[1] Trung Quốc Thiền Tông Đại Toàn, bản chữ Hán, trang 521.

BEYOND THE POWER OF INITIAL INSPIRATION

Venerable Thích Tâm Hạnh

All of us inherently are Buddha-nature — also referred to as the “host” or the “true mind.” Yet due to thoughts and delusive emotions obscuring it, this nature remains temporarily hidden and does not manifest. When a practitioner engages in diligent and effective practice, there may come a moment of sudden awakening — and right then, one comes to see.

However, the realisation of one’s true nature does not occur just once — it often unfolds through many moments before it is seen through completely.

In the beginning, a practitioner may experience a sudden awakening, or even without yet attaining realisation, one whose practice is deeply rooted may still feel an extraordinary inner shift — a powerful, radiant clarity and purity arising from the very nature itself. Some may be moved to tears, others may burst into spontaneous laughter, and some may even dance with uncontainable joy. All of these are natural responses to the initial moment of deep resonance — when the power of the true mind begins to shine from within.

The ultimate of  Way is simply the ordinary — a return to what has always been, yet without a single trace of delusion.

Zen Master Huệ Hồng quoted Master Zhaozhou (Triệu Châu) as saying:

“Everything is just as it has always been. None of the sages of the past attained without coming forth from this very old place.”[1]

The great masters, having fully realised, all return to this.

When asked about the family tradition, the Founding Patriarch Trúc Lâm replied:

Tattered robe covering clouds — porridge is taken in the morning;

Old pot watering the moon — tea is drunk at dusk.

(Áo rách che mây sáng ăn cháo,

bình xưa tưới nguyệt tối uống trà)

This is precisely that ground. Any trace that still remains — even the slightest — means one has not yet reached the ultimate.

If, stirred by the force of the initial awakening, the practitioner engages in unusual behaviours, the Patriarchs often reproved this as “wild Zen” (cuồng thiền).

At this stage, various signs and expressions may appear, differing in intensity.

Some may no longer wish to read scriptures or engage in formal meditation, yet remain in radiant clarity. Others may lose all interest in words and meanings, desiring only to sit in meditation, sensing a strange vigour of mind and an uncommon joy. All of these are marks of progress in practice, worthy of encouragement. Yet, if one does not aspire to advance further, does not encounter a wise spiritual guide (thiện tri thức) to open the path, or does not know how to move beyond, then in time obstacles may arise. Such practitioners may encounter difficulties in their training — giving rise to hindrances and eventual decline.

Some may mistakenly believe they have attained realisation, giving rise to pride and arrogance, looking down on others — and as a result, must eventually face karmic obstacles and consequences. There are those who, having grasped a little of the profound teachings, assume they have already awakened. But a time will come when the mind becomes disordered and restless again, beyond their control, and only then do they realise their mistake. By that point, they may have already fallen into the “illness of Zen,” and it will take a great deal of time and energy to recover — a difficult and exhausting process. Some may find that they feel at peace only while sitting in meditation, but once they rise from it, they feel physically weak or internally unstable.There are many other such variations. This arises from attachment to the powerful sense of insight experienced early on — mistaking it for true attainment and no longer striving to go further — which leads to imbalance and dysfunction in one’s practice. For this reason, the Zen Patriarchs often cautioned practitioners: One must go beyond the mind’s initial surges of intensity and continue progressing. Do not mistake a little gain as having reached the end.

The path of realising the mind is not the same for everyone. Yet, in essence, it follows one of two directions: Either one directly realises the true nature here and now, or one proceeds through gradual cultivation — clearing the muddy waters so the clarity may emerge.

A practitioner who leaps straight into the true ground of the Tathāgata encounters no doubt or obstruction within. Conversely, those who begin by subduing the deluded mind — meaning they have not yet subtly realised the true nature directly — often go through progressive stages of purification. Eventually, the inner force of the mind may surge strongly, as described earlier. Reaching this point marks a significant step forward in one’s practice. However, one must not cling to that state but must maintain the aspiration for continuous practice — only then can one attain perfect and thorough fulfilment.