THE FOUR ELEMENTS

The four elements return to their natures,
just as a child turns to its mother.
Fire heats, wind moves, water wets,
earth remains solid.

These are the ninth and tenth stanzas of Sandokai. They speak of what are referred to, in traditional Buddhism, as the four elements: fire, wind, water, and earth. They are what comprise existence.

     Each of these elements has its own nature, its own disposition. Fire decontaminates. Wind brings fresh change. Water is all all-encompassing; it is contained in everything and contains everything. Earth is the solid nature of matter. In our terrestrial existence, everything returns to earth.

     At one time scientists believed the atom was the smallest unit of reality. But then it was decided that atoms were, or are, made up of smaller and smaller particles. I won’t try to name the particles—such as neutrons, and leptons, and muons, and neutrinos—because nuclear physicists are constantly discovering newer and tinier elementary units of existence.

Some of these subdivisions aren’t actual things but are crumbs of electrical energy.

     In themselves they can’t be seen, but their presence can be tracked and evaluated.

     There seems to be no end to these itsy-bitsy no-things. Which leads to the question: Is more more, or is more less?

     As Shunryu Suzuki says, the four Buddhist elements are not things we can see or touch. They are potential readiness, ability, capacity. To quote Suzuki, “Emptiness is the final being, which our thinking mind cannot reach.”

     To say this in scientific terms, nature abhors a vacuum. The human mind has a tough time conceiving of nothingness.

     That’s why Heaven and an afterlife were concocted. Because the human mind is unable to handle something that has no quantitative value, that has no demonstrable substance.

     The Irish writer Edna O’Brien said, “A nothing is a dreadful thing to hold onto.” That is a wonderful paradox worthy of Zen. How can a nothing be held onto?

     Suzuki, at this point in his interpretation of Sandokai, takes an enormous leap, which is the privilege of a Zen teacher. All of a sudden he talks about independence. He says each of the four classical elements is independent in its nature.

     But then he comes down to earth when he says each of us is independent, but we are all related to one another. And even though we are all related, each of us is independent.

     Everything has Buddha-nature. Everything is Buddha-nature. Buddha-nature is not something “out there.” Buddha-nature is everywhere around us and in us. It’s not “there,” waiting to be found at  some time. It’s right here, right now.

     Time is not yesterday or tomorrow. Time is right now.

     Dogen said that Zen practice and attainment are one. Zazen isn’t a means to awakening but, if practiced correctly, is awakening.

     Buddha-nature is not a potentiality but an actuality. Buddha-nature doesn’t reach beyond impermanence; it is one with it.

     As part of our Zen practice, we need to learn how to appreciate each thing and each moment. That will enable us to understand all things and all moments.

     One flower includes all things. One flower is unconditional. One flower is the completeness of Buddha-nature. One flower exists right now.

     Be one with it.

THE FOUR ELEMENTS

The four elements return to their natures,
just as a child turns to its mother.
Fire heats, wind moves, water wets,
earth remains solid.

These are the ninth and tenth stanzas of Sandokai. They speak of what are referred to, in traditional Buddhism, as the four elements: fire, wind, water, and earth. They are what comprise existence.

     Each of these elements has its own nature, its own disposition. Fire decontaminates. Wind brings fresh change. Water is all all-encompassing; it is contained in everything and contains everything. Earth is the solid nature of matter. In our terrestrial existence, everything returns to earth.

     At one time scientists believed the atom was the smallest unit of reality. But then it was decided that atoms were, or are, made up of smaller and smaller particles. I won’t try to name the particles—such as neutrons, and leptons, and muons, and neutrinos—because nuclear physicists are constantly discovering newer and tinier elementary units of existence.

Some of these subdivisions aren’t actual things but are crumbs of electrical energy.

     In themselves they can’t be seen, but their presence can be tracked and evaluated.

     There seems to be no end to these itsy-bitsy no-things. Which leads to the question: Is more more, or is more less?

     As Shunryu Suzuki says, the four Buddhist elements are not things we can see or touch. They are potential readiness, ability, capacity. To quote Suzuki, “Emptiness is the final being, which our thinking mind cannot reach.”

     To say this in scientific terms, nature abhors a vacuum. The human mind has a tough time conceiving of nothingness.

     That’s why Heaven and an afterlife were concocted. Because the human mind is unable to handle something that has no quantitative value, that has no demonstrable substance.

     The Irish writer Edna O’Brien said, “A nothing is a dreadful thing to hold onto.” That is a wonderful paradox worthy of Zen. How can a nothing be held onto?

     Suzuki, at this point in his interpretation of Sandokai, takes an enormous leap, which is the privilege of a Zen teacher. All of a sudden he talks about independence. He says each of the four classical elements is independent in its nature.

     But then he comes down to earth when he says each of us is independent, but we are all related to one another. And even though we are all related, each of us is independent.

     Everything has Buddha-nature. Everything is Buddha-nature. Buddha-nature is not something “out there.” Buddha-nature is everywhere around us and in us. It’s not “there,” waiting to be found at  some time. It’s right here, right now.

     Time is not yesterday or tomorrow. Time is right now.

     Dogen said that Zen practice and attainment are one. Zazen isn’t a means to awakening but, if practiced correctly, is awakening.

     Buddha-nature is not a potentiality but an actuality. Buddha-nature doesn’t reach beyond impermanence; it is one with it.

     As part of our Zen practice, we need to learn how to appreciate each thing and each moment. That will enable us to understand all things and all moments.

     One flower includes all things. One flower is unconditional. One flower is the completeness of Buddha-nature. One flower exists right now.

     Be one with it.

SIGHTS, SOUNDS, DARKNESS, BRIGHTNESS

Before I start tonight’s talk, I want to give a word of warning that everyone will applaud. From now on most of my Zen talks will be much shorter than they have traditionally been. I don’t have less to say about a subject, but I find that I need fewer words to say it. I think such conciseness will be of benefit to everyone, including myself.

     Tonight’s talk has to do with sights, sounds, darkness, and brightness.

Sights vary in quality and form;
Sounds differ as pleasing or harsh.
Darkness merges refined and common words;
Brightness distinguishes clear and murky phrases.

These are the seventh and eighth stanzas of Sandokai, “Harmony of Difference and Equality.” As a reminder, that’s the ancient Chinese poem that deals with the separation of the once-unified school of Zen into northern and southern factions that differed on sudden versus gradual awakening.

As another reminder, my talks on Sandokai are based on the series given by Shunryu Suzuki, late head of San Francisco Zen Center.

     A tree, a butterfly, a blade of grass, a person, each has its own form and its own character. Every thing is different, yet all things are related by being part of existence, and by being made up of the same basic physical elements.

     Humans—especially humans of the western world—tend to label things as good or bad, agreeable or disagreeable. And, as Suzuki notes, this clinging to good or bad creates personal distress.

     If your senses experience something you consider good, you’ll be pleased. If that something is regarded as bad, you’ll be disturbed.

     I like the flavor and the aroma of kimchi, the traditional Korean dish made from fermented chili peppers and cabbage. A fellow I know thinks kimchi tastes foul and smells awful. Kimchi pleases me. It upsets my friend.

     Is kimchi good, or is it bad?

     Things in themselves may differ, but things in themselves are neither good nor bad. We make them that way by tagging them and pigeonholing them in our minds.

     Sandokai says, “Darkness merges refined and common words.”

     As Suzuki notes, things in themselves have no good or bad nature.

     If we can understand this, we can understand what is meant by Sandokai’s “things in darkness.” Better yet, if we can understand this we are free of dualism, of subjective limits and restrictions.

     Anger is a natural emotion. But being angry or annoyed by something a person does or says is no reason to dislike that person. I have a friend I’ve known for many years. Certain things he does or says can piss me off. I know he feels the same about some things I do. But that doesn’t mean we dislike each other, or we should end our friendship. We acknowledge each other as an individual, warts and all.

     A monk asked his master how to escape from the heat and from the cold. The master answered that when it is hot, one should be hot, and when it is cold, one should be cold.

     An awakened person is not bothered by something most people would consider bad. An awakened person is not euphoric about something considered good. Suzuki said, “The basic tone of life remains the same, and in it there are some happy melodies and some sad melodies.”

That’s a fact of existence.

You may not have any control over the state of affairs, but you don’t need to be a slave to circumstances.

In your practice of Zen, don’t be on the lookout for awakening, either sudden or gradual.

If you do that, you are truly awakened.