worldly tool for seeking fame and gain. That is deeply disrespectful to the Buddha and betrays his compassion. He did not want us to keep revolving endlessly through the six realms. Yet we remain muddled within deluded craving, pursuing the demands of the dreamlike, illusory four elements and five aggregates, and we tumble around upside down following those demands.
For sentient beings, it is deluded craving that sows the seed. Within that, “good and evil are carried along.” Some take birth carrying wholesome karma, some carrying unwholesome karma. So when deluded craving sows the seed, it does not mean everyone necessarily goes to an evil realm; sometimes one comes with wholesome karma. But the motive is still deluded craving. “I have come to help you”—with “I” at the center. Thus arise good and bad destinies. The lower three realms are bad destinies; the higher, relatively better ones are good destinies. Even within human life there are good and bad destinies: being clever is a good destiny, while having less wisdom is a bad destiny. This is what it means for good and evil to be carried along.
“If good and evil are like floating clouds.” In worldly terms we say this is good and that is evil. What does Hongzhi tell us? Worldly good and evil are like floating clouds in the sky. “Their arising and ceasing have no place.” Arising and ceasing have no center, no truly existent intrinsic substance.
“Here neither sentient being nor Buddha can be established.” Now the true face of Chan appears. There is no distinction between “sentient being” and “Buddha.” Where is there any such distinction? In the human world, people seek Buddha and worship Buddha, so a division is set up between sentient beings and Buddha. But here, neither can be established.
To clarify this sentence, please read the next passage. There Hongzhi explains in greater detail why neither sentient being nor Buddha can be established. You may ask: a sentient being is a sentient being and a Buddha is a Buddha—how could they not be divided? The following passage explains it more fully. Otherwise someone may misunderstand and say, “If sentient beings and Buddha are not separate, then I may as well become a great villain.” The reason that neither sentient being nor Buddha can be established is explained in the next section. Please go home, read it first, and see how much you can understand. We will discuss it next time.
Translator’s Note & Source Notes
Translation policy. This is a Chinese-controlled reading translation, not a diplomatic transcript or critical edition. Hong Wenliang’s repetitions, rhetorical examples, and doctrinal distinctions are retained, while discourse particles and sentence punctuation are lightly normalized for readable English. The punctuation and paragraphing of Hongzhi’s compact classical passage are editorial rather than features of the received Chinese text.
- Hongzhi source. The opening passage has been checked directly against Hongzhi Chanshi Guanglu (宏智禪師廣錄), juan 5, “Mingzhou Tiantongshan Jue Heshang Xiaocan” (明州天童山覺和尚小參), Taishō vol. 48, no. 2001, at pp. 60a15–60b11. The Chinese transcript used for this article reproduces this passage closely. It is therefore more precise to identify the locus as the juan 5 xiaocan record, rather than the separate “Fayu” (法語) section found in juan 6. CBETA text.
- “In the crystal palace, there is no one who knows.” 琉璃 is Sanskrit vaidūrya, traditionally a luminous blue jewel; Buddhist lexicons distinguish it from 水晶 / sphaṭika in the strict mineralogical sense. Nevertheless, “crystal palace” and “no one who knows” are established English Zen renderings of this old verse, including in Cleary translations and modern Sōtō commentary. The word 知識 can also mean a “friend” or “teacher,” and can abbreviate 善知識 (“spiritual friend”). The body therefore retains the established kōan rendering while recording the lexical alternative here.
- 法随法行. In wider Buddhist technical usage this is the established expression dharmānudharma-pratipatti, commonly explained as practice in accordance with the Dharma. Hong, however, immediately glosses his use as “法遵从法应该的那个样子那样动”—dharma following the way dharma itself should move. The body translation follows Hong’s explicit local gloss rather than silently replacing it with the standard scholastic sense.
- Bardo terminology. The supplied Chinese transcript reads “愤怒尊、吉祥尊,” hence “wrathful deities” and “auspicious deities” in the body. Standard Tibetan Buddhist presentations normally pair 寂静尊 with 忿怒尊—“peaceful deities” and “wrathful deities” (often forty-two peaceful and fifty-eight wrathful deities). The translation preserves the transcript instead of silently correcting the speaker or transcriber.
- Selected intertexts. The teaching presupposes several older texts and Chan cases: the Sixth Patriarch’s “think neither good nor evil … original face” and the later-recension “originally not a single thing” verse from the Platform Sūtra; the Śūraṅgama Sūtra formula 性火真空，性空真火 (Hong gives the paired phrases in reverse order while speaking); Touzi Datong’s reply to Zhaozhou, “Do not travel by night; at daybreak you must arrive”; the Shigong–Mazu archery encounter; Fayan’s curtain case, “one gains, one loses”; Guishan’s water-buffalo saying; and Shitou Xiqian’s Cantong qi (Sandōkai). Hong’s 谷神 also evokes the Daodejing phrase 谷神不死, though he repurposes the image as a valley echo. The popular “If I do not enter hell, who will?” formulation is associated in later Buddhist usage with Kṣitigarbha’s great vow; it is not treated here as a verified verbatim scriptural quotation.
- 分晓汉. 漢 is colloquial Chan-record language—literally a “fellow” or “man.” The body uses “one who clearly understands” rather than forcing a faux-archaic English “fellow”; the semantic force is kept while the social register is lightly normalized.
- 恰恰相应 / 历历不混. These recurring expressions are kept consistently as “exact correspondence” and “distinctly unmixed.” Hong immediately explains them through the valley echo, colors, shapes, illness, and other examples, so the body does not insert a separate doctrinal gloss into every occurrence.
- 有 / 没有 in the paradoxical sequence. The spoken line “有就是没有，没有就是有” is rendered here as “Presence is absence; absence is presence,” followed by “Presence is presence, not absence” for “有就是有，不是没有.” This is a deliberate translation of the contrastive gnomic pair. Elsewhere, when 有 / 無 functions as formal Buddhist ontological terminology (for example, 不属于有不属于无), this edition uses “existence / non-existence.” “Presence” here does not posit an independently existing metaphysical Presence.
- Source-post attribution. The Chinese source displays the string “额尔德克巴克什” above the 2009 timestamp. I have retained that Chinese form because I could not independently verify the intended romanization and do not want to invent one.
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