Zen Master Hye Mun Transmission Speech
[Raises the Zen stick over his head, then hits the table with the stick.]
The ten thousand dharmas return to the One. Many of us have heard this—it’s in Zen Master Seung Sahn’s poem in The Whole World Is a Single Flower. But did you also know that the One gives rise to the ten thousand dharmas?
[Raises the Zen stick over his head, then hits the table with the stick.]
In truth, there are no ten thousand dharmas. And, in truth, there is no One.
[Raises the Zen stick over his head, then hits the table with the stick.]
The ten thousand dharmas are simply the ten thousand dharmas—present in each moment with name and form. The One is simply the One—also present in every moment, before name and form.
Which of these statements do you prefer?
KATZ!
The ten thousand dharmas and the One are present just now in your lovely faces.
A long time ago, in Tang-dynasty China, there was a teacher named Baoshou who was a dharma heir of Linji. One time a monk came to him and asked, “Sir, when the ten thousand things come at you all at once, what can you do?”
Baoshou exclaimed, “Don’t try to control them!”
These expressions, the “ten thousand things” (or dharmas) and the “One,” originated in the earliest days of Chinese culture and are the constant threads throughout our spiritual tradition. The ten thousand things refers to the myriad, uncountable world of experience, the nonstop flow of phenomena—thoughts, feelings, impulses, sensations, and all the rest. In our tradition, we refer to the One as primary point, but of course the One has many names—Tao, God, the Absolute, and so on.
The ten thousand things and the One appear in the first verse of the Tao Te Ching, where it says, “The Tao is the mother of the ten thousand things.”
A few hundred years later, when Buddhism came into China, these indigenous teachings of the ten thousand things and the One were incorporated into the Zen tradition. We find them in the early Zen poem, “Trusting in Mind,” by the Third Ancestor, Sengcan. In fact, we can view the entire poem as an exploration of the relationship between the ten thousand and the One.
A few hundred years later, a monk came to Joju and asked, “The ten thousand dharmas return to One. Where does the One return?” And that’s the question that has come down to us over the years. At the turn of the twentieth century, young Man Gong Sunim was asked the same question, “Where does the One return?” and he kept this question until, later, at the sound of a temple bell, he had an awakening.
When the monk came to Baoshou and asked, “Sir, when the ten thousand things come at you all at once, what can you do?” Baoshou responded, “Don’t try to control them!”
My sense is that the monk was struggling with the many troublesome thoughts, emotions, and feelings that arise in mind. Perhaps you also have similar concerns. And perhaps, like this monk, you also want relief. Who among us doesn’t want relief from the ten thousand things? Baoshou gave the monk the best possible guidance: “Don’t try to control them!”
Of course, we do try to control the ten thousand things. We do everything possible to arrange the world so that it won’t trouble us. And—as maybe you’ve noticed—the world really doesn’t cooperate with our attempts at control. Actually, the world doesn’t care much about our likes and dislikes. It isn’t interested in what we want or don’t want.
It occurred to me some years ago, when I was trying to control a difficult situation, that maybe there was another way. Perhaps, rather than demanding cooperation, I could respond to what the world asked of me. I could bring myself into alignment with the ten thousand. That’s possible for any of us.
And, in fact, that’s our practice tradition—to sit in community, breathe in, and ask a question—“How is it, just now?”—and perceive what appears. How do the ten thousand things manifest in this moment? And then, on the exhalation, don’t know—returning to the One, returning to primary point.
This heritage goes back 2,500 years. Zen Master Seung Sahn didn’t invent this, although he brilliantly made it come alive. May we all feel deep gratitude for this offering. We’re here today because of the community made possible by this teaching.
I want to thank those who have supported me over the years, and while I don’t want this to become an Academy Awards speech, I do want to speak from the heart. First, I’m so grateful for my daughter, Susie, who is the greatest blessing of my life.
I don’t have time to recognize all the teachers, practitioners, and colleagues who have helped me on this journey, but please know that I hold you in my heart.
I had the really good fortune to live at Cambridge Zen Center for a few years. It’s a wonderful place to train and I encourage all of you to experience it.
After I left Cambridge, I moved to a mountain town in southeast Arizona of about 5,000 people and inherited a small Zen center that local people had established fifteen years before. Our sangha is so precious, and I feel incredibly fortunate to have landed there.
Over thirty years ago, when I started practicing in Seattle, a fellow named Tim Lerch (now a Ji Do Poep Sa) showed up. Throughout the years, Tim has guided, challenged, and loved me in ways that I never knew I needed. Thank you, Tim.
And, of course, I’m profoundly grateful to Zen Master Bon Haeng (Mark Houghton), who has remained committed to me, even in times when I wasn’t committed to myself. Without Mark’s support, I wouldn’t be here today. Thank you, Mark.
Finally, my gratitude to Zen Master Seung Sahn for bringing this practice tradition to the West. Just yesterday I saw some of his teaching on Instagram: “This world is always changing, changing, changing.”
The dynamic flow of the ten thousand things offers a point of entry. How do we align ourselves with this change so that we can help this world? How do we align ourselves with the reality of this world, so we can heal this world? How do we stay present with whatever arises in mind?
One time Layman Pang toyed with this notion of escape, asking a pointed question of his teacher, Great Master Ma: “Sir, who is the person that does not accompany the ten thousand things?”
Perhaps Pang was wondering if there might be someone not bothered by mind. But Ma didn’t indulge Pang’s fantasy. Instead, he told Pang that if he could swallow, “in a single gulp the entire Western River,” then he would understand.
It’s important for us to love the life we have. It’s important to use the life we have. And to do this, we only need to relinquish the demand that the world cooperate with us.
[Raises the Zen stick over his head, then hits the table with the stick.]
Lao-tzu said, “When you realize that the ten thousand things are always changing, there is nothing you will try to hold on to.”
What does this mean?
KATZ!
After this ceremony, we’ll take off our robes and go eat cake! Thank you!