I vow to taste the truth of that which darkens us worse. Good morning. I'd like to introduce our speaker this morning is Fu Nancy Schroeder, a priest from San Now one fine day, King Pasende of Kosala paid a visit to the Buddha. And the Buddha said, where are you coming from at midday, great king? And the king replied, having stabilized the country and conquered a wide stretch of the earth, I am greatly involved in administration of those things done by warrior kings.

[01:09]

All the while, drunk with authority and obsessed with lust for sensual desire, And the Buddha said, if a trustworthy messenger arrived from the east and said, great king, a huge mountain as high as the heavens is advancing and crushing every living thing, do as you will, sire. And another messenger arrived from the north, and one from the south, and one from the west, all with the same message. With the impending destruction of humanity, what would you do? The king said, at such a time as that, Lord, what else can I do but to walk in the law, in righteousness, and to cultivate what is of benefit to others? And the Buddha said, I tell you, great king, aging and death are closing in upon you. What should you do? The king said, my elephants, chariots, horses, and infantry are of no use when aging and death are closing in on me.

[02:20]

Magic spells and gold are likewise of no use. At such a time as this, Lord, what else can I do but to walk in the law, in righteousness, and to cultivate what is of benefit to others?" Well, the first time I read this story, I found it compelling for several reasons. It's simple, and the message is clear, but also because it made me uncomfortable. Aging and death are closing in on you. And I knew we were going to do the Parinirvana ceremony today, which is commemorating the Buddha's death. So when I was planning for this talk, I felt a kind of nervousness or anxiety, knowing full well that I would talk today about death, the Buddha's death, and of course, by extension, each of us, our own death. You know, what a thing to do on such a fine day.

[03:22]

But the messengers are already arriving, and what should we do? You know, I don't know if it's unfortunate or not, but I think most of us don't really believe that we're going to die. For quite a while, about a year or so, I was an attendant to a very old woman. She was well into her nineties, a tea teacher, at Green Gulch named Nakamura Sensei. And every day I would go to her house and boil water and clean her bathroom and her kitchen. And then at some point she would come around the corner and I would say, good morning teacher. And she'd say something to me that I didn't understand. And then she'd make some toast. And I began to realize that day after day I was somewhat surprised that she was still alive. You know, but I don't feel that way about all of you, or about myself either.

[04:26]

You know, I'm not surprised that you're here. You know, we're relatively young and we have lots to do. And I have plans. And I think most of us are very busy. So as another friend of mine once said, I don't have the leisure to die. But the messengers are already arriving, so what should we do? I once attended a lecture by a teacher named Taratoku, a Tibetan teacher who, in the 1950s, had escaped from Tibet just ahead of the Chinese army. And he'd walked on foot, as many of the monks had done, over the Himalayas. So when one of the students asked him, what do you do when you're afraid? the teacher said, run. So I thought this was a great answer except that as we get old and if we're not feeling too well it's hard to run.

[05:30]

And at some point in our life I think we have no choice but to sit still and to allow the various confusions and fears to come forward and say hello. I think for many years my own approach was to ignore death, you know, in some kind of hope it would simply go away. But a lot of things happened in my life, you know, sad things and scary things. And at some point I was kind of forced to remember that life is very precious. You know, that each living thing is unique and temporary. You know, the birds and the trees and frogs. You know, each one is different. Like snowflakes falling for millions of years.

[06:31]

Each one is different. And yet it's just another name for snow. Or another way to say it is maybe just another name for Buddha. So Zen practice for me has been about remembering, trying to remember, particularly trying to remember how precious it is to be alive, that life is a gift. But it's not always so easy to be grateful. Things don't go the way we want, and even if they do, they don't last very long. There's another story about a young woman whose child had died and she was so overcome with grief that she became quite insane. So the people sent her to the Buddha to ask for help. And she was still carrying the little corpse when she arrived.

[07:35]

And she asked the Buddha to bring her child back to life. And he said, I will make medicine for your child if you can bring me a mustard seed from a household where no one has ever died. So she went out into the village and she went from door to door, day after day, and of course she found no such household. And eventually she took the little body to the burning grounds and she regained her sanity and she entered the life of practice. So for the Buddha, compassion is not about fixing things or changing the way things are. It's really about helping us to see our oneness with the suffering of others and with the joy of others as well. The healing for this young woman was in seeing her connection and the capacity for compassion in her own tender heart.

[08:37]

When aging and death are closing in upon you, what else can you do but to walk in the law, in righteousness, and to do what is of benefit to others? I think we all know that it makes us feel good when we are kind and generous and thoughtful and so on. But we forget, you know, like the king drunk with authority. and obsessed with lust for sensual pleasures. And we kind of wander off. So it's important to have good friends who will call you back and to help remind you of who you really are and what you really care about. Now at these various Zen centers around here we all, in the morning there's someone who gets up and rings the wake-up bell and hits the Han, calling everyone to come to the Zen to sit together. in the dark and in the cold.

[09:42]

And I'm not really sure why we do this, but after many years I'm beginning to get some feeling for it. You know, if you sit quietly for long enough, things become more clear. It's kind of like taking a glass of muddy water and setting it down. You know, eventually all the sediment goes to the bottom. You know, all of your hopes and desires and your fears and your projections and whatever you've got in there kind of sits there on the bottom for a while anyway. And then you can see through the water. You can even see through the glass. And it's easier to notice the textures of light and sound and to watch how your thoughts drift like clouds through an empty sky. No big deal.

[10:46]

And eventually if you do this long enough I think you begin to suspect how wide and deep your life really is. And that maybe at the very deepest place is what we're calling death. And that life and death are not separate. Right in light there is darkness, but don't confront it as darkness. And right in darkness there is light, but don't see it as light. Light and dark are relative to one another like forward and backward steps. At this point, I would like to begin to tell you the story of the Buddha's own death, which is given in great detail in a sutra called the Maha Parinirvana Sutra, the Sutra of the Great Deceased.

[11:49]

And at the time of this story, the Buddha was already quite an old man. And he says to his longtime companion, Ananda, I am now old, worn out, venerable, one who has traversed life's path, and I have reached the term of life, which is eighty. Just as an old cart is made to go by being held together with straps, so the Tathagata's body is kept going by being strapped up. It's only when the Tathagata withdraws his attention from outward signs, and by the cessation of certain feelings, enters into the signless concentration of mind, that his body knows comfort. Another old friend said to me once, Nance, old age is not for sissies. So as you can imagine the teachings which are included in this sutra are the ones that the Buddha in his last year of life thought to be the most important.

[12:53]

And actually you can find all of the ones you've ever heard of probably in there. Certainly all the ones I've ever heard of. Impermanence and the Four Noble Truths, the Seven Factors of Enlightenment, the Five Hindrances, cause and effect, and so on. They're all repeated. And along with these various teachings, there's a narrative that runs through, it's kind of woven into the sutra, in which the Buddha has a conversation with all of his different disciples and friends, lay supporters. And he talks with Ananda, his attendant, gives him advice, prepares them for his final departure. He speaks with Shariputra and Amma Pali, the courtesan, who's given him a wonderful park for the monks. And with Kunda, the blacksmith, and Pukusa, who's his last lay convert, and a man named Subbada, his last disciple.

[13:58]

And finally he has a conversation with Mara, the evil one, who's been sort of lurking in the shadows for quite a long time. Mara's the only one who looks forward to the Buddha's demise. And then the Buddha tells his friend Ananda that years ago when he was enlightened as a young man, when the Buddha was enlightened, Mara had come to him and said, well now that you're enlightened, you can take your final nirvana. Now is the time for you to take final nirvana. Yes, Wayfarer, please now take final nirvana. So three times Mara suggests to the Buddha that he has come this far, why doesn't he go the whole way? Get him out of here. And the Buddha says to Mara, Evil one, I will not take final nirvana until I have monks and disciples who are accomplished, who are trained and skilled and learned knowers of the Dharma. who by means of the Dharma will be able to refute false teachings that have arisen and to teach the Dharma of wondrous effect.

[15:05]

And then the Buddha tells Ananda that that very day Mara has come to him again. And once again he has said, Lord, may the blessed Lord now attain final nirvana. And the Buddha replies, you need not worry, evil one. Three months from now, the Tathagata will take final nirvana. So now, today, Ananda, at the Kapala Shrine, the Tathagata has mindfully and in full awareness renounced the life principle. When I was preparing for this talk, this thought appeared in my mind, you know, Isn't your interest in Buddhism starting to wane?" And it was pretty compelling. And I thought, well, where's this coming from? What's this about? Of course, if I paid a lot of attention to it, I would probably leave Zen Center and maybe go find a job or something.

[16:12]

Terrible thought. So I thought, maybe I should look at it. a little closer. And it seems to me that Mara, or anyway, this tendency of our mind to confuse us and to turn us around and turn us away from what we think is our path or our way is not such an uncommon experience. So I turned toward this question and I thought, well, let's see what's going on. And I was particularly drawn to the word wane, which is not a word I ever use. And I thought, well, wane, you know, that's like the waxing and the waning of the moon. Has my interest in Buddhism started to wane? And the answer is yes. Sometimes it's full and bright and sometimes it's utter darkness. Another name for this waxing and waning of the moon, or phenomenon, is what the Buddha called the cycle of birth and death.

[17:18]

You know, all things arise, abide, and then cease to be. This is the law. And it was this pattern that the Buddha was watching on the night that he was enlightened. I want to read you a little clip from the Buddhist dictionary on this topic, on this idea of impermanence. Each moment of consciousness is regarded as being formed from causes and conditions, and as being unstable, and therefore immediately dissolving. Consider the sound of the lute. This does not come from any store of sounds, nor does it go anywhere when it is ceased. Rather, it is brought into existence by the lute and the player's effort, and then, having been, it vanishes. So with all material and mental events, they come to be, and having been, vanish.

[18:23]

Of course, this doesn't mean we have to like it. I mean, I think birth and death give us a lot of trouble from the day we're born until the day we die, coming and going. And in fact, it's even troubled for us before we were born. You know, where did we come from? How did we get here? Who made us? All of these questions. You know, when people would come to the Buddha, they would ask these same questions. Very concerned. And the Buddha said, if you had been shot by a poisoned arrow, would you insist on knowing who had shot you and who had manufactured the arrow before pulling it out of your body? I think he had a good sense of humor. The only questions which the Buddha really considered to be of importance were those that led to liberation. So what kind of a question would that be?

[19:25]

Has your interest in Buddhism started to wane? For me, that's a good place to start. If I can't rely on my interest in Buddhism, what am I going to do without hands and feet and teeth and eyes? You know, everything that is born is subject to decay. You and me and Shakyamuni Buddha. When the monks learned of their teacher's decision, they were grief-stricken. And gentle Ananda went to his lodging and he stood weeping, leaning on the doorpost. Alas, I am still a learner with so much to do and the teacher is passing away, who was so compassionate to me. When the Buddha heard that Ananda was inconsolable, he sent for him and kindly said, Enough, Ananda, do not weep. Have I not told you that all things that are pleasant and delightful are changeable, subject to separation and becoming other?

[20:34]

So how could it be, Ananda, since whatever is born becomes compounded, is subject to decay, how could it be that this too should not pass? And twice in the story the Buddha is overcome with severe illness and each time he applies his concentration and is able to continue walking and teaching for a time. And the first time he recovers, Ananda is so greatly relieved, and he says to his teacher, I have seen the Lord in comfort, and I have seen the Lord's patient enduring. And Lord, my body was like a drunkard's. I lost my bearings, and things were unclear to me because of the Lord's sickness. The only thing that was of some comfort to me was the thought, the Lord will not attain final nirvana until he has made some statement about the order of monks. And the Buddha says to his disciple that actually he has already told them everything. He's left nothing out. Nothing's hidden.

[21:36]

And then he makes his very famous statement. You monks must live as islands unto yourselves, being your own refuge with no one else as your refuge. with the Dharma as an island, with the Dharma as your refuge, with no other refuge? And how do monks live as an island unto themselves with no other refuge? Here, Ananda, a monk abides contemplating the body as body, earnestly, clearly aware, mindful, and having put away all hankering and fretting for the world, and likewise to feelings, mind, and mind-objects. That, Ananda, is how monks live as islands unto themselves. And those who now, in my time or afterwards, live thus, they will become the highest if they are desirous of learning." So by and by, the Lord makes his way to the village of Pava. And this is the place where he's offered a banquet by Kunda the blacksmith.

[22:45]

And Kunda is so honored to have this wonderful teacher come to his home. He prepares many delicacies to offer to the monks. And among them is one called Pig's Delight. There's some debate whether it's actually made from pork or whether it's something that pigs like to eat. But anyway, the Buddha tactfully suggests to Kunda that after the Buddha eats his portion, the rest of the pig's delight should be buried, because only a Tathagata could possibly digest this delicacy. Unfortunately, after the Buddha eats this food, he becomes quite ill, to the point of thinking he's about to die, and he has a bloody bowel movements and terrible pain. But he endures his pain and again with his concentration he is able to continue walking. And he says to Ananda, let us go to Kushinagara.

[23:46]

And Ananda says, very good, Lord. Having bathed and taken on fresh robes, the Buddha asks Ananda to prepare him a place between two salt trees by the side of the river. The monks and the lay people, the animals and the gods, come to pay homage to the Buddha. The trees burst forth into an abundance of untimely blossoms, which fall on the Chittagata's body. Divine music and songs sound from the sky. The Buddha asks the monks and the lay people if they have any last questions for him. And no one says a thing. And then the Buddha predicts enlightenment for everyone who's there. and he says his final words. Now monks, I declare to you all conditioned things are of the nature of decay. Strive on untiringly. At the Blessed Lord's final passing, there is a great earthquake and rolling thunder.

[24:47]

Shakya, ruler of the Devas, utters this verse. Impermanent are compounded things, prone to rise and fall. Having risen, they're destroyed. Their passing is truest bliss. So this is the end. But I thought I would leave you with one kind of last thought, sort of mysterious story that I found in the Book of Serenity, which is a collection of koans from the Zen school. In ancient times, as seven wise women were traveling through a forest strewn with corpses, one woman said, here are the corpses, but where are the people? Another woman said, what? What? The women looked around at each other and all suddenly realized enlightenment. The king of the gods showered flowers in offering to them. So please don't imagine that the Buddha died.

[25:56]

Plum Blossom Temple is covered with flowers. Thank you very much.

[26:04]

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