Huike and the Pacified Mind

Keizan's commentary

The teacher was a man of Wulao, of the Ji family. His father was named Ji. Before he had a son, the father often thought, “My household has accumulated goodness. How could it have no worthy son?” He prayed for a long time. One night he experienced a strange light illuminating the room, and the mother became pregnant. When the child grew, he was named Guang, “Light,” because of the auspicious light that had filled the room. From childhood his resolve and spirit were unlike the crowd. He lived for a long time in the Yi and Luo region and read widely among the many books. He did not occupy himself with family property and liked to wander among mountains and waters. He often lamented, “The teachings of Confucius and Laozi provide models for ritual methods. The books of Zhuangzi and the Changes do not exhaust the wondrous principle.” He relied upon Zen Master Baojing at Fragrant Mountain near Longmen, left home, and received the full precepts. He moved among lecture halls and comprehensively studied the doctrines of the Great and Lesser Vehicles. One day he read a Buddhist prajñā text and, transcending the ordinary, attained understanding for himself. From then on he sat peacefully day and night for eight years. In the midst of silent stillness he saw a divine person who told him, “You are about to receive the fruit. Why remain stuck here? The great way is not far away. Go south.” Guang knew this as divine assistance and changed his name to Shenguang, “Spiritual Light.” The next day his head hurt as though pierced. His teacher wanted to treat it, but a voice in the air said, “This is the changing of bones, not an ordinary pain.” Guang finally told his teacher about seeing the divine being. Examining the crown of his head, the teacher found it rising like five peaks and said: “Your physiognomy is auspicious. You will certainly have realization. When the spirit told you to go south, it meant the great being Bodhidharma at Shōrin. He will surely be your teacher.”³ Guang received the instruction and went to Shōrin Monastery on Mount Song. It was the ninth day of the final twelfth month in the second year of Datong. The great master did not permit him to enter the room, so the teacher stood before the window. Heavy snow fell that night. He stood in it waiting for dawn. The accumulated snow buried him to the waist; cold penetrated his bones, and his falling tears froze drop by drop. Seeing the tears only increased the cold. He secretly thought, “People of old seeking the way broke bones to extract marrow, pierced themselves and offered blood to relieve hunger, spread their hair to cover mud, and threw themselves from cliffs to feed tigers. If people of old were like this, what sort of person am I?”⁴ Thinking this way, he strengthened his resolve without flagging and stood firmly, unmoving. At daybreak the great master saw that he had stood in the snow all night. Taking pity, he asked, “You have stood in the snow a long time. What affair do you seek?” The teacher said, “I only beg the reverend in compassion to open the gate of sweet dew and liberate beings everywhere.” The great master said, “The unsurpassed wondrous way of all buddhas is attained through diligent effort across vast kalpas: practicing what is difficult to practice, enduring what cannot be endured. How could you hope for the true vehicle with slight virtue, slight wisdom, a light heart, and an arrogant heart? You only labor in vain.” He again paid no attention. Hearing the compassionate instruction, the teacher's tears flowed still more and his resolve to seek the way became more urgent. Secretly taking a sharp knife, he cut off his own left arm. The great master judged him a vessel of Dharma and instructed him, “When all buddhas first sought the way, they forgot the body for the sake of Dharma. You have now severed your arm before me. There is seeking in you.” He therefore changed the teacher's name to Huike, “Wisdom Capable,” and finally allowed him to enter the room.⁵ From then on Huike served at his side for eight years. Once the teacher asked the great master, “May I hear the Dharma-seal of all buddhas?” The great master said, “The Dharma-seal of all buddhas is not obtained from another person.” At another time he instructed him: Outwardly bring all conditions to rest. Inwardly let heart have no panting. With heart like a wall, You can enter the way.⁶ The teacher habitually spoke of heart and spoke of nature but did not accord with the principle of the way. The great master only blocked what was wrong in this and did not explain for him a thoughtless heart-substance. A mysterious encounter in the room says that once, while attending Great Master Bodhidharma on an ascent of Shaoshi Peak, Bodhidharma asked, “In what direction does the road go?” The teacher said, “Please go straight ahead—that is it.” Bodhidharma said, “If you go straight ahead, you cannot move a single step.” Hearing this, the teacher accorded and awakened. At another time he told the great master, “I have already brought all conditions to rest,” and continued through, “Do not doubt it any further.” Finally Bodhidharma entrusted him with both robe and Dharma, saying, “Inwardly I transmit the Dharma-seal to accord with and confirm realized heart. Outwardly I entrust the kāṣāya to establish the lineage's principle.” After the great master entered perfect stillness, the teacher continued to expound the darkly wondrous wind. He entrusted Dharma to Sengcan and said, “I also have accumulated karma from the past. Now I must certainly repay it.” Having completed the entrustment, he taught Dharma according to circumstances in the capital Ye. The fourfold assembly took refuge in him. For thirty years he concealed his light and mingled his traces, changing his deportment and appearance. Sometimes he entered wine shops, sometimes passed through slaughterhouse gates, sometimes joined street conversation, and sometimes followed workers who cleaned latrines. Someone asked, “Master, you are a person of the way. Why do you behave like this?” The teacher said, “I am regulating my own heart. What concern is it of yours?”⁷ Later, beneath the three gates of Kuangji Monastery in Guancheng County, he opened and expounded the essentials of Dharma. The fourfold assembly gathered like a forest. At that time a Dharma master named Bianhe was lecturing on the Nirvāṇa Sūtra inside the monastery. When people heard Huike teach Dharma, Bianhe's followers gradually drew away. Bianhe could not contain his anger and slandered Huike to the district magistrate, Zhai Zhongkan. Deceived by these false words, Zhongkan subjected the teacher to unlawful punishment. The teacher calmly entrusted himself and complied. This was the sixteenth day of the second month in the thirteenth year of Kaihuang under the Sui, the cyclical year guichou.⁸ Although none of the ancestral teachers' honored virtues can be ranked superior or inferior, this teacher is weightiest among the weighty and most precious among the precious. Why? Although Bodhidharma came from the west, if this teacher had not transmitted his teaching, the wind of the lineage could hardly have reached the present. His hardship surpassed anyone's, and the urgency of his seeking exceeded everyone else's. The First Ancestor waited for a genuine capacity and did not explain for a long time. In particular, he did not point out and explain anything for the Second Ancestor. He only said: Outwardly bring all conditions to rest. Inwardly let heart have no panting. With heart like a wall, You can enter the way. In truth, when deliberation stops in this way, heart-substance reveals itself. Hearing words like these and trying to become mindless like a wall is not intimately seeing and attaining heart. Huike therefore says, “Lucidly and constantly knowing.” When you can be like this, Bodhidharma calls it what all buddhas realize. Thus, when outer conditions rest, there are no myriad deliberations within. It is alert and unobscured, lucid and originally bright. It does not divide ancient and present or separate self and other. What all buddhas realize and what all ancestors transmit as heart accord and harmonize without differing by a hair-tip. Therefore it passed from western India to the eastern land and joined the Han realm with Japan. Ancient was like this, and present is like this. Do not merely admire the ancient. Practice without letting the present pass by. Do not think that the time of the sages is far away. Clarify the matter without abandoning yourself. As usual, wishing to give a turning phrase, I have a humble verse. Do you wish to hear it?