`Tathagata` is pronounced, I believe, `tuh-TAH-guh-tah.` On Scott Newton's Zen pages, (link on the right is Primary Zen Texts), it is defined to be `buddha nature` and `one who follows in the steps of his predecessors.` Hui-Neng's commentary, as translated by Cleary refers to it as the `reality body.` According to Hui-Neng, it has no physical characteristics and can only be seen with the eye of wisdom.
This passage always confused me in Red Pine's translation because I thought it meant that I cannot perceive the Tathagata using my own physical characteristics, but I could see him using my non-physical characteristics. it seems from the other translations that the emphasis is more on the fact that the Tathagata has no physical characteristics, and can only be perceived with the mind. I'm thinking that sometimes during meditation one perceives `buddha nature,' which is a funny phrase, but may refer to the state of mind of one who is unattached. One see the world through a different pair of eyes, and the world one sees is called buddha nature, and perhaps more accurately corresponds to reality. That may be why it's called the reality body, or better yet 'the body of reality.'
It occurs to me that Red Pine's translation may be good to have that double meaning. I can't perceive the body of reality through my own physical characteristics, but only by thinking. On the other side of the coin, the body of reality does not really have any physical characteristics. They are illusory in some way. Just because all of our concepts about reality break down at some point doesn't mean reality isn't there. It just means that we can never conceptualize it accurately. However this very realization is a true and accurate conceptualization of a fundamental truth about reality. This paradoxical sounding statement may be one of the reasons so many Zen sayings sound paradoxical. This is the root paradox.
Another root paradox from this sutra is the following. The sutra entreats us not to be attached to anything, and to discard teaching that we follow after they lose their relevance. (A dharma teaching is like a raft. After you cross the river, don't carry the raft with you any more.) This extends to the teaching of the sutra itself. Of course it's not really a paradox. It is merely the (obvious) statement that this sutra is a useful dharma teaching to follow, but it is not and cannot be the final word.
3 comments:
I like your analysis on the perception of reality. What I find interesting is that the main understanding I got from the passage was regarding abilities.
It reminds me of the Suzuki "wanting to be the best horse". I come up against this a lot. Wanting not only to excel but to be clearly superior. Attributes are highly prized by me as proof of my importance and as a sense of self. Of course, these attributes are no more reality than a sports car (I first wrote "sports cat," which is unreal in a very fun way).
It's funny. When acting, the best moments never come while I'm "performing," but when I am doing nothing...when I am a part of the moment around me. Then moments come, shift, rise, fall without resistance or fear.
I wish I could do it all the time, on every stage.
That's interesting. It's like you are so totally in tune with your perfomance that you don't think about outside issues or distractions like how you look or whether the audience appreciates you. In my mathematical work I often become distracted about issues outside the mathematics itself. A funny example is that several times I have fooled myself into believing that I have proven something big, and then rather than devoting the mental energy to go through my arguments and check them carefully, I immediately begin thinking about a catchy title for the paper, and how I will receive fame (in the limited framework of my mathematical colleagues) and approbation. Some times I do get in `the zone,` and almost by definition don't realize it at the time. There's a down side, though, when I become obsessed with something to the exclusion of all else. In this case, I'm not really being one with the moment, unattached, but rather am struggling to hold onto something.
One sphere where I can become one with the moment, and yet not be obsessive, is when I'm working on some of my art, and here is maybe where I can most closely identify with you.
Oh, yeah, I've done that many times with my writing. Almost as soon as I've started writing I think about how it will be received. Adulation. Fame. Fortune perhaps. The reviews and genuflection of my peers. All sorts of irrelevant fantasies. They are distracting and detract from the process.
And I can definitely be obsessive to a destructive level, as well. As you say, this is the result of trying desperately to hold on to something that frightens me.
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