The nianfo (念佛) is widely recited across many cultures and languages by people who follow the Pure Land Buddhist tradition. In Japanese it is called the nembutsu (念仏), and that is the name I most often use on this blog. In Korean it is the yeombul (염불), and in Vietnamese it is the niệm phật. Just as the name differs by language, the phrase itself has changed pronunciation as it is adopted in other cultures and languages, just like the sutras did.
Let’s look at examples.
The original form of the nianfo (as far as I can tell) comes from Sanskrit language in India. In Sanskrit, “nianfo” was buddhānusmṛti (buddhānussati in Pāli language). The venerable site Visible Mantra states that it was recited like so:1
namo’mitābhāyabuddhāya
In the Siddham script, still used in some esoteric practices, this is written as:
𑖡𑖦𑖺𑖦𑖰𑖝𑖯𑖥𑖯𑖧𑖤𑖲𑖟𑖿𑖠𑖯𑖧
From here, Buddhism was gradually imported into China from India (a fascinating story in and of itself), and because Chinese language and Sanskrit are so different, this was no easy task. Nevertheless, the buddhānusmṛti was translated as nianfo (念佛) and written as:
南無阿彌陀佛
This was how the Chinese at the time approximated the sound of the Sanskrit phrase. In modern, Simplified Chinese characters this looks like:
南无阿弥陀佛
But how does one read these characteres? That’s a fun question to answer.
You see, Chinese has many dialects because of geography, regional differences, and migration of people. Thus, even though Chinese characters are written the same (with only modest regional differences), the way they are read and pronounced varies. Thanks to Wiktionary, I found a helpful list to illustrate:
Of these dialects, I am only familiar with Mandarin and (to a much lesser extent) Hokkien, so I can only trust the others based on Wikipedia.
Anyhow, China was a powerful, dynamic culture at the time, and it had a profound influence on its smaller neighbors such as the Korean peninsula, Japan, and northern Vietnam (a.k.a. Dai Viet). Just as the neighbors of the Romans (including the Byzantines) absorbed Roman culture, the neighbors of China did the same even though the languages were very different.
What about Tibetan Buddhism? I am really unfamiliar with that tradition, so I might be wrong here, but my understanding is that Tibetan veneration of Amida Buddha stems from a different tradition, so instead of the nianfo, they recite appropriate mantras instead. Beyond that, I don’t know.
Anyhow, this is a brief look at how a simple Sanskrit phrase has evolved into so many traditions and ways to express veneration to the Buddha of Infinite Light. Thanks for reading!
𑖡𑖦𑖺𑖦𑖰𑖝𑖯𑖥𑖯𑖧𑖤𑖲𑖟𑖿𑖠𑖯𑖧 南無阿彌陀佛 Namu Amida Butsu
P.S. Another post despite my intended rest. The time off really has helped, so it’s been well worth it, but now I am eager to write again. 😌
1 As I’ve written before, writing Sanskrit in the more modern Devanagari script is kind of pointless since Sanskrit was never written in that until late in history, long after Buddhism in India was gone. Sanskrit does not have a native script either, so the Roman Alphabet is as god as any.
2 Brushing off my college Vietnamese, this is pronounced as “Nam-moe Ah-zee-dah-fut”.
A few months ago, I made this post about how the Obaku Zen sect interprets Amida Buddha and the Pure Land. To my surprise, I keep reflecting on this phrase from time to time, almost like a Zen koan:
This mind is the Pure Land, this body is Amida Buddha
This idea of merging Zen and Pure Land ideas is somewhat rare in Japanese Buddhism, but it’s surprisingly common in Chinese-Buddhist thought. Originally, I thought it was limited to later Ming-Dynasty Buddhism (which Obaku descends from), but similar strands of thought exist much further back.
A famous Chinese monk named Yongming Yanshou (永明延壽. 904 – 976) once wrote a poem titled the “Four Alternatives” (sì liào jiǎn 四料揀):1
Lacking both Chan and the Pure Land, it will be the iron beds and bronze pillars [of hell] for ten thousand kalpas [eons] and a thousand lives with no one to turn to.
Having Chan but lacking the Pure Land, nine out of ten will stray from the path; when the realm of the aggregates appears before them, they will instantly follow it.
Lacking Chan but having the Pure Land, ten thousand out of ten thousand who practice it will go [to rebirth]. Having seen Amitābha, why worry that one might not attain enlightenment?
Having both Chan and Pure Land, one is like a tiger with horns [i.e., doubly capable]. Such a person will be a teacher in the present life, and a buddha or patriarch in future lives.
translation by Charles B. Jones, “Chinese Pure Land Buddhism, Understanding a Tradition of Practice”, pg 210
Yongming is advocating a supportive model where both Zen practice and Pure Land practice work in concert. The Pure Land path is the “safer” path to follow, due to the vows of Amida Buddha, but if supported by Zen practice here and now, one is really making progress on the Buddhist path.
Further, a later writer named Yunqi Zhuhong2 (雲棲袾宏, 1535 – 1615) explained that these things were not mutually exclusive (Chinese added by me):3
To contemplate the Buddha (nianfo 念佛) is to contemplate the mind (nian-xin 念心). Birth there (in the Pure Land) does not entail birth away from here. Mind, Buddha, and sentient beings are all of one substance; the middle stream (non-duality) does not abide on the two banks (this world and the Pure Land).
Similarly, Ouyi Zhixu (蕅益智旭, 1599 – 1655) in his excellent work “Mind Seal of Buddhas” makes a similar argument: Zen and Pure Land practice are the same thing, just operating at different levels. You’re not forced to chose one or the other in your practice.
But such ideas aren’t limited to medieval Chinese-Buddhist monks. You can find such sentiments in Pure Land sutras themselves! In the Immeasurable Life Sutra is this passage (emphasis added):
“In this world, you should extensively plant roots of virtue, be benevolent, give generously, abstain from breaking the precepts, be patient and diligent, teach people with sincerity and wisdom, do virtuous deeds, and practice good. If you strictly observe the precepts of abstinence with upright thought and mindfulness even for a day and a night, the merit acquired will surpass that of practicing good in the land of Amitāyus [a.k.a. the Pure Land] for a hundred years. The reason is that in that buddha land of effortless spontaneity all the inhabitants do good without committing even a hair’s breadth of evil. If in this world you do good for ten days and nights, the merit acquired will surpass that of practicing good in the buddha lands of other directions for a thousand years.
Translation by Rev. Hisao Inagaki
In this passage, the Buddha is clearly advocating both bending your efforts toward rebirth in the Pure Land, but also making the most of the time you have here to undergo traditional Buddhist practices too because even a modest effort here is a great benefit in the future (both for yourself and others).
As I often tell my kids: “go nuts”!4
What I mean is: recite the nembutsu, meditate, uphold the precepts, or some combination thereof. You have nowhere to go but up.
But what if you can’t decide or don’t have the time?
In my opinion, start with the nembutsu. Begin just as you are, and recite it just 10 times daily. From there, add the Five Precepts when you are ready, and once you have that foundation, and are ready to branch out, then look into Zen practices. This make take months or even years. Take your time, go slow, and don’t be afraid to explore.
When I talk about the flexibility of Tendai Buddhism in Japan as well, this is what I am alluding to: start with something simple and small at first (such as a devotional practice), and gradually building upon it as you gain confidence and see the positive transformation in your life. Buddhism is kind of a SLOW, gradual religion, but like a glacier, once it starts moving, it has a wonderful momentum all its own even if you can’t see it.
Namu Shakumuni Butsu Namu Amida Butsu
P.S. Featured blog image is another famous “Dynamic Duo”: Batman and Robin from the 1960’s series.
P.P.S. Posting kind of off-schedule just because it is fun. 😊
1 I found this on Wikipedia actually and I thought to myself “wow, this person quoted exactly the same way that I would do!”, then I realized that I had put this on Wikipedia a few years ago. 🤦🏼♂️
2 Pronounced like “yoon-chee joo-hong”.
3 Again, I managed to pull a quote from Wikipedia that I had unwittingly added years ago and then promptly forgot.
4 My kids ask me if they can watch TV, play Switch or whatever, and my frequent answer is “go nuts” [go crazy, have fun].
My son and I visited our neighborhood bookstore recently (shop at local, independent bookstores!) and I found this neat book worth mentioning called The Blue Cliff Record, translated by David Hinton.
The Blue Cliff Record, known in Chinese as the Bìyán Lù (碧巖錄) is actually a pretty old text in the Chinese Chan (Zen) tradition, and is a collection of Koans compiled in the year 1125 by Yuanwu Keqin (圓悟克勤, 1063–1135).1 Obviously, the koans themselves were older and handed down over time, and appear in other collections, but the Blue Cliff Record is a kind of “selected wine list” of koans. The Blue Cliff Record was compiled during the Song Dynasty in China, which while politically unstable due to the Mongols, was a cultural high-water mark of Chinese Buddhism and especially the Chan tradition. Not surprisingly, Japan’s Zen traditionimported much from this time period as well.
This is not the first time I’ve studied koans, though.
In my youth, when I first explored Zen, I had a copy of the Gateless Gate by Mumonkan, and my religion studies teacher in high school assigned us each a koan to solve in class. Of course, none of us actually solved them, but it was a fun exercise. But as with my studies in Zen, I gradually forgot about it until recently, so it’s like coming back full circle after more than 30 years (!).
But what the heck are koans?
“Koans” are more properly called Gōng-àn (公案) in Chinese. The word “kōan” is how those Chinese characters are pronounced in Japanese, and this term is more widely known to Westerners.2 Koans are cryptic dialogues, often between a master and student, and widely used in the Lin-ji school of Chan Buddhism. As we saw in my recent post, Lin-ji is predominant in China, but also spread to neighboring countries, and in Japan’s case it became both the Rinzai and Obaku sects (albeit different centuries). Temples such as Kenninji and Ryoanji are examples of famous Rinzai temples in Japan. The Soto Zen tradition doesn’t rely on them as much, but inherits the same collections, as it is desecnded from the Cao-dong (not Lin-ji) school in China.
David Hinton in his foreword on the Blue Cliff Record explains that the key to understanding a Koan is to see it like a kind of public law case. When law students review famous court cases, they have to review the nature of the complaint, evidence presented, the judge’s decision, past precedence, etc. If you’re not a law student, this is hard. But if you’ve been practicing law for a long time, immersed yourself in it, then you see it with a different eye.
In the same way, Mr Hinton writes, a Koan is like a “public sangha case”. The “sangha” is one of the Three Treasures of Buddhism, and means the Buddhist community at large. So, these are public sangha cases for students to review, contemplate, and so on.
The truth is, when you read a Koan for the first time, it basically makes no sense whatsoever. You might think you get it, then you gradually realize that you really don’t. Then it gets under your skin, and bothers you enough that you might stick with it, until maybe one day, you look at it and you think “duh, of course!”
But also, some “public sangha cases” will resonate with you more than others, or at different times in your life.
Since I don’t participate in any Zen communities at present, I decided to do a little experiment. The Blue Cliff Record has exactly 100 cases in it, and being a giant nerd, I decided to pick one at random as my koan to contemplate. I took 2d10 dice from my Dungeons and Dragons set. Then, I briefly prayed to Kannon Bodhisattva and Shakyamuni Buddha and rolled the dice. I got koan #20 which David Hinton translates as “Dragon-Fang Meditation Clapper”:
When he was a monk traveling, Dragon-Fang Mountain asked Kingfisher Shadowed-Emergence: “What is the ch’i-weave mind [意] Bodhidharma brought from the West?”
“Pass me the clapper to announce meditation,” said Shadowed-Emergence.
Dragon-Fang passed the wooden clapper to Shadowed-Emergence, who swung it and struck Fang a blow.
“You can strike me all you want,” hissed Dragon-Fang, “But there’s still no ch’i-weave mind for Bodhidharma to bring from the West.”
Traveling years later, after his awakening under Fathom Mountain, Dragon-Fang asked Purport Dark-Enigma: “What is the ch’i-weave mind Bodhidharma brought from the West?”
“Pass me the meditation cushion,” replied Dark-Enigma, who swung it and struck Fang a blow.
“You can strike me all you want,” hissed Dragon-Fang, “But there’s still no ch’i-weave mind for Bodhidharma to bring from the West.”
Translation by David Hinton
Confusing? Yes. Mr Hinton takes the unusual approach of translating the monks’ names into English, hence “Dragon-Fang” and “Shadowed-Emergence”, etc. so it takes a bit of getting used to. The term “ch’i-weave mind” (意)3 takes 2 pages to explain at the end of the book, and I can’t do it justice, but for simplicity here I will crudely summarize it as the Big Mind, as opposed to one’s normal everyday mind.
Even so, this koan doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. I think I get it, but do I really get it?
I suppose time will tell…
Namu Shakamuni Buddha Namu Amida Buddha Namu Kanzeon Bosatsu
1 Pronounced like “yuen-wu kuh-cheen”
2 Many Buddhist terms in Japanese are just local pronunciations of Chinese-Buddhist words (often from Hokkien dialect, not Mandarin, due to its proximity to the Japan islands). This same trend happens with Korean-Buddhist words, Vietnamese-Buddhist words, and so on. If this sounds strange, consider religious words in English. They are often derived from Latin, for obvious reasons, but the pronunciation gets muddled over many generations, especially since they were often filtered through Middle-French (via conquering Normans). This is how religious ideas and words spread.
3 This Chinese-character is used in such Japanese words as:
意味 – imi or “meaning”
意識 – ishiki or “consciousness”
注意 – chūi or “caution”
用意 – yōi or “to prepare or provision something”
…. you get the idea. It’s used a lot, but kind of abstract too.
Notice the dates of each holiday: odd-numbered month with matching odd-numbered day. Turns out that there’s a reason for this.
In Chinese Taoist numerology, numbers are divided into “yang” and “yin” numbers: odd numbers are yang (陽) because they are considered unstable and dynamic, while even numbers are stable and static, thus yin (陰). But because yin and yang depend on one another, and change into one another, if you add yang and yang together, you get yin. If you add yin and yin together, you get yang.
Thus, it was thought that dates on the calendar with double-yang numbers (7 and 7, 5 and 5, etc) would become yin and thus were inauspicious. Holidays were developed to counteract the yin effect, and that’s why seasonal holidays were held on double-odd dates.
Taoism is not a major influence in Japanese culture (at least in modern times), but it’s interesting so see how it still influences traditions, especially those from antiquity.
Dr Helen J Baroni’s excellent book Iron Eyes covers the life and writings of Obaku Zen master Tetsugen Dōkō (鉄眼道光, 1630–1682). I’ve mentioned it in a fewolderposts, but I wanted to share a couple of Tetsugen’s poems really stood out to me:
41. MEETING AN OLD FRIEND
Separated east and west for twenty years.
You exclusively chant the Buddha’s [name, a.k.a. the nembutsu], while I practice meditation.
We meet together, why argue over high and low.
The wind and the moon originate in the same heaven.
Page 167
The “high and low” refers to the perception that the path of monastic self-discipline (as exemplified by the Zen tradition) is the “high road”, while the “low road” is instead relying Amida Buddha’s compassion to be reborn in the Pure Land. Here, Tetsugen argues that they both reach the same destination in the end, so the distinction doesn’t really matter.
Another poem he wrote is:
44. GIVEN TO THE FAITHFUL BELIEVER JONYU, WHO CHANTS THE BUDDHA’S NAME
The body is healthy, the years pour out; your ears and eyes are [still] clear.
Contented and unselfish, you reject personal glory.
Reflected light, in a single moment you penetrate the self.
For the first time you realize that practitioner and Dharma are complete in one body.1
Page 168
What really strikes me about these two poems is that Tetsugen openly acknowledges that his lay friends and followers recite the nembutsu and he’s totally fine with it.
It’s assumed in Japanese Buddhism that a sect practices meditation, or chanting, but not necessarily both. It’s also assumed that Zen people only hang out with Zen people, Pure Land Buddhists with Pure Land Buddhists, etc. There were exceptions: people like Ikkyu and Rennyo who were friends despite totally different practices and backgrounds, but you don’t hear about these often. Yet, in spite of this image, Tetsugen clearly was open to lay people practicing the Pure Land path and saw no conflict with this.
This makes more sense when you consider that Obaku Zen, a cousin of the Rinzai Zen sect, came to Japan from Ming-Dynasty China, when Zen and Pure Land thought had largely reconciled there. The excellent writings of Chinese monk Ouyi Zhixu (蕅益智旭, 1599–1655)2 and Yunqi Zhuhong (雲棲袾宏, 1535–1615)3 are typical of the thought at the time: both Zen and Pure Land Buddhism are different ways of approaching the same Dharma (e.g. Buddhism). One blends into the other.
Even modern Chan (Chinese Zen) teachers such as my favorite, Yin-shun (印順, 1906–2005), had no trouble recommending the nembutsu alongside other practices. In his book The Way to Buddhahood, he wrote:
If therefore, one is timid and finds it difficult to practice the bodhisattva-way, fearing that one will fall into the Two Vehicles or that following the karmic forces will cause one to drift apart from the Buddha Way, then chanting Amitabha Buddha is most secure! It is a wonderfully skillful means that can best embrace and protect those sentient beings who are beginners so that they do not lose their faith.
page 249
But I digress.
It should be noted that Tetsugen in particular was raised in the more native Jodo Shinshu-sect Buddhism and even went to Kyoto to train as a priest but eventually decided to pursue Obaku instead. So, perhaps he still had some connections toward his religious upbringing.
Nonetheless, all this is to say that Obaku Zen, having inherited such an outlook from Chinese Buddhism, takes Amida Buddha as its ideal, but sees Amida in more Zen terms. One is not required to see Amida that way upfront; it just comes in time with practice. Come as you are, and don’t worry if it doesn’t make sense. Someday, it will.
Namu Shakamuni Butsu Namu Amida Butsu
1 According to Dr Baroni’s footnotes: Kihō, can also be translated as “opportunity and Dharma,” in Pure Land thought, it means that while the sentient beings believe in the Buddha, the Buddha’s power saves sentient beings. Personally, I like to think this relates to Shoku’s comment about the Three Karmic Bonds, too.
2 Pronounced like “Oh-ee Jih-shoo” in English
3 Pronounced like “Yoon-chee Joo-hohng” in English
Recently, I found myself stuck in one of my usual nerd “rabbit holes” of trying to make sense of Zen lineages in Japanese Buddhism, but this led to a more complicated rabbit hole of making sense of the source “Chan” (Zen) lineages in China. This started after reading my new book on Rinzai Zen, which included a nice chart. At first, I tried to emulate and translate that chart in Canva, but then I realized it was missing some critical details, so I kept adding more. This is the result (click on the image for more detail):
Let’s go over this a bit so it makes more sense.
The premise behind all Zen sects regardless of country and lineage is that Zen started when the historical Buddha, Shakyamuni, supposedly held a flower up to his disciples and said nothing. Everyone was confused except his disciple Maha-Kashyapa who smiled in understanding. From here, according to tradition, the teachings were passed down from teacher to disciples for 28 generations in India, culminating in a monk named Bodhidharma who came to China.
A painting of Bodhidharma at Sojiji temple (head of Soto Zen sect) in Kawasaki, Japan. Taken by me in 2010 (?).
The history up to this point is somewhat vague, and possibly apochryphal, but easy to follow.
This continues for a few more generations in China, until you get to a monk named Hui-Neng (Enō in Japanese)1 who is the supposed author of the Platform Sutra, a Chinese text. As the 6th “patriarch” of the lineage in China, he establishes what we know today as “Chan Buddhism” or Chinese Zen.
Things become more complicated a couple generations later as two descendants: Mazu Daoyi2 and Shitou Xiqian3 directly or indirectly found different schools of Chan Buddhism. This is known as the Five Houses of Chan period during the Tang Dynasty. Thus, the entire Chan/Zen tradition as we know it today is derived from Hui-neng and transmitted through these two men.
Out of the five houses, the Hongzhou,4Lin-ji and Cao-dong5 all survive in some form. The others are gradually absorbed into the Lin-ji school, which in the long-run is what becomes the most widespread form of Chan Buddhism in China. The Cao-dong school is the one exception, while the Hongzhou school’s success in Korea helps establish 8 out of 9 of the “Nine Schools of Seon (Chan)”6 in Korea. It through Bojo Jinul’s efforts in Korea that these nine schools are unified into the Jogye Order (homepage) which absorbed other Buddhist traditions in Korea into a single, cohesive one.
Meanwhile, in Japan, the Lin-ji and Cao-dong schools find their way to Japan where the names are preserved, but pronounced different: Rinzai and Soto respectively. Rinzai’s history is particularly complicated because they were multiple, unrelated transmissions to Japan often spurred by the Mongol conquest of China. Of these various Rinzai lineages, the two that survive are the “Otokan” Rinzai lineage through Hakuin, and the “Obaku” lineage through Ingen, but eventually the Otokan lineage absorbed the Obaku lineage. Today, Rinzai Zen is more formally called Rinzai-Obaku, or Rinnou (臨黄) for short. This is a bit confusing because Rinzai came to Japan under a monk named Eisai, and his lineage did continue for a while in Japan especially in Kyoto, but the lineage from the rival city of Kamakura ultimately prevailed and absorbed other Rinzai lineages. Obaku Zen arrived pretty late in Japanese-Buddhist history, and as you can see from the chart has some common ancestry with Rinzai, but also some differences due to cultural divergence and history.
Soto Zen’s history is quite a bit more streamlined as it had only one founder (Dogen), and although it did grow to have rival sects for a time, Keizan was credited for ultimately unifying these though not without some controversy even into the 19th century.
Anyhow, to summarize, the entire tradition started from a legendary sermon by the Buddha to Maha-Kashyapa, and was passed on over successive generations in India to a legendary figure who came to China and starting with Hui-neng became a tree with many branches. Yet, the roots are all the same. Speaking as someone who’s relatively new to the tradition, I realize while specific liturgy and practices differ, the general teachings and intent remain the surprisingly consistent regardless of culture or label.
Hope this information helps!
P.S. I had trouble deciding which term to use here: Zen or Chan or Seon since they all literally mean the same thing, but are oriented toward one culture or another. If this all seems confusing, the key to remember is that the entire tradition of Zen/Chan/Seon (and Thien in Vietnam) is all one and the same tree.
P.P.S. I realized that I never covered the Vietnamese (Thien, “tee-ehn”) tradition, but there’s so little information on it in English (and I cannot read Vietnamese), that I will have to differ that to another day.
1 Pronounced like “hwey-nung” in English.
2 Pronounced like “ma-tsoo dow-ee” in English.
3 Pronounced like “shih-tow shee-chee-yen” in English.
4 Pronounced like “hohng-joe” in English.
5 Pronounced like “tsow-dohng” in English.7
6 The Korean word “Seon” is pronounced like “sawn” in English. It is how the Chinese character for Chan/Zen () is pronounced in Korean Language.
7 If you made it this far in the post, congrats! I had to put so many footnotes in here because the Pinyin system of Romanizing Chinese words is a little less intuitive than the old Wade-Giles system. Pinyin is not hard to learn. In fact, I think Pinyin is better than the old Wade-Giles system (more “what you see is what you get”), but if you don’t learn Pinyin it can be confusing.better This is always a challenge with a writing system that strictly uses ideograms (e.g. Chinese characters). How do you write 慧能 into an alphabetic system that foreigners can intuitively understand. Also, which foreigners? (English-speaking, French-speaking, Spanish-speaking, etc). Anyhow, if you are interested in learning Chinese, I highly recommend learning Pinyin anyway because it’s quick and easy to pick up. BTW, since I posted about Hokkien recently it also has two different Rominzation systems: Pe̍h-ōe-jī (old, but widespread) and Tâi-lô (Taiwan’s official revised system).
While reading my introduction book in Japanese about Rinzai Zen, I came across a famous set of paintings that I had totally forgotten about for thirty years.
Me at the age of 17 demonstrating the “Lion Roar Yoga” pose (?) at my world religions class in high school with my teacher. The Burger King crown was something I got from the nearby restaurant because my friends and I would race there during lunch break, eat for 5 minutes, and run back to class. Ah, teenage life….
Many, many moons ago, I was a cocky 17-year old first learning about Buddhism, and Mr Pierini was my World Religions teacher in high school. Mr Pierini was a charming, older Italian-American gentleman who had a lovely opera voice, and loved sharing cool ideas with us kids. This is how I first started to explore Buddhism beyond reading books at home.1
There were a number of things I learned about Zen then that seemed really cool and mystical. Looking back they made no sense to me, but they were fascinating. It sounded “cool” to be Zen, but admittedly, I was young, clueless, showing off, and knew nothing. Among the things I read about at the time were the Mumonkan and the Ten Oxen, texts that (I realize now) are both related to the Rinzai Zen tradition.
The Ten Oxen (shíniú 十牛 in Chinese) is a famous set of ten paintings, with poetic captions that were composed in the Southern Song Dynasty of China. The powerful Song Dynasty lost the northern half of China to the barbarian Jin Dynasty,2 and retreated to the south beyond the Yangtze River, where it held on for another 150 years. Despite having their back to a wall, the southern Song Dynasty oversaw a wonderful flowering of Chinese culture, including Buddhism, and especially Chinese “Chan” (Zen) Buddhism. This is also noteworthy, because historically this is the time when such monks as Eisai and Dogen both came to China from Japan to study Zen.3
The use of oxen as a symbol for taming the mind in Buddhism, according to Wikipedia, dates way back to early India including such texts in the Pali Canon as the Maha-gopalaka Sutta, but the Ten Oxen were a way to visually explain the Buddhist path (as described in the Chan/Zen tradition) to readers as a nice easy introduction. There were, evidentially several versions in circulation, but in Japan the version by one Kakuan (Chinese: Kuòān Shīyuǎn, 廓庵師遠) from the 12th century was all the rage during the Five Mountains Period of Japanese-Buddhist history. It is since known as the jūgyūzu (十牛図).
My book has a nice, down to earth explanation of the ten oxen and what they mean, so rather than posting the images with poetry, I wanted to share the simple explanations here. The illustrations are from Wikimedia Commons, and were originally painted by one Tenshō Shūbun (天章周文; died c. 1444–50).
Searching for the ox
The cowherd is searching for his lost ox. The book explains that this is like someone looking for their lost Buddha-nature: that potential within us to awaken to full Buddha-hood (a.k.a. “Enlightenment”).
Footprints sighted
The cowherd now finds the footprints of his missing ox. This is like the Buddhist disciple who studies the Dharma (e.g. “Buddhism”), and gets the first hints at the true nature of things.
Ox sighted
Just as the cowherd sees his lost ox at last, the disciple of the Buddha grasps the point of the Dharma is (i.e. what’s it all about).
Grasping the Ox
One moment the cowherd has grasped the ox, another moment he is about to lose it. In the same way, my book explains that a person may perceived their true nature one moment, but lose sight of it again. The Buddhist disciple is still inexperienced and lacks certainty.
Taming the Ox
The wayward ox is now under control and lassoed, so the cowherd escorts it back home. For the Buddhist disciple, my book explains that through self-discipline such as the precepts, one’s delusions and conduct are brought to heel. This doesn’t mean they have resolved things, and one can still backslide, but at least they are under control now.
Riding the Ox
The cowherd is now confidently riding atop the ox, playing a flute. This means that one’s Buddha-nature is expressed through one’s form and behavior.
Forgetting the ox
Now that the cowherd is safely home with the ox, the ox is no longer a concern. My book explains that this symbolizes Enlightenment as one attains peace of mind.
Forgetting the distinction between self and ox
Here this empty circle expresses the Zen ideal that all is empty, and that there’s no distinction between oneself and the ox, or anything else for that matter; this is the Heart Sutra in a nutshell.
Back to basics
Having awakening to the nature of all things, things “return to the source” in a sense, or put another way, one sees mountains and mountains, trees as trees, etc. No more, no less.
Returning to society
My book explains that the cowherd now appears like Hotei (Chinese: Budai), the famous, jolly-looking figure in Chinese Buddhism and is in turn sharing the Dharma with another young cowherd. This cowherd will undergo the same quest, starting at picture one above.
In other words, everything comes full-circle.
In the same way, I don’t think teenage me imagined myself blogging about this 30 years later, and a bit more experienced, but life is funny that way.
Namu Shakamuni Butsu
1 Mr Pierini, thank you. 🙏🏼
2 Both would ultimately be destroyed by the Mongols especially under Kublai Khan who formed the Yuan Dynasty. This period of time is important to Japanese Zen history too because the influx of Chinese monks, especially Rinzai monks, to Kamakura-period Japan helped fuel a rise in Zen there. In the same way, the Fall of Constantinople in 1453 helped fuel the Renaissance in the West as refugees from the Eastern Roman Empire brought lost knowledge and know-how to the West. If there was any proof that we’re all connected in some way, look no further.
3 Earlier generations of Buddhist monks like Kukai (founder of Shingon) and Saicho (founder of Tendai) came to China during the Tang Dynasty, when connections to India were still flourishing. Hence, in Kukai’s case, he could study esoteric doctrine and Sanskrit directly from Indian-Buddhist monks. Centuries later, when Dogen and Eisai came to China, Buddhism had declined in India, and had gradually taken root in China in a more Chinese way. Of course, the Dharma is the Dharma, regardless of which culture and time it is taught, but it’s noteworthy that the Buddhism Dogen and Eisai was different: esoteric and scholarly Indian Buddhism had fallen out of favor, and a growing Zen (Chan in Chinese) community had largely replaced them.
I intentionally left this post in my blog draft folder for months, but now I am ready to post.
After a small revelation back in early May, I wanted to give it time and ensure that this change in Buddhist path wasn’t a spur of the moment decision.
After that little experience in May, I realized that I had misunderstood Zen Buddhism. Some of this is due to mixed experiences at local (Western) Zen communities,1 and in my opinion, systemic issues with Buddhist publications in English.3 Once I had better access to Japanese-language resources, and based on things I had sort of rediscovered, I decided to try to and go heads down for a few months and do my best to practice Zen as a lay person and parent.
My daily reminder list on my smartphone. A mix of mundane and Buddhist practice. 坐禅 means “zazen” and お勤め means “otsutome” (home service).
It took a lot of trial and error to get this right. At first, I had a tendency to succumb to self-doubt and start doing zazen meditation longer and longer, but then I would burn out, or have a busy day and skip. So, eventually I forced myself to keep it to five minutes, and I found I was able to sustain the practice more. Also, if I missee a day somehow, I would not punish myself over it.
Second, I struggled with how to do a Zen-style home service, so I had to do some research and this led to posts like this and this (these are for my own benefit as much to readers 😏 ). This home service underwent a few updates and changes over time, but I gradually settled on things over time, thanks to an old service I forgot I had.
Finally, I wanted to ensure I focused on Buddhist conduct as a foundational practice, and in particularly by upholding the Ten Bodhisattva Precepts. It’s also emphasized by such pastZenmonks as a foundation for other aspects of Zen, but compared to the basic Five Precepts, I found myself struggling both to remember what the Ten Precepts were, and also remembering to avoid things like not bring up the past faults of others, or harboring ill-will towards others. This is still a work in progress, but I assumed it would be. It took me many years of following the Five Precepts before it became second-nature.
Anyhow, since I started this little project four months ago, I am happy to say that I have mostly stuck with it. I can count the days I missed practice on my two hands, which over four months is pretty good. I realized that small, realistic, daily practice is much more effective than trying to focus on big retreats. So, in a sense, it’s been a big win and a learning lesson for myself.
But also I realized that I also really missed some aspects of the Pure Land practice that I had been doing up until this point. For me, I found that Pure Land Buddhism tends to appeal to the heart, while Zen appeals to the mind.
Dr. Janet Wallace: “The heart is not a logical organ.”
Star Trek, “The Deadly Years” (s2ep12), stardate 3479.4
So, my practice has continued to evolve to mostly Rinzai-Zen style practice, but also with a few Pure Land elements too. I suppose this is more inline with mainland Chinese Buddhism where such distinctions are less important than Japanese Buddhism, which tends to be sectarian. Also, if it works for Obaku Zen, it works for me.
So, that’s my update. Am I Zen Buddhist now? I don’t know. I am hesitant to use that label because I am hesitant to associate myself with that community. On the other hand, I’ve found it very beneficial so far, but I haven’t forgotten what I learned from Pure Land Buddhism either. So, I guess I am both, neither, whatever. At this point, taking inspiration from Chinese Buddhism: I uphold the precepts, meditate a bit each day, dedicate merit to loved ones and those suffering in the world, praise Amida Buddha, Shakyamuni Buddha, Kannon and the Lotus Sutra. Whatever label fits that is what I am these days. 🤷🏼♂️
Frankly, I stopped caring. I like how my practice has evolved these past months, and happy to continue.
P.S. Posting a little off-schedule, but oh well. Enjoy!
1 Not all experiences have been negative, but I have run into more than a few “Bushido Bros” and Japan nerds2 that soured my experience.
2 Yes, I am a Japan nerd too. I fully admit this, but nerds can be kind of intense and exhausting to talk to, so I don’t like to hang out too much with other Japan nerds.
3 It’s hard to quantify, but English books about Buddhism are either very dry, bland, and scholarly, or read like psychology self-help books, or just too mystical. When I read books in Japanese on similar subjects, I find them more down-to-earth and engaging. I know different people have different preferences, but I don’t like most English publications I find at the local bookstore. It is also why I try to share information (or translate if necessary) whenever I find it.
The Obon Season in Japan approaches, and so do ghoststories, and ceremonies around hungry ghosts. But what are Hungry Ghosts?
This is one of the traditional states of rebirth within Buddhism, on the never-ending cycle of people migrating from one life to the next. Rebirth as a hungry ghosts is seen as only one rung up from being in Hell, as it is a state of great suffering and hardship. Unlike hell, though, hungry ghosts are seen as beings that live among us, but only in the darkest shadows, living a precarious existence, constantly starving and thirsty, with no way to gain sustenance. They are often cursed to eat something awful, like garbage, or excrement, as punishment, or they are depicted in art as having emaciated bodies, with bloated bodies, and tiny throats that can’t swallow anything.
Although they are called preta1 in Indian Sanskrit language, in Japanese they are called gaki (餓鬼), which in modern slang is a rude expression for kids that means “a punk” (the Japanese meaning is harsher than the English one).
References to hungry ghosts go all the way back to early Buddhist texts such as the Pali Canon where the Buddha warns that among the hungry ghosts are probably some of your ancestors and kin:
Outside the walls they stand, & at crossroads. At door posts they stand, returning to their old homes. But when a meal with plentiful food & drink is served, no one remembers them: Such is the kamma [karma] of living beings.
Tirokudda Kanda (Petavatthu 1.5), translation by Ven. Thanissaro Bhikkhu
Later, stories of hungry ghosts appear in Sanskrit anthologies such as the Avadanasataka, including the story of Mogallana and his mother (source of the Obon holiday), before a similar version of the story appears in the Mahayana text, the Ullambana Sutra, for which there is a handy translation here. In the Ullambana Sutra, you can see how Mogallana’s mother suffers in her state as a hungry ghost:
Mahamaudgalyayana [Mogallana] felt deep pity and sadness, filled a bowl with food, and went to provide for his mother. She got the bowl, screened it with her left hand, and with her right hand made a fist of food. But before it entered her mouth, it turned into burning coals which could not be eaten….
Scenes of hungry ghosts appear in old Buddhist art too:
A picture from the Gaki zōshi 餓鬼草紙 “Scroll of Hungry Ghosts”, circa 12th century, courtesy of the Kyoto National Museum, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
In this famous image, you can see emaciated hungry ghosts living among us, unseen, scrounging remains from human refuse and so on. Early Buddhist texts never described what hungry ghosts looked like, but this is how they are depicted in medieval artwork.
Because the hungry ghosts wander aimlessly through life endlessly starving, and some of them may include past ancestors and loved ones, Buddhism has developed certain ceremonies thought to help relieve the suffering of one’s ancestors, and by extension other hungry ghosts. In Chinese culture, this is exemplified in the Ghost Festival (中元節, zhōngyuánjié) of Chinese culture, Obon (お盆) in Japanese culture and the Segaki ritual in some Buddhist traditions.
It’s a fascinating example of how Buddhist teachings have suffused cultures, and how cultures have responded to concerns over family and the afterlife.
Having travelled in a westerly direction for a long time, and finally turning south at Samarkand, the 8th century Buddhist monk Xuan-zang is finally approaches the hinterlands of India, birthplace of the Buddha.
A map of northern India including the Gandhara region in the northwest (modern Pakistan and Afghanistan). Created using Inkarnate, apologies for any mistakes.
In our last episode, Xuan-zang had gone as far as the city of Balkh (modern Afghanistan) and was deep in “Buddhist country” northwest of India. Times are very different now, but it was a major bastion of Buddhist learning at the time. From here, Xuan-zang moves to Bamiyan and the famous statues there.
Journey to Bamiyan
While staying in Balkh (part 4), Xuan-zang befriended a local monk named Prajñakara. Prajñakara was, according to Xuan-zang, a follower of Hinayana Buddhism (instead of Mayahana Buddhism), and yet Xuan-zang respected him so much they decided to journey the next leg together to India: Bamiyan.
These two besties, along with their caravan, had to traverse the Hindu Kush mountains to reach Bamiyan.
Not unlike the crossing of the Tian Shan mountains (part 2), the overload route was extremely dangerous. Xuan-zang reported snow drifts up to 20-30 feet tall, and the weather was a constant blizzard:
These mountains are lofty and their defiles deep, with peaks and precipices fraught with peril. Wind and snow alternate incessantly and at midsummer it is still cold. Piled up snow fils the valleys and the mountain tracks are hard to follow. There are gods of the mountains and impish sprites which in their anger send forth monstrous apparitions, and the mountains are infested by troops of robbers who make murder their occupation.
page 45, The Silk Road Journey with Xuanzang by Sally Hovey Wriggins
Thankfully the more experienced Xuan-zang and his team crossed safely and with fewer casualties than past mountain crossings. In time they reached Bamiyan (بامیان in Dari language).
Bamiyan and the Great Buddhas
Bamiyan, since antiquity, has been an oasis town residing where the Hindu Kush and Koh-i-Baba mountain ranges meet, and is a high-altitude, cold-desert climate. Nonetheless, Xuan-zang described Bamiyan as producing wheat, fruit and flowers, as well as pasturage for cattle and such. Due to the climate, Xuan-zang stated that people wore fur and coarse wool, and their personality was similarly coarse and uncultivated. Yet he praised their sincere religious faith.
Up until 2001, the town of Bamiyan was dominated by several sites, including two massive Buddha statues which were built during the reign of the so-called “White Huns” or Hephathalites. The Huns themselves were not Buddhist, but allowed Buddhist worship to continue and devout local patrons helped fund the statues perhaps as an act of piety. Interspersed between the statues were monasteries and grottoes carved into the cliffside.
Of the two “great Buddha” statues, the “eastern” statue depicts Shakyamuni Buddha, the historical founder, measuring 38-meters, while the western statue depicts Vairocana Buddha1 measuring 55-meters. Sadly these no longer exist, as they were destroyed by the Taliban in 2001. In Xuanzang’s time, the status were painted and decorated. The western statue was painted red, while the eastern was white. Both had blue-orange robes, and adorned with gold. This coloration lasted at least until the 12th century.
Interestingly, Xuan-zang described a third, reclining statue of the Buddha at Bamiyan, but no evidence has been found yet of this statue.
In any case, Xuan-zang was greeted by the king of Bamiyan and the local monks, adherents to an obscure sect of “Hinayana Buddhism” that taught that the Buddhas transcended “earthly laws”, took Xuan-zang and his party on a tour of the monastery and valley. My book and online research doesn’t clarify which sect or what this means.
Despite the warm reception, it doesn’t appear that Xuan-zang stayed all that long, and eventually moved on through the Hindu-Kush mountains to Kapisi next.
Kapisi and the Chinese Prince
Next through the Hindu Kush mountains was the city of Kapisi (also known as Kapisa, Chinese: 迦畢試 Jiapishi), which was the capitol of the local Kapisi Kingdom near the modern city of Bagram. Xuan-zang reports that once again, the weather was very difficult, and they even got lost at one point, but some locals helped guide them safely to Kapisi.
Storm clouds part, offering a rare glimpse through the crisp air at Bagram Air Field, Afghanistan, Dec. 18, 2008. The high altitude of the Hindu Kush mountain range creates a harsh climate ranging from more than 100 degrees Fahrenheit in the summer to below-freezing temperatures in the winter. Photo by U.S. Air Force photo by Staff Sgt. Samuel Morse (Released), Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
As with Bamiyan, Xuan-zang received a cold reception from the people, but was greeted by the local king whom he described as “intelligent and courageous”, and ruled over the neighboring areas.
Bamiyan and Kapisi are both places that have seen countless historical events. Alexander the Greats army marched through Kapisi in the spring of 329 BCE, and the Kushan Empire established Kapisi at its first capital in the first century CE. It was the Kushans in particular who were instrumental in helping Buddhism spread to East Asia (and now the world) especially under the great Emperor Kanishka (reigned 127 – 150 CE).
During the reign of Kanishka, a Chinese prince had resided in a monastery in Kapisi as a political hostage. When the prince returned home, he sent gifts and offerings to the monastery in gratitude. Centuries later during the 7th century CE, Xuan-zang paid homage to this prince at the monastery (called the “Hostage Monastery”), where it as thought that the prince’s treasure was buried. According to Xuan-zang’s account, he suggested they dig under a statue of the Buddhist deity Vaiśravaṇa,2 and after a time, the treasure was discovered. Because Xuan-zang was also Chinese, like the prince, it was assumed that his fellow countrymen from the past helped guide them to the treasure.
Later, Xuan-zang was invited by the king of Kapisi to preside over a religious debate amongst the Buddhist clergy, and (again based on Xuan-zang’s account) he was well-versed in the Buddhist doctrines and won, while his opponents only knew their own limited doctrine. One cannot help but roll their eyes slightly. 🙄
Finally, Xuan-zang ran into Hindu ascetics for the first time. Hinduism as we know it, arose roughly the same time as Buddhism and developed in parallel, not one from the other. A common and incorrect statement is that Buddhism descended from Hinduism; they drew from the same cultural and religious well, but arrived at different conclusions. At this time in history, Hinduism was on the rise as Buddhism began a slow decline. Since Hinduism had never reached China, Xuan-zang was not aware of it and spoke ill of the ascetics he encountered, describing them as decadent, untrustworthy, and selfish. It’s unclear why he had such a negative first impression though. Later, in India, he would invest much time debating against them in philosophical contests.
However, Xuan-zang’s joruney was not done. He needed to reach the next destination before crossing into India: Jalalabad.
…. which we’ll talk about in our next post. Thanks for reading!
1 Vairocana is a “cosmic Buddha” that first appears in a Mahayana version of the “Brahma Net Sutra” (the Pali Canon/Theravada version is unrelated). Vairocana, the “Buddha of the Sun” is also the great Buddha statue at Nara, Japan, and is particularly important in the esoteric Buddhist tradition where it is called Maha-Vairocana.
A photo taken by me in 2010 of the central image of the great hall at Todaiji Temple in Nara, Japan: Vairocana Buddha.
2 Vaiśravaṇa, known in Japanese Buddhism as Bishamonten (毘沙門天), can be seen at the famous temple of Todaiji in Nara. I took this photo back in 2010 when visiting there.
A photo of a statue of the Buddhist deity Vaiśravaṇa, known as either Bishamonten, or Tamonten, in Japanese Buddhism. Photo taken at main hall at Todaiji Temple in Nara, Japan.
Indeed, what we see today of Buddhism in Japan and beyond is directly related to the things that Xuan-zang saw along the Silk Road, even if the connection is not obvious at first sight.
Gleanings in Buddha-Fields 
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