Hokyozanmai
Song of the Jewel Mirror Samadhi
Translated by 増永霊鳳 Masunaga Reihō (1902-1981)
First published in The Sōtō Approach to Zen, Layman Buddhist Society Press (Zaike bukkyo kyokai), Tokyo, 1958, pp. 188-192.
Introduction
Tung-shan Liang-chieh (807-869) wrote the Hōkyōzanmai (Pao-ching san-mei) in verse style. Made up of four-character lines, it contains a total of 94 lines and 376 characters. Its rhythm and tonal qualities make it easy to chant. It somewhat resembles the Sandōkai in content and has, since the middle ages, been coupled with it in morning and evening readings in Sōtō temples.
In this work Tung-shan made use of the divination techniques that flourished in his days and worked out the theory of the Five Ranks (go-i). Through these devices the Hōkyōzammai systematized Zen theory and a phase of Zen practice.
The Hōkyōzammai grew out of an earlier verse by Tung-shan. The original inspiration struck him when he saw his reflection in the water while crossing a river: “Seek nothing of others — how great a distance then do I stand part from him. And now, going all alone, I meet him everywhere: my true self, and yet not I. Seeing this, you live in truth.”
Hōkyōzanmai, then, points to a state of mind in zazen when, like a jeweled mirror, it reflects all things as they are. It is the Buddha Mind that has passed untarnished from master to disciple since the days of the Buddha. It is the true law — the actual state of all things and the inborn life of man. It tells us to embrace all things in their suchness with the impartiality of a polished mirror — and adapt ourselves to them. It tells us also to avoid destroying ourselves or harming others, to transcend the dualism of love and hate,
and to express ourselves as we really are in altruistic social action. In this work Tung-shan Liang-chieh gave expression to a major feature of Sōtō Zen — creative thoroughness in daily life.
Text (Hōkyōzanmai)
The Buddhas and patriarchs have directly
handed down this basic truth:
You now have it, so preserve it well. The snow
falls on the silver plate, and the snowy heron
hides in the bright moon. They resemble each
other but are not the same. By combining the
two we can distinguish them.
The supreme mind cannot be expressed by
words, but it responds to the needs of the trainee.
If you are enslaved by words, you fall into a
hole. If you go against the basic truth, you come
to a dead-end.
It is like a giant fire ball; you must not come
too close or put yourself too far away. If you
express it by fancy words, it becomes stained.
The night encloses brightness, and at dawn, no
light shines.
This truth holds for all beings. Through this
we can free ourselves from suffering. Though not
artificially made, this truth can find expression
in the words of a Zen master. It is like looking
into a jeweled mirror and seeing shadow and
substance.
You are not him; he is actually you. It is like
an infant of this world who has five sense organs.
He neither goes nor comes; he neither arises nor
stays. Ba-ba, wa-wa — he has words yet no words.
And finally we grasp nothing, for words are not
accurate.
Six sticks of stacked ri — they move in mutual
relations in extremes and middle. Stacked three
times, they return after five to the original
pattern. This resembles the five tastes of the chi–
grass and the five branches of the diamond
sceptre. Absolute “upright” holds many phenomena
in delicate balance.
The Zen master’s answer matches the trainee’s
question. To bring the trainee to the ultimate,
the Zen master uses skilful means. The former
embraces the ultimate; the latter contains the
means. Correctly blended, this is good.
Avoid one-sided attachment. This is the natural
and superior truth that does not attach itself
to delusion or enlightenment. It appears quietly
and clearly when conditions ripen. When minute,
it becomes infinitesimally small; when large, it
transcends dimension and space. Even a slight
twitch breaks the rhythm.
Now we have abrupt and gradual. Sects become
separated by setting up doctrines and practices,
and these become standards of religious
conduct. Even if we penetrate the doctrines and
practices, we get nowhere if delusive consciousness
flows within the eternal truth.
If we are outwardly calm but inwardly disturbed,
we are like a tethered horse or a mouse
in a cage. Pitying this plight, the former sages
became dispensers of the teaching. Matching
their teachings to the topsy-turvy delusions of
the trainee, the sages used various means, even
to the extent of saying that black was white.
Abandoning delusive thought brings satisfaction.
If you want to follow in the old footsteps,
observe the ancient examples. In an effort to
take the final step to enlightenment, a former
Buddha trained himself for 10 kalpas, gazing at
the Bodhi tree. This restricting of original
freedom is like a tiger with tattered ears or a
hobbled horse.
The sage tells a trainee who feels inferior that
he has a jeweled diadem and footrest and a rich
robe. If the trainee hears this with doubt and
surprise, the sage assures him that some kind of
cats and a white cow are perfect as they are.
A master of archery can hit a target at 100
yards with his skill. But to make two arrows
meet headon in mid-air goes beyond ordinary
skill. In this superior activity of no-mind the
wooden figure sings and the stone maiden dances.
This is beyond common consciousness — beyond
thinking.
The retainer serves the emperor. The child
obeys the father. Without obeying there is no
filial piety; without serving there is no advice.
Unpretentious action and thorough work look
foolish and dull. But those who continue to practice
this Law are called lord of lords.
Here’s a lovely English version from the Atlanta Sōtō Zen Center.
And here’s a more traditional Japanese version.
Ad-Free & Subscriber Log-In