The Wonderful Insight of Zen

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The Wonderful Insight of Zen Buddhism

"Like a person drinking water, the warmth or cold is known only to oneself."

This is a motto of Zen Buddhism. The taste of water, its warmth or cold, and the sensation it gives, can only be known by the person drinking it. Such direct, personal experience cannot be conveyed through language.

Zen Buddhism emphasizes the realization of the present moment. Zen masters' dialogues are often filled with phrases like "understanding in the present moment" or "awakening in the present moment." Zen teaches through direct experience in the here and now, cutting off external distractions and facing the world directly to establish the meaning of the world itself. Watching birds fly, hearing a rooster crow, smelling the fragrance of wildflowers, or enjoying the splashing of a waterfall—all these experiences must be understood within oneself. In Zen, a single flower can be a universe, and an unassuming wildflower growing at the corner of a wall, quietly blooming, can represent a perfect cosmos.

One Zen master once asked his teacher, "How can one attain liberation?" The teacher asked in return, "Who binds you?" It is yourself who has bound yourself. Zen Buddhism emphasizes the "self" as its core. Zen monks say that a Buddha statue made of gold cannot withstand the fire’s smelting, and one made of clay cannot survive the soaking of water; the true Buddha sits in your heart. The Buddha is within you, not something transcendent of the mind. Of course, this veneration of the "self" is not self-obsession, but rather the liberation of the "self" from various constraints.

Zen Buddhism refers to a person's inherent nature as "the landscape of one's own origin." In the eyes of a Zen practitioner, everyone has their own field of life, and they should cultivate it. One should not abandon one's true feelings. If one only looks up to the classics or to authority, it is like having one's heart in oneself but letting the soul wander into someone else's field. In this case, one's own field would be left barren.

There is a Zen poem:

"All day searching for spring, but spring does not return.

My straw sandals have worn out, treading on the clouds at the mountain's crest.

Returning, I laugh, plucking the plum blossoms to smell,

Spring is already fully present on the branches."

Spring is in your own plum tree, in your heart. To overlook the blossoming tree and seek elsewhere is to waste effort. Zen’s wonderful insight comes from one's direct experience, not from seeking outside.

A monk from the Tang Dynasty once asked Master Cuiwei, "What is the Dao?" Master Cuiwei replied, "I will tell you when there is no one around." When they entered a garden, the monk said, "There is no one here, please tell me now." Master Cuiwei pointed to a bamboo and said, "This one is long, while that one is shorter."

In direct experience, a rich and colorful world of life unfolds before one's eyes, where language cannot play any role. Zen Buddhism has a metaphor: a person climbs a tree, holding a branch in their mouth, not stepping on or grasping any branches. Then someone asks from below, "What is the essence of Buddha Dharma?" If they answer, as soon as they open their mouth, they will fall to the ground.

"Like a person drinking water, the warmth or cold is known only to oneself." Zen Buddhism stresses the immediacy of life experience. A characteristic of contemporary human life is that direct experience is becoming increasingly rare. We live through media, trying to weave ourselves into the world's web, establishing our own position in it. While media brings convenience, without realizing it, our sensitivity to the real world has dulled. Zen Buddhism offers inspiration for contemporary people in this respect.

Where to Find Beauty

In the Tang Dynasty, the scholar and lay practitioner Pang Yun had a profound understanding of Zen. He was a disciple of the eminent Master Yaoshan. One time, he was leaving the mountain, bidding farewell to Yaoshan, and over ten of Yaoshan's monks saw him off. Pang Yun and the monks were chatting and laughing as they walked out of the main hall, when they suddenly found themselves in the midst of a heavy snowstorm. The sky and earth were blanketed in a haze of snow, and everyone was filled with joy. Pang Yun pointed to the snowflakes falling from the sky and sighed, "What a beautiful snow, it doesn't fall elsewhere." One of the monks asked, "Where does it fall then?" Pang Yun immediately slapped him.

Pang Yun’s meaning was that the snowflakes fall right before you, and you should enjoy the sight of the world in this moment. "What a beautiful snow," is not an evaluation of the snow. If you evaluate it, you turn the snow into an object. Zen Buddhism emphasizes merging with the world, not evaluating it. The snowflakes are there, falling before you, and that’s all there is to it.

When Pang Yun said, "It doesn't fall elsewhere," he wasn't referring to the fact that the snow was only falling in this place and not elsewhere. He was not observing the snow in terms of "place," which is spatial, or "time," like the snow falling at dusk or not falling in the morning. To look at the snow in terms of time and space is to see only the concept of snow, an interpretation of the fact of snow. Zen Buddhism believes that we cannot explain the world; we can only feel it. The emphasis on "it doesn’t fall elsewhere" is a call to feel the world with your heart.

This story teaches us that beauty is everywhere in life; we just don’t see it. We hold onto rational minds, the eyes of knowledge, and are eager to explain the world. This makes it impossible to see its beauty. We stand on the other side of the world, with a river of knowledge separating us from the world. What we get is only fragmented knowledge, not the world itself. People often overlook the "beautiful snowflakes" before them, entangled in desires, interests, and rational calculations, and thus the beauty of life is concealed. It is not that the world lacks beauty; it is that people often lack the eyes to see it.

A Lively, Vibrant World

Zen Buddhism emphasizes stillness, and many Zen masters live in remote mountains, surrounded by barren trees and cold forests. But this does not mean they prefer silence and reject vitality.

Zen masters experience the vitality of the world in tranquility, sensing the warmth of life after the rush of existence and the exhaustion of worldly affairs. Zen is alive. A Zen master once asked his teacher, "What is the essence of Buddha Dharma?" The teacher replied, "It is life, life."

Master Dongshan Liangjie of the Tang Dynasty was once asked by a disciple, "What is the essence of Buddha Dharma?" He answered, "Falling flowers follow the flowing water." The disciple still didn’t understand, so he asked again. Master Dongshan responded, "The bamboo sways in the wind." The essence of Buddha Dharma is this vibrant world right before us. Zen embodies the spirit of life, and its deepest secret is the recovery of vitality. The highest law of Zen is "living law."

In a busy world, things aren’t necessarily lively; a packed schedule doesn’t mean a meaningful life. Zen aims to restore simplicity in life and feel the complexity within simplicity. It seeks to restore the original stillness of the world and hear the world’s sounds in that stillness. Just like the Chinese tea ceremony, which embodies Zen principles, the tea room is devoid of bright colors, noise, unnecessary movements, or words. Everything operates naturally. In this tranquility, one can awaken the senses and listen to the sounds of tea, wind, and heart. It allows the lotus to bloom without intention, and the grass shoots to grow gently in the snow.

Zen says the world is alive, but we are too busy, troubled, and burdened with concerns, making it hard for us to feel it. When we deal with the world, we typically try to use it, conquer it, and consume it, constantly explaining and dissecting it. In doing so, the vibrant world moves further away from us.

Zen Restores the Vitality of a Living, Dynamic World

During the Song Dynasty, poet Huang Tingjian once went to visit Master Zuxin. Zuxin, in a moment of joy, asked him a question: "Confucius said, 'There is nothing hidden between you and me.' How do you understand this?" Just as Huang was about to respond, Zuxin stopped him, saying, "No, no." Huang was puzzled. They continued walking through the mountain, and at that moment, the osmanthus flowers were in full bloom, exuding a rich fragrance. Zuxin asked, "Do you smell the fragrance of the osmanthus flowers?" Huang replied, "Yes, I do." Zuxin said, "I have no secrets from you, do I?" In that instant, Huang Tingjian had a profound realization.

Once you awaken, the veil is lifted, and before you appears a world full of meaning and charm. It becomes clear and bright, like the osmanthus flowers in full bloom, their fragrance filling the air, and the heart bathes in this fragrant light. The process of awakening is essentially the process of peeling away the layers of cover in the heart, returning to the true world. We are not creating sunlight for life. The sunlight already exists in the world, and every person’s life is like a lamp, glowing with spiritual light.

The Story of Lingyun's Awakening with the Peach Blossoms

Lingyun, a Zen master of the Tang Dynasty, studied under Master Weishan Lingyou, but took a long time to awaken. One spring, while walking in the back mountain of the monastery, he saw peach blossoms blooming everywhere, their vivid colors shining brightly. In that moment, he suddenly attained an understanding of the Dharma. He then composed a poem:

"Thirty years seeking the swordsman,

Several times the leaves fall, branches bud again.

Since I saw the peach blossoms,

I no longer doubt, even till now."

The peach blossoms bloom every day. Why did Lingyun fail to see them before, but after his awakening, they appeared before him so vividly? It was because before, his heart was shrouded by "smoke and mist," deceived by his own deep-seated prejudices. Awakening cleared this veil, restoring a vibrant, living world.