Today I begin lecturing on the Chan koans in the Blue Cliff Record. This is a record of Chan sayings. Perhaps someone may ask: “We practice the Heart-of-Heart Esoteric Dharma, not the Chan school. Why, then, speak about koans of the Chan tradition?” It is because the Heart-of-Heart Esoteric Dharma and the Chan school spring from the same source; though their approaches differ, they accomplish the same work. The Chan of the Chan school is not the chan of meditative absorption.

Meditative absorption is divided into the four dhyānas and eight absorptions; it is a gradual method. The Chan school, however, was transmitted by Patriarch Bodhidharma. It is called Patriarchal Chan, a complete and sudden dharma gate that directly points to the mind and enables one to see one’s nature and attain Buddhahood. It is not a gradual method of proceeding step by step. The Heart-of-Heart Esoteric Dharma that we practice likewise directly opens up the original nature and thoroughly reveals one’s intrinsic nature.

It is not a form-based esoteric practice that proceeds indirectly, first attaining realization through visualization or contemplation of forms and then breaking through forms to see one’s nature. Thus it is “taking Chan as its essence and Esoteric Buddhism as its function”: it uses Esoteric Dharma to realize Chan. Why is this necessary? Because the Chan school admits only those of the highest capacities; those of middling and lesser capacities find it difficult to receive.

In its earliest days, the Chan school had no such thing as investigating a huatou. It directly pointed to the nature here and now, enabling one to see one’s nature and attain Buddhahood; there was no need to investigate a fixed critical phrase. Examples include: “Who is reciting the Buddha’s name?” “Before your parents were born, what was your Original Face?” “Who is it that drags this corpse about?” and “What is the place from which all Buddhas arise? East Mountain walks upon the water.” These, and so forth, are huatou.

They simply responded to the questioner’s words in context, pointed out an entryway for that person, and enabled him to recognize it for himself on the spot.

For example, a student came to consult a patriarch and asked, “What is Buddha?” The patriarch directly pointed out, “This very mind is Buddha!” Or he might say, “Here we are, face to face in clear conversation—who else could it be but Buddha?” Or perhaps, “I fear you would not believe me if I told you.” The student said, “If the master speaks the truth, how would this student dare not believe it?” The master replied, “You yourself are it!” Upon hearing this, the student who had asked the question awakened and accepted it.

Still other masters, when asked, “What is Buddha?” would call out the questioner’s name. Once he answered, the master would directly show him: “This very thing is it; there is nothing else!” The questioner would awaken at those words. See how swift and direct this is! Early Chan was all like this: directly pointing to the nature and enabling Buddhahood.

Again, after the Sixth Patriarch received the robe and bowl and left Huangmei, many people pursued him in order to seize them. One of them was named Huiming. Before leaving home, he had been a general; skilled in martial arts, he ran faster than the others and was the first to catch up with the Sixth Patriarch.

At that point, the Sixth Patriarch thought: “This robe and bowl are tokens of the Dharma—material proof indicating that one has received the mind Dharma. How could they be seized by force?” He therefore placed the robe and bowl on a large rock and hid himself in the grass, to see how Huiming would deal with them.

When Huiming arrived and saw the robe and bowl on the rock, he thought, “Now they can be taken with a simple reach; the patriarchal seat will be ours.” Yet when he tried to lift them, he could not move them. Why could he not move them? There are many different accounts. Some say that the robe and bowl were tokens of Dharma transmission. Since Huiming had not received the Dharma, the Dharma-protecting spirits did not permit him to take them.

Others say that this was not the case. Huiming himself knew that the robe and bowl signified Dharma transmission and could not be seized by force. Since he had not yet received the Dharma, even if he had taken them by force, he would have possessed only their outward appearance; moreover, it would have been an evil act. Ashamed in his heart, he was no longer able to lift them. Although the explanations differ, the fundamental point is that a token of the Dharma cannot be seized by force.

Huiming therefore repented and said, “I have come for the Dharma, not for the robe.” The Sixth Patriarch then emerged and said to him, “You have come for the Dharma; I shall explain the Dharma to you: do not think of good, and do not think of evil—that is, do not think of what is good, nor of what is bad.”

All our thoughts turn only around these two sides: good and evil, beauty and ugliness. Once we leave these two sides, deluded thoughts can no longer proceed. Therefore the Sixth Patriarch said: do not think of what is good, and do not think of what is bad. In other words, he told him not to stir a thought.

Thus Huiming remained for a long while—without a single movement of thought. At this critical moment, the Sixth Patriarch instructed him: “At just such a time, what is Senior Monk Ming’s Original Face?” Put differently, when not a single thought arises, what is that clear and distinct spiritual knowing? If it is not your Original Face, what else could it be? Everyone may test this for themselves here and now.

When not a single thought arises—when the preceding thought has ceased and the following thought has not yet arisen—are we unconscious like wood or stone? Clearly not. When not a single thought arises, the mind is clear and distinct. For example, when everyone in this room has no thought arising and the mind abides nowhere, every object lies within each person’s field of vision, perfectly clear, like a mirror reflecting things, without the least discrimination.

But suppose the mind abides somewhere: “What is this? It is an umbrella! And further, is it a nylon umbrella or an automatic umbrella?” Once a thought arises and the mind becomes attached, one sees only this object and no longer sees the other things.

When the mind abides nowhere and is open and empty, when one sees everything and yet seems not to see anything, who is it that illumines clearly and without abiding, like a mirror? At this critical moment, the practitioner turns the light inward for a single look and exerts himself with full vigor; then the true eye suddenly opens.

Therefore the Sixth Patriarch instructed Huiming: when not a single thought arises and yet there is clear, distinct knowing, who is it that illumines clearly and without abiding? This was equivalent to telling him that the undifferentiating spiritual radiance was his Original Face. At that time there was nothing else besides this, and so Huiming awakened immediately. Chan is so direct and straightforward. Among all the major schools, Chan alone is called the school of the lineage, for its swiftness and simplicity cannot be matched by the other schools.

Later generations, however, held differing views. Concerning the two characters “that one” in the Sixth Patriarch’s instruction, “What is Senior Monk Ming’s Original Face?” some saw it one way and some another, and various interpretations arose.

Some say that “that one” is a question, asking Huiming which one is your Original Face when not a single thought arises—equivalent to the English “what.” Others say that “that one” is a direct pointing: it directly indicates to Huiming that the spiritual radiance present when not a single thought arises is your Original Face—equivalent to the English “that.”

In the Chan school, many people have engaged in literary disputes over these two characters. Each claims to be right and refuses to yield. In fact, there is no need for such disputes.

If, under the Sixth Patriarch’s direct instruction, you immediately open the true eye and understand that this state in which not a single thought arises, yet there is clear and distinct knowing, is your Original Face—because at that moment there is nothing besides your own intrinsic nature—then, accepting it yourself without further doubt, this is direct pointing.

Conversely, if you do not know and ask in confusion, “Ah, which one is it that does not give rise to a single thought?” Or you may speculate that this Original Face must have some sort of appearance: when not a single thought arises, there is indeed clear and distinct knowing, but there is no thing there—how can this be it? Surely there must be something mysterious and extraordinary. Is it not said that the Dharma-nature body possesses immeasurable merit and virtue,

boundless wondrous functioning, and vast spiritual powers? Why do I now have no spiritual powers at all? Perhaps this is not it. Then, ‘Which one is my Original Face?’ In this way, it becomes a question.

In truth, our Buddha-nature is supremely wondrous, fully endowed with all capacities, and possesses immeasurable merit and virtue. Yet when you have only just seen your intrinsic nature, you are like an infant who has just left the womb and entered the world.

Can such an infant function? Can it eat and dress itself? Can it do things? Clearly, it can do none of these. Thus, one who has only just seen one’s nature possesses merely the bare dharmakāya, without anything mysterious or extraordinary. One must wait for the infant to grow up—that is, one must pass through a period of concealing one’s light, nurturing oneself, safeguarding, and fostering growth. After all one’s old habitual tendencies have been eliminated and one has grown into an adult, wondrous functioning can arise and spiritual powers can manifest. Therefore, in cultivating the Way, one must know the proper sequence; one awakening does not mean that all is finished. First one must recognize it, then safeguard and sustain it; only afterward can one gradually attain complete fulfillment.

Our purpose in lecturing on the Blue Cliff Record is to enable those who practice the Heart-of-Heart Dharma first to open up their original nature. After seeing their intrinsic nature, they must further safeguard it and allow it to grow strong. They must not be satisfied with a little. Do not think, “I have already opened up and seen the Way, so that is enough.”

There is still a very long way to go. One has only just reached the threshold of the dharmakāya and cannot yet save oneself. One must proceed from the stage of seeing the Way, through the stage of cultivating the Way, to the stage of realizing the Way, passing through these three stages before attaining complete fulfillment. For example, the Caodong school teaches the Five Ranks of Lord and Minister, and it too speaks of these three stages.

The Linji school teaches the Three Mysteries and Three Essentials, likewise referring to these three stages. Even the Guiyang school, with its ninety-six circular symbols, does not go beyond these three stages. For there has never been a naturally born Śākyamuni. Look at the history of Śākyamuni Buddha: he too cultivated the Way over many lives and countless kalpas before realizing the Way; he did not attain completion in a single awakening. Therefore, after seeing the Way, in addition to being certain and free of doubt, we must safeguard it continuously and closely, allowing it to grow strong. We cannot stop with a single awakening. Thus, the purpose of lecturing on the Blue Cliff Record is to draw on the methods and experiences of the ancients in their practice and urge everyone to continue applying themselves.

Why is it called the Blue Cliff Record? During the Song dynasty, there was Chan Master Yuanwu Qin, a great master and eminent writer of the Chan school. He lived on Jia Mountain in Yizhou, now Hunan. On the mountain was a rock about the size of an abbot’s chamber, called Blue Cliff Rock, and his own quarters were accordingly named Blue Cliff. In summer, he lectured to his students on Chan koans, encouraging them to practice diligently. The students recorded these lectures, and when they were compiled into a book, it was called the Blue Cliff Record.

Chan Master Yuanwu Qin lectured on the basis of Master Xuedou’s one hundred koans in Verses on the Ancients.

Verses on the Ancients praises the causes and conditions through which the ancients awakened to the Way, the states of their realization, and the subtle and profound meanings in their questions, answers, and sayings. At the knots, confusions, and errors in the koans, it points out the crucial places for students; moreover, it sometimes reveals a different skillful perspective, praising its own realizations from another angle and supplementing what the earlier masters left incomplete.

A koan is an authoritative instruction handed down by the Buddhas and patriarchs of old, the orthodox command of the Chan school, by which delusion and awakening, heterodoxy and orthodoxy, are discerned. It is like the case files and legal ordinances of a public court—that is, the laws by which courts today decide cases—used to judge right and wrong, and is supremely venerable, stringent, and inviolable. Originally, ultimate principle transcends speech; only because people are deluded is it necessary to borrow words in order to reveal the Way.

Moreover, the encounters of questions and answers between the patriarchs served only to determine delusion or awakening, birth and death. Later generations called these instructions and encounter dialogues koans, using them to compare with their own practice.

It is like looking in a mirror to see whether one’s cultivation and realization are adequate, and whether they accord with those of the ancients. If there is any discrepancy in one’s practice, one draws nourishment from them for cultivation and realization; those who have not yet reached the ultimate are enabled, through verification, to unfold prajñā and advance ever higher.

Chan Master Xuedou took one hundred koans concerning the circumstances in which the patriarchs of old awakened to the Way and composed verses in praise of them. Like our writing poetry, he brought out the knots, confusions, and profound subtleties within these koans, so that later generations could more readily draw nourishment from them, open the true eye, and directly realize their original nature.

Yet after they had been set forth in verse, their meaning remained very profound and obscure, not easily understood by ordinary people. Therefore Chan Master Yuanwu Keqin further illuminated them indirectly, offering comments and appreciations from various angles.

He expounded them on three levels. First comes the introductory instruction: before each koan, he says certain important words relevant to it. Next, he presents the koan and comments on and analyzes it, distinguishing and expounding its profound points. Finally, he comments on and appreciates Chan Master Xuedou’s verses on the ancient cases. This enables later generations to understand their profound meaning deeply and without error, and thereby practice tirelessly and penetrate their inner mysteries. For this reason, it has traditionally been called the foremost book of the Chan school.

Today I will explain this Blue Cliff Record to help you in your practice, using the Chan school’s teachings to assist fellow practitioners of heart esotericism in directly realizing the source of mind. The Heart-of-Heart Dharma is formless esoteric practice and directly reveals one’s true nature. It differs from the form-based esoteric practices of the Yellow and Red traditions, yet shares a marvelous affinity with the Chan school; thus people call it Chan-Esoteric Buddhism.

In form-based esoteric practice, one must first abide in forms and cultivate them. Only after the forms have been successfully cultivated can they be dissolved into emptiness, allowing one to see one’s true nature; this means crossing one additional threshold beyond ours. Thus formless esoteric practice is not the same as form-based esoteric practice. Although our Mind-Seal practice differs somewhat from Chan, the essential meaning of the Buddhadharma that it teaches and the state it realizes are exactly the same as those of Chan.

When practice reaches its end, there is no need to recite mantras, no need to visualize, and nothing at all to do. One simply remains so open and level, so immediately complete: with an even mind, all traces quietly vanish. When cold, put on clothes; when hungry, eat. This practice is both ordinary and very profound.

Someone may ask, “Putting on clothes and eating are all there is? Who cannot put on clothes? Who cannot eat? Does that mean everyone is a Buddha?” I cannot help smiling and replying: Not only is everyone a Buddha; all sentient beings possess the Tathāgata’s wisdom and virtuous attributes. It is only regrettable that people do not know or recognize this, but merely roll about amid sounds and forms.

When putting on clothes, they do not simply put on clothes, but fuss and choose: which style is good, which fabric is good, what is fashionable, and what is out of date. When eating, they likewise do not simply eat, but choose the finest and richest foods: which dishes taste good and which do not. Those who eat meat even complain that dead animals are not fresh enough and that only live ones are fresh. In this way, they create karma and undergo its retribution.

They bury the splendid, naturally genuine Buddha within the cycle of rebirth in the six realms. Is that not regrettable? If our minds are empty and non-abiding—if we eat porridge when there is porridge and rice when there is rice, allow things to unfold in accordance with conditions, remain free and unrestrained, abide neither in emptiness nor in existence—then we realize the great Way of non-contrivance. Therefore Pang Lingzhao, the daughter of Layman Pang, said: “When hungry, eat; when tired, sleep.”

These are the words of one who has truly arrived home. Before this, her parents had each composed a verse. Layman Pang first said: “Hard, hard, hard—spreading ten loads of sesame oil over a tree.” This means that studying Buddhism and cultivating the Way are exceedingly difficult, like trying to spread sesame oil over a tree. Can one spread it on? As soon as it is spread on, the oil runs down.

Why is it difficult? Because practitioners have become habituated, throughout innumerable kalpas and lives, to clinging to appearances. Whenever they encounter something, their minds stick to it. When they meet favorable circumstances, they laugh with delight; when they meet adverse circumstances, they are deeply troubled and distressed.

In truth, all circumstances are false, without any real basis, and empty. Worldly people do not know this, but take them to be real and pursue them, clinging without letting go. It is like walking through a thicket of thorns while wrapped in cotton wadding: touch something to the east and it sticks; touch something to the west and it sticks as well.

Therefore it is said that learning the Way is “hard, hard, hard”—extremely hard indeed. But is it truly hard? No. Why? Because we are originally Buddhas; it is not a matter of turning ordinary beings into Buddhas. So long as you are not deluded by false external circumstances, your mind constantly clear and alert, and your intent never fixed on anything, you become a Buddha. Thus the Sixth Patriarch said: “The preceding thought, deluded, is an ordinary being; the succeeding thought, awakened, is a Buddha.”

It happens very quickly. Therefore Old Lady Pang said: “Easy, easy, easy—the meaning of the Western coming is atop every blade of grass!” This means that studying Buddhism and cultivating the Way involve no difficulty at all; they are exceedingly easy. “Every blade of grass” represents all things, and “atop” all things means being free from all things.

When one is within things yet free from things, what remains? The empty, non-abiding mind is the fundamental meaning of the Western coming. This is also what the Diamond Sūtra says: “If one sees all appearances as non-appearances, one sees the Tathāgata.”

Do not cling to appearances. See apart from appearances, and every affair and every thing is the great Way. What difficulty is there? Therefore, for us to study Buddhism and realize the Way is not difficult. Do not be afraid, for we are originally Buddhas. So long as you let go and do not cling to appearances, what else is this clear and distinct single thought of pure spiritual radiance but Buddha? Thus Buddha-nature is not elsewhere; it is shining before all of you. Yet Layman Pang and Old Lady Pang, one saying “difficult” and the other “easy,” both still had something in which they abided and had not reached the ultimate.

For our true wisdom does not establish a single dharma and is utterly bare. To say it is difficult is wrong, and to say it is easy is also wrong. Therefore their daughter Pang Lingzhao said: “Neither difficult nor easy—when hungry, eat; when tired, sleep!” This sweeps away the traces of difficult and easy and returns to non-abiding. When you are hungry, eat; when tired, sleep. That is all.

To let go freely, at ease, and peacefully enjoy what comes is to be the naturally genuine Buddha. Some people say that once one has realized the Way, one need no longer eat or sleep; if one still eats and sleeps, perhaps one has not yet realized the Way. This is mistaken.

So long as, when eating, we do not conceive of ourselves as eating—eating all day without biting down on a single grain of rice—and, when sleeping, do not conceive of ourselves as sleeping, then even if we sleep with a loud snore, we remain clear and distinctly aware, rather than being confused by delusive dreams. Only one oneself knows this. Hence it is said, “Like a person drinking water, one knows for oneself whether it is cold or warm,” and “Whether one has realized the Way or not, one knows for oneself.”

It is not by constantly sitting without sleeping that one realizes the Way. The Sixth Patriarch put it well: “While alive, one sits and does not lie down; when dead, one lies down and cannot sit.” When you are alive, you sit and do not sleep; when you die, you fall there and cannot sit.

“What merit or fault can there be in a stinking skeleton?” What merit or fault belongs to this foul skin bag? If merit and fault are to be established, they lie in the mind, not in the body. When merit and fault have both fallen away, one is at ease everywhere; that is Buddha. But if one is constrained everywhere and clings to appearances, one merely invites one’s own suffering and is not Buddha. Thus to become a Buddha is to become a living Buddha, capable of wondrous functioning and of receiving genuine benefit. One cannot realize the Way merely by sitting there without moving; sitting behind a dark mountain cannot bring realization of the Way.

My purpose in explaining these koans today is to help you use the ancients’ processes of practice and circumstances of awakening to the Way as a comparison, thereby verifying your own strength in practice. From them, identify your gaps, draw on their experience and lessons, and use them to improve yourselves, advancing from the side of the dharmakāya toward complete realization of bodhi. They are therefore of great help to us. Now I will explain the first koan, entitled “The First Principle of the Noble Truths.”