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Newsletter of Dharma Rain Zen Center Portland, Oregon Volume XXVI Number 6 November-December 2001
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Jizo Bosatsu (Ksitigarbha Bodhisattva), in a stained glass panel at the Dharma House, done from artwork by Jan Chozen Bays at Larch Mt. Zen Center. Jizo's name means "Earth Store" and he witnesses suffering, aids those in transitions such as death, and is the protector of women, travellers, and children. We call on Jizo on behalf of all those who suffer. |
Retold by Sallie Jiko Tisdale (Our story so far: Bhadda (who is in our women's lineage chant), a spoiled and unhappy girl of the Brahman class, has sought satisfaction in her prosperous life and in the religious rites of the Vedics, in vain. She fell in love with and has married a thief, who was reprieved at her father's intervention from execution. After the marriage, her new husband asked Bhadda to go to the execution cliff with him to make an offering to the gods. In fact, he plans to steal her jewels and kill her.)
"You silly girl," he whispered. "Give me the jewels and say your last prayers." Bhadda's heart shredded at his words. The fog of love lifted from her mind, leaving her with only a bereft clarity.
"May I embrace you just once before I die?" she asked. And, pleased with her adoration, Satthuka agreed. Bhadda stepped forward, reached up her bespangled arms, and pushed him off the cliff.
Cause - and effect. Each moment, a new moment - a new cause. Twenty thousand years of discipline will not protect you from the need to act - or the results of that act.
As Bhadda stood, aghast, staring at the valley below, the Cliff Deity appeared. He was really quite impressed, and complimented her insight.
"Man isn't always smarter than woman," he said with a smile. "Woman can be clever, too, if she sees the situation clearly." But the deity's words cut; this wasn't exactly the swift insight for which she had vowed eons before. She was guilty of murder; she was a woman guilty of murdering her husband, and this was a dreaded crime.
Eventually, with all the intelligence with which she had fought the prescriptions of her luxurious life, she considered her options, and after a while, walked away along the cliff's edge - away from her servants, her family, and her home. She walked, thinking of the ascetics she had seen standing in the street at the festivals, naked and dirty, and of the stories she'd heard of the men and women who had left their lives and temple duties forever - left and gone into the forest, and never returned. They were regarded with respect and a kind of dread; they had stepped out of destiny, and in doing so, made everyone's destiny less certain. She felt herself caught in a wave of change that extended from far before her birth to beyond anything she could see. A great wave, climbing, climbing, soon to break, rising up from the depths of the world she'd known. She walked until she found a small order of Jain nuns, and she asked them for renunciation.
Which grade? they asked her. How severe?
The hardest, said Bhadda.
So they took her clothes and jewels, and gave her a white robe, and when she stood barefoot and plain before them, they tore her hair out by the roots.
Bhadda set about learning a new cosmology, a new life. The Jains completely rejected Brahmanism, with its animal sacrifices. They believed the universe to be made of soul - in living creatures, wind, and fire - and no-soul, the eternal ether of space, time and matter. Karma clogged soul, a thick, invisible poison. Life was suffering, and simply being alive meant continuous infection with karma. The nuns taught Bhadda that the only purpose of soul was to cleanse itself of this poison.
She was to strive to care for nothing, to own nothing and desire nothing - not even death. She was to feel neither pleasure nor pain, hope nor fear, not turn from danger or move toward comfort. She was never to harm any living thing. Some Jains sheltered and fed sick animals, or lay on the nests of insects so the tiny creatures could feed. Others strove through torturous ordeals, going without food and water, sitting unmoving in sewage, crawling through sharp rocks. They veiled their mouths so as not to disturb the molecules of air they had to breathe. She was taught not to wipe the sweat on her brow, that she not disturb the molecules of water there.
Bhadda was surprised to find herself held in regard by the villagers she passed, as she swept the dusty roads gently before her feet with a bit of cloth. Her sacrifice was admired (but she was not to want admiration, she reminded herself). "As the dead leaf when its time is up falls from the tree to the ground," she whispered, "So is the life of man."
Her sisters in the practice were dour company - but Bhadda didn't long for company. She longed for an explanation, something beyond the pessimism of the practice itself. The Jains taught her that humanity itself was declining, growing dwarfishly small in mind and body. Even Jainism was becoming too hard for the dismal quality of people. There were no great teachers left, no new teachers to come. No way out but more of the same.
Well, it served for awhile, as Bhadda sorted out her confusion and vague guilt, and eventually found that all her questions remained. She memorized the complicated cosmology, its many deities, the principles of color, taste, fragrance, and aura, the 148 subdivisions of karma, the myriad classes of beings, and sense objects, the symbols and meditations and legends. She began to debate other Jains, and she won. She asked questions, and no one knew the answer. They had no answers, and told her not to care for answers, and finally she saw how selfish was their selflessness, how naive their complications.
Bhadda left, and wandered alone through the world.
She walked for more than fifty years, barefoot, wearing her one robe. She passed through Magadha and traveled east to Anga near the sea, then north to Vrjji, and west to Kâsi, where she entered its capital city of Vârânasi. She passed through many lands, saw many clans, the sacred cities, farmers' villages, jungle settlements, poor towns where the lower castes lived in mud-brick huts with straw thatch roofs.
She walked, begging for a little food, with little care for her body - its value fading steadily in her ceaseless concern with meaning. Whenever she came to a new village, she propped a rose-apple branch in a pile of sand near the town border. Then the curious children came to see her - themselves also half-naked and dirty, with sticky cheeks and dark eyes, also wanting answers. Then she would tell them to spread the word that anyone who wanted to debate her should trample the branch. She would wait a week, sleeping beneath a tree or in a ditch, and if no one came forward, she would travel on. When she debated, she won, and then wandered on, alone in the world, without peace.
The kingdoms through which she watched were changing - pushed this way and that by visitors from other countries, by the endless competition of trade and the exchanges of power that we call government. She saw people from the east with eyes of a different shape, and northern people in rough clothing, and she heard many languages. Religious sects appeared and disappeared as she walked - forest ascetics, gurus promising heavenly rebirth, devotional cults studying the ancient texts. She watched the forest ascetics, their long, tangled hair, curving, uncut fingernails - their rigorous discipline and withdrawal. She listened to lectures and sermons, exhortations and confessions. She watched the Jain men standing on one foot, naked, in the rain, stones hung from their genitals. All were seeking; none had found. In all those years, she found nothing that could withstand her brilliant mind and her forceful, hungry heart.
Eventually her hair grew back, curly now, and then she was known as Bhadda Kundalakesa - Bhadda the Curlyhair.
When she was an old woman, more than seventy years old, and dirt was deep in the wrinkles of her faded skin and her bones stuck out like winter branches, she reached the Jeta Wood near Sâvatthi. She set up her rose-apple and explained to the crowd of children, wiping a runny child's nose on her patched sleeve as she spoke, how they could announce her intention to debate. Then she left, to beg a few bites of food for the day.
Sariputra, the Buddha's chief disciple, was strolling along the edge of the village when he saw the branch. They had been in the wood at rest for some days, and he knew this was something new. When the eager, sniffling child nearby explained to him what it meant, his interest was piqued. What a grandly confident woman this disheveled philosopher must be!
"Knock down that branch for me, won't you?" he asked, and the child happily agreed. He was still kicking sand and twigs about when Bhadda returned.
Now and then in her travels, Bhadda had heard stories of another new sect, disciples of a Sakyan prince. She had heard of the prince's dismissal of his station, his dismissal of all castes. She knew he had won debates with Brahmans - not much of a feat, to Bhadda - and had heard he preached the possibility of happy rebirth, through a quiet quenching of fires. But the Sakyan disciples kept to themselves, unwilling to argue their beliefs, seeming without her passion. So when the child said that it had been Sariputra, she was stirred. She had heard of Sariputra, and his dialetical skill.
Slowly Bhadda walked to where the monks were gathered. Their number surprised her - hundreds of men and women in a grassy verge under mango and palmyra trees. They wore simple robes and went barefoot like her, with their heads shaved bare, but they were clean, and she was struck at their repose.
The monks watched as Bhadda approached Sariputra, and joined him under a tree, and when they were settled, the crowd gathered around. Immediately, Bhadda leaped forward with her words, quizzing the renowned Sariputra. She asked him of the nature of self, how to know one's future, the way to transform evil, how to contact the hidden deities of the earth and sky, and what to make of the relentless permanence of herself.
He answered every question, skillfully, surprisingly at times, never losing composure, never showing off. He quoted his teacher's simple stories, describing monkeys and trees, rivers and rafts, lute-players and parents, and wove a picture of life as something moderate and true. He parried her blows, without striking. And for the first time in more than fifty years, Bhadda couldn't win.
"All right, then," she said, frustrated at last. "You question me."
Sariputra was a wise man. He saw Bhadda. He saw how she clung to her loneliness, how she had tried to convert it to victory and knowledge. He saw the sharpness of her mind, the passion in her quest, and he felt only love.
"The One," said Sariputra, gesturing vaguely, "What is that?"
No breath moved, no one stirred. Bhadda knew of the Vedantic One, of Atman, of Brahmana, of Soul. But she knew only ideas, and couldn't answer.
Does it matter to what Sariputra gestured? In which direction he pointed? In her moment of not-knowing, Bhadda ripened as sweetly as a rose-apple blossom. What is it? It, that she sought? In all these years, she had gathered only the names of things. She knew endless names, a thousand labels, a million qualities and divisions and graphed matrices of the cosmos. They had never been enough. She had never found One to hold or be held by, no One had revealed itself to her, no One had begged her to be revealed.
Searching her face, seeing the ripeness of her awakening, Sariputra watched as old Bhadda fell to her knees and bowed for the first time since she had been a girl, and whispered, "I will take you as a teacher, Lord, and ask for refuge in the Order."
"Not me, Bhadda," he replied. This one is so close to the blossom, he thought; I will watch the gardener work. "Go to the Blessed One tonight," he explained, "and present yourself as you are right now."
These last words were whispered, Bhadda's head to the grass, Sariputra bent low beside her gray curly hair. Intimacy, intimacy, in their exchange, and no victory, no loss.
The monks glanced at each other, at this mysterious end to a debate, and a rush of delight ran through the meadow, because it wasn't over yet. She waited for dark. The Bhadda of debate was dead, but no new Bhadda had been born, and she waited in a strange state of calm. Looking down, she noticed for the first time in a long while her dirty feet and unkempt robe. She saw the packed dirt beneath her nails, and went down to the river to bathe.
Night fell in the Jeta Wood, and the monks wrapped themselves in their outer robes, and finally the Buddha rose from his seat deep in the shadows of the trees and joined them. He began to speak without form or preamble.
"O Monks," he said, "All things are on fire. You are on fire. All you see is on fire. Only when you let go of clinging and also of turning away, will you be free." Bhadda, deep among the listening monks, drew forward without thought, as though he reeled her in on a rope tied around her waist. "Free of passion, your hands are open and you are at ease," said the Buddha, as she drew very near him. "And when you are free, you will become aware that you are free."
And then she was before him, and their eyes met, and he smiled. After a brief silence full of their shared joy, recognizing each other like old friends, he spoke to her.
"Better than volumes of subtle knowledge is a single verse that brings peace."
Who knows which breeze opens the bud? This flower of Bhadda has been blooming since the tree was a seed, and it will continue to bloom when the tree has turned to dust. But at that moment, the last bud of her understanding opened to the earth and sky. The perfume of Dharma filled the air. Bud became flower, flower became fruit. Fruit ripened, fell, was eaten, digested, and returned to the ground, even as he spoke. She was awake without barrier or lack.
"Bhadda, come," said the Buddha, holding out a hand, and thus she was ordained and an Arhat at once.
The sacred cities will be buried under sand, rock and time. The wide Savasti River simply dries up and disappears. Kosala and Magadha will be conquered by usurpers; the Sakya clan itself will be subjugated and disappear. The Brahmans stay on top of the heap, and Buddhism fades from India, even as Varanasi becomes Benares, and the great Ganges rolls on to the sea. But the Dharma spreads north and south and east and west, high and low, to every quarter, answering every cry, blooming day by day as it has forever, as it always will.
Among all the women ordained as Buddhists, only Bhadda was ordained by the Blessed One's own hand. She was famous forever after for the swiftness of her insight. But we know, and she knew, it was a long time coming. She left the Jeta Wood in time, and wandered on for the rest of her life, which lasted a long time still. She wandered freely, alone but never lonely, together with the world.
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by Bob Angyo Brown, OSP Sangha
After all I am a seeker of Truth
Unknowing
Asking, "What is the Truth of practice in this moment?"
In gentle stillness sitting
Balanced on the threshold between life and death
Touching Earth, Upholding Heaven
Embracing all things just as they are
I am a Truth Seeker
Simply asking
Once againWhat is the Truth of this moment?
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by Gerow Reece, Santa Cruz Zen Center
Saturday afternoon, July 21, 2001
(When DRZC member Bruce Frazier died, his funeral was held at Dharma Rain, be he asked that his ashes be sent to the Santa Cruz Zen Center.)
byJulia King Tamang
You expect me to have something to say, to God, to you.
Some word, some request for relief from this searing grief.I don't.
I am drowning in sorrow.
Drowning, terrible faces of fear etched in my mind;
sounds of terror still ringing in my ears.I see children in Palestine dancing in the streets,
celebrating the death of families they never met.
They don't know. We all die like this, over and over.
We celebrate the wrong things, mouths full of sweets,
feet covered with dust.We share this disease of confusion.
It leaves open sores and rots our beautiful visage.You're right. This is a holy war.
In thousands of years, only victims, no victory.My only hope is this, one small prayer, over and over:
May I wake up today.May I be accountable for waging peace
with every thought, every word, every action.
May I not rest until suffering and the causes of suffering
are completely erased.Until children dancing in the streets can't remember the last time
they hated anything, until it's clear what freedom really means.
by David Robinson
The phrase, not quite a question,
Played itself over and over the night before
Our world changed again:
"Where did we think we were going, carrying on like that..."
Finally, I wrote it down and went to bed.
But did not sleep.This is not the poem I thought it would be.
This is the poem written the day after.
This is the poem holding both sorrow and anger---
Sorrow over such great loss, and for what conceives it;
Anger over the incredible loss, and for what brings us here
again and again.'An eye for an eye,' soon enough we will all be blind.
And, therefore, we're assured,
Vindicated and safe.But for now the lie lies shattered.
We are not what we thought we were---
Impervious, clever, kind.No, today we see quite late (& yet not too late)
the greed, the fear hidden within our intentions;
taste the bitter fruit of our cultivated hate.
. Click here to go to our News Page for November and December 2001.
Submit!
The newsletter is always seeking submissions of news items, essays, poetry and artwork related to Zen. All items must be signed (we will withhold your name if requested) and will be edited for length and style (Even the editors get edited!).Send submissions through email (Newsletter@Dharma-Rain.org), by regular mail or drop it off in the newsletter slot in the Center house office. The deadline for the next issue is December 1, 2001.
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Eugene: The Eugene Zendo has its own newsletter, now! Please contact the Eugene Zendo's resident priest, Ejo McMullen, for information on the Eugene Zendo: 541-302-4576 or ejo@efn.org.
A short retreat is being planned for the first or second week in November. Anyone interested in attending either the DRZC or ZCO seven-day Rohatsu retreats in December is asked to contact Ejo. It is hoped that people can share rides to the retreats.
Eugene Meetings - Call 541-302-4576Tuesday Evenings 7:30-9:30 pm - Service, Zazen, Dharma Study Thursday Evenings 7:00-9:00 pm - Zazen, Dharma Class Monday-Friday Mornings 6:00-7:15 am - Zazen, English Servicde
Pendleton: The Pendleton sitting group meets at the Redeemer Episcopal Church office building. Please call to confirm the schedule or to arrange for beginning instruction. Newcomers are always welcome.
| Pendleton Meetings - Mondays - 241 SE 2nd | |
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| Monday, Wednesday, and Friday | |
| 12:00-1:00 pm | Zazen |
| Tuesday Evenings | |
| 7:00 pm | Zazen |
| 7:30 pm | Kinhin |
| 7:40 pm | Zazen |
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A sitting group has formed in Hood River, meeting twice a month on Sunday afternoons for sitting and chanting. Call Catherine at 541-386-7388 for more information.
OSP(Oregon State Penitentiary) Zen Group
Getsushin Brox meets regularly with dedicated members of the OSP Zen Group for ongoing Dharma work and study. Kakumyo Lowe assists with monthly services. For information contact Getsushin through the Zen Center.
OSP - Contact Getsushin Brox - 503-239-4846First Tuesday of the Month 1:00-3:00 pm - Class Third Tuesday of the Month 1:00-3:00 pm - Zazen and Service
We would like to invite you to consider membership in the Dharma Rain Zen Center. Membership represents commitment to the Sangha and the Buddhist training that the Sangha embodies. Membership is required to vote for the members of Board of Directors and on any other issues that come up for a vote. Some classes and events are only open to members. There are five categories of membership, based on amount contributed each year, plus Full Member.
A Benefactor is a member pledging $100 per month or more. Privileges are the same as for Supporting Members and Sustaining Members. Benefactors are investing in the long term development of Dharma Rain Zen Center. This development will improve on the resources we already have, and ensure their continued availability to the growing number of people seeking the Dharma in the greater Portland area.
A Sustaining Member pledges $75-$99 per month. Privileges are the same as for Supporting Members, with the extra money given helping the Center keep the fees for retreats and other events low, and to continue providing classes and workshops free of charge to the general community.
A Supporting Member pledges $50-$74 per month. This is the basic level of Center membership, in that contributions at this level are enough to keep the facilities open and to help support the priests and other essential staff. Privileges include receiving Still Point, members' access to the library, and more substantial discounts on fee events and some bookshop items.
A Center Friend pledges $30-$49 per month. Pledges at this level help cover our pasic expenses such as mortgage, utilities, mailing costs and general supplies. Privileges include receiving Still Point, members' access to the library, and discounts on fee events and some bookshop items.
An Associate Member pledges $10-$29 per month or a lump sum of $100 for one year. This category is primarily for students and others with limited income, but is also for those who may be less involved, yet wish to make a contribution to the Center. Privileges include receiving the Center newsletter, Still Point, and members' access to the library.
- has been pledging at any of the above levels for one year, and
- has done Lay Ordination, and
- attends Zen Center functions regularly.
Some Zen Center offices and events are restricted to Full Members.
Lay Ordination is a ceremony in which one formally takes the Precepts and becomes a Buddhist.
Lay ordination is not required for any of the associate, basic, supporting, etc. memberships in the Zen Center, nor is membership required to receive the Precepts and become a Buddhist. The Center holds the Precept ceremony once each year. If you are interested in becoming a Buddhist, contact one of the priests. (503-239-4846 or e-mail at Staff@Dharma-Rain.Org )
If you would like to become a member of the Zen Center, click on this link to get a copy of the membership form.
The DRZC Book Shop offers Buddhist books as well as books of interest to our members, plus some tapes, incense and other supplies. DRZC members may take a 20% discount on some books. We also carry some cruelty-free products: soap, dish washing soap, and shampoo made without animal fat or animal testing.
Training At The Dharma Rain Zen Center
A guide for beginners 1.25
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