3
THE HEART SUTRA resonates with meditation and a meditative way of life in a way that is as extraordinary as it is profound. Without doubt this is why it is often recited at meditation gatherings and at many Buddhist ceremonies. What, then, are the essential teachings of the Heart Sutra? What is its significance for practitioners of meditation today?
Innumerable teachers and scholars have drawn lessons from this text, based on their learning, experiences, and intentions to help others. Here are some of my own interpretations of the sutra, which I offer as a humble student centuries removed from my thirteenth-century Japanese Zen master Dogen — interpretations that are based on the new translation that Joan and I have made and the studies that I undertook.
The fuller title of the Heart Sutra is Prajna Paramita Heart Sutra, which, as presented earlier, Joan Halifax and I have translated as the “Sutra on the Heart of Realizing Wisdom Beyond Wisdom.” It is often regarded as the essence of the enormous body of the Mahayana’s Prajna Paramita scripture group. (Prajna is regarded as “transcendental wisdom.” Paramita is often translated as “perfection.” I will discuss these terms in Part Six, “Terms and Concepts.”)
The main purpose of the Heart Sutra is to explain the core practice in Mahayana Buddhism, which is, as its title suggests, realization of wisdom beyond wisdom. “Realization,” which is none other than actualization, suggests that everything about the sutra is not mere intellectual investigation but practice — practice of meditation. The sutra touches upon three basic themes: the invocation of the bodhisattva Avalokiteshvara; an examination of all things in the light of shunyata; and the recitation of the mantra. This approach to dividing the text, which I will refer to later in this book, has been suggested by the U.S. scholar in Buddhist studies, Jan Nattier.
THE INVOCATION OF AVALOKITESHVARA
Avalokiteshvara, a mythological being central to a great number of Buddhist practitioners as the personification of loving-kindness, is mentioned only once in this brief scripture. It is important, however, that this bodhisattva is described in the first line as the one who moves through the deep course of realizing wisdom beyond wisdom. Thus, this line implies that wisdom beyond wisdom is not separate from loving-kindness. (I will further discuss the relationship between these two crucial aspects of human consciousness later in this chapter.)
According to the Heart Sutra, it is through practicing wisdom beyond wisdom that Avalokiteshvara becomes free of duhkha. The Sanskrit word duhkha is usually translated as “suffering,” which can refer to a persisting physical pain or loss caused by disease, injury, violence, attack, social injustice or disorder.
Recent scientific studies show that mindful meditation can help reduce stress and provide healing from physical difficulties and psychological disorders.1 So it is conceivable that a practice like Avalokiteshvara’s meditation can at times help to remove the suffering caused by injury or disease.
Suffering can also consist of existential pain and distress brought about by fear of death, actual separation, lack of satisfaction, or failure to fulfill desire. In such instances, the emotional impact of such suffering might be characterized as anguish. Meditation calms one’s mind and helps one to see beyond immediate problems or desires. It can lead to a paradigm shift toward a less materialistic and competitive way of life. Thus, meditation can be effective in reducing the “pain” caused by fear, sadness, and desire.
Avalokiteshvara’s freedom from anguish is a model presented in this sutra. In understanding, reciting, and practicing this principle of freedom, many others can also experience liberation. So we can interpret the end of the first line of the sutra as “(Avalokiteshvara) frees all (those who practice likewise) from anguish.”
CONSIDERING EVERYTHING AS SHUNYA
The second theme of the Heart Sutra is shunyata, which is commonly translated as “emptiness” and can be interpreted as “zeroness.” The sutra proclaims that all phenomena are shunya, or zero.
True to the joke “Christians love God while Buddhists love lists,” the Heart Sutra takes up various lists of terms and concepts. The lists included in this sutra are the five skandhas (streams of body, heart, and mind); the six modes of change (arising, perishing, staining, purifying, increasing, and decreasing); the six sense organs; the objects of the six senses; the six sense-consciousnesses; certain elements from the twelvefold chain of causation; and the Four Noble Truths.
What does the sutra mean by stating that “all five streams of body, heart, and mind” — forms, feelings, perceptions, inclinations, and discernment — are shunya? “Form” means matter or phenomena in most cases. But in the context of the five streams, this word seems to indicate one’s physical body. So, “the five streams of body, heart, and mind” can be interpreted as aspects or activities of one’s body, heart, and mind. With regard to human beings, it is these aspects and activities that the sutra tells us are shunya.
Modern science confirms a close interconnection between body and mind. Where, then, does heart fit in this category? Mind does not exist without heart. And heart does not exist without body. In fact, the heart as an instrument of feeling is inseparable from the heart as an organ. For this reason, these two aspects of human beings — mind and heart — are represented by the same word in some languages. Furthermore, the mind is a part of the body, and vice versa. So it may be good to say “mind, heart, and body.” After all, it doesn’t make sense to exclude heart from the Heart Sutra.
When we feel healthy, we are healthy. When we feel sick, we are sick or become sick. There are a great number of factors (such as genes, age, social and cultural conditioning) that exist or arise out of our control. Within all these limitations, however, we can influence our bodies with our hearts and minds in positive or negative ways.
The “five streams of body, heart, and mind” in the Heart Sutra is an analytical description of human existence and its activity. The five streams are body, feelings, perceptions, inclinations, and discernment. (“Inclination” refers to a voluntary or involuntary movement of our mind and heart toward action; “discernment” is the distinguishing of differences.) We perceive, feel, act; we are drawn to something and make distinctions with our mind, heart, and body. We keep receiving information and responding to it through these constantly changing aspects of our existence. At each moment, these five streams work simultaneously, and no individual stream can be isolated from the rest. Thus, none of the five streams exists within a solid set of boundaries. Since this is the case, we can say that every stream is shunya, and understand this to mean that each is shunya in itself and, at the same time, a functioning part of the others.
When we see an apple, we perceive and recognize it as an apple, enjoy its shape, color, smell, and touch. We desire to eat it, consider whether it’s all right to do so, pick it up, and possibly decide to take a bite. Alternatively, we may not eat it because we see a bruise or remember that it is the last remaining fruit and want to leave it for someone else. This is an example of how the five streams of body, heart, and mind work. We make countless decisions and take numerous actions by means of the entwining five streams at any given time.
Although the five streams work as an inseparable entity, it is useful in meditation to see them as streams of five distinct elements. Sometimes in meditation, as in life, we are dominated by one stream. For example, it might be pain in our body, sleepiness, a certain emotion or thought. During this time, our entire being is occupied by a single overpowering physical or emotional sensation. We temporarily lose sight of our existence as an entity composed of the dynamic activities of the five streams.
But when this happens, we can utilize the five streams by consciously shifting our attention from a feeling in the physical body to a focused perception — of the sound of birds chirping, for example, or of our breath as it moves in and out. This method can lead us to serenity and ease, and remedy our self-destructive tendency. Of course, there is a danger of ignoring pain to the point of injury, or diverting emotion to the point of indifference. Dealing with any of the five streams of our body, heart, and mind has to be done with care and moderation. The more conscious we become of the five streams, the more we realize that all these streams are closely intertwined, and that a person is a manifestation of their combined activity.
Once we accept the fact that body, heart, and mind are inseparable, we can become free of the struggle to make the mind, spirit, or soul remain active after the body stops working. Everything is interconnected, and after death no part of us stays as it was. You may go to heaven, paradise, or hell, or be reborn into this world with the deepest, unknowable part of yourself, but it is extremely unlikely that any part of your body or mind will be brought with you as it now is. This realization, of course, may initially cause a great deal of angst. However, we all need to start with the acceptance of its truth. Only after we fully face, take up our abode in, and make peace with this existential reality, can we become liberated. As the sutra says, “Avalokiteshvara . . . frees all from anguish.”
This awareness also applies to the moment-to-moment cycles of life. Every moment of our lives, things are both perishing and arising. Some of our cells are dying while others are revitalized or reborn. We get old, and at the same time we get young. We get polluted physically, emotionally, and mentally, and simultaneously we get purified. Things decrease and increase. We forget, learn, and remember many things.
We tend to be more aware of the aspects of decay such as aging or declining health, but this is an example of limited perception since we also experience revitalization after we exercise, dance and sing, or sleep. We age and de-age simultaneously, and to a certain degree we have the option to age or de-age at each moment. And in other areas of our lives, we can also choose to stay ignorant or to learn, to be destructive or loving.
Things happen and do not happen at the same time. Although the Heart Sutra seems to emphasize the side of things not happening (“neither arises nor perishes . . . neither increases nor decreases”), we also need to understand and see through to the side of things happening. Movements for war and peace are constantly taking place, and we are called to choose one over the other every moment of every day.
The Heart Sutra claims that in the midst of phenomena where all things are changing, the reality of boundless interactions continues, and that this fact itself will not change. After all, the ultimate reality both encompasses and is free of change in all manifestations.
The notion of the five streams of body, heart, and mind interacting with one another as a single entity can also be applied to our six sense organs — eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind. There are no eyes separate from ears, nose, and the rest of the body (such as skin, flesh, and bones) as well as the mind. The entire body is a single entity.
The objects of our senses — what is seen, heard, smelled, tasted, touched, and perceived — are also all interactive and inseparable. The shape of an apple, its sound or lack of sound, its smell, taste, and our perception of it are indivisibly interconnected. Likewise, various aspects of our consciousness that make eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind function are all connected and intertwined.
The Heart Sutra states that our ultimate experience goes beyond all these types of consciousness. The sutra leads us to a full experience of our senses, their objects, and our consciousness, and in doing so demonstrates a glimpse of complete freedom from all these distinctions. You might call it a higher state of consciousness that can be discovered in meditation.
There is an ancient Buddhist teaching of the twelvefold causation — the chain of dependent origin. It goes in the following sequence: Ignorance causes formative forces. Formative forces cause consciousness. Consciousness causes name-and-form. Name-and-form causes sense fields. Sense fields cause contact. Contact causes feeling. Feeling causes craving. Craving causes grasping. Grasping causes becoming. Becoming causes birth. Birth causes decay and death.
This sequence explains how our angst develops. Roughly speaking, ignorance causes recognition, which causes desire and becoming conscious of the emergence of noticing. And where there are desires and the emergence of noticing, there are old age and death. This is the fundamental human condition.
The Heart Sutra declares that we can become free from each stage and even from freedom itself. What, then, is freedom from freedom? Is it a restriction, or a higher level of freedom?
A human being is a compound of innumerable causes and effects. Each one of us is here in this world because of many decisions made by our parents and their parents, all the way back to the beginning of time. Our upbringing is the result of biological elements, history, culture, social conditions, personality, education, and many other events that happened in the past and are happening in the present. We are the visible and invisible effect of limitless karma — individual and collective social actions.
Thus, we are influenced by a tremendous amount of forces that are completely out of our control. Even with these limitations, however, there are also a great number of elements we can control and change. Changing one’s gender, nationality, religion, or legal name is not easy, but such changes are not impossible, either. Changing one’s partner, career, diet, exercise, tastes, habits, behavior, way of thinking, way of speaking, lifestyle, and daily schedule are all possible. We are in the midst of changeable and unchangeable karma in each moment. We are bound by cause and effect, but at the same time we are partly free of cause and effect. This is the case during meditation, when we can be completely free from the chain of causation. It is a state in which we can be anybody and anywhere. We are what we meditate. We are also the source of cause and effect. The teaching of the Four Noble Truths addresses our ability to be engaged in cause and effect.
The Four Noble Truths are described as suffering, arising, cessation, and path. They point us to the prevailing existence of suffering, the cause of suffering, the potential of freedom from suffering, and ways for this freedom to be learned, which are characterized as the eightfold noble path. The eightfold noble path is wholesome view, wholesome thought, wholesome speech, wholesome conduct, wholesome livelihood, wholesome effort, wholesome mindfulness, and wholesome meditation. Thus, the four noble truths can be seen as a formula to understand the dynamics of suffering and a remedy for becoming free from it.
To give you a simple example: You slander someone, who may be either present or absent. The person gets angry and strikes back at you. This negative reaction causes you pain, which creates multiple problems for your state of mind, health, relationships, or social standing. You may realize that the initial cause of these problems was your own insensitive act of slandering the person. You may then decide not to repeat the same mistake, and thus become liberated from this type of suffering.
The inclusion of the Four Noble Truths in the Heart Sutra (“free of suffering, arising, cessation, and path”), reminds us that this sutra is part of the long line of Buddhist scriptures, going back to the early texts in Pali.
Despite the importance of the four noble truths in the history of Buddhism, however, the Heart Sutra calls for freedom from them. At a glance it may even appear that the text is “anti” four noble truths. Is this so? Does it mean we can ignore or violate this most fundamental teaching in Buddhism?
The word “freedom” often suggests that we can do anything we want, including being unethical and destructive. But there is also another kind of freedom, one that may prove to be more truly free. If we fully follow rules and ethics, we no longer need to think or worry about them. Thus, we are completely free from rules and ethics.
Banging on a piano keyboard without practicing is one kind of freedom that doesn’t get us anywhere. By diligently practicing the piano, however, we come to play beautifully and improvise freely. That is the kind of freedom the Heart Sutra calls for.
Until now, I have reviewed with you the sutra’s point of seeing all elements of human existence and activities through the filter of shunya, or zeroness. What, then, does shunya exactly mean? Does it mean that nothing exists and nothing matters?
An earlier English translation of the sutra states, “In emptiness there are no eyes, no ears, no nose . . .” It does not at all state that eyes, ears, and nose do not exist. It is not nihilism. It means that when we experience emptiness, we see no difference between eyes, ears, nose, and so on. It suggests that an experience of emptiness is that of nonduality. Nonduality sees no boundary or distinction among various aspects and values of things. This is why I suggest that we understand shunyata as boundlessness and use this term as a translation of shunyata.
In meditation we experience distinctions in feelings and thoughts. We feel comfort and pain. We qualify actions as right or wrong. We identify some things as good and others as bad. At times, however, we experience a state where the differences among all things become obscure. In this realm, the distinction between small and large, near and far, momentary and timeless, self and other, and even life and death fades away. Whether we notice it or not, meditation is selfless and nondiscriminatory.
It is not that beginning meditators only experience distinctions and seasoned meditators only experience that which is beyond distinctions. All levels of practitioners experience both at the same time. The difference between beginning and seasoned practitioners may be that the latter are more aware of the nondual experience.
Joan and I loosely translated nirvana as “profound serenity” in our translation of the Heart Sutra. But there are many other ways of understanding the Sanskrit word nirvana. Some Buddhists may say it is a complete state of calmness only buddhas can experience. Others may say that it is a state of annihilating the chain of birth and rebirth. Zen master Dogen seems to indicate that it is a nondual experience. Thus, for him nirvana is an experience of shunyata — zeroness or boundlessness. He says:
On the great road of buddha ancestors there is always unsurpassable practice, continuous and sustained. It forms the circle of the way and is never cut off. Between aspiration, practice, enlightenment, and nirvana, there is not a moment’s gap; continuous practice is the circle of the way.2
Thus, each moment of our practice encompasses these four aspects of experience — aspiration for enlightenment, practice, enlightenment, and nirvana. I call it a micro-circle. Dogen further suggests:
Accordingly, by the continuous practice of all buddhas and ancestors, your practice is actualized and your great road opens up. By your continuous practice, the continuous practice of all buddhas is actualized and the great road of all buddhas opens up. Your continuous practice creates the circle of the way.3
This is a macro-circle. We do not practice meditation alone. We practice together with all the awakened ones everywhere in the past, present, and future. Indeed, do we not meditate together with all the awakened ones and their helpers throughout space? Do we not identify ourselves with the great realization of wisdom beyond wisdom in the past, present, and future?
This experience of all-embracing meditation is not limited to seasoned practitioners but is open even to those who are at the very first moment of practice. Dogen says: “When even for a moment you sit upright in samadhi expressing the buddha mudra in the three activities (body, speech, and thought), the whole world of phenomena becomes the buddha’s mudra and the entire sky turns into enlightenment.”4
Some of those who are familiar with the term “emptiness” might say that the Buddhist understanding of “emptiness” has become common in English usage and there is no need for a new translation of shunyata. It is true that many Buddhist teachers have elucidated the profound meaning of this term, and a great number of people understand it.
I would argue, however, that “empty” or “emptiness” nevertheless has rather negative connotations in English. For example, the American Heritage Dictionary defines the word empty thus: holding or containing nothing; having no occupants or inhabitants (vacant); lacking force or power; lacking purpose or substance (meaningless); not put to use (idle); needing nourishment (hungry); and devoid (destitute).
Let me give you a sobering example in which I imagine my own situation. When I come to face death, somebody might say, “Don’t worry. All is empty. You will simply return to emptiness.” Hearing this, I might be discouraged and depressed. Someone else might say, “When you die, your body, heart, and mind perish. You part from all your beloved ones and all your possessions. But you are not limited to your body, heart, and mind. Your love, aspiration, vision, and service to others are also part of yourself. They will continue to be active and help others. You are without boundary. Losing your body, heart, and mind is only losing a part of yourself.” Offered this understanding, I believe I would be encouraged, and my fear of death might be radically reduced. This could be how I want to die, which in turn may determine how I want to live.
As you see in this example, the translation of a word is not only a matter of choosing one word instead of another. It can be a choice between negativity and positivity, between nihilism and a vision of expansiveness in life.
Here is another example of how we understand a word. Zero can be merely nothing or the state of being empty, but it can also transcend both. An addition of one zero increases a number by a factor of 10. How about an addition of five zeros? Zero is powerful.
Only two numbers — one and zero — form a binary system. The number one is an active number, the beginning of all numbers, and an element of most numbers. One plus one is two. Two divided by three is 0.666 . . . On the other hand, zero is a passive number. Zero has nothing in itself. But once it is combined with one or any other numbers, it brings forth a magical effect. For example, one divided by zero is infinity.
As we see in computer programming, combinations of one and zero are the basis for sets of numbers, letters, languages, and concepts. These numbers can create shapes, colors, images, sounds, movements, and scenes. The computer-program mind mimics our biological and neurological system. Understanding computer programming, in turn, helps us to understand various phenomena in natural and human-made systems. Thus, zero and one are key elements not only in computer code, but in all systems of the universe.
There are two major types of worldview: I call them pluralism and singularism. Pluralism, or dualism, is a common way of seeing phenomena according to their difference from one another. It is a practical and intellectual mode of perception. Discerning differences of shapes, colors, and sizes, and recognizing the appropriateness and rightfulness of actions are how common sense and an ordinary type of wisdom manifest.
Singularism, on the other hand, can be seen as monism or nondualism. It does not deny the pluralistic worldview, but sees reality as a unified whole that transcends all relative, dualistic phenomena. In this sense, singularism may be seen as similar to absolutism, where existence is ultimately understood as an all-inclusive whole. Although Buddhists do not monopolize it, singularism is a major foundation for Buddhist thinking and practice.
The Heart Sutra appears to present a monistic view in which all things can be reduced to zeroness. (It’s ironic that mono in the word monistic means one as opposed to zero in the binary system. Yet here the Buddhist monism or philosophy of oneness regards all things as zero.) This wholeness is the intersection of one and zero.
The view that all things are equal and not different runs counter to our ordinary worldview, which is confined by hierarchy, degrees of values, and judgments of right and wrong. Singularism is often seen as being based on the deepest part of our consciousness, which is non-conceptually experienced in meditation. It is an unworldly, spiritual paradigm, one that can be characterized as nothing short of mystical.
There is great merit in singularism. If we see what is large as no different from what is small, and what is many as no different from what is few, we may become less greedy. If we see enemies as friends, we may fight less. If we see people in the future not apart from those in the present, we may act more considerately. If we see nonhumans as intimate with humans, we may respect animal rights. If we see nonsentient beings as not different from sentient beings, we become more conscious of the environment. When we transcend distinctions and boundaries, we become more compassionate. This is the realization of all things beyond boundaries. This is wisdom beyond wisdom.
Is there a division between pluralism and singularism? If so, is there a pluralistic or dualistic contrast between pluralism and singularism? This certainly poses a dilemma.
I don’t think the Heart Sutra is totally on the side of singularism to the extent of excluding pluralism. On one hand, the sutra says, “[Boundlessness] is free of ignorance. . . . Boundlessness is free of old age and death.” On the other hand, the sutra says, “[Boundlessness is] free of the end of ignorance . . . and free of the end of old age and death.” This passage on the twofold freedom from singularism and pluralism suggests that the scripture is pointing to the transcendence of these seemingly opposing views.
This notion of freedom from the end of ignorance and from the end of old age and death reminds us of the three stages of our experience: recognizing the existence of ignorance, old age and death; becoming free from ignorance, old age, and death; and becoming free from freedom from ignorance, old age, and death.
These three stages of meditative experience can be compared with Dogen’s famous statement in his brief essay “Actualizing the Fundamental Point.”5
First Dogen says, “As all things are buddha dharma, there are delusion, realization, practice, birth [i.e., life] and death, buddhas and sentient beings.” This is a beginning stage of meditation. As we see the difference between awakened ones and those who are not, we are inspired to practice.
Dogen then describes the second stage: “As myriad things are without an abiding self, there is no delusion, no realization, no buddha, no sentient being, no birth and death.” In meditation we come to realize the singularity of all things, where at times we experience freedom from discriminatory views. We free ourselves from trying to be awakened when we realize that we already are awakened. And yet, as Dogen explains, there still is practice, for we manifest this awareness in practice.
Finally, Dogen explains the third stage in the following way: “The buddha way, in essence, is leaping clear of abundance and lack; thus there are birth and death, delusion and realization, sentient beings and buddhas.” When we push through the distinction between pluralism and singularism, we go back to pluralism. However, the pluralism in this stage is quite different from the beginning stage. The freedom found here transcends the opposition of these two modes, for within pluralism there is singularism, and within singularism pluralism is found.
We need pluralism to be able to conduct even the simplest tasks in life, such as distinguishing a dime from a quarter, getting somewhere on time, or staying within necessary social boundaries. On the other hand, we need singularism to see that ultimately all people are one. Pluralism or singularism alone confines our views and actions. From moment to moment in our everyday lives, both of these are required.
Our life may be seen as a dance with pluralism represented by one foot and singularism by the other. At one moment, a single foot touches the ground. By making a stiff step we become rigidly isolated. The next moment we use both feet. The moment after that, the other foot is on the ground by itself. If there is the slightest misstep, boundaries are violated and there is a chance that through some action our integrity will be lost. Each step is a challenge.
However, can we not also see our dance in life and meditation as something other than the constant switching between the opposites? When the dancing becomes natural and fluid, singularism and pluralism are no longer in opposition. They become one and inseparable, which allows us to keep dancing with integrity and grace.
I think it is important to understand the message of the Heart Sutra literally from the text, but, in addition we should understand what its message implies in the larger context of Mahayana Buddhist teaching. For example, the Heart Sutra doesn’t mention ethics, but if we see it as belonging to the lineage of Buddhist scriptures in which ethics based on observing precepts is essential, we know that a call for the integrity of practitioners through ethical actions is invisible but present in the sutra. In fact, Mahayana Buddhism calls for six paramitas, or six realizations: generosity, keeping precepts, patience, vigor, meditation, and wisdom beyond wisdom. Thus, it is clear that the realization of wisdom beyond wisdom goes hand-in-hand with the realization of the other five practices.
I encourage you to develop your own definition of the realization of wisdom beyond wisdom. Speaking for myself, it is a continuous, wholesome experience of freedom from and integrity in pluralistic and singularistic understanding and action. All the Zen koans point to this. Dogen calls it “actualizing the koan ( genjo koan),” which I translate as “actualizing the fundamental point.”6
THE MANTRA
The third and final teaching of the Heart Sutra is the mantra. A mantra is a specially combined sacred formula of sounds often used as a magical spell. Over the centuries, mantras have been used in attempts to invoke supernatural effects, most commonly to avert disaster and bring forth healing and happiness.
You may regard a mantra as a preset prayer in which the literal meaning is unknown or insignificant. Because the sounds of a mantra are not easily comprehensible, they do not appeal to the intellect but instead reverberate within our whole body, heart, and mind. Instead of making us think, the sounds help us to just be, in a way that includes reverence.
The recitation of a mantra can help us to gather together our body, heart, and mind. Sometimes, in meditation and in life, we get lost, confused, or panicked. Chanting the Heart Sutra can help us become focused and fearless. This happened to the monk-scholar Xuanzang when he was alone crossing the Gobi Desert toward India. It also helped Hokiichi Hanawa in his singlehearted drive to compile major ancient Japanese literary works. (I will introduce these stories later in this book.)
Humans are inclined to pray. We may pray to God, the Buddha, a bodhisattva, a god or goddess with whom we feel a sacred connection, or any object of worship. Or we may just pray without having anyone to pray to. When our friends are sick, we send them our prayers. I have even known atheists who prayed, in their own way, when their children were sick. When all medical and health-care procedures are exhausted, often we cannot help but pray.
As long as we feel healthy and strong, we may not feel the need to pray. But someday, should we become fragile and hopeless, it will be helpful to have a good incantation available, especially one like the Heart Sutra mantra that has been recited by uncounted people for centuries. The accumulated power of the mantra must be enormous.
Although science does not explain exactly how it is possible, recent scientific studies suggest that prayers have the power to heal.7 We have known since ancient times that our hearts and minds are so powerful that concentrated direction of our attention in prayers or incantations at times can work.
Dogen calls such a supernatural effect of the concentrated use of our hearts and minds a “minor miracle.” For him, each moment of practice and each breath we take is a “great miracle.” He says, “Miracles are practiced three thousand times in the morning and eight hundred times in the evening.”8
Minor miracles created by magic were not needed by Dogen, who was a fully committed strong practitioner of Zen meditation. Perhaps this is why he did not mention the mantra in his commentary on the Heart Sutra, “Manifestation of Prajna Paramita.”9 But since most of us can be fragile, the mantra can be extremely helpful.
As I will discuss later, the Heart Sutra mantra — Gaté, gaté, paragaté, parasamgaté, Bodhi! Svaha! — can be interpreted as “Arriving, arriving, arriving all the way, arriving all the way together: awakening. Joy!” This is a marvelous reminder for our meditation practice that each moment of our practice is, as Dogen suggests, not separate from awakening or enlightenment. Each moment of our practice and of our life is blessed.
I see the Heart Sutra mantra as a powerful tool for meditation, a double-edged sword of human consciousness. One edge reminds us of the joy of practice and life. The other protects us from the confusion and fragmentation of our consciousness. Thus, you may see the Heart Sutra mantra as a constant reminder of our awakened nature that keeps wisdom beyond wisdom working effectively.
LOVING-KINDNESS
Because wisdom beyond wisdom is not separate from loving-kindness, we may also need a reminder and reinforcement for loving-kindness. For that purpose, the incantation of a short text called the Ten-Line Life-Affirming Sutra of Avalokiteshvara (Emmei Jukku Kannon Gyo) is often used. The Japanese version goes like this:
Kanzeon
namu butsu
yo butsu u in
yo butsu u en
bupposo en
jo raki ga jo
cho nen Kanzeon
bo nen Kanzeon
nen nen ju shin ki
nen nen fu ri shin.
This sutra is usually chanted aloud many times, each time with increased speed and volume. Joan Halifax and I translated this scripture as follows:
Avalokiteshvara, perceiver of the cries of the world,
takes refuge in Buddha,
will be a buddha,
helps all to be buddhas,
is not separate from buddha, dharma, sangha —
being eternal, intimate, pure, and joyful.
In the morning, be one with Avalokiteshvara,
In the evening, be one with Avalokiteshvara,
whose heart, moment by moment, arises,
whose heart, moment by moment, remains!
Hakuin, the eighteenth-century Japanese Zen master, regarded as the restorer of the Rinzai Zen School, encouraged his students to chant this verse. As a result, this extra short scripture has been chanted, in the main, on a daily basis in Rinzai Zen monasteries and centers since his admonition. I hope it will be chanted in other schools of Buddhism as well.
It is a Chinese-originated text. According to the Chronology of Buddha Ancestors (Fuzu Tongji) compiled by Zhipan in 1269 C.E., the defeated and imprisoned general Wang Xuanmo received this sutra in a dream in 450 C.E., and the vigorous chanting of it saved him from execution.
The bodhisattva Avalokiteshvara, who is invoked at the beginning of the Heart Sutra, is usually regarded as a female in East Asia (though the Indo-Tibetan world still sees Avalokiteshvara as a male). So, we can say in a limited manner that “she” is a goddess of loving-kindness. In fact, she is loving-kindness personified.
Bodhisattva has already become an English word. And yet, as it is such a rich word, it is not always easy to understand what it means in different contexts. Joan and I translated this word in our version of the Heart Sutra as one “who helps all to awaken.” I would personally like to see Avalokiteshvara as a goddess, partly because the concept of a “goddess” is not confined to Buddhism. It is my hope that people will take up an interfaith view of this bodhisattva.
We all need an ideal image of loving-kindness that is central to wisdom beyond wisdom. When faced with the choice to be indifferent, insensitive, and violent, or to be kind and loving, our role model could help us to make a positive and life-affirming decision. Thus, holding Avalokiteshvara in our consciousness and invoking the name of the goddess is potentially a powerful practice.
We may ask ourselves: “Are you a goddess of loving-kindness?” You might say, “No, no. I am a human being,” or, “I am a man. How can I be a goddess?”
But the Ten-Line Life-Affirming Sutra of Avalokiteshvara calls us to be “one with Avalokiteshvara.” Why not imagine, then, no matter how else we may define ourselves, that we are also one with the goddess?
Let me ask you again, then: “Are you a goddess of loving-kindness?”