Monks, Beasts & Dreams on Heavenly Terrace
Published by Alexander Goldstein
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Alexander Goldstein
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* * * * *
Contents
Chapter 1: Tian-tai Mountains—the Cradle of Chan Buddhism
Chapter 2: Guo-qing Temple—the Reign of Purity and Self-realization
Chapter 3: Nine Pictures of Feng Gan's Impulse to Insight
Chapter 4: Shi De—a Way from a Foundling to a Novice-monk
Chapter 5: The Moon's Orb Samadhi
Chapter 6: Han Shan's Prophetic Dream
Chapter 7: Between Life, Dream and Death
Chapter 8: A Ritual of Healing by Incantation
Chapter 1: Behind the Monastery's Gates
Chapter 2: The Ocean of Samadhi
Chapter 3: Internal Practice (Nei-gong): Alchemy or Sex?
Chapter 4: A Test on Entering Samadhi
Chapter 5: The Red Dust in the Market and Not Only There
Chapter 6: Premeditated or Spontaneous Madness?
Chapter 7: Banishment or Absolution?
Chapter 8: The Raising of Shi De by Ascending on Huading
Chapter 1: Hope is Always beyond Death
Chapter 2: No-minded Mind Never Dies!
Chapter 3: Pursuit of the Fate
Chapter 5: A Little Rift within the Lute
Chapter 6: Seeing Dreams within Dreams
Chapter 7: Chan Poetry—the Way of Self-realization
Chapter 8: Neither Host nor Guest
The principal feature and charm of this book lay not so much in its literary style and Chinese brush sketches as in its sincerity. In this respect, the acute reader will notice how the images here are themselves the speech, and the poetry, as a whole, is an ideographic construction of the book written, I would like to hope, in the style of a good prose. The following pages form the record of events that, according to tradition, really happened in the Tang-period China in the 8th century at Guo-qing temple secluded in the Tian-tai Mountains. All that has been done is to colouring them in black-and-white of monochromic style of Chinese ink painting, because the spectrum of visible light at the extremes would inevitably be black and white, Yin and Yang. This is the spectrum of the Dao itself usually translated as "The Way," both physical and metaphysical, when the spectrum of light inevitably breaks into the identifiable ranges of the colours. Life itself breaks down into certain primal situations, equivalent to the colours of Dao, which recur time and again in the eternal vibration between the extremes of two opposite forms that continuously feed one another. And this occurs due to something else, the third power between the two, which keeps the ball rolling. For this no extra charge has been made with the exception of delightful insight into the background of the four images: three eccentric figures and the forth—the unnamed tigress, a creature on the back of which Chan monk Feng Gan usually rode. All the four were not poetic ideals, but sentient beings of flesh and blood, particularly the forth one, the beast, which weighed about five Chinese stones (about eight hundred English pounds).
Legends concerning the "Tian-tai's Trio" recorded in Buddhist biographical sources tell us next to nothing about the main events of their life. They focus instead on conversations Han Shan (Japanese "Kanzan") had with Shi De (Jittoku) and their common old master Feng Gan ("Bukan") who was understood as incarnation of the Buddha Amitabha. The historical Chan (Zen) iconoclasts are pictured all the three immersed in deep slumber, leaning fondly on the sleepy tigress. It is generally interpreted as symbolizing the absolute tranquillity of the universe for those who have attained complete enlightenment. In these accounts, they are invariably portrayed, in good Chan fashion, as poor but happy recluses, bordering on the crazy, who constantly do and say nonsensical things. A number of these stories read like "gong-an" (Japanese "koan," also known as "test on entering samadhi"). Intoxicated by crazy wisdom, the bawdy, spontaneous behaviour of these unorthodox spiritual masters rarely conformed to the rigid strictures, materialistic values, and arid proprieties of respectable society. Irreverently flaunting their uncompromising freedom by subverting all forms of social convention and superficial value systems, these enlightened lunatics had a genius for shaking up the religious establishment and keeping alive the inner meaning of spiritual truth during the time of mainstream Buddhism's external decline, continuing to motivate and challenge those members of society open to such inspired spiritual influence while appearing mad from the banal, ordinary point of view. At another level, all the three are also prototypes of the crazy saints, wise men, sages, and itinerant hermits who contrast so markedly with the ordinary monastic brotherhood and worldly society lifestyles.
We sometimes look to these fellows, real and imaginary, asking them rhetorically: “So, old pals, what have you learnt that can help us?” We listen to their advices, methods, and teachings, and, sometimes, follow their poetic prescriptions. When one of his rivals snidely predicted that Han Shan’s poems would soon be relegated to the kitchen, where it would be used as scrap to cover soy sauce pots, he only smiled and said nothing. As successive generations of readers find many observations preserved in his poetry fresh and ever new, perhaps Han Shan has had the last laugh after all. Sometimes we laugh at him and the others, but in moments of whimsy and frenzy we give them magical and marvellous powers—skills in taming wildlife and healing by means of incantations, ability to disappear and reappear at will, power to penetrate into cliffs and cross the stream on one single leaf, techniques for summoning up from the other dimensions the six spirits to be then able to call them forth to obey their commands whenever needed, methods for calming troubled souls, staying the natural process of decay, and many other amazing things. In addition, such stories, if they are good, lead the reader into the solemn presence of some truth, which most of us enjoy indirectly, not having paid the heavy price out of our hearts, in their most secret gleanings, the precious and inconvertible treasures of our own dreams.
Han Shan and Shi De are two inseparable characters in the history of Chan (Zen) Buddhism, forming one of the most favourite subjects of the Ink painting conceptualized by the Far-eastern artists. Shi De is often pictured with a broom, and Han Shan with a scroll; these represent two of many paths to Enlightenment—honest labour and scriptural studies. This is why, most probably, Shi De, with his constant attribute, was always involved in sweeping out some dirties. He was able to use it like a sword continually defeating the “six internal thieves” in Buddhism, thereby curbing the six senses, their mundane activities—seeing, smelling, tasting the worldly things, etc.
Master Shi De (English "Foundling") is also famous in Daoist annals as the companion of his intimate friend, vagabond-poet and hermit Han Shan. Once expelled and orphaned he was then given a home at Mount Hanshan where his elder buddy had resided for the last half of century. Musing on Han Shan's poems one day, while lounging in the hot sun and sitting on a huge stone in front of the hut, Shi De rolled off the top into the grass called by the master "The Three Paths." He then hauled himself back onto the stone and began writing poems in Han Shan's voice with a bold and shameless humour worthy of his inspirer, deducing a formula that "Man’s life is nothing but drift in the world." This is finely distilled Daoist thinking: the Dao embodies a belief that all our accomplishments, all our strivings and the things we hold dear are simply nothing; to follow the way of Dao is to calmly, even joyfully, let life have its way with us. What more important to consider is Han Shan's skill and his poetic gift to capture a world and a way of thinking as elusive and yet nourishing as the steam from a pot of bubbling rice, as cooking rice was his work and the source of his musings. And, of course, together with him we should never forget to follow the unwritten from of old instructions, which order us: "Read. Stop. Listen. Eat. Wash the bowl. Contemplate its orbed purity. Breathe."
Working on this book, I frequently felt myself strangely pleased, as though an honour had been conferred on me. Enveloped as I was in the familiar, reassuring ambience of the monastery halls, cells, grounds, and cellars where I had spent so many hours with the characters of this novel, as a kid playing around with such simple toys as fruit stones, the yarrow stalks, fly whisks, hand-scrolls, cookware, the monkish dreams and old fables; with all their unsettling implications receded to a distance and took on a kind of unreality, as though completely unconnected with my own self. The whole things read like a treatise from Han Shan’s hand-scroll written by Shi De’s brush or, rather, his crude broom, with that special feeling that mysteriously refreshes and makes me glad again, because it is not my way of suffering—I’m just called upon to witness. And indeed, having escaped the fate of the vagabond-poets and hermits, I have some reason to be thankful for my own. I should be truly thankful for help to my spiritual guides in Greater China, to a number of friends for various assistances: locating valued reference material, commenting on and correcting my manuscript. Above all I am thankful to my wife for constant encouragement and support of every kind, though, ultimately, I must take responsibility for all that appears here.
-- A.G.
Written on the twelfth day of the tenth lunar month of the cyclical year Wu-tzu
“The
whole world is but one long dream.”
-- Su Shi (1037-1101)
".
. .Now put this book down and go to sleep!"
-- AG
Chapter 1: Tian-tai Mountains—the Cradle of Chan Buddhism
Known from time immemorial as Tian-tai, Heaven Stand, better known as Heavenly Terrace, this name applies to a range of mountains seventy miles southeast of Hangzhou Bay along the eastern coast of the Central Kingdom better known as China. Our journey up Tian-tai's peaks and ravines begins by understanding the classical symbols of long life and bringers of life, mountains inspired religious awe as "parents of the myriad things." According to one legend, Tian-tai used to be carried by a giant marine tortoise Ao, swimming in the South China Sea. When during the time of formation of the world progenitress Nüwa had to cut off the tortoise's legs in order to use them to support the falling sky, she moved the mountains to the dry land so that it would not sink in the ocean.
In the mid Tang-period (8th century CE) it became one of the biggest Buddhist and Daoist centres in all under heaven, the homeland of Tian-tai Sect of Chinese Buddhism and Nan-zong (Southern) School of Daoism. A good many Buddhist monks and Daoist priests who wandered from temple to temple were also called 'brothers of clouds and rivers.' It always was the place of mists and cliffs piled up near the sky. Legends grow in that gripping land, where rocks beetle over abysses so deep a poor traveller can fall, they say, for almost a watch (a double-hour) straight without hitting bottom. Ranging to left and right beneath the seven stars of the Dipper, wanderers and pilgrims hold their breath treading on a path called "Stone Bridge," which is like a dashing wave hanging in the mountains as 'qi' configurations of the Great Void (also known as 'Breath of Heaven and Earth'), which melts to form vale streams and brooks, congeals to form summits and slopes. A stone beam spans two steep cliffs known as Shiliang Waterfall, the path of Stone Bridge, ranges from seven inches wide at the narrowest and to about nineteen inches at the widest point. The waterfall plummets a full one hundred feet into a deep pool with a thundering roar. The sight is magnificent, but considerable composure and surefootedness are required to walk across the beam. This path is not several tens of paces long associated with the name of Feng Gan who, at the critical crossing of Stone Bridge, took off from human paths and soared into the hyperspace of intellectual transcendence of Chan Buddhism. Straddling heaven-vaulting suspended stone-stair and overlooking the myriad-fathom cut-off dark-abyss—every step is extremely slippery, while below it looks down on the fathomless and rocky Tian-lao Gorge, we trace Feng Gan's free-spirited roving through the Great Void, ultimately merging with the hidden attributes of Dao to find the final enlightenment. It is the dark outgrowth on steep shelves, the spirit-giving herb in the thickets, the purple fungus fluorescent light in the secluded caves, the whitish jade high on their peaks, sliced cliffs studded throughout with gems. The huge pines wriggle like mythical green-blue dragons send down by Heaven, and imaginary flame-red phoenixes brought up in the bowels of earth; lines of tigers guard their slopes; gods and spirits stand at their sides; sages and deities of their boundless realms. At night they sit in state accepting the homage of the other beasts and strange creatures which come to drink there in the gorge devoutly pillowing their heads to lap up the cold, transparent water of the mountain sources gushed out from the Yellow Spring, blinking their fluorescent eyes.
There are mountain ranges rising and falling, plains crisscrossing, rivers flowing long distance and boulders scattering all over valleys like stars and constellations on the Milky Way, among which Cinnabar Mound, the ancient site of immortals located thirty miles south of Ninghai (the former Shifeng County), on which an adherent of the Dao, searching for immortality’s delightful halls, can meet the feathered and winged figures; the Five Peaks (Wudingshan), Flourishing Peak (Huadingshan), the site of Guo-qing temple on the top of Mount Tian-tai, which lies about fifteen miles southwest of Huading and which stands in such a remote and out-of-the-way place that the roads there are still so long and hard to trace. The Red Fort Alp (Chichengshan), a rocky cliff rising perpendicularly several hundred feet, locates just a few miles south of Tian-tai County and is known as one of the 'Two Wonders' (the other is Shiliang Waterfall that thunders in the south-western part of the range, drifting in flight marks out its path). The Red Fort Alp is marked with horizontal strata, eroded in some cases into low caves, giving the appearance from a distance of layered cliff.
To enter the Tian-tai Mountains proper, most pass through its southern portal, with Red Fort on their left. Right away it hits you what a red alp this seems. You have just come through dusty Chichengshan town, lanes of red clay where they have not yet paved, and at least two cuts through red sandstone hills. Then, you behold the Fort's dull-red face, with red walled cloisters and caves layered like Mawangdui's cells. Geologically, Mount Red Fort differs from the other Tian-tai Mountains; only when you proceed north do you hit good solid granite. But all throughout Tian-tai you will observe more or less reddish dirt, more ochre, where the local habitants have cultivated mountain terraces, brighter red swatches from the iron oxides in eroded, exposed patches. To stay at Red Fort meant to remain on this side of the transcendents' world, in two senses. First, the physical alp, southern boundary of the Tian-tai range, lay well south of the Stone Bridge that, to Zhi Yi and his heirs, symbolized a passage to transcendence. Second, symbolically, from of old Red Fort was always surrounded with the Daoist Arbiter of Destiny's rampart, so, in that sense, living at Red Fort meant remaining just on the border of celestial enceintes.
In a way, Tian-tai reads as a very 'red place,' from its peach-blossoms to its Red Fort, from the rose clouds on its misty peaks to the red-capped cranes conveying its immortal denizens from Grotto Heaven to Celestial Palace (Tian-gong). And though on a pilgrim's visit one can see more pink azaleas and lavender wisterias than peach-blossoms—and the pink rhododendrons on Flourishing Peak (Huading) lie in bud, just waiting for a few more warm days to burst open,—everyone will concur.
The mountains, rivers, lakes, forests, caves and springs compose beautiful sceneries which are magnificent and extraordinarily precipitous now quiet like a virgin and now moved like a dragon, now higher than the ninth sky and then deeper than the sea-pit, or like mountains and rivers in a painting scroll, or like ten thousand horses galloping all together. These extraordinary mountains and rivers have fostered generations of outstanding figures and always attracted guests from all sides and corners of under heaven, leaving historic and religious sites all over Tian-tai. We may follow this sacred alpine trail and the Tian-tai Mountain by tracing Master Han Shan 's appreciation of the majestic scenery. This is how, tarrying once on Mount Hanshan, he depicts the Tian-tai Range in one of his verses:
" Cinnabar Mound is lofty and
afar,
Standing equal with the solemn clouds;
There's in the air
Five Peaks Mountain—
Seen from afar it seems quite
settled.
Wild Goose Pagoda towers up,
Exceeding the green and
shield-like summit;
The Buddhist temple with its age-old
buildings—
All merging with the colours of rainbow.
Wind
shakes up the twigs on the pines—
Red Fort Alp is perfectly
elegant;
Smoke spews out at the mid-cliff—
The path of
immortals is indistinct and stray.
Green jade sky falls on a
thousand peaks—
Each of them is ten thousand feet in
height.
Wistaria vines intertwine all and everything,
One by
one chaining down the ravines and vales."
This upland has always supplied the whole the world if not with outstanding thinkers and poets (from of old there was no distinction between these two categories of men), then certainly with exquisite dreamers, or both poets and dreamers, supplied them and been their refuge when the entire world turned the face of displeasure and even hatred. Here, in far away and secluded scenes, if you are very still and listen in the proper spirit, you may hear the weird solo of an hermitical flute played by some recluse or sage whose skin is as ice and snow and whose loveliness is like that of a maiden, and who eats not some sort of the five grains but lives only on air and dew; mounted on a flying dragon he rides above the clouds and wanders beyond the 'four seas' (another old name for China). His spirit is such that by concentrating its power he can stay the natural process of decay and insure abundant harvests. As it is said in the "Lao-zi" (Verse 50):
"He who knows well how to live,
For a time of
travelling the countryside,
Comes across no tigers or rhinoceroses
on his way;
Upon entering a battle, he remains untouched by arms
of war."
And then,
"Do you know the reason why this is so?
Because,
in him, there is no room for death to enter."
The recluses who busied themselves in the Tian-tai Mountains with these things were interested in the problem of discovering a remedy, which could release vital energy in such a way as to make men immune against sickness and death. From ancient times they lived on dewdrops and pinecones; they fed on the wind and vapour, and their minds were as clear and still as a surface of the mountain lake. They were open and very friendly. It seemed there were no fear, no anger, no tension, and no dissatisfaction between them; no one was superior or inferior to anyone else. Everything was bountiful and everyone enjoyed the providence predefined by interaction of the heavens and lands. The sun and the moon sent gentle light, the seasons were never harsh, the soil in the vales and on the terraces was rich and the inhabitants were truly kind. The deities blessed the land, and the hungry ghosts never went near it. From time out of mind this was the land Huang-di, the Yellow Emperor, once visited in his dream. Hundreds of poets of Tang and the other dynasties left their traces and inscriptions in Tian-tai, famous for fathomless scenic spots, picturesque landscapes, and misty views sprung up from breath of heaven and earth. These men wandered around beyond the material things. They considered themselves as companions of the Creator, and wandered around within the One Spirit of the universe. They looked upon life as a huge excrescence and upon death as the breaking of a tumour. How could such people be concerned about the coming of life and death or their sequence? They borrowed their forms from the different elements, and took temporary abode in the common forms, unconscious of their internal organs and oblivious of their senses of hearing and vision. They went through life backwards and forwards as in a circle without beginning or end, strolling forgetfully beyond the dust and dirt of mortality, and wandering around with the affairs of 'wu-wei' (precise acting without further ado or repentance). How should such men bustle about the conventionalities of this world for ordinary people to look at? Living as hermits on the peaks and in the secluded forests they were brought into close contact with nature, obtaining an intimate knowledge of plants and minerals, and their thinking and view of life were coloured creatively by impressions of beauty gained from nature at the sight of its mighty waterfalls, fast-flowing streams, pure fountains and spring waters, fleeting rosy racks and white clouds, variegated birds and striped beasts, thin air and changing scenery. None had a more intimate knowledge of the properties of various herbs, plants, and fruits, and none was more proficient in distinguishing nutritious and healing plants from poisonous ones. Some of the most venerable and celebrated masters lived entirely on herbs and vegetable food. As for plants, you might suspect the rare Udumbara (Ficus racemosa) blossom, symbol of Buddhist enlightenment; monks built an Udumbara Terrace near Stone Bridge; or, perhaps, the prized Lohan Tribute tea. But far and away the most prominent plant in Tian-tai lore was the peach blossom, symbol of Daoist transcendence. With a variety of ginseng called "golden essence" they could taste "golden rice," the sweetness of monkish cuisine, made with 'golden essence'; fresh 'huang-jing,' or earth-spirit root tasted like sweet ginger, which used to be found and collected in the beautiful valleys of Tian-tai, and which the hermits served in place of tea, as it was a very effective tonic. There also were 'ling-zhi cao,' or spirit-giving herb, and the 'he-sou' herb, which shape was strikingly reminiscent of the human body and, therefore, was called 'he-sou-ren,' or manlike madder. The well-known 'dufulin' (Smilax Chinensis) was there too, which grew from two to three feet beneath the earth; and, of course, two or three sorts of fern and pteridophyte plants cropped there up as well. However, the practicing monks and hermits did not confine themselves to the study of herbs, fruits, and plants. From of old they had also included the mineral kingdom in their investigations. They claimed to have found that the decoction of certain minerals’ combination was especially effective as pills, or as an elixir of immortality. To live on a vegetarian diet, on 'pills of immortality' was considered as a proper fast and those who observed it were given great honour and dignity. It could even be noticed how those lean and ethereal-looking men gradually faded away. The recipe for such a concoction was certainly very startling, and it wasn’t surprising that history mentioned several men who succumbed soon after they had tried the cure. For instance, these were the following ingredients: 'zhu-sha' (cinnabar), 'xiong-fan' (arsenic), 'bie-fan' (alum), 'sun-yin' (copper oxide), 'su-xi' (pulverized porcelain), and some others. Great care and strict sequence had to be taken in the preparation: the pot had to be of special shape and size; the mixture had to be constantly stirred for nine months, and must be given nine different boilings.
Still, another method of longevity or, rather, immortality was the astrological one. According to the Daoist teachings, every person has access to and capacity for intimate relationship with the divine worthies to whom Heaven has entrusted the responsibility of being patrons for the beings living on earth. These worthies control the five phase elements, which are to constitute parts of every living being and depict symbolically by the images of Wood, Metal, Fire, Water, and Earth. Their exalted excellent features to run differently with various energies are thought to have residence on the planets, but they may also be projected down to the respective places and individuals on earth who belong to their particular domain. They also represent the five basic colours, seasons, tastes, senses, sounds, smells, and the four directions of the compass, plus the ultimate centre. By analogy, if it helps the reader visualise their distinctive attributes, I have somewhat fancifully assigned each site of the Tian-tai mountain range its own symbolic animal and colour with the following set of correspondences: North, black, water, Divine Vulture Mountain (Lingyinshan) so that Vulture's black spine points towards the West Lake; West white, metal, White Crane Town; Centre, yellow, earth, mound, Mount Tian-tai; East, blue-green, wood, Flourishing Peak (Huadingshan), mist, 'qi,' rose cloud aura, dragon, ocean, sea beasts; South, red, fire-bird, Red Fort Alp (Chichengshan). These correspondences do not perfectly match traditional ones—the west conventionally harbours a white tiger, while azure dragons belong in the east; the north houses a black tortoise entwined with a snake, but heraldic animal of the south is a red bird. Besides, we should take into consideration the fact that south is always placed at the top of Chinese maps and diagrams related to the cardinal points. If not taken as another example of the “Chinese doing things backwards,” this is usually explained by simply saying that the ancients considered south as the most important direction. Since the earth revolves around the sun, it doesn’t matter whether the cardinal points of north and south point at up or down; what is really important is the fact that the north—south and east—west directions are cardinally connected. Once the north point interchanges with the south, the east should be interchanged with the west as well to make correct orientation in general. Anyway, even slightly skewed correspondences may prove mnemonically helpful when we recall salient features of each sacred site. While our account singled out one symbolic animal per site, in truth, we simplified by selecting what seemed the most distinctive critter. Chan monk Feng Gan's bosom buddies, Han Shan and Shi De, usually gets painted leaning fondly on a sleepy tigress. Zhi Yi, the founder of Guo-qing temple, also got credited with taming a tiger, and you can still find a "Tame-tiger Ridge" west of Tian-tai. But for Tian-tai's most appropriate zoological emblem you would have to choose the image of 'crane,' or, more broadly, the range of cranes, wild geese, phoenixes, and swans, which serves as a steed for a wandering transcendent. We have already seen many examples. Tian-tai still boasts a "White Crane Town" northwest of Tong-bai; the main street east of town bears the name "Flying Crane"; one can see signs for "Flying Crane Paints" on the way up to Guo-qing temple.
Actually, we find numinous creatures mentioned at all the sites. The founding myths of any sacred mountain will inevitably include tales of subduing dragons, tigers, serpents, and the like (for a good account of the symbolic meanings pregnant in such tales); an extensive catalogue of verse couplets featuring all the above-named animals for each temple could easily be provided. By now the reader may excuse me for such a tedious demonstration. However, he or she will want to keep in mind the distinctive complex of plants, animals, and cultural features that have helped each site to create its own unique numinous magic.
But let's assume you have got this far. You have now found out a way to Guo-qing temple up in the mountains; you arrival later in the day proving tactically astute if you don't know whether you can expect a welcome. As a matter of fact, it's always harder to turn away a supplicant when the sun's sinking low. So, try to find a sympathetic-looking monk, introduce yourself as a Buddhist lay believer, and ask if you might spend a couple of nights. Lucky beggar you are if you find a cell, hopefully, get a pot of boiled water, and next day acquaint yourself with the temple as diligently as you can.
* * * * *
When Feng Gan was a child, he was quite slow-witted. In fact, he didn’t begin to talk until he was about six years old. Subsequently, when he left home to become a monk, he had great difficulty in reading sutras. He couldn’t memorise anything. His first master told him, “You really are too clumsy and stupid.” He also said that his karmic obstructions were heavy and that only by prostrating five hundred times a day to Avalokiteshvara Bodhisattva (Guanshiyin in Chinese whose name means "Bodhisattva Who Hears the Sounds of the World" or, simpler, "Great Compassion Bodhisattva") could he succeed in removing them. Feng Gan did as his master said for seven or eight months until one day his head felt calm and cool. It seemed to have opened up and everything that had weighed him down for so long had been lifted. From that time on he had no trouble memorising or reciting verses from sutras. His master said that this was the bodhisattva responding to him. What was more important, Feng Gan strongly believed himself that this was the case and, therefore, this function was purely mental in that the bodhisattva had intervened and helped him.
The county where Feng Gan lived south of the Yellow River was once prosperous, but it underwent a slow decline at the end of the Southern Chen dynasty (386-588). By the time he was born, the region was impoverished. He was born at night of the full moon in the seventh lunar month, when the later summer was in its final blaze. The window of his mother’s room had been thrown open to catch that fresh breath of coming fall. The old midwife grumbled at this, but the healer who had been brought from the neighbouring village said it could do no harm. It was a relatively uncomplicated delivery. Toward the end though something peculiar happened. As the woman in childbirth lay in bed, propped up pillows struggling to breathe, in the midst of a powerful contraction she called her husband’s name. As she did, the light blinked and a fluttering shadow crossed the bed—a huge bat which had flown in through the open window was circling silently throughout the room. The sight sent a chill through her whole body. In an instant a rare fragrance filled the room. A white rainbow linked with the earth, and the trees in the nearest forest turned white. The birds chirped out noisily in joy.
Feng Gan was the youngest of six children. His mother was already thirty-three years old when he was born. She had no milk to nurse him with, and domestic animals’ milk was rare there. Even female dogs were unable to produce milk to feed their young. Animals were all emaciated. People also were malnourished. It was not until Feng Gan was four that he learned to walk, and it was not until he was six that he could speak with any facility. Growing up, he then started to help his father with his land work. A few years later a local master was looking for two novices to live at his temple. He was in some quandary as to how to find his young monks. He prayed to the Buddha for guidance and it was indicated to him that he should look in a village south of his temple. The monastery was north of the Yellow River, so the master crossed to the side where Feng Gan’s family lived. Once passing through the village he saw Feng Gan and asked his mother if she was willing to let her son leave home.
She answered, “If he wants to become a monk, it is up to him. Our family is very poor. I’m afraid that if he stays with us, he won’t have enough money to find himself a wife.”
The master turned to the boy and asked, “How would you like to become a monk, good boy?”
The kid didn’t have the foggiest idea what a monk was or what a monk did. But somehow the idea appealed to him and he said, “Yes, I would like that.”
The master wrote the name and birthday in his book and soon left.
About three months later one layman appeared and said to the woman, “I am going to take your son now. I will take him north of the river to become a monk.”
During those last months the master on the north side of the river had taken the date of Feng Gan’s birth and put it before Avalokiteshvara Bodhisattva, entreating the image to reveal whether the boy would be suitable for monkhood or not. He asked three times; and all three times the answer was affirmative. When the layman came to take Feng Gan to the monastery, the boy had no quite positive feeling about going or not going. At last, he was ready to go.
This took his mother by surprise: “I thought you were kidding about becoming a monk,” she said.
But the next day he left with the layman for the monastery.
As it has been mentioned previously, from the very beginning Feng Gan (actually, this was his monastic name, meaning "High Shield") had a problem with the recitation of sutras, especially mantras. His master informed him that his karmic obstructions were heavy, and said that if he wanted to remedy the situation he had better do five hundred prostrations to Avalokiteshvara Bodhisattva each day. At first the novice found this practice exhausting, but after a short while he found that he could even do six hundred prostrations in a few hours. In a few months he also found that his ability to memorise sutras, as well as his ability to learn in general, had vastly improved. Soon he felt that reciting was not enough. Now he wanted to understand the sutras. By unexpected good fortune he was soon able to hear one wandering sutra-exponent quoted from the Mahaparinirvana Sutra, which assimilated to the principle teachings of the Lotus Sutra, explaining a version of the trisvabhava doctrine known as the threefold truth, the perfection of the Three Contemplations of One Mind, the practice of meditation that enabled one to perceive clearly the emptiness of self and all phenomena. That quotation illuminated Feng Gan’s mind and set his soul afire. Asking where he could learn more, he was referred to Guo-qing temple, six hundred miles southeast of his monastery. As he could find out some time later, that temple was founded by Venerable Zhi Yi (538-598), the fourth Tian-tai patriarch, on his second visit to Tian-tai in 591, and was located nearby Tian-tai County seat (the central area of present-day Zhejiang Province that faces the East Sea on the east and borders Wenzhou County in the south) on the south side of the southern peak of Tian-tai mountain range, one hundred and twenty miles south of Hangzhou. The novice-monk also found out that the temple offered preaches on the sutras, and he requested his master’s permission to attend. That other monastery in Tian-tai required a kind of entrance examination for those who wished to attend the sutra lectures. His master helped him write a petition—that was what he thought they wanted. As it turned out, a petition was not what they wanted at all—a completely different topic was required, but they liked his short essay, and they thought that his literary skills were quite good, so they accepted him anyway.
To understand Tian-tai and its spirit we should resort to the knowing of patriarch Zhi Yi and his part in the centuries-old history of Chan Buddhism. Lore about Zhi Yi constantly reverberates through the traditions and literature that have grown up around Tian-tai. Flashes of mysterious "divine light" accompanied Zhi Yi's birth; he had all the back-shoulder and eye-earmarks of the four sage kings. It is said he slept with his hands folded 'mudra,' always sat facing the Western Paradise, always bowed on seeing a Buddhist image, and always gestured ritually on seeing a monk. At 15 he dreamed the Buddha rubbed his head and vowed to become a monk, officially doing so at 18. He made the difficult journey north to study in Henan for seven years with Hui Si (515-576), a worshipper of Maitreya and specialist in the Lotus Sutra. Zhi Yi then returned south and taught at the Chen capital for 8 years. In 575 he retired to Tian-tai for ten years of purification and advanced study. Obviously, he chose Heavenly Terrace because it already had won fame as the 'Magic Mountains.' Zhi Yi got credited with (at least a hand in) founding twelve Buddhist temples on Tian-tai (Guo-qing was found in 598 and Fang-guang above Stone Bridge, the heraldic portal into a "transcendental realm" at Tian-tai, which Zhi Yi naturally crossed on first reaching Heavenly Terrace--the temple got built later). Then, Zhi Yi also underwent an extraordinary spiritual trial on Mount Huading (Flourishing Peak) when, during a storm as he meditated in ascetic trance, monsters and demons assailed him—Zhi Yi used all his piety and meditative resources to quell the autochthonous demons and make Heavenly Terrace safe for Buddhists. Zhi Yi lamented all the fishing in the rivers and coastline near Tian-tai and reportedly sold his own robes to buy fish and set them free—even established "Set-free ponds" for the fish. In response the Chen dynasty supposedly issued a proclamation banning fishing for 60 leagues around the temple and gave the locals reparations. In 585 Zhi Yi went back to court. When the Chen fell in 588 Zhi Yi—a relative of the ruling family—went home and visited Lushan, still a Buddhist mecca at the time. He quickly attracted the patronage of Sui Prince Yang (soon to become the second Sui emperor). After years of shuttling between Lushan, Jiangling, and Yangzhou, Zhi Yi returned to Tian-tai in 595. He, like many eminent monks, had ridden a seesaw of teaching and patronage in Nanjing and then Yangzhou, purifying retreats and pilgrimages to sacred mountains, Lushan and then Tian-tai. His death, naturally, occasioned a great number of miracles. The Sui Emperor later worshipped Zhi Yi's perfected mummy—discreetly ensconced behind a stone door. His most important literary works are "Exposition of the Lotus Sutra's Import," "Textual Commentary on the Lotus," and "Great Stilling and Insight" (A Manual for Meditation and Religious Cultivation)—all got written at Tian-tai. The Heavenly Terrace sect of Buddhism, Zhi Yi founded, a syncretic Mahayana sort of Buddhism, could perhaps be best described as a marriage of Northern Buddhist meditative and devotional practices with Southern Buddhist scholasticism and study. In the Chinese phrase most associated with Tian-tai, Zhi Yi sought to make "teaching and contemplation unified and consistent" (jiao chan yi zhi). He developed and refined systems of exegesis and scripture classification that ascribed the most "Perfectly Rounded Teaching" (yuan-jiao) to the Lotus Sutra (and the late Parinirvana Sutra); he also refined a system of "threefold stilling and insight" (san-zhong zhi-guan), testifying to his deep concern with balancing meditation and scholarship. Zhi Yi's thought reached its pinnacle with his idea that man could directly apprehend the simultaneous emptiness and fullness of the world and accomplish a mystic identification with Buddhist Truth; he called this "All the Three Realms in One Thought" (yi-nian san-qian). Sometimes this gets glossed as "the middle way is identical to the true state of existence, which is none other than Thusness." Zhi Yi did not lack for talented disciples and heirs. Among Tian-tai patriarchs, Guan Ding, Zhan Ran, and Zhi Li have won particular fame.
As the reader can imagine, on both counts Guo-qing temple (Reign of Purity) was well named. It was hidden in a rocky nest of cliffs carved out of Tian-tai by the flows of several streams, which raced down from the fathomless source high somewhere up in the heavenly roof and for long ages past the mountain. It was a retreat for those priests and monks who came there leaving behind their attachments in the marketplaces of the mundane world to embark on the course of arduous route back to the Dao or Dharma—a trip which traditionally is called “Return to the Yellow Spring.”
Tian-tai Buddhists displayed a notably syncretic spirit, even for China. Tian-tai itself, from the very beginning a syncretic teaching, had particularly close ties to "Pure Land" salvationist devotion. The Tian-tai line of the Buddha teachings’ transmission started with patriarch Hui Wen of the Northern Qi (550 - 577) and followed with Hui Su. In 560, when monk Zhi Yi went to Mount Ta-si to pay his respects to Venerable Hui Su, the second Tian-tai patriarch, under whose guidance he diligently practiced the way of Dao and finally attained the Dharma Lotus Samadhi.
First the patriarch said to him, “Oh, you have come! We listened to the Dharma Flower Sutra together on Vulture Peak at the time of Shakyamuni Buddha, do you remember?”
As soon as Zhi Yi heard that, he reflected, “Yes, that’s right. We did investigate the Dharma Flower Sutra together at the time of Shakyamuni Buddha.”
Afterwards Master Zhi Yi had a state. One day he was reading the Dharma Flower Sutra and reached the section in which Medicine-King Bodhisattva burnt his body as an offering to the Buddha. The passage read like this: “This is true vigour. This is called a True Offering of Dharma.” Zhi Yi suddenly entered samadhi, right while reading the text, and was able to see the Dharma Flower Assembly on Vulture Peak with Shakyamuni Buddha still speaking the Dharma and multitudes of bodhisattvas, Sound Hearers, and those of the Eightfold Division listening to the Dharma Flower Sutra. Later he went to Tian-tai where he built a temple by the name of "Xiu Chan-si" (New Practice of Contemplation). However, by imperial order he very soon went to Jinling to give a series of lectures on the Lotus Sutra, the Benevolent-King Prajnaparamita Sutra, and the Perfection of Wisdom Discourse. His lectures on the Lotus Sutra and his discourse on Mahayana meditation delivered at the Yü-quan (Jade Spring) temple were later edited by his disciples and became the fundamental texts of the Tian-tai teachings. Later Tian-tai patriarchs turned increasingly to Chan meditation as that sect gradually outshone all others in China.
Zhi Yi systematized the Tian-tai doctrine centred on the Lotus Sutra. The following works were celebrated as the "Three Great Works": "Essentials of the Lotus Sutra" (Fahua xuan-i), "Commentary on the Lotus Sutra" (Fahua-wenchu), and "Mahayana Practice of Cessation and Contemplation" (Maci-zhiguan). His critical classification of the Buddhist teachings, known as “Five Periods, Eight Teachings” (wushi-bajiao) had a great influence on the doctrinal formations of various other schools. As a practical method of salvation, Zhi Yi had deep devotion to Amitabha Buddha and practiced the Constant Walking Samadhi based on the Pratyutpanna Samadhi Sutra. According to his biography, at his death he lay facing west, repeating the names of Amita, Prajnaparamita, and Guanshiyin. Then he had his disciple Guan Ding recited the titles of the Lotus Sutra and the Larger Sutra. Having heard them, he composed a verse, urging his disciples to aspire for birth in the Pure Land and said that his dead teachers and friends all came with Guanshiyin to welcome him to the Pure Land.
After Grand Master’s death emperor Yang Guang (569-618) carried out Zhi Yi’s request and appointed monk Guan Ding, the fifth patriarch to be, who transmitted Zhi Yi's biography and built Tian-tai sect as an ongoing lineage, to take charge of the temple’s construction in 598. In 605 the construction was completed under the name of "Guo-qing Temple" (Reign of Purity). Guan Ding was then given a Dharma name in the lineage of Zhi Yi and certified as his Dharma heir. Grand Master Zhi Yi was buried under the pagoda named after his name on the Jin-di Ridge in Tian-tai.
When Feng Gan arrived at the temple, the then abbot by the name of Zhan Ran, who elucidated Zhi Yi's metaphysical and educational doctrines, came to greet him, saying, “How can you, an uneducated novice, possibly hope to attain Buddhahood?” He mocked.
Feng Gan answered him this way: “Although people are distinguished as wise and silly, there is neither wisdom nor stupidity in Buddha-nature. In physical appearance humble novices and celebrated abbots may look different, but what difference is there in their Buddha-nature?”
By way of response, the abbot sent him off to the granary, where he was put to work hulling rice grains and chopping up firewood. In fact, Feng Gan’s diligence let him to grind the grains alone instead of several monks who had arranged this hardest job in the monastery with more than one hundred of its inhabitants.
From the time when Feng Gan left his home to become a monk, insensibly, Wonderful Dharma brought him more awakening and understanding, and he became to extinguish all outflows. In a couple of years he was in charge of the monastery rice supply and grinding, but at night he used to lock himself in his cell for singing his strangely vibrated sounds and rhythms.
Soon after Feng Gan held the position of master at the monastery’s granary, Abbot Zhan Ran dropped in, making an inspection.
“We must be careful,” he warned rigorously, “don’t waste rice!”
Hearing this, Feng Gan became disturbed. “Nobody wastes rice here,” he retorted.
At this Zhan Ran picked a fallen grain of rice up from the floor. “You said that no one wasted rice,” he jeered, “but do you know where this one came from?” Saying so, he pointed his finger at the grain of rice.
Feng Gan was silent; he had nothing to say to that. Thereupon Zhan Ran concluded, “We shouldn’t take this lightly. It is necessary to realise the fact that a great quantity of rice originates from this one!”
“But who knows,” returned Feng Gan, “where this one comes from?”
Upon hearing this, the abbot burst out laughing and, feeling quite satisfied, went out.
As rumours went, from that moment the abbot wanted to give him a promotion. It may well be wondered why a promotion? It sounds quite ridiculous behind the monastery walls and gates: a promotion. However, it is to be evidential that among inhabitants of the monastery, as elsewhere in the mundane world, there was a dual command hierarchy: one legitimate, based on seniority and rank, another covert, based on innate personal qualities—charisma, intelligence, courage, inventiveness, wisdom. Feng Gan naturally belonged to the second. He perhaps felt he had little to gain from a formal promotion—additional headaches and responsibilities without an appreciable increase in real power, which was only available through self-cultivation, attaining complete realization. The monk felt good with his current position, which placed him on one of the low rungs of the monastery’s ladder.
Chapter 2: Guo-qing Temple—the Reign of Purity and Self-realization
As a famous creed of Guo-qing temple-monastery insisted, “A day without work is a day without food,” the monks supported themselves in part by working in fields, chopping up firewood in the mountains, and cleaning inside the monastery gates. In fact, this aspect of making daily work between the sessions, preaches and meditations was not something that Abbot Zhan Ran created. Feng Gan himself lived this practice. Before becoming a monk, with his father and brothers he chopped firewood for living and worked in the field. Upon arrival at the monastery he was firstly sent by the abbot not to the meditation hall, but to the kitchen cloisters to grind rice. While working in the granary for years, he cultivated his mind, teaching himself to maintain a stable and concentrated state of awareness. In doing so, he let go of the ups and downs of emotions and moods. Achieving this clear awareness was important, because only in this mental state would he has a chance to become enlightened. Of course, everyone who practices samadhi needs correct guiding views. Even before meeting the abbot, Feng Gan had experienced an initial enlightenment, which occurred when he overheard someone reciting a verse from the Mahaparinirvana Sutra. From his experience in attaining enlightenment he understood attachment and detachment, as well as the difference between “self ” and “no-self,” “I” and “others.” These understandings became his guiding views.
Once Shi De asked him, “For so many years you are an ordinary rice grinder, master. Would you consider the job to be below you?”
The monk replied, “If in your mind you are clearly aware of what is happening around you or to you, then it doesn’t matter what others perceive or believe. You may appear to be foolish or jerked to others, but in your mind you know you are not. Cultivating such a personality can also be transformative for others, because people will eventually realise that you are not a fool and that, in actual fact, you are accepting them. Such behaviour gives others permission to be more honest and less pretentious. However, once you engage in the practice, you should put aside considerations of benefit. All you have to do and all you must do is practice with effort and consistency. If you have ideas of gaining or getting rid of something, you will just generate more vexations. Yes, the ultimate purpose of samadhi is to realise enlightenment, but though some talks about sudden enlightenment, the real progress is always to be gradual and involves stages, my young friend.”
But let’s return to the symbol Feng Gan’s name involves, since as yet it was mentioned only the first meaning of it—High Shield. The name of Feng Gan was also the abbreviated form of the Chinese translation of the Sanskrit Amitabha, the Immeasurable Radiance or Amita Buddha that meant “infinite life” or “immeasurable lifetime.” Who is Amita Buddha? Among other things he is a major Bodhisattva in the Western Pure Land of Amitabha Buddha. In fact, he is the heir and assign to the position of the Buddha in that Buddha Land. He dwells in the Pure Land and receives to unbounded happiness all who called his name. He vowed to refuse Buddhahood until he saved all living beings to his Pure Land, except those who had committed the five offences or unpardonable sins (killing father, killing mother, killing an arhat, shedding the blood of a buddha, destroying the harmony of the 'sangha,' or fraternity) or were bearing quality of profanity against the faith. He may yet wait many more eons before he would attain full Buddhahood. Fortunately, he is extremely patient, content as a bodhisattva. After all, he has no attachment to the idea of becoming a buddha (there are only ignorant sentient beings who are attached to the idea of becoming buddhas). And this is a crucial point to remember. A bodhisattva has no anticipation or expectation of attainment for himself or herself. A bodhisattva simply dedicates his or her efforts to helping all sentient beings. Other ways of harmonising are through introducing sentient beings to the Dharma in four ways: the first is making offerings; the second is through kind words; the third through helpful action; and the fourth lies in sharing activities that lead to the proper practice. Depending on the situation, a bodhisattva seeks to find the skilful means to help. This is not only for some sentient beings, but for all. Till they reach nirvana bodhisattvas continue.
As for Feng Gan’s appearance, he always wore his rough robe and had his hair cut up to his eyebrows. His every day duties were to supply the monastery kitchen with grain from the marketplace and to grind rice. By night he composed his mantras and chants with a cadence bolting in his cell. He never wrote down his miraculous vocal formulas, by which (but it was not the point of his compositions) he could help others, as the magic of his vocalization lied in harmonized vibrations he produced internally, from within, verbally, but not though his brush by which he also wielded skilfully. It was Feng Gan to whom Han Shan then devoted the following poetic lines:
"His spirit is rarely bright
and clear,
And in appearance he is utmost grand.
With brush he
pierces thru seven writing boards;
In reading scrolls he
apprehends five lines forth.
For sleeping he pillows on the
tigress’s head;
He sits firmly for long, like an ivory in
gum.
It seems he has not a single obstacle inside—
Not
even a speck of dust spots his mind;
He
is cold, like the frost on the ground."
Feng Gan was an accomplished man in his own way. At the time healing by incantation really was a form of meditation for him though. (It has to be mentioned here that composition of character 'zhou,' meaning “invocation of spirits” shows two mouth graphs at the top and a magic wand underneath, strongly suggesting the participation of two people: one presumably a medium engaged in the task of invoking the spirits of a patient.) For isn’t anything to which a man gives himself with the whole force of his being, making himself as a star of its constellation relying on its gravity as a form of discipline to compel him toward that vigorous, last orbit of perfection--a form of meditation? Meditation is what leads to the Dao or Dharma or Buddhahood in one of its countless incarnations is also called "Perfection."
There were two crucial problems facing the disciple who would plumb the secrets of Tian-tai School’s healing ritual. The first was to gain access to the private documents that revealed and the lists of spirits’ names and descriptions. The second was to receive the oral explanation or gloss that accompanied the text, demonstrating the appropriate mantra and circulation of breath used in summoning and controlling the spirit during the performance of healing ritual. In Tian-tai there was not a single Buddhist or Daoist master who did not claim to be ‘orthodox’ in his performance of ritual of curing. Furthermore, there were deep rivalries and antagonisms between the masters of different schools, all of whom claim to possess the traditional orthodox registers of spirits’ names and summons, deriving from antiquity. As a result, two religious traditions, one was from of old and another quite new, the domestic Daoist and foreign Buddhist intertwined into deeply esoteric mixture. The rites of the communal services, in their canonical aspect, were called ‘the great ritual,’ while the exorcising and healing rites called the ‘small rituals.’ Indeed, it was the practice among masters in Tian-tai to learn as many kinds of rite formulas from as many sources as possible. There were a number of impelling reasons for doing so. The most obvious one was that a master who knew many rituals can earn a better livelihood for his temple and monastery than the one who knew but a few. The second reason, even more crucial, was the greater prestige and higher rank at ordination that comes with mastering higher forms of perfection. Since one of the definitive traits of esoteric teaching was the assurance of salvation in the present life for the initiated, in the Buddhist case the striving for final enlightenment and in the Daoist case the striving for sagehood or personal immortality by means of internal alchemy took priority over and sometimes superseded motives of personal or monastery’s profit. There were a number of Buddhist and Daoist masters in Tian-tai who practiced esoteric forms of internal alchemy, breathing control, and meditation on the spirits, and considered esoteric ritual of making the blessings that derived from those practices available to the pious faithful. There were even masters who performed ritual of curing and refused remuneration, or practiced internal alchemy in private without making their ritual powers known to the public. It was, therefore, essential for a disciple not only to investigate the formulas of the master with whom he chose to study and to gain acceptance as a student, but also to win admission to the school of internal meditation. In the esoteric tradition, ritual was but the visible re-enactment of the internal meditations that preceded and accompanied the performance of esoteric healing. It was in revealing the oral secrets (kou jue) connected with the master’s magic formula that he transmitted to his disciples the secrets of internal alchemy, and it was with regard to these secrets that rivalries between the various masters took an acute form. Healers, in fact, ranked according to the number of registers that they had learned from various sources, some of which traditionally were in direct opposition to one another. The opposition extended not only to name-calling or school, but to great physical battles for control of a temple, village or a city, and to magical combats fought with conjurations, mantras, and spirits. Many stories are told of battles, in which the black magic of one master has caused the illness or even death of a rival master with less powerful magic.