One Taste

Facing darkness and light at the same time

Samuel asked me if there were any goals or dreams I would like to accomplish if I knew my time was limited. I told him, “no” and he disagreed with that…it didn't seem life-affirming to him, to be so unambitious.

There is but one-sky, one song. Whether you walk one mile or ten-thousand, it is still the one-taste, there is nothing to add. Life is one-taste, death is one-taste. When you see a pine needle on the trail, that is the one-taste, if you see a cloud, that is the one-taste. Birth and death come down to the pine needle, come down to the cloud. What is there further to seek? What further goals can you have?

Transmission of the Mind of the Ancient Buddhas

The doctor tells me my odds are 56% unfavorable, 44% favorable. Don't call it cancer, what do you call it? The pure wind lifts the thousand grasses; on the summit a wooden lion is sleeping. What is it really like, without allusiveness? A paper sack sails through the sky singing. The rain is thoroughly wet!

Intimacy

The doctor seemed very upset giving me the news, so I told him that even if I had to go I would rise up through the clouds singing. Up on Dog Mountain the clouds sift through the trees and there isn't even a crossroads, it all goes to the summit. Shining one brightness, the glory is unspeakably marvelous. If your heart is not singing with gratitude, then won't you have regrets? Won't birth and death present obstacles? One life, one gratitude, one song filling heaven and earth. “With every footstep a pure wind rises up”, the joy is boundless. What is it then, this intimacy? 2006, I sing a song in the West Forest, 1342 Longchenpa Rabs byampa dri med odzer, halts his pen momentarily and then keeps to his work.

Turning a Somersault in Empty Space

The world is full of a myriad forms, sentient beings are numberless, transactions multiply beyond counting, but it is all one patched robe, it is all one cracked bowl, it is all one worn shoe. If you exert your life energy and break through the wall, it is still the same wall, it is still the same sentient being. Mountain ranges pile up in one hand, the vast blue sky is one button on the shirt; arriving here you can't blame the old master for not telling you there is something beyond the sutras, beyond the transmission. Look, this is my heart: the blue sky sings “Volare”, the empty aeon is wreathed in flames!

Exhausting All Dharmas

There is a chance if detection is late the cancer has already spread to the bones. Birth and Death-even the arhats could never leap clear. Dharmas are numberless, all things that arise, pass. But there is one upward path. At the moment of greatest steepness, the dharmas are exhausted, wisdom and compassion are manifest, one functions with perfect ease. Doctrine and cleverness are in the dust; the sweat runs down the body. The summit is hidden by clouds, the valley is hidden by clouds; the trail up Dog Mountain is exceedingly steep. Since no-beginning time not a single sentient being has made it to the top. Don't think you can add it to your resume!

Vairocana

A spreading tree is perched at the edge of a black cliff, half the roots are exposed. The next winter’s winds will surely bring it down. Up on the mountains the cloud towers sail quietly, the sun’s rays stream down in banners. Rain squalls come and go, the pine needles hide dry dust. A silver-haired gent is playing a harmonica in the forest; another is reading a sutra. One taste, one taste. Ten suns shining, the ancient Buddha said. Nirvana and samsara were never opposed, never two abodes, he said again. The upward path is the level one under the shoes, right at this moment eternity, right at this moment never-returning. Ten thousand things, one endless song. Beauty within the formlessness, formlessness within the Beauty. The black cliff towers, the tree’s roots are in empty space. The very mountains shoot flames and “waves scour the sky”! Gratitude, endless gratitude.