Mu: Wielding Manjushri's Sword

Chaozhou Ts'ung-shen was a Chinese Chan (or Zen) master and a Dharma successor of Nanchüan.

According to Case 19 of the Gateless Gate, as a young student, Chaozhou (or Joshu in Japanese) "asked his teacher, Nanchüan, ‘What is the Way,’ and Nanchüan replied, ‘Ordinary mind is Way.’ Chaozhou asked how he should move toward it. Nanchüan answered, 'If you try to move toward it, you go away from it.' Chaozhou said, 'But if we do not try, how do we know that it is the Way?' Nanchüan replied, ‘The Way does not belong to knowing or not-knowing: knowing is illusion, not-knowing is blank emptiness. If you really attain to the Way, it is like vast emptiness – limitless and boundless. How, then, can there be a right and wrong in the Way?' At these words, Chaozhou was enlightened.”

After forty years of training with Nanchüan, Chaozhou wandered throughout China and studied with other Zen masters for another twenty years, deepening his insight. At the age of eighty, he began teaching until his death when he was 120 years old (or so the story goes).

As a teacher, his dharma is both perfectly direct and deceptively simple. He instructed gently and quietly, but in very precise and profound ways. Twelve koans in the Blue Cliff Record and five in The Gateless Gate concern Chaozhou – by far the most often cited teacher, with good reason.

In case 7 of the Gateless Gate, “A new monk asked Chaozhou to teach him. Chaozhou asked, ‘Have you eaten your meal?’ The monk replied, ‘Yes, I have.’ Chaozhou said, ‘Then go wash your bowl.’”

Photo by Sandra Raponi

In case 37, “A monk asked Chaozhou, ‘What is the meaning of Bodhidharma's coming from the west?’ Chaozhou said, ‘The cypress tree in the courtyard.’"

And in Case 2 of the Blue Cliff Record, Chaozhou taught, “'The great way isn’t difficult if you don’t pick and choose. As soon as I speak, you’ll think, That’s picking and choosing, or That’s clear. But I don’t identify with clarity. Can you live like that?’ A student asked, ‘If you don’t identify with clarity, what do you live by?’ ‘I don’t know,’ Chaozhou answered. ‘If you don’t know, why do you say that you don’t identify with clarity?’ ‘It is enough to ask the question. Make your bow and step back.’"

Of course, the most famous koan involving Chaozhou is Case 1 from the Gateless Gate: “Chaozhou’s Dog.” 

Wumen Hukai, a Linji Zen master who lived in 13th century China, compiled the Gateless Gate koan collection and offered comments and verses on the cases. As a young monk, Wumen is said to struggled with Chaozhou’s dog for six years before he broke through. As the koan that opened the Way for him, he passed it along to us – our gateless barrier.

Please note the tenacity in both Chaozhou’s eighty years of study with teachers and in Wumen’s six years on one case. It reminds us of Bodhidharma staring at the wall for nine years when he came to China. These great teachers exerted great effort examining the gateless barrier over many years to realize freedom.

And that is at the heart of things, isn’t it. We aren’t just playing with riddles here. We are not dedicating ourselves to the Way to feel a bit less stress. If that were the goal, we can get massages. Most fundamentally, we have heard that Buddha was deeply enlightened and, together with all beings, he attained the Way. We have heard that he conquered suffering. We come to practice because we have heard that we too have Buddha nature, and we long to see this for ourselves. We long to be free.

We are not alone in this longing. Our Zen history is replete with stories of people of great determination seeking the Way. Many of these stories include nameless monks who bravely lay their hearts bare and make themselves vulnerable in asking questions of their teachers.

According to the first case of the Gateless Gate, “A monk asked Chaozhou, ‘Has the dog Buddha nature or not?’ Chaozhou answered, ‘Mu.’”

Mu means “has not,” “without,” or more simply, “no” – a shocking response to this monk who was perhaps seeking consolation in a moment of doubt.

We read in Living Vow's dedication that “Buddha nature pervades the whole universe” and Hakuin writes that “all beings by nature are Buddha.” Why would Chaozhou answer “no”? We all have the capacity to be enlightened to our true nature and to be liberated just like Buddha, do we not? Isn’t that why we are here?

I find it helpful to begin with koans by reflecting on where the people in the story may be coming from. It helps me understand what the case is about. So first, the monk asks, “Has the dog Buddha nature or not?” What is he really wondering?

Though we feel differently now, dogs then were generally considered filthy creatures. The monk therefore might be asking: “does even a filthy rat have Buddha nature?” But again, why ask such a question? There is likely something deeper that he wants to know. The monk might really be asking, “does even someone as unworthy as me have Buddha nature?” He might be thinking, “I am told that we all have this salvific Buddha nature, so what is it? Does it really include every being in the world? Does it include my shame and broken heart? Am I too of the essence of enlightenment, because I sure don’t feel like it.” 

Or maybe he is saying, “I have the nature of enlightenment, but I am special! Does a filthy being like that lazy monk across the courtyard actually share in this Buddha nature with me? How about the murderer in the prison yard? Can Buddha nature really include those that I detest?”

Either way, there is a painful sense of separateness.

In another context when asked the exact same question, Chaozhou answered, “yes.” But one teaching does not fit all circumstances. This is why we consider dokusan, meetings with the teacher, private. The teaching you receive in dokusan is meant for you in that precise moment alone.

Still, koans have an archetypal quality. On some basic level, we all have our inner monk asking similar questions.

So Chaozhou is meeting his student where he is. And this student’s question is likely based in some amount of self-centeredness. Okumora states (in Living Vow's liturgy), “No matter how hard we practice, our motivation for practice is always based in some amount of self-centeredness.” In a relative sense, this is true. We begin practicing because we want to suffer less. We want to feel better. We want enlightenment for ourselves. And maybe we question whether we are worthy. Or maybe we think we alone are worthy. Two sides of one coin.

So this monk may be caught in the relative truth of separate beings. And this monk is lost in ideas about Buddha nature and needs to wake up from this dream.

This “no” is Manjushri’s sword of wisdom cutting through delusions. Enlightenment is not as we think; nor is it otherwise.

Will the monk take up this sword and “cut off the mind road?” This does not mean stopping thinking but realizing the origin of thoughts. We call this practice “great doubt."

In his comment on Chaozhou’s dog, Wumen wrote:

“For the practice of Zen it is imperative that you pass through the barrier set up by the Ancestral Teachers. For subtle realization it is of the utmost importance that you cut off the mind road. If you do not pass the barrier of the ancestors, if you do not cut off the mind road, then you are a ghost clinging to bushes and grasses.

“What is the barrier of the ancestral Teachers? It is just this one word ‘Mu’ – the one barrier of our faith. We call it the Gateless Barrier of the Zen tradition. When you pass through this barrier, you will not only interview Chaozhou intimately, you will walk hand in hand with all the Ancestral Teachers in the successive generations of our lineage – the hair of your eyebrows entangled with theirs, seeing with the same eyes, hearing with the same ears. Won’t that be fulfilling? Is there anyone who would not want to pass this barrier?

“So, then, make your whole body a mass of doubt, and with your three hundred and sixty bones and joints and your eighty-four thousand hair follicles concentrate on this one word ‘Mu.’ Day and night, keep digging into it. Don’t consider it to be nothingness. Don’t think in terms of ‘has’ and ‘has not.’ It is like swallowing a red-hot iron ball. You try to vomit it out, but you can’t.

“Gradually you purify yourself, eliminating mistaken knowledge and attitudes you have held from the past. Inside and outside become one. You’re like a mute person who has had a dream; you know it for yourself alone.

“Suddenly Mu breaks open. The heavens are astonished, the earth is shaken. It is as though you have snatched the great sword of General Kuan. When you meet the Buddha, you kill the Buddha. When you meet Bodhidharma, you kill Bodhidharma. At the very cliff edge of birth-and-death, you find the Great Freedom. In the Six Worlds and the Four Modes of Birth, you enjoy a samadhi of frolic and play.

“How, then, should you work with it? Exhaust all you life energy on this one word ‘Mu.’ If you do not falter, then it’s done! A single spark lights your Dharma candle.”

And Wemen’s Verse:

“Dog, buddha nature–

the full presentation of the whole;

with a bit of 'has' or 'has not'

body is lost, life is lost.”

It is best to establish stable sitting before taking up mu. We begin by counting or following our breath to help establish concentration. Please do not try to rush through this practice. Indeed, this practice is enough for a lifetime. There is no other place we are trying to get. We are just deepening our realization of what we actually are.

Having developed concentration, in consultation with a Zen teacher, we might let go of the breath as an object of concentration and just sit still, be quiet, and pay attention to whatever arises. We call this practice shikantaza.

Unless a koan has been assigned to you in dokusan by your teacher, please continue with your practice. And please only practice koans with a Zen teacher who has completed a koan curriculum with an authorized koan teacher and who has received authorization to teach (transmission). But if mu calls to you, you may ask about it in dokusan with such a teacher. Working with koans is not inherently better than breath work or shikantaza. But for some, koans do have special power for the Way.

What might sitting with "Chaozhou's Dog" look like? We might sit for a few minutes coming into the body and breath before breathing out “mu.” Then we might drop our focus on the breath and just sit with that single word.

As Wumen says, “with your three hundred and sixty bones and joints and your eighty-four thousand hair follicles, concentrate on this one word ‘Mu.’ Day and night, keep digging into it…. Exhaust all your life energy on this one word ‘Mu.’”

You may notice that you want to understand mu. When we begin practicing, we imagine that “knowing” what Buddha nature is will enlighten us. We seek mu with our thoughts. We may need to exhaust ourselves. For some of us, this can take years. We are rather stubborn.

We might remember that when Chaozhou was asked, “what do you live by?” he simply answered, “I don’t know.” When Bodhidharma was asked who he was, he replied, “I don’t know.” And when Chaozhou himself asked his teacher how to practice the Way without knowing what the Way is, Nanchüan responded, “the Way does not belong to knowing or not-knowing.”

The way does not exclude knowing, but knowledge is not enough. Has a dog Buddha nature or not? If you think you know the answer, ask yourself again, do I really know what Buddha nature is? Do I know what I am?

We may answer, “I don’t know,” but in the dokusan room, this is not enough. Time and again we are expected to respond. We must actualize the Way, neither lost in knowing nor in not knowing. We have swallowed a red-hot iron ball.

You may want to give up. Sometimes feelings of unworthiness and frustration arise. But as Hakuin wrote in his Song of Zazen, "Bind grasses to build a hut, and don’t give up." Recall our ancestors staring at the gateless barrier year after year, and throw yourself back into the furnace of practice. Give yourself completely to mu, and, together with all beings, "at the very cliff edge of birth-and-death, you find the Great Freedom."

Priest and Teacher Training in Living Vow Zen

Most practitioners of Zen in the US are lay, but every so often, one feels a deep calling to become a Zen Buddhist priest. Becoming a priest is an expression of a deep commitment to serve the sangha, honor the bodhisattva precepts, and embody the buddhadharma in this world on fire.

Photo by Sandra Raponi

Living Vow Zen priests, as recognized clergy in Massachusetts, officiate ceremonies marking life's most significant transitions, visit sick sangha members in hospitals and their homes, and support sangha members in time of grief. Priests also perform liturgical rituals at services and sesshin. We attend climate demonstrations, correspond with prisoners, and advocate for peace and justice. And in daily life, priests do our best to avoid causing harm, practice good, and alleviate suffering in our communities. When we screw up (and we do), we atone and vow to do better. We vow to support all life -- our children, spouses, pets, colleagues, co-workers, friends, acquaintances, and all beings.

Living Vow Zen's priest lineage has its roots in the Japanese Soto tradition through Peggy Houn Jiyu-Kennett, Roshi, the first woman to be authorized to teach by the Soto school in Japan. Living Vow Zen's priest and teacher formation is inspired by Boundless Way Zen's, where I was ordained and received transmission (permission to teach).

There are two levels of ordination, unsui (clouds and water) and osho (senior). In Living Vow Zen, to be initially ordained, unsui candidates must have attended 100 days of sesshin and must demonstrate a number of competencies, including pastoral skills (as informed by the Zen tradition in the context of supporting sangha); an ability to perform Zen ceremonies and forms; an understanding of Soto Zen; a capacity to meet people as they are; self-awareness; leadership; public speaking; a priestly presence (hard to articulate but easy to recognize); and a means to support themselves with right livelihood. No koan training is required for one to ordain as an unsui priest as the role's emphases are service and embodying our Soto forms.

LiVZ's model where priests are generally expected to earn their own living allows for an admirable path that also honors the life of vow. We have no expectation that our sangha will support our priests financially. This means that we expect our priests to work in the world according to right livelihood in ways that contribute to the well-being of the larger society, perhaps as educators, social workers, carpenters, therapists, ministers, health care workers, researchers, and more. This model appears to be the most common way the dharma has transmitted to the West, encouraging lay folks to practice with priests rather than creating and supporting a separate monastic class.

Many of the priest competencies are gradually cultivated as sangha members play important roles in facilitating sangha practice, such as being an officer for sesshin (an intensive Zen retreat). For example, the tanto (the provisional practice leader for a sesshin) serves an important role for the sangha while developing the skills to serve potentially as a LiVZ practice leader one day. And practice leaders have their own support group facilitated by a Guiding Teacher(s). In this way, through practice, service, and mentoring, aspiring priests mature in the dharma. Before ordination, an ordination committee reviews the candidates performance and offers support and feedback. The final determination of preparedness is up to the ordaining teacher.

Ordination is conferred by a LiVZ senior priest through the authority of her or his own ordination and precepts transmission, in consultation with the ordination committee and the Living Vow Zen Guiding Teacher(s). After ordination, unsui are supervised by, and serve under the authority of, their ordaining teachers and therefore must remain in shoken relationship with their ordaining teachers or another LiVZ senior priest in order to continue to serve as priests.

Unsui ordination represents a public vow to practice intensively, to offer pastoral and liturgical services, and to support the well-being of the sangha and all beings. It reflects a commitment and stability of heart and practice. Ordination publicly affirms the significance and prominence of the role of the dharma in one’s life, in the same way that a marriage ceremony might be said to publicly affirm a commitment and relationship to one’s long-time partner; as James Ford says, "nothing changes, and everything changes."

It is entirely possible and even likely that most priests would choose to remain unsuis for their entire lives. Not all priests are called to teach. To be an unsui is a noble calling to serve the dharma, sangha, and community with one's deepest heartfelt commitment and no gaining idea. It is a pure and complete expression of the bodhisattva vow. Still, in Living Vow Zen (LiVZ), being a priest is not a necessary step along the way to becoming a fully authorized Zen teacher. For those Zen students -- either ordained or lay -- for whom teaching might be a good fit, we offer extended, supervised internships as practice leaders. Our training guidelines for practice leaders follow. Practice leader permissions are granted incrementally by one's shoken teacher and may be rescinded at any time.

After perhaps 5 years of practice with a Living Vow sangha, some sesshin experience, and usually after significant progress in the Gateless Barrier koan collection, a practitioner may be named a practice leader and facilitate a practice group in Living Vow Zen. Practice leaders are supervised by, and serve under the authority of, the LiVZ Guiding Teacher(s) and must remain in close relationship with a Living Vow Zen teacher in order to continue to serve as practice leaders.

Over time, a practice leader, whether ordained or not, might provisionally be granted permission to offer talks after about 150 sesshin days and generally after having made significant progress in the Blue Cliff Record koan collection. 

Next, a practice leader may be also granted permission to offer dokusan (private meetings with students) after about 200 sesshin days and typically having made significant progress in The Book of Equanimity koan collection. 

Each practice leader needs to be in a shoken relationship with a Living Vow Zen teacher and to meet regularly with their teacher to reflect on their experience and receive guidance. This extended internship is considered fundamental to teacher formation in Living Vow Zen. Under the supervision of their mentor, a practice leader cultivates essential skills related to teaching Zen forms of practice, offering dharma talks and dokusan, managing transference and countertransference, establishing appropriate boundaries, cultivating supportive group dynamics, and many other competencies that support sanghas and individual students of the Way.

After a practice leader has interned for 7-10 years (usually practicing in LiVZ for at least dozen or fifteen years) and been supervised in offering talks and dokusan, their teacher may consider offering the first stage of dharma transmission. For one to receive this first stage of transmission, due to the associated teaching responsibilities, generally one will have attended at least 300 sesshin days, demonstrated insight (substantially completing The Record of Transmitting the Light koan collection and through other appraisals by one's teacher), and shown commitment and skill in teaching. Dharma transmissions are granted by fully transmitted teachers through the authority of their own transmission in recognition of experience, insight, commitment, ethics, and teaching competencies.

For a priest, the first stage of transmission is called denkai and confers the title "osho," or "senior priest." For a lay teacher, this stage of transmission is called "dharma entrustment" and confers the title "dharma holder." An osho may receive shoken students, offer the precepts, and ordain unsui, though they may not offer dharma transmission to dharma heirs until they have received the second stage of transmission. (A dharma holder has the same authorities as an osho, minus ordaining priests.)

After a few more years, at least 350 sesshin days, and after having completed the entire koan curriculum, an osho or dharma holder might receive the second stage of transmission called denbo, or full transmission, if one's shoken teacher determines it fitting. This number is not determined in isolation; the American Zen Teachers Association, while not a credentialing body per se but a support group for Zen teachers, also has a working guideline that teacher formation requires about a year's worth of sesshin days, in addition to transmission from one's teacher. In a sense the most significant stage of transmission, denbo confers the title of "Sensei" and may offer transmission to dharma heirs and function as an entirely independent Zen teacher.

The third stage or "final transmission" is called inka shōmei and confers the title "Roshi," meaning "old teacher" or "master teacher." Inka shōmei, which means the "legitimate seal of clearly furnished proof," commemorates a Soto teacher who has given years of service and is also the traditional acknowledgment of mastery in the Rinzai tradition. My transmission in the Seon lineage traces its roots to Linji, the founder of both the Korean Seon and the Japanese Rinzai traditions. Inka shōmei for me therefore commemorated my lineage roots in both the Soto and Linji traditions. Most who receive final transmission have more than 400 days of sesshin experience. By the time I was given inka shōmei on May 28, 2022 by David Rynick, Roshi, I had attended 413 days of sesshin (plus about 80 "zazenkai," all-day practice periods) and had practiced weekly with sanghas and daily at home over nearly two decades. I had completed the koan curriculum years before with my teachers and been evaluated and supported by an ordination committee and mentored in teaching for nine years. Of course, practice is never finished, no matter one's title or role. I continue to attend sesshin and zazenkai and consult regularly with my co-teacher, Bob Waldinger, and with Zen teachers outside of Living Vow.

While titles, roles, and permissions in LiVZ as practice leaders and unsuis can be revoked by their teacher at any time, dharma transmissions and final ordination as an osho cannot be rescinded, though all spiritual leaders in Living Vow Zen serve at the pleasure of the Guiding Teacher(s). Of course, joining Living Vow does not nullify permissions, ordinations, or transmissions in other traditions, but to function as a spiritual leader in Living Vow Zen requires an appointment by a LiVZ guiding teacher and, in the case of Guiding Teachers, the Board of Trustees.

Some Soto Zen groups require a 90 day residential ango as a primary qualification for senior priesthood. Ango, a monastic practice period, is generally less intensive than sesshin but may include some sesshin training. While such an experience is wonderful for those who are able, in Living Vow, we do not hold this as a requirement. James Ford, Roshi, a former Soto Zen Buddhist Association board member, was central in developing Boundless Way Zen's ordination and teacher training programs through which I was trained and which serve as a model for LiVZ's training programs. James writes that some trainees are fortunate enough to have the formal cloistered experience ranging from several years to ninety day retreats. When possible, this is encouraged. However, an ango can be both overly burdensome and, ironically, insufficient training for senior priesthood on its own. Practitioners in the West experience the cloister more commonly by repeatedly attending sesshin, briefer but more intensive meditation retreats, over many years. Most sesshin days include nine or more hours of zazen, plus meal and work practice. Additionally, in LiVZ we offer extensive koan training (the Harada-Yasutani koan curriculum) to foster and integrate awakening as a "householder." Koans also allow for a more objective evaluation of spiritual growth. Based on this vision of training, in LiVZ we offer paths to senior priesthood and teaching that cultivate spiritual maturation while honoring other life responsibilities.

As should be clear, becoming a Zen priest and/or teacher takes patience, commitment, and humility. It's a long winding road, and we face many inner demons and outer obstacles. Still, befriending these demons, navigating obstacles, developing compassion for ourselves and all beings, and sharing dharma practice with our sangha -- is there anything more meaningful? I'd walk every step of this road over and over again for eternity were that an option. But since we are not even guaranteed our next breath, I'll pour all that love into just this.

Zen's Bodhisattva Precepts

Many Soto Zen Buddhists take the 16 Bodhisattva Precepts, which are ethical vows we try to uphold. As formulated by Eihei Dogen, they include the 3 Refuges, the 3 Pure Precepts, and the Ten Grave Precepts.

Sometimes Zen practitioners praise enlightenment and imagine that the precepts are expendable guidelines for behavior that enlightened people do not need, but this is actually dangerous. The precepts are a powerful means for us all to practice awakening -- a practice that is never finished.

Ways to Approach the Precepts

As Robert Aitken discusses in his book The Mind of Clover: Essays in Zen Buddhist Ethics, we can take three different approaches to practicing the precepts. We can take them literally as statements telling us what we should and should not do. We can also view them compassionately and recognize that we all make mistakes. And we can enact them nondualistically with “don’t know mind," an awareness that opens beyond all ideas, even of right and wrong. 

But here's the key: we actually need all three approaches, or we are likely to get lost. We need the literal view to offer us a sense of direction and wake us up when we are causing harm. But if we only take the precepts literally, we can get lost in fundamentalism and neglect important contextual information. The classic example of someone taking a moral precept too literally is the person who refuses to lie when the Nazis knock on the door looking for Jewish people, condemning those hidden inside to death. Clearly something has gone wrong in our literalism. Additionally, sometimes two precepts may be in conflict. We might indulge our anger and yell at our child for running into a busy street, but our deeper motive is to preserve their life. We can become overly judgmental of ourselves and others if we are too rigid with the precepts. 

Compassion inspires us to honor the precepts out of care for everyone's well-being. We love our neighbors as ourselves. In addition, compassion helps us forgive ourselves for breaking one precept to honor another. We can actually forgive ourselves for lying if it means saving human life. Additionally, we can be compassionate with others who break precepts for we have seen how often we break them ourselves. But if we are only compassionate in understanding why people break precepts, we lose all clarity on what is beneficial and what is harmful. We recall the literal guidelines to help us behave skillfully and reduce suffering, but we hold these guidelines compassionately.

Finally, we practice-realize the precepts nondualistically. Though words fail in expressing nonduality, still, Zen teachers offer pointers. Dogen writes, "To study the Buddha Way is to study the self. To study the self is to forget the self. To forget the self is to be actualized by myriad things. When actualized by myriad things, your body and mind as well as the bodies and minds of others drop away. No trace of enlightenment remains, and this no-trace continues endlessly" (Genjo Koan). Expressing nonduality in an elegant way, Thich Nhat Hanh writes that "the self is made of nonself elements." We might describe the realization of nonduality as awakening to "thusness," the intimate presence of beings beyond conception. From this perspective, there are no separate beings, and there is not even right or wrong. There is only the no-thing-ness of everything.

Expressed differently, good and bad are merely two sides of one coin. They have no intrinsic essence of their own. Our relative truths are provisional designations that are dependent on changing causes and conditions. Ultimately, as Aitken says, "there is no absolute [truth], and that is the absolute" (Mind of Clover, 110). Everything is shapeshifting. There is nothing that we can hold onto. This lack of absolute truth continues endlessly. So rather than grasp our ideas about right and wrong, we hold our ideas more lightly. If we get lost in fixed conceptual maps, we miss ever-changing circumstances. We are the driver driving straight down a curving road. We must be awake to offer an appropriate, beneficial response. 

And, a person can get lost in "no knowing" too. A total lack of compass points can be dangerous. We need to know which side of the road to drive on, and we need some guardrails to prevent us from veering off course and causing harm. Even "don't know mind" is not the final word in Zen. As Shunryu Suzuki says, "not always so." As we read in the Prajna Paramita Sutra, realization is the absence of any fixation. Any place we get stuck becomes a problem for us. We should not even get stuck in "no knowing" or imagine that there is any fixed state to attain.

Sometimes enlightenment is described as "awakening to nonduality," "opening to oneness," or "realizing suchness," and the path to enlightenment is described as silencing our discriminating (thinking) minds. This basic samadhi practice ostensibly fulfills all the precepts. The argument goes that in a state of oneness, one does not break the precepts because one exists in harmony with all beings, moment after moment. While it is true that we may be able to entrust ourselves to "oneness" when we are doing kinhin, meditating in the zendo, or even instinctively reacting to stop a child from running into a busy street, it is magical thinking to believe that "oneness" upholds the precepts in all circumstances. During World War II, Japanese soldiers described themselves as "at one with killing," and Zen masters encouraged this view, describing meditation in battle as the "highest wisdom of enlightenment" that "preserved the precepts." Causes and conditions (like mob psychology) sometimes inspire harmful actions. We need the literal precepts to ring like bells and wake us up when we are individually or collectively lost. We may be “at one" with our circumstances and still cause grave harm.

Unfortunately, spiritual teachers sometimes imagine that nondual realization (which is little more than initiatory awareness) is the equivalent of enlightenment and automatically honors the precepts even as it transcends right and wrong. Some teachers who are "lost in oneness" neglect ethical guidelines and abuse students, telling them they too should let go of all notions of right and wrong and "be one" with them. They say this nonconceptual "intimacy" is enlightenment itself. One might say about those teachers, "they only behaved that way because they were not actually enlightened." But why do we believe this? Because we conceive that a precept was broken and someone was harmed. "Oneness" is not enough.

Perhaps practitioners imagine that if they allow any view to arise, they will get lost in conceptual maps, but in a mature, integrated practice, duality is no hindrance to nonduality. Even thoughts are "thus." While it is vital to recognize thoughts as merely thoughts if we hope to be free from the tyranny of absolutist thinking, we go too far when we deny the importance of careful thinking when it comes to honoring the precepts. Even Buddha initially rejected women from his sangha. He had to be convinced by Ananda's careful arguments to admit women. We hold all kinds of unconscious biases, and consciously considering the precepts while we interact in this world can help awaken us to these biases. 

The notion that we need to cease thinking to open to oneness, be enlightened, and embody the precepts is an immature view. While students do need to open beyond thinking as part of their development, there is no reason to be rid of thinking. Recognize thinking as thinking, and we are liberated from absolutist ideas. Thoughts are just thoughts, empty of any fixed essence, and utterly dependent on fleeting causes and conditions. Everything shines with Buddha's light, even our ideas. Thinking is just part of the landscape of life. And, thinking carefully is useful.

Another common refrain is that one of the attributes of "the enlightened person" is being satisfied, which means that one no longer breaks the precepts because all immoral actions are born of dissatisfaction. It is true that in pointing toward nondual realization (or the "absolute"), we say there is "no suffering;" suffering has no fixed, intrinsic essence. However, there is also no separate, fixed self. Describing "an enlightened person" runs the risk of projecting limited, fixed ideas about enlightenment into an idealized, separate self that does not actually exist. One consequence of this misunderstanding is that we might compare our experiences to this idolized, imaginary person. If we believe that "realizing oneness" and "being satisfied" define enlightenment, we might abuse ourselves for being upset when we feel wronged. This may be innocuous enough when we don't get the last cookie. But how about when a person is raped or someone they love is taken from them violently? Would we say that they should "be satisfied" or that they are not enlightened? At the very least, this judgmental idea makes people feel unnecessary guilt about their pain, heaping suffering on suffering.

A person who is awake still gets hungry. When we are hungry, we want food. This is an appropriate response. Case 14 in the Blue Cliff Record states: "A monk asked Yun Men, 'What are the teachings of a whole lifetime?' Yun Men said, 'An appropriate response,'" suggesting a more flexible way of thinking about practice-enlightenment. We can even awaken to dissatisfaction. Every phenomenon is a dharma gate, just as it is. The expression that there is "no suffering" is true but one-sided, and we do not comprehend "no suffering" by denying the relative truth of suffering. Indeed, as Thich Nhat Hanh says, without the dust of samsara, there can be no nirvana.

Look closely into whatever arises and see that form is exactly emptiness. Enlightenment is not an individual matter but pervades the entire cosmos, including our dissatisfaction, anger, and broken hearts. Enlightenment does not depend on the contents of our minds. Rather than slipping into denial or self-abuse, we can hold suffering compassionately, look deeply into it, and see that it has no fixed essence, which allows us to care for our pain compassionately as it unfolds. A healthy practice does not encourage spiritual bypass at any level. Please do not use the dharma to dismiss anyone's suffering, including your own. Instead, let each phenomenon be a dharma gate.

So we practice the precepts in three equally important ways, integrating our intellect, compassion, and nondualistic awareness. Like waves, water, and sunlight, these are not mutually exclusive modes of practice. While balancing these approaches to the precepts may sound complicated, essentially we practice the precepts with as much intelligence, compassion, and awareness as we can.

The Three Refuges

In our list of sixteen precepts, the Three Refuges are the first three: we take refuge in Buddha, Dharma, and sangha.

In a literal sense, we take refuge in the historical Buddha, in his story of enlightenment, which serves as inspiration to us in our practice. 

From the compassionate view, to take refuge in Buddha is to take refuge in ourselves as Buddha. This does not mean that we are separate, fixed identities but that we are each dependent arisings born out of infinite causes and conditions. Each of us is an expression of this buddhanature, though we must practice to realize this.

And nondualistically, we take refuge in realization. Ultimately, there is "no suffering, and no cause of suffering" (The Heart Sutra). We are already free and there is nothing to attain. This is the intimate realization of "things as it is" (to quote Shunryu Suzuki).

Second, we take refuge in the Dharma, or literally, the Buddhist teachings. We allow the teachings to guide our practice and cultivate insight so that we might alleviate suffering. Of course, part of the teachings is to question them and try them for ourselves. 

We can also translate Dharma as "phenomena," things exactly as they are. From the perspective of compassion, we take refuge in the intimate caw of a crow. We take refuge in our own broken hearts. We take refuge in laughing children and "ants and sticks and grizzly bears" ("Dedication," LiVZ liturgy). 

And nondualistically, we take refuge in the exact equality of emptiness and form -- in the way phenomena are boundless and boundlessness is nothing other than phenomena. All phenomena are dharma gates exactly as they are, exactly thus.

Third, we take refuge in sangha, or literally, our Zen practice groups. And what a joy it is to come sit, walk, and bow together. Somehow, almost magically, when we practice with others, our awareness is magnified and our own meditation deepens. Like mirrors, we reflect and hold one another in our practices, and this is deeply nourishing. We can feel held in sangha. One sangha member described sitting together like floating in warm water, and we entrust the ice cubes of our suffering to this larger body, where they slowly melt away. 

Waking up is not easy. It is counter-cultural in a rather materialistic society. And life is sometimes hard. We all can use a little help. One definition of refuge is "assistance in distress." Taking refuge in sangha means giving ourselves a safe haven to be vulnerable rather than needing to protect and defend ourselves all the time and rather than habitually acting on or trying to escape our pain. That which we run from controls us. 

In sangha, we see that our pain can be held by something bigger. As Thich Nhat Hanh said, when we add a tablespoon of salt to a small glass of water, the whole glass tastes bad. When we add a tablespoon of salt to a river, the water still tastes pure. In joining a sangha, we are no longer alone. In our practice, we all support each other by showing up and holding one another in our hearts. 

From the broader compassionate view, our sangha also includes the entire world. Like Avolokiteshvara, we hear the cries of the world and respond with a thousand hands. The world is very much with us, and we are very much with the world. We might notice of the way the earth holds us when we sit and the way the air sustains us when we breathe. We might notice the way our life is sustained by all beings moment after moment, and thus, the world is our refuge.

And nondualistically, there is no separate world at all. There is no self, no other. What language can possibly describe the way all beings reside in our hearts just as we reside in the world?

The Three Pure Precepts and the Ten Grave Precepts

After we recite the Three Refuges, we recite the Three Pure Precepts. The first pure precept is, "I vow to cease from evil." 

For me, it is not helpful to think of evil as some metaphysical entity or devil, though such associations may arise. Rather, evil points to the many things human beings do that cause suffering in the world, and in that sense, evil does exist. 

The ten grave precepts which follow the three pure precepts offer more specific advice on what we should try to avoid in order to cease from evil: killing, stealing, misusing sex, lying, taking intoxicants, slander, praising oneself at others' expense, sparing the dharma assets, harboring ill will, and abusing the three treasures (Buddha, Dharma, and sangha).

Of course, we have to break precepts all the time, so we can't take them too rigidly. For example, the first grave precept states, "I vow to take up the way of not killing" ("Shorter Precepts Recitation," LiVZ Liturgy). But at a minimum, we kill plant life to eat. We must at least harvest grains, fruits and vegetables to live. So how do we practice with the precept of not killing when we must kill to survive? 

For me, first comes the practice of awareness. This is the nondualistic practice of simply being awake to what we are doing. We enter into the suchness of eating where there is no gap between the killer and the killed. Second comes the arising of the precept in my mind. With the awareness that I kill to eat comes the humbling realization that I cannot always uphold the precepts. I know that I have participated in killing, and I know what it tastes like. Unfortunately, I also live in a world where nations goes to war, and my tax dollars are used by my elected government to produce and sell weapons that are used to kill. With acknowledgments of my shared responsibility, remnants of spiritual superiority deflate. I see clearly that I am not above breaking precepts, and when I point my finger in accusation at others, three fingers point back at myself.

This deflation of superiority softens my heart. I see that I am complicit in causing suffering, and I feel compassion for the lives I take. I also feel compassion for all living beings who must kill to survive and for all the living beings who are killed. We are in this together.

This is how the precepts open our hearts to the entire universe that gives and takes life. Out of our practice of awareness of breaking precepts, compassion arises, inspiring us to try to find more skillful ways of behaving to help reduce suffering in the world. For example, I might reduce how much meat I eat or stop eating meat altogether, both of which which would reduce suffering among sentient beings (and help fight global warming).

While we literally try to minimize the killing of beings and the suffering it causes, we can also view these precepts figuratively. Do we subtly kill others' ideas and enthusiasm for life? Do we kill time when we could be appreciating our lives? In what other figurative ways might we interpret each of the precepts? This allows us to work with each of the precepts in all realms of our lives.

So we can hold the precepts not as rigid rules but as reminders to pay attention to our actions. We hold the precepts as literal and figurative compass points that help us wake up to what direction we are actually going. When we see the way we cause harm, this naturally gives rise to a compassionate response and sometimes a course correction. And, we have compassion for ourselves and for all beings in our failures, for we have been humbled. We all cause suffering sometimes. So we atone and start again, our vows renewed. "All evil karma ever created by me since of old, on account of my beginningless greed, anger, and ignorance born of my body, mouth, and thought, now I atone for it all" ("Gatha of Atonement," LiVZ Liturgy). 

While the first pure precept is cautionary regarding causing harm, the second pure precept encourages positive action. The second pure precept reads, "I vow to practice good." Once again we can be guided by the ten grave precepts, which, like the second pure precept, can be re-articulated as positive aspirations. I vow to: support life; be generous; engage in mutually respectful intimacy; tell the truth; nourish my mind and body; speak kindly; appreciate others; share the dharma; be compassionate; and support the three treasures.

The second pure precept sharpens our awareness, deepens our reverence for all life, and encourages beneficial responses and harmony. This precept encourages us to be active rather than passive. We not only cease from causing harm but actively practice benefitting all beings.

This brings us to a deep, synthesizing vow, the third pure precept: I vow to save all beings. Of course upholding all of our vows is impossible. We cannot free or save all beings from suffering. But that is okay. As a high school teacher, I know I can't always engage every student, but I vow to try, and this probably makes me a slightly better teacher for my students. We just vow and do our best. 

So in the literal sense, we make the vow to save all beings. In the compassionate sense, we know we will fail, we forgive ourselves, and we keep trying because we feel for all beings who suffer. Why? Because we too have suffered. And in the nondualistic sense, there are no separate beings anywhere to save. Each of us is inseparable from the infinite universe and is already saved.

Given our flaws and pains, it can be hard to believe the teaching that we are "saved." But as we practice and keep turning toward whatever arises, this teaching penetrates us and we come to see that yes, even our flaws and pains are buddhanature -- perfectly manifesting suchness. We might call this practice-realization. Everything is exactly thus.

You may wonder why this nondualistic realization is important. In one sense, realization has no value outside itself. And, without it, we may find ourselves constantly overwhelmed by our striving and failing. We may burn out. We may find no possibility of salvation. It is salvific for us to feel deep in the marrow of our bones that while there is suffering in the world, there is also no suffering. When we look deeply into suffering, we find only non-suffering elements, just as when we look into the self, we find only non-self elements. We find the universe itself. So we say that samsara is exactly nirvana. Put differently, there is neither form nor emptiness, neither samsara nor nirvana. Just this.

And, though all beings are already saved and perfectly manifest universal enlightenment, still we should save all beings because we all suffer sometimes. Thus we make our bodhisattva vow and honor the precepts.

Opening Beyond Self-Concern

It is pretty easy to get preoccupied with taking care of what we think of as ourselves, and it is important to do so. But we are also one with all beings throughout space and time. Opening beyond self-concern, compassion inspires us to take action to reduce suffering and protect all life. This vow opens us beyond dualistic notions of self and other and includes even those whose actions we consider evil. With deepening compassion, we see that just like ourselves, all beings are manifestations of infinite causes and conditions. "There but for the grace of karma go I." Those who act in cruel ways are suffering from greed, anger, and ignorance and also deserve our compassion, even as we work to prevent them from causing further harm. All beings truly reside in our boundless hearts. The vow to save all beings is a manifestation of our inherent interconnectedness.

Being interdependent, we cannot live in a just society if we participate in unjust systems that result in massive inequities and deplete our environment for future generations. We save all beings by doing what we can to be of benefit. We won't all agree on what should be done, but that is okay. We discern as best we can, and do something. In joining with others with similar goals, we can make an even greater impact.

According to Robert Aitken, "When the members of the Zen Buddhist center act together as bodhisattvas, they generate great power for social change — this is the sangha as the Buddha intended it to be." This is one reason why Morning Star Zen Sangha includes bodhisattva practice. Acting in the context of sangha supports our commitment to saving all beings and heightens our impact.

Fundamentally, the Sixteen Bodhisattva Precepts help us avoid self-centered, harmful actions and encourage beneficial actions in the service of all beings. They are the ethical commitments that open us beyond self-interested goals and expand our motivation to practice. For example, we don't practice mindfulness only for our own stress reduction but to help us alleviate suffering for everyone in our lives. The precepts invite heightened awareness and offer us means to alleviate suffering, moment after moment.

Zazen and the Precepts

Our formal practice of sitting on the cushion and paying attention helps us wake up when we are tempted to cause harm due to greed, aversion, and ignorance -- our impulses to act in self-centered ways while neglecting to pay attention to how others may feel. Sitting still rather than taking action while possessed by any of these "three poisons" is like pressing a pause button, interrupting our habitual tendencies to cause harm when we are caught up in delusive certainty. As Dogen says, "When we sit zazen, what precept is not observed?" Instead, we simply bear witness to our greed, aversion, and ignorance. We learn to tolerate these uncomfortable feelings. We come to realize that we do not have to act on strong impulses and reactions. These painful feelings do not need to be "fixed" outwardly. We can just let them be, and they eventually pass. Then we can respond more calmly, taking a wider view of the situation than our initial reactions suggest. 

For me, this pause is the key to breaking the cycle of reactivity and harmful actions. This is why we call sitting "practice" and how we practice freedom. We find our freedom in our forms of sitting still, being quiet, and simply paying attention. These forms may feel at first like we are restricted in our behavior, but they are teaching us a deeper kind of freedom. We learn how to watch self-centered impulses without being their slaves. 

The precepts inspire our sitting, which cultivates a deep realization of the emptiness of mental formations and of all phenomena. And so we can see why Hakuin wrote in his Song of Zazen that "Devotion, repentance, training, the many paramitas, all have their source in zazen." The Paramitas are the six perfections, and one of the paramitas can be translated as "morality." The practice of morality is cultivated on the cushion, then brought forth into our lives.

Consciously Practicing the Precepts

You can find two recitations of the sixteen Bodhisattva Precepts in LiVZ's Liturgy Book. You may find it helpful to practice with each of the precepts for a week (or more) each. This would be a 16-week process minimum if you hold one in your heart for a week at a time.

Here are 3 questions you might explore to deepen your practice with the precepts. If planning to work with each precept for a week, you could hold each question in your mind for 2 days. (Or you could double or triple the time -- up to you.) Let the question percolate like a koan as you live you life.

*1) First, how do you interpret the precept? 

Take some time brainstorming what each precept means to you literally and figuratively. For example, what does taking refuge mean to you? Who or what is this "Buddha" in whom you take refuge? What situations in your life are illuminated by the precept? It may be that every moment of our life can be illuminated by each precept.

2) In what ways do you honor and break the precept?

Just let the question arise like a koan as you live out your day. For example, do you take refuge in Buddha while chopping vegetables or while stuck in traffic? Or you might notice the way precepts related to right speech illuminate each word you type in your emails or each word you speak at the checkout counter. And what is it like when you fail to uphold a precept? Please remember, breaking precepts is inevitable. We can be gentle here and just notice without judging ourselves, or if judging does arise, just notice that too. Can you bring meditative awareness to the moment when you break a precept? How does it feel in your body? What is arising in your thoughts?

3) Finally, how does your awareness of breaking precepts affect you?

When practicing with nonjudgmental, open-ended questions, we may learn something that naturally leads us to honor the precepts. Pay close attention to what it feels like to overindulge alcohol, and we may find that the pleasant feelings pass pretty quickly, and the hangover hurts. Pay attention to what it feels like to spread gossip about someone, and we may find that our relationships feel shallow. If you observe that breaking the precept increases unpleasant feelings, what do you suppose drives you to continue to break the precept? Is there some underlying feeling you are hoping to avoid? What happens when you take no action at all or try behaving differently? How does it feel? Can upholding the precept also be a dharma gate for meditative practice?

Of course, some situations may be complicated. We will make mistakes or even be unable to discern in gray areas whether our actions were harmful, beneficial, or both. We may realize we broke one precept to honor another. The precepts are not intended to be hard and fast rules, but being mindful can help inform decisions that alleviate suffering for ourselves and others.

After six days of practicing with each precept, on the seventh day you might speak with a friend or dharma teacher about your experience and what you learned. Remember, the goal is not to come to a judgment about yourself but to describe your experience. 

Afterward, consider composing a sentence or two that you could write in response to the precept -- something that distills what the precept means to you, at least in that moment.

When you have finished practicing with all of the precepts in this way, you might try consolidating them into a guiding ethic and living with that pointer for a period of time. As mentioned above, for me, the precept to save all beings has a way of expressing them all. How about for you? Might you consolidate them in some way and try living according to that vow? This can be a deep process of integration of all of your effort thus far.

Formally Receiving the Precepts in a Jukai Ceremony

Jukai Ceremony, Living Vow Zen

In Living Vow Zen, we suggest sitting with one of our practice groups for a year, and then, if so inspired, students ask their teacher to formally receive the precepts. If approved, students join a precepts study group (some suggested readings are below), practice with the precepts (perhaps as above), and sew a rakusu. After about a year of study and practice, students confirm their intention and request permission from their teacher to join a Jukai ceremony.

Receiving the precepts in Jukai can be a transformative event. When I received the precepts, I cried without knowing why, as if the ceremony were operating on a level below my conscious mind and releasing and fulfilling all kinds of ancient karma. It is different for everyone, but receiving the precepts in a formal ceremony makes our personal vows public in a way that reverberates throughout space and time.

*For another look at practicing the precepts, check out this dharma talk that I offered on 2/8/23: "The Precepts: A Clear View of Muddy Water." 

**For further readings, in the following order, check out Diane Rizzetto's Waking Up to What You Do, Robert Aitken's Mind of Clover; Reb Anderson's Being Upright; and John Daido Loori's The Heart of Being.

Song of my Father

Watching you grow old and die

Was like watching myself vanish --
Your skin like paper,
Your lips thin and chapped,

Your breath a raspy ghost

Who’d lost his way

In a decimated garden.

Your breath used to soar in church choirs

Till your body was ravaged

And despair nearly flung you

Down concrete stairs.

A confused nurse

Who’d stumbled upon you

Asked why you stared

Down empty flights,

Omnipotent and terrified.

She saved your life that day

So that you could die a different death

With 3 sons at your side.

After a life of loneliness and regret,

Your last words 

"I love you"

Spoken so tenderly

Released everything.

Then, your head cranked back and

Your mouth gaping,

Death swept you out the black window.

I kissed your brittle bones.

In the early morning

I walked through golden mist

Hovering over a field of grass.

How was it fair or right

That the world was born again?

Halted by a memory

Fastened to nothingness,

I remembered you, my father,

Forty years before

Standing behind our home

Looking into a weeping willow

Listening to the liquid song

Of a mocking bird.

Nobody but the mocking bird

Can answer my questions now.

Why We Need the Precepts

In a book entitled Zen at War, and in an article entitled Zen Holy War (from which I draw in this essay), Brian Victoria and Josh Baran recount how military victories in Korea, Russia, and China inflated Japan’s national pride and how, during that era, many Zen leaders perverted the Dharma to support blind nationalism and war. Japan's military campaigns were catastrophic, including the massacre of Nanking where Japanese soldiers brutally raped, mutilated, tortured, and murdered "as many as 350,000 Chinese civilians" (Baran). 

Victoria and Baran share numerous accounts of Japanese Zen teachers encouraging Bushido, ostensibly a "Zen" approach to battle that was most famously exemplified by Samurai and Kamikaze pilots. Shaku Soen (1859-1919), who is still venerated in Japan as a great Zen Master, argued that since everything was emptiness, war and peace were identical. This “pernicious oneness” denies moral responsibility. Soen considered any opposition to war “a product of egotism” but was blind to the egotistical, nationalistic distinctions between "us" and "them" that he used to justify war. 

Unfortunately, Soen was not alone in his perversion of the Dharma for nationalistic purposes. Daiun Sogaku Harada (1870-1961), one of Living Vow Zen's ancestral teachers, equated meditation in battle with the "highest wisdom of enlightenment." Sawaki Kodo (1880-1965), another influential Soto Zen teacher, bragged about how he and his comrades had "gorged ourselves on killing people." Later, he wrote, “Whether one kills or does not kill, the precept forbidding killing is preserved.” When Colonel Aizawa Saburo was being tried for murdering another general in 1935, he borrowed Zen language and testified, “I was in an absolute sphere, so there was neither affirmation nor negation, neither good nor evil” (Baran).

How could Zen teachers who are bound by the precepts (ethical vows) espouse violence and the abdication of conscience? They may have feared to speak against war, but their vocal support suggests that they were actually swept up in a nationalistic wave. They thus shared distorted Dharma to deny the ethical concerns of war. They argued that “if killing is done without thinking and without discriminating right from wrong, in an empty state that they call no-mind or no-self, then the act is an expression of enlightenment” (Baran). These nihilistic descriptions of enlightenment may have served nationalistic purposes, but they completely missed the mark.

If we conceptualize enlightenment as the eradication of ethical thought or as a separate realm of absolute equality that erases distinctions, we get lost in a hell realm that we imagine is heaven. We can easily get lost in ideas, especially ideas about enlightenment, emptiness, and the absolute. For example, we might attach to the phrase “no thought” in the Heart Sutra and try to stop thinking. We might even come to interpret the Heart Sutra’s “no” to mean that nothing actually exists, and our actions are thus without consequences. Should we identify emptiness with such nihilistic views, killing would indeed become meaningless.

But emptiness is not nonexistence. The most important line in the Heart Sutra states that emptiness is exactly form. From the perspective of time, this means that everything is changing, not nonexistent. Forms are just empty of fixed, intrinsic essences.

When it comes to suffering, this is a relief. We need not project permanence into pain. Sometimes, healing just means loosening our subtle identification with suffering. We can notice the sense of self that arises with the thought, “I am suffering,” and we can “open the hand of thought.” Avoid projecting thinghood into pain, and see through the notion that an abiding self is solely responsible, and our burden is lightened.

Still, in noticing that suffering has no fixed essence, we do not mean that it does not exist. Sometimes our practice is to remove the causes of suffering, and we can only do this when we diagnose its causes. When Buddha stepped on a thorn, he cried out in pain. A compassionate response would be to remove the thorn and offer him sandals. 

Awakening also does not mean acting without thinking. Thinking allows us to distinguish war from peace so we can cultivate peace. We do, however, sometimes mistake our thoughts for reality and get lost in conceptions, cutting ourselves off from the vivid intimacy of life like a driver who looks only at a map and never sees the open road. But we don’t need to throw out the map. Our practice is not to repress thoughts but to recognize thinking as thinking. “On each flash of thought, a lotus flower blooms.”

Neither should we believe that emptiness means nonexistence. Emptiness points to the way that all forms are dependent arisings born out of changing causes and conditions. When we chant “no ear” in the Heart Sutra, it means there can be no hearing without the sound we hear, and those sounds are always changing.

Similarly, we say there is no self, but it would be clearer to say there is no separate, unchanging self. This is medicine to treat burdensome identifications with fleeting senses of self and to acknowledge that there are infinite causes and conditions that enable every aspect of life. The self is made of nonself elements and is not the first or only cause of anything. Even to take a single step requires the existence of the air we breathe and the entire earth beneath our feet. We must go beyond the teaching of no self to see that our lives are dependent arisings. We are the air we breathe. Poison the air and earth, and we poison ourselves. Harm anyone, and we harm ourselves. Care for all beings, and we care for ourselves. Therefore, do not kill. Appreciate this life before you as your own.

Our interwovenness is the root of compassion. The Heart Sutra is recited by Avalokiteshvara, the Bodhisattva of Compassion, who weeps for all beings who suffer in this world. True insight into emptiness deepens our compassion for all beings as we realize just how interwoven, vulnerable, and mutually responsible we are. Genuine insight into the emptiness of phenomena does not undermine the precepts but deepens our commitment to them. 

And, full disclosure: the teachings of dependent origination are essentially medicine to liberate us from the positivism and nihilism which feed harmful, dualistic thought formations. If we hold too tightly to the teachings of dependent origination, we can get lost in a finger pointing to the moon when the great matter is illumination. We are invited to open beyond all the teachings and enter into the living mystery. This does not mean discarding the precepts. We can let them also point the way to liberation from greed, anger, and ignorance but without attaching to them in a fundamentalist way. Practice includes and opens us beyond all ideas.

Most fundamentally, Buddhist practice is about alleviating suffering, and the precepts are guardrails to wake us when we contribute to suffering. The precepts give voice to our conscience. The precepts reconnect us with compassionate awareness. They may be the deepest expression of enlightened behavior.

For me, one of the key lessons from studying Zen teachers in this period in Japan’s history is that none of us are above making terrible mistakes, even those who have practiced deeply. We've seen American Zen teachers misuse sex and cause grave harm in their sanghas. Anyone can get swept up in desires and the currents of our times. Sometimes we need the precepts to help us swim upstream.