Never Look Back
I met Zen Master Seung Sahn forty-two years ago. At that time, I was the director of the Warsaw Zen Center. Part of my job was to greet Zen Master Seung Sahn at the airport, escort him to the car, and take him to the Zen center. As soon as we got in the car, he would always ask the same question: “What’s the schedule?” It became a habit for me to always prepare a printed schedule for him.
On this particular day, he arrived late at night after a long journey from America. Despite the tiring flight, our schedule was packed. Early the next morning, we were to take a train to another city to lead a short retreat.
We had rented a private compartment on the train. Back then, trains were different—some had compartments with sliding doors. We booked him a first-class room with six seats that could fold down to create a large bed, hoping he could rest, since he hadn’t slept much.
In addition to managing logistics, I also served as his bodyguard. The political climate at the time was complicated, and we had to be cautious of North Koreans who were living in Poland then. When Zen Master Seung Sahn entered the compartment, we said, “Soen Sa Nim, please rest. Please take a short nap.”
He nodded, saying, “OK, OK.”
I closed the door and stood outside, ensuring no one disturbed him. After some time, curiosity got the better of me. I wondered, What is he doing in there? Is he getting some rest?
I peeked inside and was struck by what I saw: Zen Master Seung Sahn was bowing on the makeshift bed. Someone had once told me that, whether in America or Europe, he maintained a strict practice of performing a thousand bows daily and reciting the Great Dharani three thousand times.
Imagine that—three thousand Great Dharanis. Being awake for sixteen hours a day meant he had to recite three dharanis per minute without stopping. His discipline was inspiring.
The last time I saw him, we were alone in a quiet hotel room. Such moments of privacy with him were rare. He never initiated conversations, but I felt this was my chance to ask him something that had been on my mind. I said, “Dae Soen Sa Nim, you always practice the dharani, right?”
He replied simply, “Yes.”
“I mean, all the time?”
“All the time,” he confirmed.
I pressed further. “Even right now, as we’re talking, are you keeping it?”
“Yes, I am,” he answered.
I asked one final question: “And when you sleep at night? Are you keeping it even then?”
He looked me straight in the eyes, his gaze steady and unwavering, and said, “Yes, of course!” Then he added what would become his final teaching to me: “For my whole life—my whole life—I have never looked back, not even for one second.”
So, do you look back?
His words resonated deeply. He explained that when we are caught in thoughts—when I am thinking, and you are thinking—our minds remain separate. But when we cut through that thinking, there is no separation. Your mind, my mind—they are the same.
Today, as we commemorate the life, practice, and teachings of Zen Master Seung Sahn, we are reminded of his unwavering dedication. To connect with his mind, it’s not about trying to do the same 1,000 bows or chanting 3,000 Dharanis. It’s about approaching whatever we are doing with complete sincerity.
When you bow, bow completely. When you chant, chant completely. When you live, live completely.
Thank you for coming today, and thank you for listening. May we carry forward his teachings with the same clarity and determination, never looking back.