Asvaghosa and the Sea Of Buddha Nature

Keizan's commentary

The teacher was from Vārāṇasī. He was also named Merit-Surpassing, because among all conditioned and unconditioned merits his were the most excellent. When he came to study with Venerable Puṇyayaśas, his first question was, “I want to know Buddha. What is it?” At the very beginning of study, what you must seek is Buddha. The buddhas of the three times and the ancestral teachers of successive generations are all called people who study Buddha. If you do not study Buddha, you are called an outsider. But Buddha cannot be sought through sound or known through visible form. The thirty-two marks and eighty excellent features are not sufficient to make Buddha. Thus Aśvaghoṣa asked, “I want to know Buddha. What is it?” Puṇyayaśas instructed him: “You want to know Buddha: the one who does not know is it.” The “one who does not know” is precisely Venerable Aśvaghoṣa. Who else could it be? When not yet knowing and when knowing, there is no separate way of maintaining it and no other appearance. From long ago until today it has only been this way. At times it bears the thirty-two marks and possesses the eighty excellent features. At times it bears three heads and eight arms. It sinks into the five signs of decline and eight sufferings. At times it wears fur and horns. At times it carries iron burdens and chains. It constantly dwells within the threefold world, maintaining its own conduct. It raises and lowers its head within its own heart and comes bearing different faces. Thus, when it is born, it does not know what has been born; when it dies, it does not know what has died. Try to give it a form, but it is not a dharma that can be fabricated. Try to install a name, but no name can be established. From kalpa to kalpa there has never been a place where it was known. Though it follows me and accompanies me, it is never distinguished at all. Many people hear the present encounter and explain it this way: “Whatever can be known must differ from Buddha. Having no knowledge and making no distinctions must be precisely Buddha.” If you understand “not knowing” in this way, why would Puṇyayaśas trouble to instruct him as he did? You only go from darkness into darkness. It is not like that at all. Therefore he pointed directly: “The one who does not know is it.” Aśvaghoṣa still did not clarify it. He understood the present instruction through the “not knowing” he had always carried. He therefore said, “If Buddha is not known, how do you know this is it?” Puṇyayaśas instructed him again: “Since you do not know Buddha, how do you know it is not Buddha?” It cannot be sought anywhere else. The one who does not know is itself Buddha. How could you say it is not? The teacher said, “That is the meaning of a saw.” Puṇyayaśas said, “That is the meaning of wood.” Then Puṇyayaśas asked, “What is the meaning of a saw?” The teacher answered, “I come out level with you.” Aśvaghoṣa then asked, “What is the meaning of wood?” Puṇyayaśas said, “You are cut open by me.” The teacher suddenly understood and awakened. In truth, you are this way and I am this way. The eight characters are split open and handed into both hands. Neither you nor I receives a single point, and neither borrows the smallest part. Thus they come out level, exactly like the teeth of a saw. This is why Aśvaghoṣa called it “the meaning of a saw.” The teacher understood Puṇyayaśas to say, “I am the meaning of wood.” Puṇyayaśas said, “That is the meaning of wood.” Why? There is blackness stretching everywhere, with no place at all for knowledge. It adds not a single point and borrows no knowledge. It is exactly like a block of timber or an exposed pillar—without mind and simply this way, never making distinctions. Understanding it like this, he called that “the meaning of wood.” Yet although he understood this place, residual habit remained and he did not know the teacher's meaning. In compassion, Puṇyayaśas lowered himself into the weeds and asked again, “What is the meaning of a saw?” The teacher said, “I come out level with you.” At this point he spoke it himself once more. Aśvaghoṣa then asked, “What is the meaning of wood?” Puṇyayaśas again put it in his hand and handed it over: “You are cut open by me.” Here the way between teacher and heir passed through. The feeling of ancient and present broke. A road formed within dream, and they walked through empty space. Mindless coagulation immediately melted. He escaped even the den of lucidity, opened completely, and awakened. At last he joined the lineage as the Twelfth Ancestor. Puṇyayaśas told the assembly: “In a former life this great being was king of Vaiśālī. One class of people in that country went naked like horses. Through spiritual power, the king divided his body and became silkworms, so they obtained clothing. When the king was later born in central India, the horse-people missed him and cried in grief. He was therefore named Aśvaghoṣa, ‘Horse Cry.’”² The Tathāgata had predicted: “Six hundred years after my extinction, a worthy named Aśvaghoṣa will appear. In Vārāṇasī he will subdue rival paths and broadly carry humans and gods across. He will liberate measureless people and continue my transmission and teaching.” “Now is precisely that time.” Puṇyayaśas therefore entrusted him with the Tathāgata's treasury of the true Dharma eye.³ Do not carelessly treat the beginning and end of this encounter as a place of “not knowing” and “not receiving,” and then make every place into not knowing. Even if it is “not knowing,” see it closely before embryo and womb. Consider closely. Search for a buddha-face or ancestor-face, but you cannot find one. Seek a human, ghost, or animal face, but you cannot find one. It is not unchanging and not moving. It has never been empty. There is no debate over inside and outside and no separation of straight and partial. Directly know it as your own original face. Though it appears as ordinary and holy living beings and divides into environment and living body, all of these go and come, arise and cease, entirely within this. It is exactly like ocean water raising waves. Though waves rise and rise, not one measure of water is added. Though waves vanish and vanish, not one drop is lost. Within human and heavenly worlds it is provisionally called “all buddhas” and then called “rabbit” or “animal.” It is like one surface provisionally displaying many faces. Make it a buddha-face and it is wrong; make it a ghost-face and it is wrong. Yet at the gate of teaching activity, call and response are brought forth. One practices illusion-like samādhi and performs Buddha-work within a dream. Thus the transformative arts of teaching from India have not ceased even now. Circulating through the three countries, they turn ordinary beings and let them enter the holy. Transform and practice well in this way. Do not make your own faults remote, and do not become bewildered by your own birth and death. Then you will be a genuine, native patch-robed monk. Today, in raising the encounter just given, I have humble words as usual. Do you wish to hear them?