RETREAT REPORT BY D.W. | Getting The Buddha Mind

A few years ago a friend and I were listening to music, enjoying a spontaneous, energized conversation. We were tripping, having ingested a type of LSD known as windowpane, in a dose that would last twelve hours. Suddenly my friend turned off the lights, because the overhead light was much too bright. I did not enjoy the darkened room, so I went into my own room to bring back a candle.

The moment I stepped into my own room my mind went “crazy”: nothing had a name. The candle was still there and I went about my business, but I wasn’t there-there was no Dan Wota. This unnerved me so much that after lighting the candle and taking it into the other room, I left and asked another friend, who was downstairs, to take a walk with me. I thought I was going crazy, that I was having a bad trip. I replayed the thoughts in my mind. They seemed illogical, and I concluded that I must be going insane. The walk helped tremendously, but the drug’s effects were still going to last many hours. I felt paranoid, but all I could do was ride the trip out to the end.

Even after the drug was out of my body, the thoughts that there were no names and no Dan Wota were with me constantly. Actually, it wasn’t that so much as my belief that I had gone crazy. For a year or so my mental condition was colored with intense fear and paranoia.

At this time I was aware of Buddhism and Ch’an, and had read much on both subjects. However, it would be over a year before meeting Shih-fu, and becoming his student. That interim was marked with an unusually painful inward struggle.

Previously, whenever I remembered the above episode I would cringe. It was one of the worst experiences of my life, with deep repercussions. Now I think of it as a blessing in disguise: it forced me to abandon my lifestyle, my involvement with drugs and alcohol, and edged me into pursuing the Dharma.

After being a student of Shih-fu’s for a while, I attended my first retreat. On that retreat three people got very good results. I, on the other hand, came away with a great deal of disappointment. Not until later did I see that I also got a great deal of benefit. What stands out in my mind from that retreat is Shih-fu telling me, in one of the daily interviews, that I was working hard, but that I had an obstruction. He said that in the past, a Ch’an Master would send someone like me away for five years to do hard labor. Fortunately, only a year later, I was able to attend a second retreat.

On the first morning I awoke to a familiar sound: two wooden boards being banged together. My first coherent thoughts were, “Here we go again, ” and “Why am I here?” One bit of conversation echoed from the night before. In presenting the use of the incense board to the newer students, Shih-fu had mentioned that another student and I were the type who needed to be hit often. Recalling the last retreat, I decided if constantly being hit was the shape of things to come, I had better work hard.

One of my regrets from the last retreat was that I hadn’t worked hard enough, hadn’t really pushed myself. This time, I told myself, it would be different. I would try to meditate past the ten o’clock bedtime. Even so, I didn’t succeed in staying up all night; most nights I slept two or three hours.

Despite my efforts, most of the retreat I felt I wasn’t working hard enough. Stray thoughts assailed me no matter what I was doing-sitting, walking, chanting, preparing a meal, or eating. However, throughout the retreat, Shih-fu consoled me and encouraged my efforts. At times I felt that he was just humoring me; that if he really wanted to help me he should be scolding me, instructing me to work harder. But he just asked about my health, and how I was coming along with my method.

Around the third day, I complained that I wasn’t working hard enough, that I couldn’t get myself to work harder, that I had stray thoughts of the past, plus the usual pain in my legs and back. Questions kept popping up like “Why am I here? What is all this for? Why am I going after some mysterious something I’m not supposed to think about? Am I doing the method correctly? Will I be a failure if I don’t get something?” and on and on…Shih-fu asked, “Do you feel stronger than the last retreat?” I realized I did, that I was no longer the same person who had come to the retreat three days ago. If anything was the turning point that was it. It gave me an added strength and self-confidence in the abilities I possessed, abilities which could definitely be used.

As I read back over what I’ve just written I think, “What a bunch of ego-inflated crap to lead the reader into believing that I was so fully aware of the situation, as if there was a blueprint I was able to follow.” No such luck! Morning boards were sounded, I awoke and went about doing what had to be done just because it had to be done. I meditated-stray thoughts arose. I utilized my method and eventually less and less thoughts bubbled up. But there were certain themes to which I attached varying degrees of importance. (All very mundane stuff!) And in no manner was I able to view my efforts objectively. This is the importance of the master: to guide the student, to say what the student needs to hear and help him, whether it be scolding, kindness, or just leaving him alone.

A master is like a music teacher who sounds a particular musical chord which the student must attempt to perform. Without the master, a student might aimlessly search for the correct combination of notes, but just one clue from the master, “Put this finger here, this one here, ” and student and master strike the same chord in harmony. So the gratitude that I feel towards Shih-fu and the Three Jewels is inexpressible. Without Shih-fu’s guidance I would still be clutching at ideas and things, seeking answers, rather than practicing and letting the harvest come naturally.

The fifth night, at the start of the lecture, Shih-fu said that the Karen we saw before us was not the same Karen as last night. A spasm of thoughts disturbed me: some form of disappointment, resentment, despair, past and future thoughts all rolled into one mass. Then another wave of thoughts: O.K., she’s answered Shih-fu’s question to his satisfaction, I can too if I work hard enough. I just continued focusing my attention on the method. Both sides of the issue and all ensuing emotions were very real, begging me to acknowledge and attach to them. It would have been very comfortabie to feel sorry for myself, but I knew that was a dead-end.

At the end of the lecture, Shih-fu talked about names. Turning to me he said, “What is your name?” After I was unable to answer, he waved his hands in an up-and-down motion about his body saying, “No name, just this…just this!” pointing to himself. This ended the lecture. In five minutes it would be time to sit again. I went to the bathroom, concentrating on my method. I thought, “No name, just this.” I looked in the mirror and there was no Dan Wota. I walked downstairs to sit in meditation. Passing through the kitchen I saw that everything was still there, it hadn’t disappeared, but it no longer presented a problem.

I sat for a while, and when I thought I was ready I stood up and asked Shih-fu to go to the interview room.

After prostrations I presented my realization. Shih-fu offered, “Congratulations.” And I replied, “Congratulations for nothing.” We laughed.

On the beach, I stood on a boulder, looked at the World As-lt-ls, without names, laughing. All I could say aloud was, “Thank God there is no Dan Wota!”

PREVIOUS: RETREAT REPORT BY K.S. | Getting The Buddha Mind
NEXT: RETREAT REPORT BY M.I.C. | Getting The Buddha Mind