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This poem was composed at the beginning and the end of a sabbatical retreat period, at Dhammadena, near Joshua Tree, CA, and at Abhayagiri Monastery in Mendocino County, CA.


Bearing so much shape

against the smelting sun --

while the sky disdains all form,

and barely yields a mouthful of rain

to the wind's fist:



mountains of the desert.

Mothers of streams, fathers of horizons.

Day will wrap every hue

and tone across their backs --

but leave them empty. Blackest.

Even night still holds its spray

of stars, its swagger of independence.



Their roots are hot. Like humans.

And the world beats over them.

Their peaks are (dead) saints, named

by whatever hope Father Dread allows.

Weathered elders knew that the uplifted heart

was not for glory, but an utter exposure

to the daily grind of minor grief;

sacred not because of what it becomes,

but what it gets broken down into.



Yes. But I have been there when time gets dethroned;

when the implacable day slides into eternal night

shyly, or when the awful dark whimpers and retires.

I have been there at that real time,

feeling balances. Distances hover;

the air is supple, fragrant, questioning.

Then the old scarred crags are green like the ocean,

waving, rolling; their presence rebuffs the sky.



And when night's wheel dips the stars westwards

who else toys with them -- Betelgeuse, Aldebaran --

like grapes, and swallows them one by one?

Or lazily chews the melon moon,

and takes her in calmly, gently?

Up who else's back climbs the infant sun?



Write it out anew. Prometheus laughs at the gods:

their pettiness is amusing;

he lets their Page 2 of 10

witless emotions,

their fear of death and pain wash over him.

Maybe they can learn . . . if he takes the human part,

to be just this earth, wrinkling through a maze of forms,

until day and night shall see him.

January & July 1996

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Abhayagiri: What's in a name?

by
Amaro Bhikkhu

How we name things is important. When contemplating what to call the new monastery here in Redwood Valley (Mendocino County), California, a number of different possibilities were considered. Since we have been the fortunate beneficiaries of the generosity of the Ven. Master Hsüan Hua, in receiving the initial gift of 120 acres of land here in Redwood Valley, it was obvious that it would be appropriate to somehow reflect the kindness of this offering and the spirit in which it was intended. It also felt important to use a name in the Pali language -- to confirm our sense of allegiance to the Theravada tradition and to resonate the classical' style of forest monastic life that is being embodied here.

The name that was finally settled upon -- Abhayagiri -- means 'The Mountain of Fearlessness' or 'Fearless Mountain' ( 'A-' = 'not' or 'without'; '-bhaya-' = 'fear'; '-giri' = 'mountain'). It seemed appropriate for a variety of reasons, the most important being the way it resonated the intention behind Ven. Master Hua's gift. On several occasions when our communities met together he had made a point of stating that it had been the dream of his life "to bring the Northern and Southern traditions of Buddhism back together again." Master Hua was someone who acted upon his words, so when we received the news a few days before he passed away that he had offered us 120 acres of forest 15 miles north of The City of 10,000 Buddhas in Ukiah (Mendocino County), California, we were surprised but not surprised -- such open-hearted gestures of ecumenical friendship were just his style. It was also in keeping with Page 3 of 10

this same openness and trust that the gift was made with no strings attached -- it was a pure offering, enabling our communities to be physically close and to relate in an atmosphere of mutual respect and harmony.

The original Abhayagiri monastery was in ancient Sri Lanka, at Anuradhapura. It was founded around 25 BC by King Vattagamani and lasted until the decline and fall of Anuradhapura some six centuries later. All that remains there today is the Abhayuttara Stupa. The Abhayagiri monastery was most notable for the fact that it welcomed practitioners and teachers from many different Buddhist traditions; where they lived amicably alongside one another, distinct in their particular practices but not separate as communities. It was also notable inasmuch as the monastery emphasized meditation practice and the direct realization of the Buddha's Teachings. Fa-Hsien, the Chinese pilgrim of the 4th Century, evidently spent the two years of his stay in Sri Lanka at Abhayagiri -- according to him there were, at this time, 5,000 monks in residence there.

Another interesting fact, and one that again links the name of Abhayagiri to the City of 10,000 Buddhas community, is that the origins of the bhikshuni (nuns') order in China apparently stem from this same center. Around the year 430 CE the abbot of a monastery in China took it upon himself to give the full ordination to a group of women disciples -- citing the fact that, as there were no nuns in China at that time, he was justified in following the example of Gautama Buddha who had ordained the first women on his own. A visiting Vinaya master subsequently pointed out that this was an inappropriate course of action, particularly since there was, at that time, a flourishing bhikkhuni community in Sri Lanka. Word was then sent to the king of Sri Lanka, requesting some nuns be sent to China to establish the full ordination for women there. This request was received favorably and a party of nuns, including several Theris (Elders), set out from Abhayagiri; eventually reaching the monastery from where the Page 4 of 10

request had come and giving the full ordination according to proper procedure to the community of women there. Thus the nuns' order in China was established and has continued, as far as can be ascertained, in an unbroken stream since then.

The great majority of members of the monastic community of the City of 10,000 Buddhas and its branch monasteries are women -- bhikshuni and shramanerika (novices). The name Abhayagiri then reflects the home of this lineage so, after all these years, in some ways the circle has come around and closed itself again.

One final point on this subject, which is interesting to note, is that in the Thai language the word 'Abhaya' has changed its meaning over the centuries; it no longer means 'fearlessness' but 'forgiveness' -- a rare and sorely needed commodity in the world, and one it is always good to have reminders of.

* * *

Uppalamani: 'The Jewel of Ubon'

by
Ajahn Jayasaro

Some passages from the forthcoming biography of Ven. Ajahn Chah, written & translated by Ajahn Jayasaro.

TRANSMISSION

At the end of the retreat Luang Por Chah, together with three other monks and novices and two laymen set off on the long walk to the Isahn -- their home province. They broke the journey at Bahn Gor, and after a few days rest, they began a 250-kilometer hike northwards. By the tenth day they had reached the elegant white stupa of Taht Panom, an ancient pilgrimage site on the banks of the Mekong, and paid homage to the Buddha's relics enshrined there. They continued their walk in stages, by now finding forest monasteries along the way in which to spend the night. Even so it was an arduous trek and the novice and one layman asked to turn back. The group consisted of just three monks and a layman when they finally arrived at Wat Peu Nong Nahny, the home of Ven. Ajahn Mun.

As they walked into the monastery, Luang Por Chah was immediately struck by its Page 5 of 10

tranquil and secluded atmosphere. The central area, in which stood a small meeting hall, was immaculately swept and the few monks they caught sight of were attending to their daily chores silently, with a measured and composed gracefulness. There was something about the monastery that was like no other that he had been in before -- the silence was strangely charged and vibrant. Luang Por and his companions were received politely and, after being advised where to camp for the night, took a welcome bath to wash off the grime of the road.

In the evening the three young monks, their double-layered outer robes folded neatly over their left shoulders, minds fluctuating between keen anticipation and cold fear, made their way to the wooden meeting hall to pay their respects to Luang Bhoo (Venerable Grandfather) Mun. Shuffling on his knees towards the great master, flanked on both sides by the resident monks, Luang Por approached a slight and aged figure with an indomitable, diamond-like presence. It is easy to imagine Luang Bhoo Mun's bottomless eyes and his deeply penetrating gaze boring into Luang Por Chah as he bowed three times and sat down at a suitable distance. Most of the monks were sitting with eyes closed in meditation, one sat slightly behind Luang Bhoo Mun slowly fanning away the evening's mosquitoes. As Luang Por glanced up he would have noticed how prominently Luang Bhoo Mun's collarbone jutted through the pale skin above his robe and how his thin mouth stained red with betel juice formed such an arresting contrast to the strange luminosity of his presence.

As is the time-honored custom amongst Buddhist monks, Luang Bhoo Mun first asked the visitors how long they had been in robes, the monasteries they had practiced in and the details of their journey. Did they have any doubts about the practice? Luang Por swallowed. Yes he did. He had been studying Vinaya texts with great enthusiasm but he had become discouraged. The Discipline seemed too detailed to be practical; it didn't seem possible to keep every single rule; what should one's standard Page 6 of 10

be? Luang Bhoo Mun advised him to take the 'Two Guardians of the World': hiri (a sense of shame) and ottappa (intelligent fear of consequences) as his basic principle. In the presence of those two virtues, he said, all else will follow.

Eyes half-closed -- his voice becoming stronger and faster as he proceeded, as if he were moving into a higher and higher gear -- with an absolute authority Luang Bhoo Mun described 'the way things truly are' and the path to liberation. Luang Por and his companions sat completely enrapt. He later said that, although he had spent an exhausting day on the road, hearing Luang Bhoo Mun's Dhamma talk made all of his weariness disappear, his mind became clear and peaceful and he felt as if he was floating in the air above his seat. It was late at night before Luang Bhoo Mun called the meeting to an end and Luang Por returned to his resting place, aglow.

On the second night Luang Bhoo Mun gave more teachings and Luang Por felt that he had come to the end of his doubts abut the practice that lay ahead. He felt a joy and rapture in the Dhamma that he had never known before. Now what remained was for him was to put his knowledge into practice. The most clarifying explanation, one that gave him the necessary context or basis for practice that he had hitherto been lacking, was of a distinction between the mind itself and the transient states of mind which arose and passed away within it.

"Luang Bhoo Mun said they're merely states. Through not understanding that point we take them to be real, to be the mind itself. In fact they're all just transient states. As soon as he said that, things suddenly became clear. Suppose there's happiness present in the mind: it's a different kind of thing, it's on a different level to the mind itself. If you see that then you can stop, you can put things down. When conventional realities are seen for what they Page 7 of 10

are, then it's ultimate truth. Most people lump everything together as the mind itself, but actually there are states of mind together with the knowing of them. If you understand that point then there's not a lot to do."

On the third day Luang Por paid his respects to Luang Bhoo Mun and led his small group off into the lonely forests of Poopahn once more. He left Nong Peu behind him never to return again, but with his heart full of an inspiration that would stay with him for the rest of his life.

How is it then that with such little contact with him, Luang Por Chah is so commonly considered to be a disciple of Luang Bhoo Mun -- particularly among his own disciples? Can two nights of instruction count as a basis of discipleship? Luang Por was once asked why he stayed with Luang Bhoo Mun for such a short time. He replied that close to a fire, a person with closed eyes could spend years and still not see it, whereas someone with good eyes would not take long to see the light. If that statement reflects how Luang Por felt at the time it indicates an unusual self-confidence for one so relatively inexperienced in practice. He seems to be implying that he received from Luang Bhoo Mun something akin to what in other Buddhist traditions would be called a 'transmission'. Although it might be objected that transmission is an idea alien to Theravada Buddhism, it certainly seems that following this meeting Luang Por felt his path had been illumined. It is as if, to use another analogy, he felt that he had been given a clear outline of the work to be done and the tools to do it and all that remained was to apply himself to the task. Close proximity to the teacher was unnecessary.

WHAT'S THE HURRY?

The Ven. Ajahn Ginaree had led an eventful monastic life. After receiving teachings from Luang Bhoo Mun and Luang Bhoo Sao, he had spent many years wandering on Page 8 of 10

tudong, including over ten years in Burma. He was one of only a handful of monks of his generation to have visited the Buddhist Holy Places in India. Yet by the time Luang Por Chah knew him, Luang Bhoo Ginaree did not have the air of a hard and seasoned traveler. He wore about him, however, like an old well-used robe, a modest self-sufficiency and ease that spoke of someone with nothing more to prove to himself. He seemed content with what each moment brought him. Luang Por soon found that the fact that he rarely spoke was not the outcome of a brusque or taciturn personality (somewhat common amongst forest monks) but rather of a sweet, gentle nature that found few things worth saying. He was an industrious man who would spend his days tinkering, pottering, sewing, cleaning. All of his belongings he made himself and he used them until they fell apart. As he got older his appearance was ever more shabby and decrepit, but as Luang Por discovered, looks can be deceptive. His mind was bright and clean.

'At that time I'd hear the teachers giving Dhamma talks about letting go, letting go and I still couldn't make much of it. Ven. Ajahn Ginaree asked me to sew a set of robes. I went at it flat out. I wanted to get it over and done with quickly. I thought once the task was done I'd be free of business and be able to get down to some meditation. One day the Ajahn walked over. I was sewing out in the sun, totally unaware of the heat. I just wanted to get finished so that I could devote myself to meditation. He asked me:

"What's the hurry?"

"I'm hurrying to get finished."

"When you've finished what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to do such and such."

"Then when you've finished that what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to do such and such."

"And then what will you do....?" Page 9 of 10



There would be no end to this.

He said, "Don't you realize that it's just this sewing that is your meditation. Where are you rushing off to? You've already gone wrong. Craving is flooding your head and you've no idea what's happening."

Another shaft of light. I'd been sure I was making merit. I'd thought that merely doing the job was good enough. I'd get it done quickly and go onto something else. But Ajahn Ginaree pointed out my mistake: "What's the hurry?"

COMPLETION

"I walked down from Poo Langkah mountain and at its base I came to a deserted monastery. Just then it started to rain and so I went to take shelter underneath the meeting hall. I was contemplating the elements and suddenly the mind became firm. Immediately it was as if I had entered another world. Whatever I looked at was changed. I felt that the kettle in front of me was not a kettle. The spittoon was transformed and so was my alms-bowl. Everything had changed its state, in the way that your hand seems to if you flip it over from front to back. It was like a cloud suddenly obscuring the blazing sun. It happened in a flash. I saw a bottle and it wasn't a bottle, it wasn't anything, it was just elements. It had only a conventional reality, it wasn't a true bottle. The spittoon wasn't a true spittoon, the glass wasn't a true glass. Everything had changed. It changed back and forth and then I brought the awareness inwards. I looked at everything in my body as not belonging to me, but as all possessing a merely conventional reality."

As a result of this experience Luang Por summarized:

"Don't be hesitant in your practice. Give it everything you've got. Make the mind resolute. Keep practicing. However much you listen to Dhamma talks, however much you study, although the knowledge that results is legitimate it doesn't reach the Truth itself. If knowledge doesn't reach the Truth then there's no end Page 10 of 10

to doubts and hesitation. But when the Truth is realized there's completion. Then whatever anyone might say or think on the subject is irrelevant, it is naturally and irrevocably just that way. Others may laugh or cry, be happy or sad, but when the 'natural mind' has arisen it is completely unwavering . . . The mind that has entered the Stream is not easy to distinguish from the mind of someone crazy. The two are very similar; they both deviate from the norm. But they differ in the qualities they possess."