Hwadu: Swimming Upstream to the Source-World

Hwadu Origin Stories

In Korean Seon, close cousin to Japanese Zen, monks are often assigned a single hwadu to work with for their entire lives. Hwadu can be translated as "word head" -- the source of all language. Hwadu are questions at the heart of a koan that point through words and phrases to the source-world.

Historically, one of the first Buddhist recommendations to practice with hwadu is from the Pali Papañcasudani, which claims that the difference between simple walking and walking meditation is that a meditator keeps in mind the question: "Who goes? Who is this going?" (Analayo).

Another example of this essential spiritual question is the Mumonkon's Case 23, in which Eno, the Sixth Chinese Ancestor, was pursued by Monk Emyo, who wished to steal Eno's robe of transmission. Eno, seeing Emyo coming, laid the robe and the bowl on a rock, and said to him, "This robe represents the faith. Is it to be fought for by force? You may take them now." Emyo went to move the bowl and the robe and yet they were as heavy as mountains. He could not move them. Hesitating and trembling, Emyo asked Eno, "I come for the teaching, not for the robe. Please enlighten me!" Eno said, "What is primordially Emyo (i.e., your true self), if you do not think this is good nor do you think this is evil?"

These two texts point to one fundamental question embraced in hwadu practice: "Who am I?"

Another important hwadu, “What is this?” is associated with the heart of an encounter between the Sixth Patriarch, Huineng, and Huaijang, his disciple. According to the case, Huaijang entered the room and bowed to Huineng. Huineng asked: “Where have you come from?” “I have come from Mount Song,” replied Huaijang. “What is this and how did it get here?” demanded Huineng. Huaijang could not answer. He practiced for many years until he understood, and then went to see Huineng to tell him about his breakthrough. Huineng asked: “What is this?” Huaijang replied: “To say it is like something is not the point. But still it can be cultivated.”

Practicing with Hwadu

There are different teachings about how to engage hwadu practice, just as there are different teachings about how to engage koans. In some sense, perhaps fewer directions are best. The question itself does the heavy lifting, and our relationship with the question shifts naturally over the course of our lives. 

Some teachers initially encourage single-pointed concentration on the question. This may be helpful as we begin. It may lead to the word breaking open. But I do not believe single-pointed concentration is essential and align with Korean Seon Master Subul Sunim on this. What is essential is that the question instigates sincere introspection. The question is not a mantra. 

The words of the question may initially be prevalent in practice, and the practitioner may experience the asking as a kind of prompt, then the looking as a response to the prompt. Initially, the looking also tends to be discursive. In this sense, the practice begins dualistically. With practice, the words of the question become less important and manifest as the looking itself. The question is so internalized that the words may not even be needed to prompt our attention. We become the question mark. The question expands to include our whole being. Inspired by the original question, we seek with our entire heart-body-mind. The driving force is that we desperately want to fully comprehend the truth, and we can't with our discriminating minds alone. The depths of these words and letters has yet to become apparent. What is it?

The observation that thoughts are just thoughts is the birth of what is traditionally called "great doubt." We may begin to lose faith in everything we think. Out of this doubt emerges great curiosity. We see that thoughts fail to capture the great reality. Our dharma eye is opening.

Some folks criticize hwadu practice as dualistic and unnecessary because it suggests that there is something to attain. I am a Soto priest, and I think hwadu practice is not so different from bowing. When we begin to practice, bowing seems dualistic, like "I" am bowing to something "outside" of me. This duality collapses as we dissolve into the practice. So it is with hwadu. It may appear to be a dualistic practice at first, but that does not mean it is actually dualistic. It is just how we conceive of the practice before we fully engage it. 

Like all Zen practices, hwadu begins with the practitioner seeking something outside their experience, but with realization, great doubt and great faith reconcile. We see that the answer we seek is in the looking. Our "not knowing" is an opening. 

Great curiosity is a beautiful practice. This curiosity reveals an intimacy beyond compare. So, who are you? What energetic presence animates you and all beings? What is this?