Buddhism and the Natural World

Buddhism and the Natural World Reading, discussion, and practice to deepen our understanding of our world and our relationship to it Summer 2011

DHARMA FLOWER SANGHA Phap Hoa Buddhist Temple 85 Prospect Street Vernon, CT 06066 information: announcements@dharmaflower.org

Reading, discussion, and practice to deepen our understanding of our world and our relationship to it SUMMER 2011 SYLLABUS June 25 – 9-11 a.m.: Buddhist ideas about the world Readings: “Humanity’s Place in Nature” “This Quiet Place that Buddhas Love” Practice: Starry night Place: Great River Park, 301 East River Drive, East Hartford (meet in the parking lot near the entrance at 9 am) July 9 – 9-11 a.m.: Morality and virtue in our relationship to nature Readings: “This World is Not Yours” “In Search of a Buddhist Environmental Ethics” Practice: Touching the earth Place: Belding Wildlife Management Area, Vernon, CT (meet in the parking area on Bread and Milk Road at 9 am) July 23 – 9-11 a.m.: Buddhist attitude toward animals Readings: “Care for Other Beings/Protecting Other Species” “Buddhism and Vegetarianism” Practice: Evolutionary gifts of the animals Place: UConn animal barns, Horsehill Road, Storrs, CT (parking details TBA) August 6 – 9-11 a.m.: Buddhist ideas about plants Readings: “Plants, Trees and Forests” “A Tree Called Steadfast” “Nuns and Trees” Practice: Beginner’s mind Place: Gay City State Park, Rt. 85, Hebron (meet in the parking lot closest to the lake at 9 am) August 20 – 9:30-11:30 am: Buddhist poetry and stories about nature Readings: Lions in the Wilderness: Early Buddhist Appreciation of Nature Maha Kassapa Thera: At Home in the Mountains Udayin Thera: The Blooming Lotus Mahakapi Jataka Prayer for the Great Family Practice: Writing a gatha Place: Wickham Park, 1329 Middle Tpke W, Manchester, CT ($4 admission fee) (meet in the parking lot outside the Oriental Garden at 9:30 am) PLEASE NOTE LATER TIME.

Buddhist Ideas about the World Saturday, June 25 9-11 am

Readings:

“Humanity’s Place in Nature” “This Quiet Place that Buddhas Love”

Practice:

Starry night

Place:

Great River Park, 301 East River Drive, East Hartford (meet in the parking lot near the entrance at 9 am)

   

Attitude to and treatment of the natural world

May all beings be happy and secure. Karan·¯ya-metta ı Sutta, Khp. 

       ’      Buddhism does not see humans as a special creation by ‘God’, or as having been given either ‘dominion’ or ‘stewardship’ over animals etc.

Like all other sentient beings, they wander in the limited, conditioned realm of sam · sa¯ra, the round of rebirths. Nevertheless, a human rebirth is seen as a very rare and fortunate one – a ‘precious human rebirth’ (see p. ) – as it is the only one where the key work for enlightenment can be accomplished. Accordingly, in the Buddhist account of the types of rebirth – gods, humans, animals, ghosts and hell-beings – humans are listed in one group, while all other animals (i.e. land animals, birds, fish, worms, insects: M. .–) are listed in another. That is, while all sentient beings are ‘in the same boat’ – sam · sa¯ra – humans are in a specific compartment of this. This is because they have a greater freedom and capacity for understanding than animals (and a greater motivation for spiritual progress than gods). Most moral and spiritual progress, or its opposite, is made at the human level. This is not to say that animals are all seen as amoral automatons. Buddhist Ja¯taka stories often attribute noble actions to such animals as monkeys and elephants, and there is also a reference to some animals keeping the five precepts (Vin. .).

Nevertheless, animals clearly have much less of a capacity for choice than humans, and if they are virtuous, for example less greedy, or generous, this is more an expression of their existing character, or a response to an encouraging human example, than any deliberate desire for moral development (Story: ). Moreover, it is clear that there is a gradation among animals as regards their relative degree of freedom, or capacity for virtue (AKB. .b–c). Insects would seem to have little, if any, of either.

The relatively special place of humans in the Buddhist cosmos means that they can be seen as at a ‘higher level’ of existence than animals.

This, however, is not seen as a justification for domineering and exploiting animals. Humans are ‘superior’ primarily in terms of their capac

Attitude to and treatment of the natural world



ities for moral action and spiritual development. The natural expression of such ‘superiority’ is not an exploitative attitude, but one of kindness to lesser beings, an ideal of noblesse oblige (Hall, : –). This is backed up by the reflection that one’s present fortunate position as a human is only a temporary state of affairs, dependent on past good karma. One cannot isolate oneself from the plight of animals, as one has oneself experienced it (S. .), just as animals have had past rebirths as humans. Moreover, in the ancient round of rebirths, every being one comes across, down to an insect, will at some time have been a close relative or friend, and have been very good to one (S. .–). Bearing this in mind, one should return the kindness in the present.

The Western concept of ‘nature’ is one which places humans and their artifices over and against the ‘natural’ world of animals, plants and the physical environment. In the present century, industrialization etc. has led to many environmental problems, and thus to reflection on how humans should act and live so as to be in a less destructive and selfundermining relationship with ‘nature’. As the Vietnamese monk Thich Nhat Hanh says, though: We classify other animals and living beings as nature, acting as if we ourselves are not part of it. Then we pose the question ‘How should we deal with Nature?’

We should deal with nature the way we should deal with ourselves! We should not harm ourselves; we should not harm nature . . . Human beings and nature are inseparable. (Eppsteiner, : )

Rather than divide the world into the realms of the ‘human’ and ‘nature’, the classical Buddhist perspective has seen a more appropriate division as that between sentient beings, of which humans are only one type, and the non-sentient environment, the ‘receptacle-world’ (bha¯janaloka), in Sarva¯stiva¯din terminology (AKB. .). In this division, plants would generally come on the non-sentient side of the line, but there is some ambiguity here, and differences of view (see pp. –). The key quality, then, is sentience, the ability to experience and to suffer, and the related ability, in this or a future life, to transcend suffering by attaining enlightenment. A good image of this notion of the community of sentient beings is a genre of painting popular in Japan, showing humans, gods, and a variety of animals mourning at the death of the Buddha (Suzuki, : –).

Another Western dichotomy is, indeed, between the ‘supernatural’ – the realm of God, or gods, and angels etc. – and the natural world, with man partaking of something of both. Within the Buddhist perspective,



An introduction to Buddhist ethics

the gods are themselves sentient beings subject to the natural law of karma. Their actions do not subvert natural laws, though they may go against the normal course of things. In the same way, meditation-based psychic powers, such as walking on water, are not seen as supernatural or miraculous, but as law-governed natural manifestations of certain potencies latent in the human mind. Except for Nirva¯na, everything in · the universe is subject to Conditioned Arising, the natural process of law-governed arising-according-to-conditions. In this sense, there is nothing ‘supernatural’, except perhaps Nirva¯na. The gods, then, and also · humans, are part of the play of natural processes that is sam · sa¯ra.

Gods are seen as existing at various levels, with some being seen as (normally) invisible beings sharing the earth with humans. Buddhist texts refer to certain gods living in large trees (Vin. .–) and even in healing herbs (S. .; M. .): thus one should not anger such a being by damaging or destroying his or her home (Hall, : –). Other gods dwell on the land. Thus a Thai custom, upheld even in the busy modern city of Bangkok, is to build a small ‘spirit house’ next to a building erected on a previously open plot of land. This is to house any gods displaced from the land: to be considerate to them and thus not rouse their anger. Similarly, in Ladakh, a ceremony at the first planting of the year seeks to pacify the spirits of the earth and water, as well as worms and fish, all of which might be disturbed by agricultural activity (Batchelor and Brown, : ).

As part of Conditioned Arising, humans are seen as having an effect on their environment not only through the purely physical aspects of their actions, but also through the moral/immoral qualities of these.

That is, karmic effects sometimes catch up with people via their environment. It is thus said that, if a king and his people act unrighteously, this has a bad effect on the environment and its gods, leading to little rain, poor crops and weak, short-lived people (A. .–; see p. ). Right actions have the opposite effect. The Buddha is also seen to have had a positive effect on his environment: when he lay down between two sa¯l trees to die and pass into final Nirva¯na, these are said to have burst into · a mass of unseasonal blossom, which fell on him in homage (D. .–).

Likewise, in the Maha¯ya¯na ‘Su¯tra of the Buddha Teaching the Seven Daughters’, it is said that, after the Buddha taught, ‘One-hundred year old trees bore fruit and flowers . . . the blind could see . . . Hundreds of birds and beasts were harmonious in their cries’ (Paul, : ).

The environment is thus held to respond to the state of human morality; it is not a neutral stage on which humans merely strut, or a sterile

Attitude to and treatment of the natural world



container unaffected by human actions. This clearly has ecological ramifications: humans cannot ignore the effect of their actions on their environment. This message is also strongly implied by the Aggañña Sutta,1 which gives an account of the initial stages of the development of sentient life on earth. This occurs when previously divine beings fall from their prior state and, through consuming a savoury crust floating on the oceans, develop physical bodies, and later sexual differentiation. At first their environment is bountiful, but it becomes less so the more they greedily take from it. They feed off sweet-tasting fungus, and then creepers, but these in turn disappear as the beings differentiate in appearance and the more beautiful ones become conceited and arrogant. Then they feed off quick-growing rice, gathering it each day as they need it. But through laziness, they start to gather a week’s supply at a time, so that it then ceases to grow quickly, which necessitates cultivation.

Consequently, the land is divided up into fields, so that property is invented, followed by theft. Here, then, is a vision of sentient beings and their environment co-evolving (or co-devolving). The beings are affected by what they take from their environment, and the environment becomes less refined and fruitful as the beings morally decline.

All this takes place according to the principle of Conditioned Arising (see pp.  and ‒), in which nothing exists on its own, as each thing depends on others to condition its arising and existence. In Eastern Buddhism, the inter-relationship of all things (and thus of humans and their environment) is particularly strongly emphasized. In the Avatamsaka · Su¯tra is an image, the ‘Jewel Net of Indra’, explained by Fa-tsang (–), a master of the Hua-yen school, as follows. In this infinite net, a jewel is placed at each knot, so that each jewel reflects every other one, including their reflections of every jewel, and so on to infinity (Cook, : ). This is seen as a simile for reality as a web of interdependence, in which each thing is ‘interpenetrated’ by every other. Each item is made possible by, and reflects, every other, for they all condition it in one way or another. Nothing can exist by itself, but makes its own contribution to the whole. Thus the Su¯tra says, ‘Every living being and every minute thing is significant, since even the tiniest thing contains the whole mystery.’ Likewise, the Ch’an monk Sêng-chao (–) said, ‘Heaven and earth and I are of the same root, the ten-thousand things and I are of one substance’ (Suzuki, : ). Cook sees this perspective as one of ‘cosmic ecology’ (: ).

1

D. .–; cf. Batchelor and Brown, : –.



An introduction to Buddhist ethics

In the lands of Eastern Buddhism, the traditional ideal has been one of harmony with nature. This has been particularly emphasized by the Ch’an/Zen school, in such actions as blending meditation huts into the landscape, not wasting any food in monasteries, landscape painting, landscape gardening, and nature poetry (Suzuki, : ch. ). In paintings, human beings are just one part of a natural scene, not the focus, with nature as simply a background, as often seen in Western art (Cook, : –). Great attention is paid to seemingly insignificant aspects of nature, for insight into them can give an intuitive appreciation of the indescribable and mysterious ‘suchness’ which runs through the whole fabric of existence. Such insight requires a mind in which ego-centred thought has been stilled and disciplined, but in which a natural spontaneity wells up from deep within. The seventeen-syllable haiku poem form is a favourite medium for the expression of such intuitions (Suzuki, : ch. ). Of the following examples, the first three are by Basho¯ (–), one is by Kikaku (–) and one is by Jo¯so¯ (–): () An old pond, ah! () A frog jumps in: () The water’s sound!

() On a dry branch () A raven is perched: () This autumnal eve.

() Lice, fleas – () The horse pissing () By my pillow.

() A little frog () Riding on a banana leaf, () Trembling.

() Under the water, () On the rock resting, () The fallen leaves.

Such an atunement to natural phenomena is also evident in a number of the poems attributed to the early Arahats in the Thera-ga¯tha¯ (Thag.), a Therava¯da text. A number are attributed to Maha¯-Kassapa (verses –), an ascetic character claimed by the Ch’an/Zen school as the first teacher in their line. He speaks of his appreciation of the delightful rocks, ‘cool with water, having pure streams, covered with Indagopaka insects’ (verse ), resounding with elephants and peacocks, ‘covered with flax flowers as the sky is covered with clouds’ (verse ): With clear water and wide crags, haunted by monkeys and deer, covered with oozing moss, those rocks delight me. (verse )

Sa¯riputta affirms, ‘Forests are delightful, where (ordinary) people find no delight. Those rid of desire will delight there; they are not seekers after sensual pleasures’ (verse ). That is, the enlightened appreciate nature

Attitude to and treatment of the natural world



in a non-attached, non-sensual way. Indeed, Maha¯-Moggalla¯na speaks of his living at the root of a tree in the forest, contemplating the foulness of the body (verses –). He is also without fear of natural phenomena: while lightning flashes around the mountain, ‘gone to the cleft in the mountain the son of the incomparable venerable one meditates’ (verses ). Likewise Bhu¯ta speaks of contentedly meditating in a cave at night, while outside the thunder rumbles, the rain falls and fanged animals roar (verse ). In a more tranquil vein, Ra¯man·eyyaka says, ‘Amidst the sound of chirping and the cries of birds, this mind of mine does not waver, for devotion to solitude is mine’ (verse ). Non-attached delight is, again, expressed by Ta¯·laput·a, who meditatively admires the beautiful necks, crests, tail feathers and variegated wing feathers of birds (verses –). Moreover, after rain, ‘when the grove is in full flower, like a cloud, I shall lie among the mountains like a tree’ (verse ). That is, he will be rooted and ‘earthed’ through strong mindfulness, while in full mastery of his formerly wayward mind. For such early wilderness-meditators, the environment could itself be a teacher, especially of constant change and impermanence. As Vimala says, ‘The earth is sprinkled, the wind blows, the lightning flashes in the sky. My thoughts are quietened, my mind is well concentrated’ (verse ). The environment could also be an example – for instance a mountain as an image of unshakeability (verse ). Thus Maha¯na¯ma says that he is ‘found wanting by the mountain with its many shrubs and trees’ (verse ). All in all, the mountain and forest environment loved by such early saints is one in which a person can develop such qualities as non-attached joy, fearlessness, energy, and full enlightenment. As Ka¯·luda¯yin boldly affirms, ‘While the wind blows cool and sweet smelling, I shall split ignorance asunder, as I sit on this mountain top’ (verse ).

Such appreciation of the forest is also found in Maha¯ya¯na texts. Thus the poet S´a¯ntideva praises the forest as a delightful place conducive to not clinging to anything as ‘mine’ (Bca. ., ). In his S´iks·a¯-samuccaya, he cites the Ugradatta-paripr·ccha¯ as saying that the forest-dweller should seek to be like the plants and trees, which are without a sense of self or possession (Ss. ). He also says that if a Bodhisattva has to be away from the forest for a while, to teach or learn from others, he should retain a ‘cave-and-forest mind’ (Ss. ).

While communal monastic life has always been important in Buddhism, time alone in the forests and mountains has also been so. It is an opportunity for developing certain qualities away from the support – and hindrances – posed by other humans. For all their positive potential,



An introduction to Buddhist ethics

humans can also have many negative traits. Thus the Buddha agrees when a disciple says that humans are a deceitful ‘tangle’, while animals are a (relatively) ‘open clearing’ (M. .–). Consequently, a time in the company of animals and nature may be an aid to spiritual development.

The Buddha’s own association with and appreciation of such surroundings can be seen from the location of key events during his life. He was born under one tree, was enlightened under another, gave his first sermon in an animal park, and died between two trees. Nevertheless, he spent much of his time in and around towns and cities, teaching people.

If he had been one who grasped at the beauties of nature, he would have kept clear of these.

Given all that has been said so far, it is clear that the Buddhist ideal for humanity’s relationship with animals, plants and the landscape is one of harmonious co-operation. Buddhism emphasizes a disciplining and overcoming of the negativities within the conditioned nature of the human heart. Such an approach goes hand-in-hand with a friendly attitude to the environment. This can be seen in D. T. Suzuki’s talk of making a ‘good friend’ of a climbed mountain, rather than of ‘conquering’ it (Suzuki, : ). -     As an example of the pan-Indian value of ahim · sa¯, or ‘non-injury’ (Tähtinen, ; Chapple, ), the first of the five precepts is to abstain from ‘onslaught on living beings (literally breathers)’ (see pp. ‒). Its place as the most important precept is reflected in the fact that Sri Lankan villagers often sum up what Buddhism requires of them as ‘not to kill animals’ (Southwold, : ). While it is difficult to follow this fully, clearly a Buddhist should strive to minimize intentional injury to living beings. The law of karma backs up compassion as a motive for following the precept: it means that one cannot intentionally harm beings without this bringing harm to oneself at some time. Thus when the Buddha found some children molesting a snake with sticks, he said, ‘Whoever, seeking his own happiness, harms with the rod pleasureloving beings gets no happiness hereafter’ (Dhp. ).

The Therava¯din commentator Buddhaghosa explains that it is worse to kill a human than an animal, or a larger or more substantial animal than a smaller or less substantial one (see p. ). Among animals, it is worse to kill an elephant, which is both large and noble, and bad to kill a cow, which gives much to humans through its milk. In the monastic

This Quiet Place That Buddhas Love J. L. Walker 22 March 1999/Parabola Magazine (Copyright 1999 Gale Group Inc. All rights reserved.)

Enchanting caves and fields in peaceful forests Adorned with flowers moving in dance and streams sounding Lhung, In them, may we without wavering contemplate our tired minds, And remain there to fulfill the purposes of precious human life.

In that place, not having encountered any wild beings, Having pacified emotional defilements, and having achieved the seven noble qualities, At the time of leaving the living body, May we attain the king of the mind, the primordial state.

--Longchen Rabjam (1308-1363)(1)

O THIS QUIET PLACE that Buddhas love,"(2) begins a song by Milarepa, one of Tibet's greatest poet-adepts. He sings the praises of his Red Rock Valley hermitage in all its natural splendor, full of life and sound. Trees dance, and animals large and small play and sing there. Bees hum melodiously in fragrant flowers. As clouds float by the mountain top, he describes the place of the yogin in the scene: "I, Milarepa, practice meditation; I, the yogin, practice the heart of enlightenment." Thus the world of nature is made meaningful.

We often think of nature, "this quiet place," in terms of a refuge from the world of action, driven by desire and necessity. But the true refuge lies not in the ever-changing natural world with its objective beauty, or even in a subjective state of peace and solitude within that, but in apprehending the very nature of nature beyond and within its objective content. The healing potential of nature depends on finding this nonordinary, transformative, "vertical" aspect of nature. Otherwise all we have is another "horizontal" translation of it, another way of looking at it, rather than a powerful force of real change in our lives as we must live them in the world.

In Buddhist cosmology the world of appearances arises out of its nondual and indestructible Base, described as unborn, the perfectly unobstructed and unchangeable state that is selfliberated and perfect from the beginning. This state of perfect, discriminating awareness is called the natural mind, which cannot be contrived. From this limitless origination, the conditioned existence of universes and beings arises. Samsara, or conditioned existence, is created by beings mistaking the external and temporal appearances of things for their ultimate

nature. This ultimate nature of the mind is forever beyond the intellect, and yet they are inseparably intertwined in a dance of interdependence.

The arising of manifestation begins with sunyata, or emptiness. From out of this ground arises the completely pure Wind of the Mind. This wind is endowed with the potential to generate our universe. Above this vast Wind of the Mind arises the actual mandala of the wind element of the universe. The mandala of the wind billows and storms and pervades everywhere. Other winds arise above this, which each perform various functions in the creation of the material universe. The Roughening Wind scatters in all directions. The Gathering Wind causes clouds to gather, and the Stabilizing Wind causes the basic foundation of the universe to settle. The Fire Wind ripens it. Above these winds arise the mandalas of the other elements: first Fire, then Water, then Earth. Thus the outer vessel of the universe is formed, and from these same elements living beings are manifested.

Everything that is generated from the Base or ground of existence has three aspects: essence, nature, and energy. The essence of anything refers to its emptiness of a permanent, independent self-existence. The nature aspect is the propensity in this emptiness to continually manifest, and the energy is how it manifests. The traditional analogy to illustrate this triple aspect of things is that of a mirror. Its fundamental clarity and purity, and the fact that it is not changed by any of the reflections that appear in it, represents its essence. Its nature is the inherent capacity of the mirror to reflect whatever is put in front of it, and the energy aspect is illustrated by the reflections themselves.

My first Buddhist teacher, Ch'an Master Nan Huai-chin, used to laugh at me when I told him I was going to the small mountain temple I often visited to do a little retreat. "Ha!" he would say.

"You can't escape the red dust out there." He was right, of course. One cannot escape anywhere. We take our world with us because it is the reflections we hold before the mirror of our mind: our limited awareness, our attachment, our illusions, all the dust of our habitual ways of perceiving ourselves and our surroundings. So it gets us nowhere to contemplate merely external nature. Gyatrul Rinpoche, a contemporary Tibetan Buddhist master, says, "Here in the West we make a big deal of sunsets and so forth. Another way of looking at a sunset is that it's just another sign of your life passing by."(3) For some reason, we do not notice the impermanence in the natural cycles around us as related to us. We lose a great opportunity to deepen our experience of our own nature, which is not separate from that of the realms of nature.

Is Gyatrul Rinpoche telling us we are wrong to enjoy the beauties of nature? I think not, but he is pointing out that we are seeing the sunset only partially. We are like people who are given a precious medicine in a beautiful jar, and instead of taking the medicine, we admire the jar, perhaps setting it in a place of honor, but remaining lost in our sickness. Milarepa gives us an example of one use of the beauties of nature as medicine in this teaching song to his disciple Dar Bum, one of his four main female heirs: Oh, disciple of a hundred thousand merits,

You, girl, who have faith and wealth, Consider this parable of the sky And meditate on limitless space.

Consider the parable of the sun and moon And meditate on their unchanging clarity.

Consider the parable of the mountain And meditate on its unmovability.

Consider the parable of the great ocean And meditate on its bottomless depths.

Concerning the self-mind Meditate without errors.

After having meditated according to his instructions, she returns and relates her experiences to her teacher, asking him for clarification. She is happy when meditating on the sky but a little unhappy when she meditates on the clouds, happy when meditating on the mountain but a little unhappy when meditating on the trees and bushes, happy when meditating on the great ocean, but a little unhappy meditating on the waves, happy with the nature of mind but not so happy with disturbing thoughts, and so forth. Pleased, seeing that she actually had experience in meditation, Mila sings another song to remove her doubts and obstacles: If you feel happy when you meditate on the sky, You should know that the clouds are a manifestation of the sky.

Therefore, identify yourself with the sky....

If you feel happy when you meditate on the mountain, You should know that the foliage and trees are a manifestation of the mountain.

Therefore, identify yourself with the mountain.

If you are happy when you meditate on the great ocean, You should know that the waves are a manifestation of the ocean.

Therefore, identify yourself with the ocean.

If you are happy meditating on your self-mind, You should know that disturbing thoughts are a manifestation of the mind.

Therefore, identify yourself with the mind-essence.

Following his instructions and thoroughly contemplating the nature of mind through these examples, Dar Bum attained enlightenment in that very life. In each case he pointed her toward the essential nature of the object of her meditation, and away from the appearance.

The sky is boundless and unchanged by clouds or sunsets, the depths of the sea calm and unperturbed by the activity of the waves at its surface, and so also is the nature of mind. Sky and clouds, sea and waves, mind and the nature of mind are not two, and yet not one.

The greatest of Nyingma (Old School) master/poets, Longchen Rabjam, affirms the value of the beauties of nature to beginning meditators for their ability to generate inspiration and tranquillity of mind. In his Narrative of Joyfulness in the Forest, he writes: In a forest, naturally there are few distractions and entertainments, One is far from all suffering of danger and violence.

The joy is much greater than that of the celestial cities.

Enjoy today the tranquil nature of forests.

O mind, listen to the virtues of the forests....

In forests emotions decline naturally....

In forests the peace of absorption grows naturally.

Life in forests is in accord with the holy Dharma, and it tames the mind And achieves the happiness of ultimate peace.

We may also find nature to be an excellent instructor in mindfulness and nonattachment. In an oral teaching in July 1998, His Eminence Garchen Rinpoche spoke to us of offering such beauty as we may find anywhere; a weed growing in a crack in a city sidewalk, a nearby park, or a wilderness trail may present us with an unexcelled opportunity to make what we observe into a means of upliftment. With mindfulness, everything becomes our spiritual practice. When we see a flower, we can offer it for the benefit of all living beings. We don't need to pick it and take it with us into our rooms; we can offer it where it sits. When we see the flower and offer it spontaneously, we are really exhausting attachment and desire and thus our self-grasping ego.

We become closer to the natural state of pristine awareness by eliminating what is contrived.

We need only see the immovable mountain in the plant, the deep sea in the wave, the mind in the thought of offering. This transforms all places, scenes, and things, gradually opening our ordinary view into something beneficial to all beings.

The purpose of meditation on nature in the Buddhist way is not to establish an emotional relationship with it, but instead to see uncontrived nature as it is and so learn to recognize that nature in ourselves. In such moments of letting go, of relaxing the mind completely into what is in the present, it seems that the nature of nature and of one's deepest being come to rest in a single point. In that placeless place where the horizontal world of appearances meets the changeless vertical, the ineffable, nondual essence of things, we experience fully the single taste of our nature and of the realm of nature. In such experience, nature and its nature become mutually transparent.

Same old hilltop under the moon Walked again and again Written over and over Its inwardness always new

NOTES (1.) Tulku Dondup, Buddha Mind: An Anthology of Longchen Rabjam's Writings on Dzogpa Chenpo (Ithaca, N.Y.: Snow Lion, 1989). All of Longchen Rabjam's poems in this article are from this source, recently renamed The Practice of Dzogchen.

(2.) The Hundred Thousand Songs: Selections from Milarepa, Poet-Saint of Tibet, translated by Antoinette K. Gordon (Rutland, Vt. and Tokyo: Charles E. Tuttle Company, 1961). All quotes from Milarepa's songs are from this collection.

(3.) Padmasambhava, Natural Liberation: Padmasambhava's Teachings on the Six Bardos, commentary by Gyatrul Rinpoche (Boston: Wisdom Publications, 1998).

--------------------------J. L. WALKER has been a student and practitioner of Ch'an and Vajrayana Buddhism for twenty years. She has received teachings from masters of the Gelukpa, Nyingma, and Kagyud Schools of Tibetan Buddhism and has completed over five years of solitary retreat in the Drikung Kagyu tradition.

PRACTICE: Starry Night The following meditation is a way to cultivate a nonconceptual awareness.

It works best on a relatively clear night, preferably away from bright city lights. Find a place outdoors where you can lie down on the ground and view the night sky. Gaze up at that vast ocean of darkness that sparkles with infinite stars until you find the cluster of stars known as the Big Dipper.

Officially part of Ursa Major, the Great Bear constellation, the Big Dipper consists of seven stars broadly spaced apart. Four stars make the shape of a large rectangle, and the other three splay out horizontally to the left from the top of the rectangle, so they resemble a large dipper, or a saucepan with a long and slightly curved handle.

Once you locate this constellation, try to let go of any preconceived ideas you have about it, and look at the cluster of stars without fixating on the shape of a big dipper. Allow yourself to see seven bright dots amid black space. Notice each star individually. Notice the stars in their context in the sky, within the vast field of shining lights. See how the stars are located in relationship to other stars not in this particular constellation.

Observe the spaces between each star. As you continue the meditation, notice if you go in and out of being able to see the stars themselves, without the idea or image of the dipper. If in moments you find it difficult to let go of seeing the Big Dipper, shift your focus to other parts of the night sky. Try looking at just part of the constellation, along with other stars outside the constellation.

Close your eyes for a moment, relax your body, and then open your eyes and refresh your attention using a soft gaze. Let your vision be broad and spacious, and look at the stars without thinking about them, yourself, or anything else—just rest in open awareness. Another approach is to stare at the Big Dipper for a long time; after a while, the concept or memory of a dipper may fade and the stars will return to just being individual lights in the sky.

Once you practice this meditation, you can apply the technique to other constellations—seeing the stars without their associated imagery, taking in the simple reality of what is, and experiencing the vastness of the night sky. Try doing this meditation for up to half an hour, taking time to alternate between simply resting your awareness in the vastness of sky, and noticing whether you get caught up in concepts about specific constellations. You can also expand this practice to include other objects and people—you might try looking at a rose bush without the concept of “rose.”

--Mark Coleman

Morality and Virtue in our Relationship to Nature Saturday, July 9 9-11 am

Readings:

“This World is Not Yours” “In Search of a Buddhist Environmental Ethics”

Practice:

Touching the earth

Place:

Belding Wildlife Management Area, Vernon, CT (meet in the parking area on Bread and Milk Road at 9 am)

EDITOR’S ESSAY

This World Is Not Yours

I

n a discourse about the teaching of non-self, the Buddha offers the following illustration: “Bhikkhus, what do you think? If people carried off the grass, sticks, branches, and leaves in this Jeta Grove, or burned them, or did what they liked with them, would you think: ‘People are carrying us off or burning us or doing what they like with us’?” “No, venerable sir. Why not?

Because that is neither our self nor what belongs to our self.” (M 22) As we hear this example today, however, we have to admit that it is no longer entirely true. If that grass were being burned in the Amazon forest, for example, or if those sticks were being carried off from the foothills of the Himalaya mountains, there may well be a great number of people who would be quite disturbed. Why is that? Because one of the fundamental axioms of the modern environmental movement is that the entire planet is the precious possession of us all. The very thing that provides for the preservation of the world’s resources is to extend to every blade of grass the same care and diligent guardianship that we would bring to bear upon our most intimate possession. In short, it seems that extending the range of the self to expand and cover the entire earth is the only way to protect it from harm. The whole world is mine, and if you dump your nasty toxins on it I will take it personally and be deeply offended.

Throughout his many teachings, however, the Buddha points out that great harm and suffering emerges from our tendency to define and then protect the self. The self is a flawed strategy, born in ignorance, nurtured by craving, and perpetuated by endless moments of grasping in which we pull toward us that which we like to consider part of ourselves and push away that which we don’t like and consider to be “other.” Might it be that by enlarging the self to embrace the world we are setting up the conditions for greater attachment and suffering?

This is not to say the rainforest should not be protected, but to suggest that the attitude one brings to the task makes a big difference. There is a lot of work ahead of us as we endeavor to rescue the planet from ourselves, and we are likely to be at this work for a very long time. Perhaps we could come at it from the wisdom of the non-self perspective, rather than the passions of the “world is mine” point of view. As the Buddha says elsewhere in the same text, “Whatever is not yours,

WINTER 2006 • Insight Journal

abandon it; when you have abandoned it, that will lead to your welfare and happiness for a long time.”

The Buddha had a penetrating insight into human nature. Among the things he noticed is that while some of our best qualities, such as caring, nurturing and protecting, are directed to the things we feel we possess or own, it is also the case that our worst tendencies, rooted in greed, hatred and delusion, organize too around whatever is taken to be “mine” or possessed by “me.” It can be a useful point of view in the short term or from a narrow perspective, but in the end the self is the source of more harm than good. History offers a sad parade of examples of things being destroyed precisely because they are valued.

If this world is not mine, then what is it? The Buddha’s reply: “The instructed noble disciple attends carefully and closely to dependent origination itself thus: When this exists, that comes to be; with the arising of this, that arises.

When this does not exist, that does not come to be; with the cessation of this, that ceases.” (S 12:37) This is the universal formula of dependent origination.

It provides a model for understanding the profound inter-relationship between all things, but it is a model that allows for no self. Nothing belongs to anybody; nobody has any self to protect; everything just co-arises with everything else.

If the whole world is my self and someone comes along and burns the forest, it is likely that I will respond with anger, hatred and an urge for revenge. If on the other hand the same action occurs in the context of an attitude of non-self, one still discerns the causal relationship between the action and the suffering it brings to many others inhabiting the same matrix of cause and effect. I can still put a stop to the activity, hold the perpetrator legally and morally responsible for the act, and put in place various safeguards to prevent it from happening again. Now, however, my response is more likely to be guided by wisdom and compassion, and to be grounded in a larger view.

I think the Buddha would argue that one is a more skillful response than the other. And considering how much is at stake, we need all the skillfulness we can muster.

—Andrew Olendzki

3

!"#$!"%

!

" #$#$ % & ! '

( )

* " ) ) +

+

+ , ! $ % '

-

.

(

$ ' ,

/ ! + (

! +

! !$ # , +

!

(

,

/

! /

/ ,

$

* ,

' ! " ! ((

, ( ( F

(

!

F D

, ( ( +

(

!

( !

+

+ ,

+ $ 2 !

! + ( 8

, , ,

,

!

+ , (

( !

+ ! (

(

! 8 !! $ 2 8 + / !

! + , ( ( , !

(

! , ! /$

( D

( , ( (

( $ ' + ,

+

(

! (

(

(( (

( 8 $ '

(

( (

8 (

!

$ ' (

(

( !

!

!

( !

+ (

! +" , +

! 8 ( !

, ! < $" ' +

,

,

! / D

(

! ,

, F ( ! ! (

(< (

, ( F

! (

(

! (

!$

+

(

* , $ '

D

(

!! ! ( +

<

! !

,

(

,

$ 2 (

,

$ B , 8

!

, +0

, 8

(

$

45 ) 6 3 5

B , !

(

( +

,

!

(

$ '

!

$"

!

+ !

+

! ! (

3 !$" 2(

!! ,

/ ,

/

,

! +

+ ' - ' (

# ! +"

0 - 0 <0 $

0

(

! ,

/ , 8

! % !! $"

01

(

$ 2(

,

! +

! (

(

! $ 2 ,

,

! F , ! $ 2( , , + ,

(

$ 2( ,

! +

,

(

$ )

8 ! ( 8 < ,

$ ' ,

( (

!

!

D ( ( ,

( ( $ 2 /

(

+ , (

+

, +

(

+

+ $ (

!

,

! $ 2 ,

(

B - B + +

+ ( , * /

+ !

* $ 2 ((

! + ,

( ( ! $"0 , (

/ 8 !

(

! + , ( , , /

, ! ,

$ 2 !

!

! !

, (

( ,

!

! $ D ( ! + (

! +

D ( L ( ($ ' ,

< ,

, (

!

D ( L ( ($ 2(

! * (

+ ! (

D +

< ! <

$ ! !

<

( !$ 1 '

,

( ! L (

< ! ,

(

< ! < ((

$ 7

/ )

+ ( ,

! +

( " !

( , ! $ ! !

!

!

, +

! C $ B

, ,

( ,

- !

(

(

! L !

F

! , ,

, ! (

D $ '

(

!

+ ,

,

+ !

,

$6

(

! ! +

! ,

!

,

$ '

! ( 8 , !

(

$ '

/ !

(

, ! + , ! ( D ! !

(

!

$ #

(

! ( + ( ( ( , +

( ( $ ( ! ,

, ,

$ 2 !

, 8

! $ '

( !

, , + !

F , ! ! , , !

$ B

( +

< <

! ! ,

!

$ B ! + ! !

( , ! + ! $

( ! <

8

(

! (

( ! $ ' ! /

( / !

'

,

/

(

! B ( ,

(

, C + !

+

B ! / $ 0

B + % 4 ' &

+ J + $ $ 1

$ .$ ! + " &

+ 1 $

6

! + 1 2

! + J + $ 1 $

06

!! ( $ ' + !

D ,

! (

(

$

45 ) 6 ' .

B ! ( ( ,

< ,

8 (

! <

+ + D !

+ ( $ '

!

( !

! ! , ( (

( !

(

(

$ !

( + ! + ( + !

+ , , (

! ! <

$ 2 B + !

, D (

, ( ! ( $ 8

B ! ( B ! & L % 3 " 5 !

L " $0 7$ ? + E) 8

,

!

E

& + ! (

,

- 2 , !

!

+

(

3 (

$ % !

!

( !

,

!

! $" 1 #

L !

! ! L

(

8

$ , , +

+ !

(

! +

+

( < ! / ( ( (( ! (

! B $ B / (<

!

! ! ! $ ' !! (

' B

/ ! , , 8

( , (

!

$ ' + ,

(

!

( ! + , (( (

! (

$ '

8 + !

+

(

!

( !

, ( ( !

!$

3 3 2( ,

(

( ! ( (

!+ 8

!

" ! ( (

$ '

!

+ /

! + , +

!

(

!

!

!

8 $ ' ,

!

8 ! / <

,

( !

! $ D ! , !

/ , ( ( ,

+ ! !

$ ! ! ,

!

, !

, / ! ( /

+ (( ( !

,

! (

( + (( ( ! / ,

/ + $ ' !

+

!

,

(

!

! ! ! <

- 2 +

!

$ .

8 , ,

!

! , ! / ( + ! , 8

,

W$

! !

!

, ( ($"6

B ! & + % 3 " '

+ J $

0

G $ $

1

7$ ?$ - # 3

E

(

! + $

6

2 +

/ + 7 B / + $+ / ,

) , S

/+ 6 + $

< H$

05

2 (

+ !

, !(

+ (

! !

!

! $ 2

( + , ! ! , ( ( 8

$ ' ,

!

/

(

! $ .

!!

,

,

$ 2 ,

/ '

#

' M+

, !

( 8 + ! " ! $" ' ! " 8 ! L D + (

,

+

+ F ! " 8

( ! L

(

+

+

( $ ' !

(

+ , (

! !

$ .

!! ( , !

8

( ! "

,

, ,

$ 2

+

( D +

( ( $ 8 ( 8

(( (

! (

! ( )

( F

! ( ! 8

$ ) (

(

F

(+

,

(

(

+ ! ( ! !

$ ) $ ' (

( !

( ( $ '

(

(

!

8

(

! $

3 ) , ,

D ,

!

( $

,

( !

! (

+ ,

+ $ ! *

!

( ( (

/ ( !

, <! / $

'

( ( ( " , /

(

! $ 2

( (

, (

( ! + +

+ +

! / $ ) , 8

< ! (

! ( ( + !

! $ 2 (

! + (

! ! + !

(

(

! +

( ( $ , C

(

, !

(

(

( < ! (

! ( ( $ !

,

/

/

+ ! &

$ 7

' !

,

(

$ ' < < ! ( (

! (

(

! (

$ 2 , ( (

" +

(

( ,

( !$

( (

! 8

( , $ 7

( !

+ ,

! , ! ! $ '

!! ! (

! ( ! / $ (

!

!

+ !

!

( ! ! $ '

(

(

+

! , ( ( ! ,

/$

!

!

!! (

$

.

!!+ % 4 % 6 ) , S

/+ J $

0

+ 3 ) , S

/+ 5 $

0J

' (

! ( (

$ '

,

!

8 (

* ! !

( (

+

! + ,+ (

( + $ 2

!

!

L ! M

!

+

! (

< (( (

+ ! !

$ 2 ( + ! < "

!

( (

<< (

(

! $ 2 ( + 4

,

/+

!$

0

PRACTICE: The Three Earth-Touchings I. Touching the Earth, I connect with ancestors and descendants of both my spiritual and my blood families. [bell] [touch the earth] My spiritual ancestors include the Buddha, the Bodhisattvas, the noble Sangha of Buddha’s disciples, [insert names of others you would like to include], and my own spiritual teachers still alive or already passed away. They are present in me because they have transmitted to me seeds of peace, wisdom, love, and happiness. They have woken up in me my resource of understanding and compassion.

When I look at my spiritual ancestors, I see those who are perfect in the practice of the mindfulness trainings, understanding, and compassion, and those who are still imperfect. I accept them all because I see within myself shortcomings and weaknesses. Aware that my practice of the mindfulness trainings is not always perfect, and that I am not always as understanding and compassionate as I would like to be, I open my heart and accept all my spiritual descendants.

Some of my descendants practice the mindfulness trainings, understanding, and compassion in a way which invites confidence and respect, but there are also those who come across many difficulties and are constantly subject to ups and downs in their practice. In the same way, I accept all my ancestors on my mother’s side and my father’s side of the family. I accept all their good qualities and their virtuous actions, and I also accept all their weaknesses. I open my heart and accept all my blood descendants with their good qualities, their talents, and also their weaknesses.

My spiritual ancestors, blood ancestors, spiritual descendants, and blood descendants are all part of me. I am them, and they are me. I do not have a separate self. All exist as part of a wonderful stream of life which is constantly moving. [three breaths] [bell] II. Touching the Earth, I connect with all people and all species that are alive at this moment in this world with me. [bell] [ touch the earth] I am one with the wonderful pattern of life that radiates out in all directions. I see the close connection between myself and others, how we share happiness and suffering. I am one with those who were born disabled or who have become disabled because of war, accident, or illness. I am one with those who are caught in a situation of war or oppression. I am one with those who find no happiness in family life, who have no roots and no peace of mind, who are

hungry for understanding and love, and who are looking for something beautiful, wholesome, and true to embrace and to believe in.

I am someone at the point of death who is very afraid and does not know what is going to happen. I am a child who lives in a place where there is miserable poverty and disease, whose legs and arms are like sticks and who has no future. I am also the manufacturer of bombs that are sold to poor countries.

I am the frog swimming in the pond and I am also the snake who needs the body of the frog to nourish its own body. I am the caterpillar or the ant that the bird is looking for to eat, and I am also the bird that is looking for the caterpillar or the ant. I am the forest that is being cut down.

I am the rivers and the air that are being polluted, and I am also the person who cuts down the forest and pollutes the rivers and the air. I see myself in all species, and I see all species in me.

I am one with the great beings who have realized the truth of no-birth and no-death and are able to look at the forms of birth and death, happiness and suffering, with calm eyes. I am one with those people â&#x20AC;&#x201D; who can be found a little bit everywhere â&#x20AC;&#x201D; who have sufficient peace of mind, understanding and love, who are able to touch what is wonderful, nourishing, and healing, who also have the capacity to embrace the world with a heart of love and arms of caring action.

I am someone who has enough peace, joy, and freedom and is able to offer fearlessness and joy to living beings around themselves. I see that I am not lonely and cut off. The love and the happiness of great beings on this planet help me not to sink in despair. They help me to live my life in a meaningful way, with true peace and happiness. I see them all in me, and I see myself in all of them. [three breaths] [bell] [stand up]

III. Touching the Earth, I let go of my idea that I am this body and my life span is limited. [bell] [touch the earth] I see that this body, made up of the four elements, is not really me and I am not limited by this body. I am part of a stream of life of spiritual and blood ancestors that for thousands of years has been flowing into the present and flows on for thousands of years into the future. I am one with my ancestors. I am one with all people and all species, whether they are peaceful and fearless, or suffering and afraid.

At this very moment, I am present everywhere on this planet. I am also present in the past and in the future. The disintegration of this body does not touch me, just as when the plum blossom falls it does not mean the end of the plum tree. I see myself as a wave on the surface of the ocean. My nature is the ocean water. I see myself in all the other waves and I see all the

other waves in me. The appearance and disappearance of the form of the wave does not affect the ocean.

My Dharma body and spiritual life are not subject to birth and death. I see the presence of myself before my body manifested and after my body has disintegrated. Even in this moment, I see how I exist elsewhere than in this body. Seventy or eighty years is not my life span. My life span, like the life span of a leaf or of a Buddha, is limitless. I have gone beyond the idea that I am a body that is separated in space and time from all other forms of life. [three breaths] [bell] [stand up]

Buddhist Attitude to Animals Saturday, July 23 9-11 am

Readings:

“Care for Other Beings/Protecting Other Species” “Buddhism and Vegetarianism”

Practice:

Evolutionary gifts of the animals

Place:

UConn animal barns, Horsehill Road, Storrs, CT (parking details TBA)

21

Journal of Buddhist Ethics

lands," with conditions which are even and peaceful, more conducive to enlightenment than this world, one can surely see any action to make this world more peaceful and supportive as Bodhisattva-action.

Care for Other Beings Buddhist principles counsel non-violence to any sentient being, not just humans, for Buddhism sees humans and other beings as fellow-sufferers in the round of rebirth. While humans are seen to be particularly worthy of respect due to their moral and spiritual potential, these very qualities imply that we should not thoughtlessly exploit other beings, but show our relative superiority through kindness and care.

Such actions are also ascribed to the gods: it is said that Sakka (who gained his divine status by being the helpful Magha, above) was once fleeing with his army from the army of the asuras. Seeing that his chariot was about to destroy some birds' nests, he stopped the retreat (which then shocked the asuras into stopping their pursuit; S.I.224).

In the Cakkavatti-sÄ?hanĂŁda Sutta, the ideal ruler is seen as establishing "guard, ward and protection" for both various groups of people in town and country, and animals and birds (D.III.61). Emperor Asoka's edicts relating to animal welfare include the following: The Fourteen Rock Edicts: 2 Everywhere within Beloved-of-the-Gods, King Piyadasi's domain . . . has Beloved-of-the-Gods, King Piyadasi, made provision for two types of medical treatment: medical treatment for humans and medical treatment for animals. Wherever medical herbs suitable for humans or animals are not available, I have had them imported and grown. . . .

The Seven Pillar Edicts: 7 . . . Along roads I have had banyan trees planted so that they can give shade to animals and men, and I have had mango groves planted. At intervals of eight krosas, I have had wells dug, rest-houses built, and in various places, I have had watering-places made for the use of animals and

Harvey, Avoiding Unintended Harm to the Environment

22

men. . . . I have done these things for this purpose, that the people might practice the Dhamma. . . . (Dhammika 1993) The Upãsaka-ĺčla SŊtra says of the Bodhisattva: In places where there are no trees, he erects posts and builds sheds for animals. . . . Seeing animals who are in fear, he helps and shelters them and persuades hunters [to stop hunting] by providing them with material things and kind words. (Shih 1994:133-134) If he feeds ants with a bit of noodle, he can also gain immeasurable rewards.

(Shih 1994:113)

The Brahmajãla SŊtra's forty-eight secondary precepts for Bodhisattvas include: 20. Failure to Liberate Sentient Beings. A disciple of the Buddha should have a mind of compassion and cultivate the practice of liberating sentient beings. . . . If a Bodhisattva sees an animal on the verge of being killed, he must devise a way to rescue and protect it, helping it to escape suffering and death. The disciple should always teach the Bodhisattva precepts to rescue and deliver sentient beings. (Buddhist Text Translation Society) Of course, one could add a rider here: but not liberate them in ways that lead others to first harm them!

We should act in such a way as to take into account the interests of other forms of sentient life in the environment that we share with them. We might sometimes choose to override such interests in favor of our own human ones, individual or collective, but we should never simply ignore them as if they do not exist. We sometimes end up overriding the interests of other people where we have a conflict of interest with them, but we should always first seek to find ways in which both parties' interests are

23

Journal of Buddhist Ethics

satisfied to a degree, and it is good to sometimes allow the interests of the other party to prevail. Social interactions often involve such balancing of interests. To always prefer one's own interests is recognized as acting selfishly. We should treat interactions with non-human beings in a similar way. We also need to become increasingly sensitive to the fact that harm to other forms of life often has knock-on effects that bring harm to humans, too. Buddhism has often taught that harm, and true benefit, of self and others are intertwined.

Protecting Other Species

One of emperor Asoka's edicts says: The Seven Pillar Edicts: 5 . . . Twenty-six years after my coronation various animals were declared to be protectedâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;parrots, mainas, aruna, ruddy geese, wild ducks, nandimukhas, gelatas, bats, queen ants, terrapins, boneless fish, vedareyaka, gangapuputaka, sankiya fish, tortoises, porcupines, squirrels, deer, bulls, okapinda, wild asses, wild pigeons, domestic pigeons and all four-footed creatures that are neither useful nor edible. [The identification of many of these animals is conjectural.] Those nanny goats, ewes and sows which are with young or giving milk to their young are protected, and so are young ones less than six months old.

Cocks are not to be caponized, husks hiding living beings are not to be burnt and forests are not to be burnt either without reason or to kill creatures. One animal is not to be fed to another. . . . (Dhammika 1993) Trade in endangered species, and driving species to extinction due to human destruction of their habitat, is now an international problem. The above edict has Asoka seeking to protect members of a range of species, but one can ask whether Buddhism has any particularly strong reasons for protecting species per se. Buddhist concern has always been for the suffering of any sentient being, of whatever species. In an eons-old world of change and impermanence, it is to be expected that species will become extinct

Harvey, Avoiding Unintended Harm to the Environment

24

(though this is happening much more rapidly than usual at present).

Nevertheless, each dying species consists of suffering individuals, and Buddhist concern should certainly focus on these. Buddhist principles might not strongly support saving "the" whale, but they support saving whales! It is unlikely that Asoka's edict was to prevent species extinctions, as such.

Where saving (members of) one endangered species involves killing members of another species, Buddhism would not be supportive. Moreover, classical Buddhist ethics would not, explicitly, see killing the last rhinoceros as worse than killing one when they were plentiful, or killing a cow, say.

Although to deliberately kill a rhinoceros so as to try to end the species could be seen as worse, both because it would be a very destructive act and would offend many people. A world without a particular species is still the conditioned world of suffering beings. If the human species became extinct, then an opportunity to be born as a being capable of enlightenment would be lostâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;at least in this part of the universe. While the same could not be said of any other species (though East Asian Buddhism came to see all species, even plants, as having the "Buddha nature"), the higher animals at least are seen as capable of some virtue, so their loss would also hinder the spiritual progress of beings. Accordingly, for some animals, to kill one when one knows that this will push its species closer to extinction, even if this is not one's intention, can indeed be seen as a worse act than if the species were not an endangered one.

What of endangered species that it would be implausible to see as capable of any kind of virtue? Is it worse to kill a member of such a species, when one knows it is endangered, than a member of a similar non-endangered species? One can argue that this may contribute to reducing the biodiversity of an ecosystem, and thus the overall flourishing of the various kinds of being that are part of it. This argument has some force: we should not make it more difficult for other beings to live. Some might also argue that if the species goes extinct, then this would eliminate the possibility of life for future generations of that species, and so in effect "kill" many beings. However, from a Buddhist point of view, the beings that might have

25

Journal of Buddhist Ethics

later been reborn as members of that species would simply be reborn as members of other species. Moreover, prevention of birth is not the same as killing, otherwise contraception would be a form of killing!

One endangered higher species is the tiger, partly threatened by the traditional Chinese belief that eating parts of a tiger sustains virility. Thus tigers are still imported from the dwindling numbers of India and Bangladesh into Taiwanâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;supposedly as "pets." In 1986, it was reported that Buddhist leaders there planned to buy twelve such tigers to save them from being eaten at the Chinese New Year.

Other endangered species are various types of whales, which the Japanese are active in hunting "scientifically" in spite of a world moratorium on commercial hunting. Japanese whale-hunting can be seen as the product of several factors. The fact that Japan is an island has meant that the sea has been looked to as a great food-provider. The traditional preference for seafoods was probably also strengthened by Buddhist concerns over meateating, for fish are seen as a low form of life. With more powerful boats, and an increasing secularism, there has been much whale killing. To the average Japanese, killing a whale is no worse than killing a cow, though of course a pious Buddhist would not want to do either. Given the Buddhist concern for "all sentient beings," Japanese whaling, and the Japanese emphasis on memorial rites, it is perhaps not surprising that Buddhist monks sometimes carry out memorial rites for the whales killed by whalers (Hoshino and Takeda 1987:310). Kapleau reports one such in 1979, put on by a Zen temple, and with government officials and executives of a large whaling company in the audience (1981:46-50). Unfortunately, the service did not seem to contain any discouragement to whaling, but was more like a way to salve people's consciences. This is not even a case of unintentionally harming a group of animals, but intentionally doing so and then trying to compensate for it with a ritual bandage. Of course Japanese whalers would not want to cause the actual extinction of the species that they huntâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;but sensitive and intelligent beings are deliberately killed, nevertheless.

Buddhism and Vegetarianism

1 of 9

http://www.urbandharma.org/udharma3/vegi.html

Buddhism and Vegetarianism

1. From John Kahila (talk.religion.buddhism newsgroup): Are all Buddhists vegetarians?

No. The First Precept admonishes us to refrain from killing, but meat eating is not regarded as an instance of killing, and it is not forbidden in the scriptures. (We are speaking here mainly of the Pali scriptures. Some of the Mahayana scriptures, notably the Lankavatara Sutra, take a strong position in favor of vegetarianism. Also see Note below) As recorded in the Pali scriptures, the Buddha did not prohibit consumption of meat, even by monks. In fact, he explicitly rejected a suggestion from Devadatta to do so. In modern Theravada societies, a bhikkhu who adheres to vegetarianism to impress others with his superior spirituality may be committing an infringement of the monastic rules.

On the other hand, the Buddha categorically prohibited consumption of the flesh of any animal that was "seen, heard or suspected" to have been killed specifically for the benefit of monks (Jivaka Sutta, Majjhima Nikaya 55). This rule technically applies only to monastics, but it can be used as a reasonable guide by devout lay people.

To understand this "middle path" approach to meat-eating, we have to remember that there were no "Buddhists" in Shakyamuni's time. There were only mendicants of various kinds (including the Buddha's disciples), plus lay people who gave them alms out of respect without necessarily worrying about the brand name of the teachings.

If meat was what a householder chose to offer, it

6/15/2011 11:51 PM

Buddhism and Vegetarianism

2 of 9

http://www.urbandharma.org/udharma3/vegi.html

was to be accepted without discrimination or aversion. To reject such an offering would be an offense against hospitality and would deprive the householder of an opportunity to gain merit -- and it could not benefit the animal, because it was already dead. Even the Jains may have had a similar outlook during the same period of history, despite the strict doctrine of ahimsa.

Vegetarianism could not become a source of serious controversy in the bhikkhu sangha until the rise of fixed-abode monastic communities in which the monks did not practice daily alms-round. Any meat provided to such a community by lay people would almost certainly have been killed specifically for the monks. That may be one reason for the difference in Mahayana and Theravada views on meat eating -the development of monastic communities of this type occurred principally within Mahayana.

The issue of meat eating raises difficult ethical questions. Isn't the meat in a supermarket or restaurant killed "for" us? Doesn't meat eating entail killing by proxy?

Few of us are in a position to judge meat eaters or anyone else for "killing by proxy." Being part of the world economy entails "killing by proxy" in every act of consumption. The electricity that runs our computers comes from facilities that harm the environment. Books of Buddhist scriptures are printed on paper produced by an industry that destroys wildlife habitat. Worms, insects, rodents and other animals are routinely killed en masse in the course of producing the staples of a vegetarian diet. Welcome to samsara. It is impossible for most of us to free ourselves from this web; we can only strive to be mindful of entanglement in it. One way to do so is to reflect on how the suffering and death of sentient beings contributes to our comfort. This may help us to be less inclined to consume out of mere greed.

All of that having been said, it cannot be denied that the economic machine which produces meat also creates fear and suffering for a large number of animals. It is useful to bear this in mind even if one consumes meat, to resist developing a habit of callousness. Many Buddhists (especially Mahayanists) practice vegetarianism as a means of cultivating compassion.

6/15/2011 11:51 PM

Buddhism and Vegetarianism

3 of 9

http://www.urbandharma.org/udharma3/vegi.html

The Jivaka Sutta hints that one could also make a good case for vegetarianism starting from any of the other brahmaviharas (loving-kindness, sympathetic joy, equanimity). Interestingly, it is loving-kindness rather than compassion that is mentioned first in the Jivaka Sutta.

If you are considering trying out vegetarianism for the first time, we suggest discussing it with someone who has experience. There are a few issues that ought to be considered regarding balanced diet, etc.

Note (by Binh Anson): The Lankavatara Sutra, although recorded the Buddha's teaching in Lanka (Sri Lanka), is essentially a product of later Mahayana development. According to H. Nakamura (Indian Buddhism, 1987), there are several versions of this sutra, one fairly different in content from the other. Most scholars concluded that this sutra was likely compiled in 350-400 CE. In addition, according the the popular Zen master D.T. Suzuki (The Lankavatara Sutra - A Mahayana Text, 1931), the chapter dealing with meat eating was indeed added much later in subsequent versions. He also agreed that this sutra was not the authentic words by the Buddha, but was compiled much later by unknown authors following Mahayana's philosophy.

2. From Ven. S. Dhammika (Australian BuddhaNet): Vegetarianism There are differences of opinion between Buddhists on this issue so we will attempt to present the arguments of those who believe that vegetarianism is necessary for Buddhists and those who do not.

Vegetarianism was not a part of the early Buddhist tradition and the Buddha himself was not a vegetarian. The Buddha got his food either by going on alms rounds or by being invited to the houses of his supporters and in both cases he ate what he was given. Before his enlightenment he had experimented with various diets including a meatless diet, but he eventually abandoned them believing that they did not contribute to spiritual development.

The Nipata Sutta underlines this point when it says

6/15/2011 11:51 PM

Buddhism and Vegetarianism

4 of 9

http://www.urbandharma.org/udharma3/vegi.html

that it is immorality that makes one impure (morally and spiritually), not the eating of meat. The Buddha is often described as eating meat, he recommended meat broth as a cure for certain types of illness and advised monks for practical reasons, to avoid certain types of meat, implying that other types were quite acceptable.

However, Buddhists gradually came to feel uncomfortable about meat eating. In 257 BC King Asoka said that in contrast to before, only two peacocks and a deer were killed to provide food in the royal kitchens and that in time even this would be stopped. By the beginning of the Christian era meat eating had become unacceptable, particularly amongst the followers of the Mahayana although the polemics against it in works like the Lankavatara Sutra indicates that it was still widespread or a least a point of controversy (see footnote in the previous section). Tantric text dating from the 7th and 8th centuries onward, frequently recommend both drinking alcohol and eating meat and both are considered fit to offer to gods. This was probably as much an expression of the freedom from convention which Tantra taught as it was a protest against Mahayanists to whom practices like abstaining from drink and meat had become a substitute for genuine spiritual change.

Today it is often said that Mahayanists are vegetarian and Theravadins are not. However the situation is a little more complex than that. Generally Theravadins have no dietary restrictions although it is not uncommon to find monks and lay people in Sri Lanka who are strict vegetarians. Others abstain from meat while eating fish. Chinese and Vietnamese monks and nuns are strictly vegetarian and the lay community try to follow their example although many do not. Amongst Tibetans and Japanese Buddhists, vegetarianism is rare.

Buddhists who insist on vegetarianism have a simple and compelling argument to support their case.

Eating meat encourages an industry that causes cruelty and death to millions of animals and a truly compassionate person would wish to mitigate all this suffering. By refusing to eat meat one can do just that.

Those who believe that vegetarianism is not

6/15/2011 11:51 PM

Buddhism and Vegetarianism

5 of 9

http://www.urbandharma.org/udharma3/vegi.html

necessary for Buddhists have equally compelling although more complex arguments to support their view: (1) If the Buddha had felt that a meatless diet was in accordance with the Precepts he would have said so and in the Pali Tipitaka at least, he did not.

(2) Unless one actually kills an animal oneself (which seldom happens today) by eating meat one is not directly responsible for the animal's death and in this sense the non- vegetarian is no different from the vegetarian. The latter can only eat his vegetables because the farmer has ploughed his fields (thus killing many creatures) and sprayed the crop (again killing many creatures). (3) While the vegetarian will not eat meat he does use numerous other products that lead to animals being killed (soap, leather, serum, silk etc.) Why abstain from one while using the others? (4) Good qualities like understanding, patience, generosity and honesty and bad qualities like ignorance, pride, hypocrisy, jealousy and indifference do not depend on what one eats and therefore diet is not a significant factor in spiritual development.

Some will accept one point of view and some another. Each person has to make up his or her own mind.

REFERENCES: (1) Ruegg, D.S. "Ahimsa and Vegetarianism in the History of Buddhism" in Buddhist Studies in Honour of Walpola Rahula. S. Balasooriya,(et.al) London, 1980; (2) P. Kapleau, To Cherish All Life, London, 1982.

3. From Samanera Kumara Liew ( dhammalist@quantrum.com.my, 06 June 1999) Is there something spiritually wholesome about being a vegetarian?

I'm aware there are some people whom are vegetarians here. Being somewhat health conscious myself, I'm almost one too. However, I can see that there are some seem to hold a view that I think they might like to reconsider -- i.e. the view that there is something spiritually wholesome about being a vegetarian.

As the suttas (discourses) clearly shows, the

6/15/2011 11:51 PM

Buddhism and Vegetarianism

6 of 9

http://www.urbandharma.org/udharma3/vegi.html

Buddha himself -- with his great wisdom -- did not ask his disciples, renunciate or lay, to be vegetarians. And so, you might like to reconsider that view that there is something spiritually wholesome about being a vegetarian.

The Buddha himself was not a vegetarian. And so, you might like to reconsider that view that there is something spiritually wholesome about being a vegetarian.

Some may argue that somewhere along the line someone might have modified the suttas. It would seem quite unlikely, as the Suttas (of the Theravada tradition at least) are brought to the present by a very large group of monks, not individuals. As such they can check each other for deviations. One person can't change anything without the agreement from others. For about 500 years the purity of the suttas was maintained by the oral tradition by large groups of chanting monks. When it eventually had to be put into writing in the first century due to wars, the monks who have such faith and respect for the Buddha would certainly have made much effort to ensure accuracy.

Assuming that despite all that, some people did attempt to modify the suttas, it wound have been quite impossible as there's *not* even a *single* trace in the voluminous Tipitika (the Vinaya, Sutta, and Abhidhamma Pitakas) which even suggests that the Buddha advised on being vegetarians. And so, you might like to reconsider that view that there is something spiritually wholesome about being a vegetarian.

Even if the above cannot convince you, try asking yourself this: "Why do I consider being a vegetarian to be spiritually wholesome?" You may say that "If I eat meat, I would be indirectly encouraging killing of animals"; or that, "If I eat meat, I would be indirectly a killer"; or that "If I'm a vegetarian, it would mean that less animals will be killed."

Noble considerations, I must admit. But let's examine this further to gain a better perspective. Try asking yourself this: "Where do my vegetables come from?" "From farms," you might say. To prepare the soil for cultivation, wouldn't it have to be tilled? And when the plants are grown, wouldn't pesticides have to be sprayed? Wouldn't all that kill lots of animals,

6/15/2011 11:51 PM

Buddhism and Vegetarianism

7 of 9

http://www.urbandharma.org/udharma3/vegi.html

though they may be smaller and seem insignificant to humans? Don't they suffer too?

Some may still continue to argue that one should get one's vegetables from hydroponic farms. A good argument, I must admit. But let's examine this further to gain a better perspective. Such farms use much water -- for the sake of the plants, for the sake of washing things, for the sake of keeping the place clean, and others. Wouldn't such use of water kill lots of animals too, though they may be smaller and seem insignificant to humans? Don't they suffer too?

And let's consider the boxes and pipes in which such farming is so dependent upon, and also the materials to built the green houses. They need to be manufactured. And so indirectly factories are needed; and so lands need to be cleared. Wouldn't all that kill lots of animals too, though they may be smaller and seem insignificant to humans? Don't they suffer too?

The machines and equipment needed by the factories too needs to be manufactured. And so indirectly more factories are needed; and so more lands need to be cleared. Wouldn't all that kill lots of animals too, though they may be smaller and seem insignificant to humans? Don't they suffer too?

Let's also further consider the supply of electricity, water, telecommunication services, and other infrastructures. Just consider all that needs to be done to supply those things. Wouldn't all that kill lots of animals too, though they may be smaller and seem insignificant to humans? Don't they suffer too?

And consider all those transporting this and that here and there that goes about to set up the factories and the factories for the factories, the infrastructures for all those factories, so that materials can be supplied to them, so that the boxes and pipes and the material to build the green houses can be made for the hydroponic farms, and that they may be sent to the farms, so that hydroponic vegetables can be cultivated, so that you may buy and eat them. Wouldn't all that kill even lots more animals, though they may be smaller and seem insignificant to humans? Don't they suffer too?

Wouldn't it then be proper to consider that "If I eat only vegetables I too would be indirectly

6/15/2011 11:51 PM

Buddhism and Vegetarianism

8 of 9

http://www.urbandharma.org/udharma3/vegi.html

encouraging killing of animals;" or that, "If I don't eat meat, I would be indirectly a killer too;" or that "If don't eat meat, it wouldn't mean that less animals will be killed. And in fact perhaps more are killed."

I could go on and on, but I should assume that you should get the message by now. And so, you might like to reconsider that view that there is something spiritually wholesome about being a vegetarian. We must understand: We live in 'samsara'; and it's not called 'samsara' for no reason. In this world, there IS suffering. That the Buddha has declared. Its cause too has been declared. So has its end. And so has the way to the end of sufferings.

Having drawn such reasonable arguments, some may *still* insist on arguing further that eating meat may reduce our craving (tanha), and so there must be something spiritually wholesome about being a vegetarian. I'd ask: "Who says meat tastes better than vegetables?" Have you tasted meat without any additives before? A raw carrot would taste much better. I myself can easily have more craving for chocolates than meat. I'd say durian (a local fruit) tastes much better. So it would not be proper to say that eating meat may reduce our craving. Besides, having aversion over a neutral thing such as meat seems quite unnecessary and even obstructive to one's spiritual progress. And so, you might like to reconsider that view that there is something spiritually wholesome about being a vegetarian.

Consider what the Buddha said: "Action (kamma) is intention (cetana)." When we eat meat we do not think: "Oh, may they kill more animals so that I may have more meat to eat. Never mind if being have to suffer and die." When we eat vegetables, fruits and other non-meat food, we do not think: "Oh, may they plant more of such food. Never mind if beings have to suffer and die." When we eat, our intention is to eat.

However, we may try practicing a few things: - We may be moderate with our intake.

Not indulge more than what we really need. That's what the Buddha advised, and there is something spiritually wholesome about this; and not simply not eat meat.

6/15/2011 11:51 PM

Buddhism and Vegetarianism

9 of 9

http://www.urbandharma.org/udharma3/vegi.html

- We may choose to eat only "at the right time" (dawn to noon). This is encouraged even for lay people on certain days.

That's what the Buddha advised, and there is something spiritually wholesome about this; and not simply not eat meat.

- When we eat we may eat mindfully, chew mindfully, taste mindfully and swallow mindfully. This would then help us eat without craving and strengthen our mindfulness. That's what the Buddha advised, and there is something spiritually wholesome about this; and not simply not eat meat.

If you choose to be a vegetarian, well go ahead. Do check with other knowledgeable vegetarians about having a balanced vegetarian diet. You need to make sure that you have adequate protein, B12, and zinc.

But for your own sake, do not hold to that view that there is something spiritually wholesome about being a vegetarian. Also, it would certainly not be wise to think oneself superior due to one's choice of food. Check yourself whenever you see others eat meat. Furthermore, it would be definitely improper to impose such wrong view upon others.

This message has been written to inform, and not criticize or offend. Hope it has been regarded in proper light.

Samanera Kumara Liew 06 June 1999

Compiled by Binh Anson Ph.D. ... Web-Site - BuddhaSasana

Also See:

What the Buddha Said About Eating Meat

6/15/2011 11:51 PM

PRACTICE: The Evolutionary Gifts of the Animals

Using our own bodies, we learn about our kinship with other life-forms, and the debt of gratitude we owe to our animal ancestors.

The bloodstream: Feel the pulse in your wrist. Blood is circulating. That capacity common to all life-forms arose with the first multi-celled creatures who devised ways to transfer nutrients to their inside cells. As the developed, some of them invented a muscular pump—a heart. That pulsing you feel is the gift of ancient Great-Grandmother Worm.

The spinal column: Feel the bones in the neck, the back. Those vertebrae of the long spine are separate, but ingeniously linked. They cover the central neural cord and, at the same time, allow flexibility of movement. Grandfather Fish did the design work, because he couldn’t swim if his backbone were one solid piece. We can thank him for this marvel, that now permits us to stand and walk.

The ear: Can you hear something right now? That’s because tiny bones vibrate in the inner ear, and that’s a gift from Ancestor Fish, as well. They were once his jawbones and they migrated into the mammalian ear to carry sound.

The limbic brain: Inside the base of the skull is the limbic region of the brain, a gift from our reptilian grandmothers and grandfathers. It allows deep pleasure. It also allows us to protect ourselves by fighting or running away.

Binocular vision: Our eyes are not on the sides of our head, as are those of our fish and reptile cousins, birds, and many mammals. Our tree-climbing primate ancestors moved their eyes around to the front, to function together, so they could know the exact location and distance of branches to leap for. We can thank them for our binocular vision.

Hands: See how the hand curls over. See the size of the space it encloses between fingers and thumb. That’s just the right size for a branch capable of holding a swinging body. Grandmother Monkey designed that hand. And the branch was designed by the sun and wind and gravity, as well as Grandfather Tree himself as he grew high to reach the light, and limber to allow the wind. So we, with these hands, are grandchildren of the tree and sun and wind, as well.

--adapted from Joanne Macy

Buddhist Ideas about Plants Saturday, August 6 9-11 am

Readings:

“Plants, Trees and Forests” “A Tree Called Steadfast” “Nuns and Trees”

Practice:

Beginner’s mind

Place:

Gay City State Park, Rt. 85, Hebron (meet in the parking lot closest to the lake at 9 am)

--from An Introduction to Buddhist Ethics, by Peter Harvey (2000, Cambridge University Press)

A Tree Called Steadfast Anguttara Nikaya 6.5.54 [Translation and comment by Andrew Olendzki]

Once upon a time there was a royal fig tree called Steadfast, belonging to king Koravya, whose five outstretched branches provided a cool and pleasing shade. Its girth extended a hundred miles, and its roots spread out for forty miles. And the fruits of that tree were indeed great: As large as harvest baskets—such were its succulent fruits—and as clear as the honey of bees.

One portion was enjoyed by the king, along with his household of women; one portion was enjoyed by the army; one portion was enjoyed by the people of the town and village; one portion was enjoyed by brahmins and ascetics; and one portion was enjoyed by the beasts and birds. Nobody guarded the fruits of that royal tree, and neither did anyone harm one another for the sake of its fruits.

But then a certain man came along who fed upon as much of Steadfast’s fruits as he wanted, broke off a branch, and wandered on his way. And the deva who dwelled in Steadfast thought to herself: “It is astonishing, it is truly amazing, that such an evil man would dare to feed upon as much of Steadfast’s fruits as he wants, break off a branch, and then wander on his way! Now, what if Steadfast were in the future to bear no more fruit?” And so the royal fig tree Steadfast bore no more fruit.

So then king Koravya went up to where Sakka, chief among the gods, was dwelling, and having approached said this: “Surely you must know, sire, that Steadfast, the royal fig tree, no longer bears fruit?” And then Sakka created a magical creation of such a form that a mighty wind and rain came down and toppled the royal fig tree Steadfast, uprooting it entirely. And then the deva who dwelled in Steadfast grieved, lamented, and stood weeping on one side with a face full of tears.

And then Sakka, chief among the gods, went up to where the deva was standing, and having approached said this: “Why is it, deva, that you grieve and lament and stand on one side with a face full of tears?” “It is because, sire, a mighty wind and rain has come and toppled my abode, uprooting it entirely.”

“And were you, deva, upholding the dhamma of trees when this happened?”

“But how is it, sire, that a tree upholds the dhamma of trees?”

“Like this, deva: Root-cutters take the root of the tree; bark-strippers take the bark; leaf-pickers take the leaves; flower-pickers take the flowers; fruit-pickers take the fruits—and none of this is reason enough for a deva to think only of herself or become morose. Thus it is, deva, that a tree upholds the dhamma of trees.”

“Then indeed, sire, I was not upholding the dhamma of trees when the mighty wind and rain came and toppled my abode, uprooting it entirely.” “If it were the case, deva, that you were to uphold the dhamma of trees, it may be that your abode might be as it was before.” “I will indeed, sire, uphold the dhamma of trees! May my abode be as it was before!”

And then Sakka, chief among the gods, created a magical creation of such a form that a mighty wind and rain came down and raised up the royal fig tree Steadfast, and its roots were entirely healed.

Perhaps this is a true story—perhaps Steadfast is a name for the entire planet, not just a mythological tree. How else might we explain the earth’s great forbearance and continued beneficence in the face of the rapacity and destruction we have wrought upon her? I think Gaia, the deity inhabiting the abode of our lovely Earth, was taught this lesson by Sakka in ancient times, and has with great patience and dignity put up with the worst we can render. If this is true, then she will not give us a sign when we have gone too far—perceiving this is our own responsibility.

Like every Buddhist story, this one works on many levels simultaneously. It is no accident that the great tree has five branches, or that the word used for each portion is khandha—the term designating the five aggregates of form, feeling, perception, formations and consciousness. The man eating his fill of fruit is manifesting greed, craving or desire, and his breaking of the branch represents hatred, anger or aversion. These are two of the three poisonous roots out of which all unwholesome action arises (the third—ignorance—is always present when others occur). Thus the entire image is representative of a person being wronged by another or facing the eruption of their own latent tendencies for harmful action.

Notice that the story does not teach the “evil man” the folly of his ways, since there is often nothing one can do to avoid such people or such inclinations in oneself. The teaching is more about our response to transgression. Sakka’s point is that it is self-centered to react petulantly to such an affront, and that the only suitable response is with kindness and generosity—to oneself as well as to others. As the Dhammapada so aptly says, “Never at any time in this world are hostilities resolved by hostility; but by kindness they are resolved—this is an eternal truth.”

(Dhp 5) This teaching is given to Dhammika, a monk who complains of his treatment by certain laypeople. The Buddha reflects the situation back upon Dhammika, who as it turns out does not treat his fellow monks very well. It is an occasion to teach Dhammika, with the help of this story, the “dhamma of a recluse,” which boils down to “not returning the insult of the insulter, the anger of the angry or the abuse of the abuser.”

PRACTICE: Beginner's Mind Take a walk and let yourself be called to a particular tree. Stay with the tree awhile to study, look, feel, smell, and sense it.

Listen to it as wind rustles its branches. Bask in its shade in the midday sun. Get to know it at different times of the day and in different seasons. How is it connected with life around it? How do you get to know it, and which senses do you use?

Feel the difference between your idea of the tree and the rich textural experience of it. Notice the impulse to move on because of impatience, resistance, or boredom. When you feel you "know it," what does that do to the sense of curiosity and mystery? Can you maintain interest even when you think you have reached the end of your exploration? Is it possible to fully know what a tree really is? Start to bring this curious attention to all that you meet.

--Mark Coleman

Buddhist Poetry and Stories about Nature Saturday, August 20 9:30-11:30 am

Readings:

Lions in the Wilderness: Early Buddhist Appreciation of Nature Maha Kassapa Thera: At Home in the Mountains Udayin Thera: The Blooming Lotus Mahakapi Jataka Prayer for the Great Family

Practice:

Writing a gatha

Place:

Wickham Park, 1329 Middle Tpke W, Manchester, CT ($4 admission fee) (meet in the parking lot by the Oriental Garden at 9:30 am)

Lions In The Wilderness: Early Buddhist Appreciation Of Nature

1 of 5

http://www.dharma.org/ij/archives/1996a/lions.htm

Lions In The Wilderness: Early Buddhist Appreciation Of Nature

By Andrew Olendzki This article is extracted from a paper presented on March 9, 1996 at the Harvard Conference in honor of retiring professor Masatoshi Nagatomi.

In East Asia, Buddhism became easily identified with nature poetry—especially in the Ch’an and Zen traditions. The Buddhist concern for being fully present in the moment harmonized nicely with the Chinese poetic tradition of evoking a concrete natural image in touching detail. And in the Japanese aesthetic tradition, the Buddhist teaching of the thorough impermanence of all beauty and of the mysterious deep calm pervading the cosmos both contributed exquisitely to the poetic expressions of such sentiments as aware and yugen.

But somehow one does not hear so much about nature poetry in the early Buddhist tradition in South Asia, by which I more specifically mean the literature of the Pali Tipitaka. How could the aesthetic appreciation of nature play any role in the path to enlightenment outlined in this literature? Surely the thorough distrust of all sensory data, along with the pervasive themes of asceticism and renunciation, are so strong in the teachings of Gotama and his immediate followers that even this subtle form of pleasure might be condemned as an insidious outrider from Mara’s domain.

Right at the start, the entire sensory world is recognized as being in flux, and the Indian response to this characteristic of impermanence is not poignant appreciation but full confirmation of dukkha—of the suffering and unsatisfactory nature of the phenomenal world. Change is not to be relished, but deplored. This is evident in the standard catechism, coming up often in the Tipitaka, which invariably links impermanence and suffering: “What do you think, monks: Is [the world] permanent or impermanent? Impermanent, Sir. And that which is impermanent, is it suffering or happiness? Surely it is suffering, Sir.“ [MN 22.26] This theme is pervasive: The very changeability of all phenomena, so evident upon a close examination of the natural world, is definitive and even fearful proof of the utter unsatisfactoriness of the world. It is a primary motivation for turning away from the world of the senses and pursuing a life of renunciation. Indeed, this is the very insight that first set Prince Siddhattha on his path to awakening.

Another dramatic confirmation of the potential dangers of the beauty displayed by nature is found in the second noble truth itself, which identifies craving (tanha) as the essential cause of suffering. The word nandi or “delight“ is often used to describe the “lure“ that draws one in to craving, the “hook“ that catches and holds one fast, or the “snare“ used again and again by Mara to seduce the deer of the forest or the unwary bhikkhu. The word nandi is basic to the very definition of suffering in all the explications of the second noble truth. When the question is asked, “What is the noble truth of the arising of suffering?“ the answer invariably follows: “It is craving, which…is accompanied by delight and lust, and delights in this and that.“ [MN 141.21] If one delights in this and that wonder of the natural world, then is one hopelessly caught in craving and suffering?

6/14/2011 4:45 PM

Lions In The Wilderness: Early Buddhist Appreciation Of Nature

2 of 5

http://www.dharma.org/ij/archives/1996a/lions.htm

The plot thickens as one enters into some of the details of the Buddhist cognitive model of experience, where pleasure of any kind is so often the immediate cause of craving and therefore of suffering. As the matter is put in one of the classic psychological texts, The Six Sets of Six, for example: “Dependent on the eye and forms, eye-consciousness arises; the meeting of the three is contact (phasso); conditioned by contact there is feeling (vedana); and conditioned by feeling there is craving (tanha).“ [MN 148.9] The cognitive model expounded in the Pali texts clearly links all experience without exception to a feeling—a hedonic tone of either pleasure or pain or neutrality—which in turn conditions our further response of craving. This craving can of course be of two sorts: When a pleasant feeling arises we crave for its continuance and grasp after the pleasure; and when it is an unpleasant feeling that arises we crave for its cessation and react against the displeasure by responses of denial, anger or aversion. Either way the experience of pleasant feeling leads directly to the manifestation of craving, and this is why responses such as delight (nandi) are viewed with such dismay. It is this pleasure itself which fuels the desire for more pleasure, and captures us in the net of craving and grasping. This point is also driven home in the many explanations of the doctrine of interdependent origination where craving is said to be immediately conditioned by feeling.

Finally, we should recognize that one of the key strategies for liberation, as reflected in the Pàli texts, is the “turning away“ (nibbindati) from sensory pleasures, the “giving up“ (pajahati) of delight in this or that, the thorough uprooting or cutting off (chindati) of the very capacity for the craving that emerges from pleasurable sensory experience. The passages that drive this point home pervade the Pali literature—here is one example of this type of formulation: “Seeing [the unsatisfactoriness etc.] of [the world], a well-taught noble disciple becomes disenchanted with [the world]. Being disenchanted, he becomes dispassionate. Through dispassion [his mind] is liberated.“ [MN 22.26] In light of this context of concern about pleasure and delight, how could there be nature poetry in the early teachings of the Buddha? Surely the aesthetic appreciation of the shape of a mountain, the call of a bird or animal, the fragrance of a blossoming flower, would all be construed as that much indulgence in the pleasurable sensations entering through the eye-door, the ear-door or the nose-door, respectively. Surely the appropriate response by one who has “rightly gone forth into the teaching of the noble ones“ is to turn one’s attention from such insidious sensory seductions to something more enlightening, like the putrefaction of a corpse in the advanced stages of decomposition, for example. We are reminded of the image of a monk passing through a village with his gaze focused one plough’s length in front of him, carefully guarding the sense doors so that nothing too tempting slips into the citadel of his unwavering concentration upon the goal of liberation.

And yet we do find some remarkable and quite beautiful nature poetry attributed to some of the Buddha’s most accomplished contemporaries. Most of this is found in the Theragatha, the poems of the early monks, but there are good examples of it elsewhere. Fully one quarter of the verses in the first chapter of this text involve nature imagery. There are exceptionally beautiful poems attributed to Sappaka and Bhuta, for example, two monks who lived on the banks of the Ajakarana river; and Kaludayin, the Buddha’s childhood companion, evokes lovely images of spring when encouraging Gotama to return to Kapilavatthu after his awakening.

And we find even the Buddha himself pausing on occasion to appreciate beauty, as for example when he comments on the Capala shrine just three months before his final passing away at Kusinara: ramaniyam Capaliyam cetiyam, he says to Ananda. This phrase is usually translated: “Delightful is this Capala Shrine!“ In fact in the Mahaparinibbana Sutta the Buddha praises the aesthetic beauty of a number of places around Vesali and Rajagaha, suggesting that such agreeableness might incline a Tathagata to remain in this world for

6/14/2011 4:45 PM

Lions In The Wilderness: Early Buddhist Appreciation Of Nature

3 of 5

http://www.dharma.org/ij/archives/1996a/lions.htm

an entire kalpa.

How are we to understand this phenomenon in the context of the early Buddhist model of cognition? Is it possible to experience pleasure without getting caught by it? What exactly is the difference between those situations where pleasure gives rise to craving and suffering, and those situations where it does not?

The explanation, I think, is to be found in the fact that—strictly speaking—it is craving which is the direct cause of suffering, not feelings of pleasure themselves. True, that very craving is caused by and dependent upon feelings of pleasure that arise from experience through the sense doors, but it is precisely the accomplishment of the arahant that she or he is able to sever this link—she is able to experience a pleasant feeling without that giving rise to a corresponding craving for the pleasant feeling to persist.

The root of craving that has been extirpated by the arahant is not the pleasant feeling itself, but the underlying tendencies of greed, hatred and delusion which in most people are triggered by the pleasant feeling. Feelings give rise to cravings, in the teaching of interdependent origination, for example, but only when the underlying tendencies or unhealthy roots are present. For the arahant who has extinguished in herself the three fires of greed, hatred and delusion, a pleasant feeling can be experienced—and yes, even appreciated—without providing the conditions sufficient for the arising of craving, grasping and suffering.

Such a moment of appreciation—for a natural scene, for example—would be characterized by mindfulness and clear comprehension, the conscious awareness of a pleasant visual or auditory sensation arising in dependence on specific objects of visual or auditory experience, and would be held with absolute equanimity.

This last point is important. Equanimity (upekkha) is described as that quality of mind so perfectly centered and balanced that it is drawn neither towards nor away from any particular object of experience. If the moment of noting with appreciation a beautiful natural scene is followed immediately by a moment of noting a terrible pain wracking the body because of old age or illness, the enlightened mind would not be more inclined to the one over the other.

In either case the experience of the arahant exhibits a thoroughgoing non-attachment, for the fires of passion have been quenched. Knowing fully with her wisdom that the clouds or flowers or even the mountains are impermanent, liable to change and passing away, created by the confluence of innumerable interdependent and impersonal conditions, does not preclude the mindful awareness of a moment of aesthetic appreciation.

Of course there is simultaneously the awareness that the pleasure itself is conditioned and not owned or possessed by anyone at all. The eye, the cloud, the awareness, the understanding and the pleasure are all a passing manifestation and are intrinsically empty.

How is all this expressed in the literature itself? Let’s look for a moment at the poem of the monk Abhaya, from the Theragatha. Abhaya leaves stanzas that describe how the mind gets caught in samsara by attending to a pleasant visual or auditory object. The way he puts it is very interesting: “Seeing a form, mindfulness becomes confused—for one who pays attention to a charming object. He experiences it with an impassioned mind, and stays clinging to it. His asavas increase, which leads further on to samsara.“ [Thag98] The pivotal term in this verse is sati or mindfulness, which becomes confused because of the attention directed to a charming object (rupam disva sati muttha). The result of this confusion is the experiencing of the object with an impassioned mind, and the ensuing tendency to grasp after the object. The visual form itself is innocent of all charges throughout this process—it is the stirring up of passion in the mind that is the real culprit.

We often hear in the Buddhist teachings about the difference between wise and unwise application of attention during the process of experience—yoniso and ayoniso manasikara. This is clearly an example of

6/14/2011 4:45 PM

Lions In The Wilderness: Early Buddhist Appreciation Of Nature

4 of 5

http://www.dharma.org/ij/archives/1996a/lions.htm

unwise attention, which emerges because of the confusion of mindfulness. But presumably if mindfulness can remain unconfused in the presence of a visual object, through the wise use of attention even to what might to anyone appear as a charming object, then the entire process of perception is purified and the asavas do not increase.

Viewing things in this way, I think, absolves the natural world from contempt in the early Buddhist tradition, and allows for the appreciation of nature in Pali poetry. The proper targets of the ascetic’s ire are the three fundamental unhealthy roots of greed, hatred and delusion, and the data of experience is only to be so carefully regulated because of its tendency to trigger the eruption of these latent tendencies in the undeveloped mind.

A perfectly acceptable alternative strategy, then, is the thorough development and establishment of mindfulness to the extent that one can see a form or hear a sound without its becoming confused. Once this is accomplished, the bhikkhu has nothing to fear from the gentle pleasures inherent in the appreciation of nature, and indeed the remote forest thicket or cave may be the ideal place to tread the path to freedom.

As Radha puts it in his poem, “Just as rain does not penetrate a well-thatched hut, so desire does not penetrate a well-developed mind.” (Thag 134) The monk Cittaka says that “the call of the crested, blue-necked peacocks in the Kàraüviya forest, urged on by the cool breeze, awakens the sleeper to meditation.” (Thag 22) And Devasabha can say that he will “become fully enlightened, without asavas, while ranging in the foundations of mindfulness and while covered with the flowers of liberation.” (Thag 100) Mahakotthika is able to “shake off unwholesome thoughts as the wind shakes off the leaves of a tree.” (Thag 2) For Ramaneyyaka, “Amidst the sound of chirping and the cries of the birds, this mind of mine does not waver, for devotion to solitude is mine.” (Thag 49) And Vimala says, “The earth is sprinkled, the wind blows, lightning flashes in the sky. My thoughts are quieted, my mind is well concentrated.” (Thag 50) The final example of early Buddhist nature poetry I would like to look at are some of the stanzas attributed to Maha Kassapa, one of the Buddha’s most eminent and accomplished Theras. Maha Kassapa’s is one of the longer of the Theragatha’s poems, and for our purpose here I have lifted eight stanzas from the middle of the poem. In the section just preceding this beautiful piece of nature poetry, the Thera tells of receiving a food offering from the hands of a leper who’s finger fell off in his bowl in the process. Maha Kassapa relates that he ate the bowl of food anyway, without disgust or enjoyment. Perhaps this stark contrast of themes helps to illustrate the point made earlier about equanimity.

Immediately after these exerpted verses about nature is a stanza, which I do include here, expressing an appreciation of dhamma and of samadhi. This disclaimer, in close juxtaposition to the praise of nature, is not uncommon in this genre of Pali poetry. It is as if to confirm that the poet is not getting lost in the pleasure and hooked by craving, that all this sentiment on the glories of nature—likened by Maha Kassapa to music being played on five instruments—pales in comparison to the unsullied pleasure of true insight into dhamma.

The poem describes the beauty of nature in the Magadha hills where Maha Kassapa spent his old age, and each verse has a repeating chorus describing his appreciation of the sights, sounds and textures of the natural splendors around him. The chorus is: te sela ramayanti mam, which K.R. Norman translates as “Those rocks delight me.“ But given all that has been said above, I think we need to be careful how we use a word like “delight“ in this context. As we have seen, the word most commonly used to translate delight is nandi, and

6/14/2011 4:45 PM

Lions In The Wilderness: Early Buddhist Appreciation Of Nature

5 of 5

http://www.dharma.org/ij/archives/1996a/lions.htm

this is specifically identified as one of the “hooks“ that bind pleasure to craving.

In fact it appears that the verb used in the chorus, ramayati, is very carefully chosen by the poet, and may well be reserved for this special usage in much of the Pàli of the Tipiñaka. Based on the root ram—to enjoy, to be pleased or contented—it is the same word attributed to the Buddha himself in his remark about the Capala shrine, and is commonly found describing delight in meditation or delight in the dhamma. Maha Kassapa plays with this word considerably in his poem. In addition to its repetition as ramayanti, applied to the rocky crags in the chorus, he uses ramma several times as an adjective to describe the earth and the call of elephants; he employs the common compound manorama, “pleasing to the mind,“ for a patch of earth; and he uses the related form rati in the last verse to express his appreciation of true insight into dhamma.

In translating the chorus of this poem, I prefer the phrase “These rocks are pleasing to me“ to “Those rocks delight me.“ Perhaps this is an unnecessarily subtle distinction; but we should be careful that a word like “delightful“ not suggest something entrancing that stirs up the mind in the manner described by Abhaya.

When the various natural scenes depicted by Maha Kassapa are labled “pleasing,“ I hope to suggest a more passive—possibly a more emotionally distant—on-looking of beauty. To me, at least, an arahant pleased by a refined sense of aesthetic appreciation is not incompatible with equanimity, and evokes the image of the gentle, appreciative smile of the Buddha found on so much of his statuary.

[See companion verse: Maha Kassapa—At Home in the Mountains.]

6/14/2011 4:45 PM

Maha Kassapa Thera: At Home in the Mountains

1 of 2

http://www.accesstoinsight.org/tipitaka/kn/thag/thag.18.00x.olen.html

» Tipitaka » Khuddaka » Theragatha »

Thag 18

PTS: Thag 1062-6, 1068-71

Maha Kassapa Thera: At Home in the Mountains

(excerpt)

translated from the Pali by

Andrew Olendzki © 2005–2011 Alternate translation: Thanissaro

Strung with garlands of flowering vines, This patch of earth delights the mind; The lovely calls of elephants sound — These rocky crags do please me so!

The shimmering hue of darkening clouds, Cool waters in pure streams flowing; Enveloped by Indra's ladybugs — These rocky crags do please me so!

Like the lofty peaks of looming clouds, Like the most refined of palaces; The lovely calls of tuskers sound — These rocky crags do please me so!

The lovely ground is rained upon, The hills are full of holy seers; Resounding with the cry of peacocks — These rocky crags do please me so!

Being clothed in flaxen flowers, As the sky is covered in clouds; Strewn with flocks of various birds — These rocky crags do please me so!

Not occupied by village folk, But visited by herds of deer; Strewn with flocks of various birds — These rocky crags do please me so!

With clear waters and broad boulders, Holding troops of monkey and deer; Covered with moist carpets of moss — These rocky crags do please me so!

6/15/2011 9:24 PM

Maha Kassapa Thera: At Home in the Mountains

2 of 2

http://www.accesstoinsight.org/tipitaka/kn/thag/thag.18.00x.olen.html

[But] there is not so much contentment For me in the five-fold music, As in truly seeing Dhamma With a well-concentrated mind.

Provenance: ©2005 Andrew Olendzki. Transcribed from a file provided by the translator. This Access to Insight edition is ©2005–2011.

Terms of use: You may copy, reformat, reprint, republish, and redistribute this work in any medium whatsoever, provided that: (1) you only make such copies, etc. available free of charge; (2) you clearly indicate that any derivatives of this work (including translations) are derived from this source document; and (3) you include the full text of this license in any copies or derivatives of this work. Otherwise, all rights reserved. For additional information about this license, see the FAQ. How to cite this document (one suggested style): "Maha Kassapa Thera: At Home in the Mountains" (Thag 18), translated from the Pali by Andrew Olendzki. Access to Insight, 8 August 2010, http://www.accesstoinsight.org/tipitaka/kn/thag/thag.18.00x.olen.html.

Help | Site map | About | Contact | Terms of use |

6/15/2011 9:24 PM

Udayin Thera: The Blooming Lotus

1 of 2

http://www.accesstoinsight.org/tipitaka/kn/thag/thag.15.02.olen.html

» Tipitaka » Khuddaka » Theragatha »

Thag 15.2

PTS: Thag 700-701

Udayin Thera: The Blooming Lotus

(excerpt)

translated from the Pali by

Andrew Olendzki © 2005–2011

Translator's note This poem by the Elder Udayin evokes one of the most famous of Buddhist images, and is laced with meaning on many levels. In one sense — emerging from the psychological ethos of early Buddhist teaching — it can be taken to describe the ability of the awakened person to thrive in the world of sensory experience without clinging or attachment. Though the human condition is rooted in the desires that give rise to all life and selfhood, one can learn to live in this world without being bound by the impulse to crave pleasure and avoid pain. One gets "drenched by the world" when one succumbs to to the range of grasping behaviors which inevitably bring about suffering — the mind clings to an object like water that permeates something and drenches it. Here we see a Buddha that does not transcend the world, but lives in it for forty-five years with a mind free of all attachments.

As the tradition evolved, the question of just what sort of being the Buddha was became of growing importance. The image of the lotus emerging from the mud and blooming above the world became a popular way of expressing the Buddha's transcendence. In the canonical passage upon which Udayin builds his verse (Samyutta Nikaya 22:94) the phrase "having passed beyond the world" (lokam abhibhuyya) is added, and this becomes the basis for the Vetulyaka assertion that the Buddha was essentially a transcendent being. This interpretation had profound implications for later Buddhism, and set the stage for, among other ideas, the Three Bodies of the Buddha doctrine of Mahayana Buddhism. In this way of looking at things, Awakening (represented by the lotus blossom) is something that happens again and again in all different places and times, and is not limited to a single occurrence of it among the Sakya's of ancient India.

The tantric Buddhists of the Vajrayana were drawn to the contrast in this image between the ordinary, defiling mud in which the plant is rooted and the sublime loveliness of the blossom.

Relentless in their non-attachment to dichotomies and their demolition of opposites, the tantric approach is to be capable of embracing both extremes without clinging to either.

Though the emphasis changes, we can see that the essential teaching of non-attachment or non-clinging (nopalippati) — to the objects of sense-perception, to a particular mode of teaching, or to conventional dualities — remains carried through the ages by this simple image of a lotus growing out of the water.

6/15/2011 9:27 PM

Udayin Thera: The Blooming Lotus

2 of 2

http://www.accesstoinsight.org/tipitaka/kn/thag/thag.15.02.olen.html

As the flower of a lotus, Arisen in water, blossoms, Pure-scented and pleasing the mind, Yet is not drenched by the water, In the same The Buddha And like the He does not

way, born in the world, abides in the world; lotus by water, get drenched by the world.

Provenance: ©2005 Andrew Olendzki. Transcribed from a file provided by the translator. This Access to Insight edition is ©2005–2011.

Terms of use: You may copy, reformat, reprint, republish, and redistribute this work in any medium whatsoever, provided that: (1) you only make such copies, etc. available free of charge; (2) you clearly indicate that any derivatives of this work (including translations) are derived from this source document; and (3) you include the full text of this license in any copies or derivatives of this work. Otherwise, all rights reserved. For additional information about this license, see the FAQ. How to cite this document (one suggested style): "Udayin Thera: The Blooming Lotus" (Thag 15.2), translated from the Pali by Andrew Olendzki. Access to Insight, 8 August 2010, http://www.accesstoinsight.org/tipitaka /kn/thag/thag.15.02.olen.html.

Help | Site map | About | Contact | Terms of use |

6/15/2011 9:27 PM

Mahakapi Jataka -- The Great Monkey King â&#x20AC;&#x201C; 407 One day in Jetavana Monastery bhikkhus began talking about the good that Buddha did for his relatives. When Buddha asked them about their subject, and they told him, he said, "Bhikkhus, this is not the first time the Tathagata has done good works to benefit his relatives." Then he told this story of the past.

Long, long ago, when Brahmadatta was reigning in Baranasi, the Bodhisatta was born as a monkey in the Himalayas. When he was fully grown, he was extremely strong and vigorous and became the leader of a troop of eighty thousand monkeys.

On the bank of the Ganges there was an enormous mango tree, with two massive branches so thick with leaves it looked like a mountain. Its sweet fruit was of exquisite fragrance and flavor.

One branch spread over the bank of the river, but the other branch extended over the water.

One day, while the monkey king was eating the succulent fruit, he thought, "If any of this fruit ever fell into the river, great danger could come to us." To prevent this, he ordered the monkeys to pick all the mango flowers or tiny fruit from that branch. One fruit, however, was hidden by an ant's nest and escaped the monkeys' attention. When it ripened, it fell into the river.

At that time, the King of Baranasi was bathing and amusing himself in the river.

Whenever the king bathed in the river, he had nets stretched both upstream and downstream from where he was. The mango floated down the river and stuck in the net upstream from the king. That evening, as the king was leaving, the fishermen pulled in the net and found the fruit.

As they had never seen a fruit like this before, they showed it to the king.

"What is this fruit?" the king asked.

"We do not know, sire," they answered.

"Who will know?"

"The foresters, sire."

The king summoned the foresters, who told him that the fruit was a mango. The king cut it with a knife and, after having the foresters eat some, tasted it himself. He also gave some of the fruit to the ministers and to his wives.

The king could not forget the magnificent flavor of the ripe mango. Obsessed with desire for the new fruit, he called the foresters again and asked where the tree stood. When he learned that it was on the bank of the river, he had many rafts joined together and sailed upstream to find it. In due course, the king and his retinue arrived at the site of the huge tree.

Mahakapi Jataka from railing of Bharut Stupa, second century B.C.E., Indian Museum, Calcutta, India.

The king went ashore and set up a camp. After having eaten some of the delectable mangoes, he retired for the night on a bed prepared at the foot of the tree. Fires were lit and guards set on each side.

At midnight, after the men had fallen asleep and all was quiet, the monkey king came with his troop. The eighty thousand monkeys moved from branch to branch eating mangoes. The noise woke the king, who roused his archers.

"Surround those monkeys eating mangoes and shoot them," he ordered. "Tomorrow we will dine on mango fruit and monkey's flesh."

The archers readied their bows to obey the king. The monkeys saw the archers and realized that all means of escape had been cut off. Shivering in fear of death, they ran to their leader and cried, "Sire, there are men with bows all around the tree preparing to shoot us. What can we do?"

"Do not fear," he comforted them. "I will save your lives." Then he climbed onto the branch stretching over the river. Springing from the end of it, he jumped a hundred bow-lengths and landed on the opposite bank of the Ganges. Judging the distance he had jumped, he thought, "That is how far I came." Then he found a long vine and cut it, thinking, "This much will be fastened to a tree, and this much will go across the river." He secured one end of the vine to a sturdy tree and the other around his own waist. Then he again leaped across the river with the speed of a cloud blown by the wind. In his calculation, however, he had forgotten to include the length to be tied around his own waist, so he could not reach the trunk of the mango tree. He reached out and grabbed the end of a branch firmly with both hands. He signaled to the troop of monkeys and cried, "Quick! Step on my back and run along this vine to safety. Good luck to you all!"

The eighty thousand monkeys, each in turn, respectfully saluted the monkey king, asked his pardon, and escaped in this way.

The last monkey in the troop, however, had long resented the leader and wished to overthrow him. When he saw the king hanging there, he exulted, "This is my chance to see the last of my enemy!" Climbing onto a high branch, he flung himself down on the monkey king's back with a dreadful blow that broke his heart. Having caused his rival excruciating pain, the wicked monkey triumphantly escaped and left the monkey king to suffer alone.

Having seen all that had happened as he lay on his bed, the king thought, "This noble monkey king, not caring for his own life, has ensured the safety of his troop. It would be wrong to destroy such an animal. I will have him brought down and taken care of." He ordered his men to lower the monkey gently down to a raft on the Ganges. After the monkey had been brought ashore and washed, the king anointed him with the purest oil. Spreading an oiled skin on his own bed and laying the monkey king on it, the king covered him with a yellow robe. After the noble animal had been given sugared water to drink, the king himself took a low seat and addressed him, "Noble monkey, you made yourself a bridge for all the other monkeys to pass over to safety. What are you to them, and what are they to you?" he asked.

The monkey explained, "Great king, I guard the herd. I am their lord and chief. When they were filled with fear of your archers, I leapt a great distance to save them. After I had tied a vine around my waist, I returned to this mango tree. My strength was almost gone, but I managed to hold the branch so that my monkeys could pass over my back and reach safety. Because I could save them, I have no fear of death. Like a righteous king, I could guarantee the happiness of those over whom I used to reign. Sire, understand this truth! If you wish to be a righteous ruler, the happiness of your kingdom, your cities, and your people, must be dear to you. It must be dearer than life itself."

After teaching the king in this way, the monkey king died. The king gave orders that the monkey king should have a royal funeral. He ordered his wives to carry torches to the cemetery with their hair disheveled. The ministers sent a hundred wagon loads of wood for the funeral pyre. When the regal ceremony was over, the ministers took the skull to the king. The king built a shrine at the monkey's burial place, and made offerings of incense and flowers. He had the skull inlaid with gold, raised on a spear, and carried in front of the procession returning to Baranasi. There he put it at the royal gate and paid homage to it with incense and flowers. The whole city was decorated, and the skull was honored for seven days. For the rest of his life the king revered the skull as a relic, offering incense and garlands. Established in the wonderful teaching of the monkey king, he gave alms and performed other good deeds. He ruled his kingdom righteously and became destined for heaven.

Mahakapi Jataka from the Great Stupa at Sanchi, first century B.C.E. After the lesson, Buddha declared the Truths and identified the Birth: "At that time the king was Ananda, the monkey retinue was this assembly, the wicked monkey was Devadatta, and I myself was the monkey king."

From Jataka Tales of the Buddha, Part III, Retold by Ken & Visakha Kawasaki, Buddhist Publication Society, Bodhi Leaves BL 142, 1997

PRAYER FOR THE GREAT FAMILY

by Gary Snyder Gratitude to Mother Earth, sailing through night and day-and to her soil: rich, rare, and sweet in our minds so be it.

Gratitude to Plants, the sun-facing light-changing leaf and fine root-hairs; standing still through wind and rain; their dance is in the flowing spiral grain in our minds so be it.

Gratitude to Air, bearing the soaring Swift and the silent Owl at dawn. Breath of our song clear spirit breeze in our minds so be it.

Gratitude to Wild Beings, our brothers, teaching secrets, freedoms and ways; who share with us their milk; self-complete, brave, and aware in our minds so be it.

Gratitude to Water: clouds, lakes rivers, glaciers; holding or releasing; streaming through all our bodies salty seas in our minds so be it.

Gratitude to the Sun: blinding pulsing light through trunks of trees, through mists, warming caves where bears and snakes sleep--he who wakes us-in our minds so be it.

Gratitude to the Great Sky who holds billions of stars--and goes yet beyond that-beyond all powers, and thoughts and yet is within us-Grandfather Space.

The Mind is his Wife so be it.

after a Mohawk prayer

Writing a Gatha A gatha is a short verse that expresses your understanding and inspires your practice. The formula is this: When…

I vow with all beings To… …

An example…

When I see a path in front of me I vow with all beings To walk the way to liberation Until all are free.

You can use this formula, or you can create your own! Gathas are short, so that they can be memorized.

Here are examples of some other gathas for inspiration.

From Thich Nhat Hanh, Present Moment, Wonderful Moment Washing the dishes is like bathing a baby Buddha.

The profane is the sacred.

Everyday mind is Buddha's mind.

Waking up this morning, I smile.

Twenty-four brand new hours are before me.

I vow to live fully in each moment and to look at all beings with eyes of compassion From Robert Aitken, The Dragon Who Never Sleeps: Verses for Zen Buddhist Practice When I hear a mockingbird’s song by my window I promise to him and to me to put aside worries of future and sing for joy to the day.

Looking up at the sky I vow with all beings to remember this infinite ceiling in every room of my life.

A little more on gathas: http://www.shambhalasun.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=3252&Itemid=244