I love to taste the truth and not to talk it in words. Morning. This morning I'm going to continue my commentary on Suzuki Roshi's commentary on Sekito's Sando Kai from Branching Streams Flow in the Darkness. I've been doing book signings at various bookstores in the Bay Area this week. And so I couldn't remember which talk I did last time, because I got all mixed up with the other talk.

[01:05]

But I think that I'm going to continue in the right place where I left off last time. If not, let me know. Suzuki Roshi, or I'm sorry, in Sekito's poem, Sando Kai, the harmony of difference and equality, as we say. I'll read a little bit. The mind of the great sage of India is intimately transmitted from west to east. While human faculties are sharp or dull, the way has no northern or southern ancestors. The spiritual source shines clear in the light. The branching streams flow on in the dark. Grasping at things is surely delusion. According with sameness is still not enlightenment. All the objects of the senses interact and yet do not. Interacting brings involvement, otherwise each keeps its place.

[02:08]

Sights vary in quality and form. Sounds differ as pleasing or harsh. refined and common speech come together in the dark, clear and murky phrases are distinguished in the light, the four elements return to their natures just as a child turns to his mother, and so forth. So that's, I'm just kind of reading a little bit to get you into the Sekito's poem. And this part, All the objects of the senses interact and yet do not. Interacting brings involvement, otherwise each keeps its place." And I talked about that last time, and I will continue this time. He says, we have to understand things in two ways. One way is to understand things as interrelated.

[03:11]

The other way is to understand ourselves as quite independent from everything. When we include everything as ourselves, we are completely independent because there is nothing with which to compare ourselves. If there is only one thing, how can you compare anything to it? Because there is nothing to compare yourself to, this is absolute independence. not interrelated, absolutely independent. So he's been talking, Sekito has been talking about how things are independent and at the same time endlessly interrelated. All things, all the objects of the senses interact and yet do not. Interacting brings involvement. Otherwise, each thing keeps its own place. That's the verse. So dependent, independent, interdependent.

[04:21]

And then Suzuki Roshi invented the word independency, which means things are interdependent and at the same time independent. If you say things are independent, that's one side. If you say they're interdependent, that's the other side. And interdependency, which he talks about later on, is a term that includes both. both dependent and interdependent. So, often, when we say, well, independent, there's an interesting definition of independent. Independent doesn't mean abstracted from things.

[05:30]

but rather it means inclusive of everything. We have this term. I'm trying to think. I'm trying to think of the word. That's not the word. Thanks. I'll think of it later.

[06:33]

Alone. The word alone. Yeah, that's close. As I've said many times, alone has two meanings. One meaning is independent, or not standing outside of things, or isolated. And the other meaning is totally inclusive, at one with, Alone means like at one with, basically, basic meaning. But we usually use it, we don't use it in that way. We use the term to mean isolated from or standing outside, independent. But it shows the way we think, actually. We think only in terms of interrelatedness and we usually think in terms of comparative values.

[07:56]

So in terms of comparative values and interrelatedness, I am standing over against everything else. I am the subject and over against myriad objects out there. So, interrelated means there are many things and they all are dependent on each other. And one can be individually isolated in relation to everything else. But independent, and we usually think of that as independent, if I'm independent it means I'm not depending on anything else. But actually here independent means

[08:59]

totally one with everything. So there's no opposite. In Zazen, I think I read this last time, but in Zazen, you are totally independent because you're one with everything. There's nothing, you let go of interrelatedness. and resume your original nature, which is undivided. So if you have pain in your legs, you become one with the pain, and then there's nothing outside of the pain to compare with. Your pain is incomparable. Therefore, it's no longer just pain.

[10:05]

It only becomes painful or suffering when there's something to compare it to. You compare it to pleasure. But if you have nothing to compare it to, there's no problem. This is called being released from suffering. The purpose of practice actually, one purpose of practice, but the purpose of Buddhism actually is to find release from suffering. How we let go of suffering. We can't let go of suffering by cutting off all the causes, because as soon as you cut off what you feel are the causes of suffering, some other cause will attack you from behind.

[11:22]

The problem you have, you know, As soon as you get rid of it, another one takes its place. There's no end to the causes of suffering. The biggest cause of suffering is our attitude. Our attitude toward what we meet and the circumstances of our life. How we accept the circumstances of our life or how we reject the circumstances of our life So, Zen practice, basic Zen practice is to merge or be one with your activity, in which there's pleasure and pain, but to just be one with our activity

[12:27]

is to allow us to let go of the suffering that we cause ourself. So he says, we have to understand things in two ways. One way is to understand things as interrelated. The other way is to understand ourselves as quite independent from everything. When we include everything as ourselves, we are completely independent because there is nothing with which to compare ourselves. If there is only one thing, how can you compare anything to it? Because there is nothing to compare yourself to, this is absolute independence, not interrelated, absolutely independent. So we can talk about this, but it's something that you have to discover for yourself. Now the text says, all the objects of the senses, the senses are eyes, ears, nose, tongue, and body, are gates.

[13:34]

And sense objects enter the gates. Whatever we see, hear, smell, touch, and so forth, are the objects of the senses. And they enter through the gates, the ear, the nose, the eye, the tongue, and the touch. They are interrelated. And at the same time, independent. For eyes, there is something to see. For ears, there is something to hear. For the nose, something to smell. And for the tongue, something to taste. For the body, something to touch. There are five kinds of sense objects for the five sense organs. This is Buddhist common sense. Referring to them here in the poem is just a way of saying everything. It is the same as saying flowers and trees, birds and stars, streams and mountains, but instead we say each sense and its object. So the various beings that we see and hear are interrelated, but at the same time, each being is absolutely independent and has its own value.

[14:42]

Its own value means value which is not a comparative value. We call this value Ri. Previously, Sugiyoshi talked about Ri and Ji. Ri is absolute and Ji is comparative. Ji is the phenomenal side of life. Ri is the non-phenomenal side of life. We call this value ri. Ri is that which makes things meaningful, not just theoretical. Ri is the spiritual. We use the term spiritual, but spirit, life, spirit. I don't know how else to say that. The source.

[15:46]

Ri is the source. Ji is the phenomena. Even though you don't attain enlightenment, we say you already have enlightenment. That enlightenment we call ri. When we say someone is enlightened or we're seeking enlightenment, what we're seeking is the source. But the source is always there. This is what the poem says. The branching streams flow in the dark. The branching streams is the source flowing everywhere. The source is everywhere flowing. but we don't necessarily experience that. We experience it, but we don't understand what we're experiencing.

[16:52]

For some reason, it's difficult for us to have an understanding that the source is actually pervades all phenomena. And so when we are dealing with phenomena, relating with phenomena, we're also deeply relating with the source. So sentient beings are not just sentient beings. People are not just people. People are Buddha. If you want to understand Buddha, we should treat everything as Buddha. This is practice.

[17:54]

So the fact that something exists here means that there is some reason for it. I don't know the reason. No one knows. Everything must have its own value. It is very strange that no two things are the same. There is nothing to compare yourself to, so you have your own value. That value is not a comparative value or an exchange value. It is more than that. When you are just sitting zazen on a cushion, you have your own value. Although that value is related to everything, that value is also absolute. Maybe it is better not to say too much. It's something hard to talk about, very hard to talk. He's talking about something that's very difficult to talk about because as soon as you say one thing, the opposite pops up. And then pretty soon you start putting your foot in your mouth. So one has to be very careful about language and about how to say something about this.

[19:05]

So he says, the poem says, interacting brings involvement. A bird comes from the south in spring and goes back in the fall, crossing various mountains, rivers, and oceans. In this way, things are interrelated endlessly everywhere. And then the other line says, the next line says, otherwise each keeps its place. This means that even though the bird stays in some place, at some lake for instance, his home is not only the lake, but also the whole world. That is how a bird lives. So also relating to us, even though San Francisco or Berkeley is our home, where our true home is the whole universe, the whole world. So we have our place and yet every place is our place.

[20:17]

I remember Suzuki Roshi talking about how a student relates to other teachers and other practice places and he used to say When you have your own practice, when you know what your practice is, when you know where your place is, you know who your teacher is, and you have confidence, then you can relate to all other teachers, and all other students, and all other practices, because you know where you are. You have your own independent practice. and your own teacher and your own place. But you're totally, endlessly interrelated with other practices, other teachers, other places. But you don't lose yourself because you know where you are.

[21:19]

but you're totally interrelated with everything. If you don't have your own place, then you just wander from one place to another without being able to settle. Also, when we have our practice of zazen, within the practice of sitting still is great dynamic activity. And then within our activity is

[22:22]

great dynamic stillness. So wherever you are, you have your place. You can wander the whole world, and yet you're always settled on your true nature, which is stillness, total stillness. He says, in Zen, sometimes we say that each one of us is steep like a cliff. This is usually applied, actually, to Zen masters. We say a Zen master's like a steep cliff. You can't scale that cliff. He says, no one can scale us. No one can get, you know, get to that place where we are. We are completely independent, but when you hear me say so, you should understand the other side, too, that we are endlessly interrelated.

[23:36]

If you only understand one side of the truth, you can't hear what I'm saying. If you don't understand Zen words, you don't understand Zen, and you are not yet a This is a big problem, you know. Zen words are not special words. They're usual words, but they're used in a special way. Words are dualistic and discriminative. And in order to express something in Zen words, the dualistic words have to be used in a non-dualistic way. So when we read the Blue Cliff Record, or the stories of the old masters, it sounds confusing.

[24:41]

it boggles our mind because they're using dualistic words in a non-dualistic way and it doesn't make sense. It doesn't make sense to our usual dualistic logic because our logic is based on the duality of language, which is discriminatory. And the words used by the old teachers is non-discriminatory. When we chant the Heart Sutra, we say, no eyes, no ears, no nose, no tongue. If you use your discriminating mind, it doesn't make sense. But if you just let the words penetrate your being without discriminating, you have some understanding.

[25:47]

It's possible to have some understanding. So even though it's explained in a dualistic way, even though the Heart Sutra is explained in a dualistic way, that explanation is not really it. It's just pointing to the meaning. So he says, Zen words are different from usual words. Like a double-edged sword, they cut both ways. You may think I'm only cutting forward, but no, actually, I'm also cutting backward. I remember him saying, you should watch out from behind. When I lift my stick, You may think I'm only cutting forward, but actually I'm also cutting backward.

[26:50]

Watch out for my stick. Do you understand? Sometimes I scold a disciple. I'll say, no. The other students will think, oh, he's been scolded. But it is not actually so. Because I cannot scold the one over there, I have to scold the one over here who is near me. Most people think, oh, that poor guy is being scolded. But if you think like that, you are not a Zen student. If someone is scolded, you should listen. You should listen. You should be alert enough to know who is being scolded. This is how we train. This is a very Japanese way. In the monastery, sometimes the teacher will hit the student over here in order to say something to the person over here.

[27:52]

That's not unusual. But one has to be sensitive enough to understand that. I think maybe it goes with the culture. I'm not sure. It certainly goes with the Zen culture. And Suzuki Roshi, I remember him doing that with me one time when I first started practicing over at Sokoji in San Francisco. And Richard Baker was the head student, but I didn't know that. I just, you know, was new, fairly new. And he had the front seat, was his seat, but he was reluctant to sit there. But I went up and I started sitting in the front seat. And so he scolded me.

[29:00]

for sitting in that seat. I didn't know why, but he was really talking to Richard. He was saying to Richard, you should sit there. But he was scolding me in order for Richard to understand. Very interesting. When I was quite a young disciple, my Dharma brothers and I went somewhere with our teacher and came back pretty late. There are many venomous snakes in Japan. My teacher said, you are wearing tabis and sandals, and I am not. So a snake may bite me, so you go ahead. tabi, white socks. I mean, a snake can go right through the tabi, but if he wants to bite you. But anyway, it's kind of protection, right?

[30:03]

He says, we're gonna, the teacher said, you, I mean, the students are really young, you know, maybe 13 or 14, something like that. He said, you go ahead of me because you're wearing tabis. And we agreed. and walked ahead of him. As soon as we reached the temple, he said to us, all of you sit down. We didn't know what had happened, but we all sat down in front of him. What inconsiderate boys you are, he said. When I am not wearing tabi, why do you wear tabi? I gave you a warning. I'm not wearing tabi. You should have understood and taken off your tabi too. But instead, you kept them on and walked ahead of me. What silly boys you are." So that's very interesting. He told them, well, now that you have yours on, go ahead and walk ahead of me. But what he meant was, let's all be in the same place.

[31:07]

If I don't have them, you shouldn't have them either. It's interesting. We should be alert enough to hear the meaning behind the words, that's all. We should realize something more than what is said. I think that's his main point. The main point is, in Zen words, are not just ordinary words. You should not take the words at face value. I remember he would say to a student, get out of here, leave. But the student should not go. Doesn't mean he should leave. Just expressing himself to the student. But the student shouldn't take the words literally. So he's always saying you should look behind the words, look behind the words for the meaning.

[32:15]

Words only express part of the something, but they don't, they're pointing to something, always pointing to something. So if you read the Blue Cliff Record and you take the words literally, you'd be very confused, because the words are pointing to something, and what you should come up with is what the words are pointing to. So in a talk, you shouldn't hang on to the words. I remember Suzuki Roshi talking about lecture, and he said, you don't have to remember the words that you don't have to remember what I talked about. You may come to this lecture, but you don't have to remember what I said. The main thing is what you get beyond the words.

[33:18]

And so everybody would leave his lecture and nobody would remember what he said, but everybody felt really wonderful. There's something very wonderful about how they felt after the lecture, but it wasn't necessary to remember the words. One night when I was a student at Eheji Monastery, which is one of the head temples of the Soto School in Japan, I opened the right side of the sliding, he was just an acolyte, right? And his teacher invited people to come and have tea, maybe a donor or a guest, some guest. And they'd be sitting on the tatami mats and there'd be a screen. And he said, I opened the right side of the sliding shoji door because it's customary to open the right side when you open the door, but I was scolded.

[34:35]

Don't open that side. It was the right side, but he's saying, don't open that side. The teacher said, one of the senior monks said, so the next morning I opened the left side and I was scolded again. Why do you open that side? I didn't know what to do. When I opened the right side, I was scolded. And when I opened the left side, I was scolded again. I couldn't figure out why. But at last, I noticed that for the first time, a guest had been on the right side. And the second time, a guest had been on the left side. So both times, I had opened a side so that a guest had been exposed. And even though he was opening the right, the correct side, it was the wrong side. And every time he did this, he thought he was doing the right thing and it turned out to be the wrong thing. So there was no way he could do anything right. So both times I had opened a side so that a guest had been exposed.

[35:42]

That was why I was scolded. At Eheiji, they never told us why. They just scolded us. Their words were double-edged." Suzuki Ryoshi never liked to answer questions about why. He would always give a very obtuse answer to why questions. He was only concerned with how questions. How do you do this? Or how do you do that? Or how do we practice? People would ask him, why do we bow? Why do we do things this way? Or why do we do things that way? He would never give them a straight answer. So the Sandokai's words are also double-edged. One side is interdependence. The other side is absolute independence.

[36:43]

This interdependency goes on and on everywhere. And yet things stay in their own places. This is the main point of the Sandokai. Do you have a question, David? of opening the shoji screen. What's the third side? Well, that it's always wrong. It's not always wrong. And it's always right. In other words, it's not having to do with explanations of where guests are sitting or what the convention is about opening and closing shoji screens. It has to do with what it means to do anything. Well, it means that things have... are not fixed. things are not fixed. Even though we have rules and there are ways to do things and so forth, nothing is fixed.

[37:46]

So there is a way to do things and yet there's always the freedom to do things a different way. Well, when I've heard the story before or read it, I've always thought there might be another meaning which his teacher was trying to convey. Right. It has something to do with whatever you do, there's something else you haven't done. That's when it's always wrong. Or when you do it, it's always... Sorry, that's not very clear. It's my appropriateness. It has to do with teaching, for one thing.

[38:54]

It has to do with accepting the fact that things are not the way they seem, and accepting And figure, you know, we're told certain things, right? But being able to intuit what is, not what is right and what is wrong, but... knowing what is appropriate beyond what is right and wrong. This is a very interesting discussion for me, having grown up Chinese and American.

[40:09]

And in my Chinese world, there's a certain set of rules, and in the American world, there's another set of rules. And each is fine, so long as they don't mix. But whenever they mix, I'm never quite sure what's going to get me scolded and what's not. And I'm always getting it wrong. which is always right. And so, it's especially confusing here because here seems an American world and yet everyone is kind of going by the Asian sense of things. So, not knowing how to interpret things and not knowing what to do, I often get them wrong, but I've stopped you know, it's still anxiety-producing when I get things wrong, but also I've learned to, like, not worry about always being wrong. Oh, that's good. Yeah.

[41:10]

Well, it's also a, there's a, part of the question of what's appropriate, I think, involves a sense of priorities. And the rules and the formalities are there for one purpose, but there are higher purposes that will take precedence, like not exposing a guest. For instance, you may believe you should be a vegetarian, but it's more important to be a good guest. And so if somebody serves you meat, you eat it, and you don't make a big fetish out of being a vegetarian. And in here, we take great pains not to step on the meal boards. It's so crowded that you would otherwise not be able to hear the dharma. You can sit on the hill and you have to understand sort of the hierarchy of what's ultimately important and that guides you to when the rule should be observed and when there's a sort of a higher rule that takes precedence over the... That's how we keep precepts.

[42:18]

Exactly right. The other thought I had was that one could go to sleep in the rules and not really be aware that the forms could be a way to hide and actually not be there at all. And this is kind of a wake-up call to not hide in being right. That's true. So just following the precepts literally is not really following the precepts. It's marching along in that way. Yeah, giving yourself over to, you know, lazy way. Dolly, did you say? Mark. Mark? Which Mark? Think about it.

[43:22]

Does that mean you can't climb it or you won't reach the top? Well, it means it's hard to climb. Sometimes it's like silver mountains, you know, like a smooth mountain that is impossible to scale. So it's simply, I think in the case of certain Zen masters, I think it says something about the austerity, you know, that it's impossible to really penetrate totally their mind. Rick. I was noticing how you said that it's usually used for just Zen masters.

[44:57]

Suzuki Roshi also used it for everyone. I don't know if this is accurate, but kind of the... Well, I think in this sense, if he did mean what he said, it just meant that even though all of us are accessible in some way, there is a part of us that's inaccessible. Like we think we may be close to someone, or we think we know who someone is, and we carry that about with us, but then once in a while we have an But the fact is that even the most familiar, those to whom, those who are most familiar to us, we may feel that we know them intimately and totally, but actually there's a part of each one of us that's totally inaccessible, like a steep mountain.

[46:30]

But it's not fixed. So that inaccessible part is also accessible. So within that, is acceptance continuing to try to climb? Or is acceptance just... Letting go is to climb. When the mind is not discriminating, then it's quite possible to know the minds of others. When we let go of trying to figure it out, or using the mind to climb the mountain, then we're already at the top. So the teachers and the student should know that mind of each other.

[48:00]

That's the mind that we want access to, or where we meet. Oh, Robin? I thought Robin raised your hand. It was you? Okay. In regards to practice, should one just continue without even thinking of right and wrong, just dive into it? You should just dive into it, but you can't let go of right and wrong. On the conventional level, there's right and wrong. So even though we dive into practice, you still have to be guided by the conventional wisdom of right and wrong.

[49:07]

When you become enlightened, then the conventional wisdom of right and wrong will be embodied in you. So you'd be able to act from a big mind and you realize that the precepts are to be followed and not ignored. Peace.

[50:04]

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