By Manuel

Amitoufo! I found Ocean Sky Chan Monastery through the internet. I got interested in studying Zen meditation not because it was free, but because I was searching for perfect answers to my questions:

1. What is true happiness?
2. Who am I?

After attending beginners’ class, intermediate class, and now I am in the advance meditation class. I have learned so many things, which also led to changes in many of my bad habits. For example:

1. I have stopped smoking. From 3 packs a day, I have now totally quit.
2. I have learned to control my anger.
3. I have learned to adopt the attitude of being just an observer.
4. I have improved to become compassionate towards all sentient beings, especially the animals and insects. Why insects and animals? It is because they need the most attention and understanding from us.
5. I have become 95%vegetarian. It is not because it is good for the health, but because it is part of being compassionate towards sentient beings.

These are just some of the things that have changed in me. And it is all because of attending classes here in Ocean Sky and listening to the Dharma talks of Shifu. Essentially, it is because of my Zen meditation practice.

I remember Shifu once asked me why I wanted to study meditation. My answer was to find my true mind. (Which is connected to my question of who am I?).

Now, if Shifu were to ask me again, my answer would be: “I just want to practice and to calm my mind. I do not care what I attain, because wanting to attain something is already a desire.”

Right now, I have a feeling that I am close to finding my true self. The important thing is for me to be true to myself and to the people I encounter, to accept my status in life and how I look like, and to learn to be contented and not to be materialistic.

Now, I can relate all my actions to Zen. For example, the travel time between my house and Ocean Sky is 3 hours coming and another 3 hours going back. I consider the journey as part of my Zen practice.

I try to meditate in a natural setting, where there are only trees and birds around me; in my room in the morning and before I go to sleep; and in places where there are a lot of people moving around, I hear the noise but still, my mind is calm.

Each time I meditate, I feel blessed because I always receive the greatest gift – Silence is the greatest gift for me.

Ocean Sky Chan Monastery is the safest and most peaceful place for me.

February 25, 1986, it was EDSA revolution – to free the people of the Philippines from a dictator president. It was my first time to join the rally and I continued to be active in the rallies until 2004. We always demanded freedom. As I recall doing this, I do not actually need to join these rallies to demand freedom, because deep inside my true mind, I can achieve the perfect freedom through the help of Zen meditation. There is only one rule to follow: Focus and mind my own breath.

I have received important merits since coming to Ocean Sky. I have gained new friends, fresh points of views, and the awareness in understanding all sentient beings.

To answer my first question about the true happiness of people, I think for many of them, their happiness is from obtaining valuable things like money, wealth, etc. But for me, true happiness is to live in silence and have no attachment. For now, I still cannot do it; maybe in my next life.

To answer my second question, who am I, I am not sure yet who I am. What I know for now is that I am a Buddhist deep inside. I am thankful to be a practitioner and a part of Ocean Sky Chan Monastery. It is a great blessing to have all the Shifus as my teachers. To all the Shifus, staff and volunteers, thank you very much. Amituofo.

By Edwin Decenteceo

Since this year’s 7-day retreat in Chung Tai was not my first, I feel it would be better to view my time there as only one point in my Buddhist journey. (When I joined the half-day retreat at Ocean Sky in April, that would be another point in the journey.

Connecting all these points are the classes and meditation sessions which I attended at Ocean Sky. My brief chats with the Abbess and the other Shifus are another part of this journey.)

There were many challenges at the start. One of the first challenges was the physical aspect of sitting meditation. It was only recently that I could sit in half-lotus. Five years of ashtanga yoga was not enough to prepare me to sit without feeling discomfort that was strongly distracting. My mental habits presented another challenge. Since my work involves talking to people for about an hour, I’ve developed an internal clock that tells me when the hour is coming to a close. Without looking at my watch, I can tell that the talk session has lasted for about 40-45 minutes, which means I should begin to wrap up the session—which is of course how long a meditation session lasts.

I also realized that as soon as I wake up, I begin to plan my whole day. My early morning meditation sessions were struggles to stop myself from planning my day’s events. My mind is also constantly replaying events or rehearsing events. All night long, I am sensitive to the sounds and smells around the house: Is a creaking that I hear just a branch blown by the wind or is it an intruder climbing our fence; Are the dogs barking at another dog or a cat or a possible burglar; Do I smell a leaking gas stove or an overheated electrical appliance; Is the movement I hear the reaction of the house to the change in temperature or has one of the children awakened. Turning off this sensitivity during a meditation session was difficult.

A quantum leap came when Abbess told me what the “empty mind” is: no labels, no categories, no comparisons, no distinctions, no boundaries, etc. These give rise to attachments. These concepts of emptiness (or the Bodhi mind) and attachment prepared me for the experience of “emptiness” and “no attachment.” (I was helped by The Sutra of Forty-two Chapters which says: …Be mindful of no-mind.) When I became more familiar with the experience of “emptiness” or the Bodhi mind, the challenge became to intend or will myself to experience emptiness. The next challenge became to sustain that experience. When the Abbot of Chung Tai told us that “you do not meditate to be calm, at peace, be less stressed, or be relaxed, but to be in your empty mind,” my meditation sessions acquired a focus which was not there before.

The last Chan-7 I attended was filled with my attempts to sustain my experience of the empty mind, even outside the Chan Hall: the walk from the dormitory to the Chan Hall, during mealtimes, during breaks after each session.

At this point, I must make a half-bow to pay respect to all the Guiding Shifus at the Chan-7 retreats. It was not an easy task for them. I saw that some of them struggled to stay awake even as they sat in full lotus waiting for a meditation session to begin. I could only guess what time they were able to rest after reviewing the sessions of the past day and planning the sessions for the next day. I appreciated the way they moved about with the least sound with their feet and their robes as they watched over the participants. They differed in their styles: some were stern, some were gentle, some were comforting, some were considerate as they corrected the participants while others seemed demanding.

A half-bow also to the volunteers during mealtime —most of them were young, and some were in their early teens. The same appreciation also for the interpreters—they, too, differed in their competence. But, most of the time, I appreciated their struggle to keep up with the Abbot. I would not blame them if they could not translate a joke, which left us non-Mandarin speakers wondering what other participants were laughing about.

The journey has been joint contributions from my practice of sitting meditation and my understanding of the empty mind. Sometimes my practice improves my understanding of the empty mind; sometimes my understanding (from Dharma talks and sutra readings) helps me improve my practice. I have also promised myself that I will work toward improving my practice so that it can develop into the realization that “the empty mind or Bodhi mind is my true, original nature.”

Sometime ago, someone told me about a Zen saying which goes: “Beyond the mountains, mountains.” I have encountered many mountains. I have enjoyed conquering them. But I know that even as I sit on a mountain peak, other peaks will appear. Last Sunday, as we were chanting The Sutra of Forty-two Chapters, a phrase leaped out from the page: “Even with the Bodhi mind, it is difficult to realize non-cultivation and non-attainment.”

Ah, yes. Another mountain.

My journey continues.

Sorry, this entry is only available in 中文.

By Erwin

When first told about the meditation retreat, I wasn’t anxious about keeping the silent vow. I’ve always found that easy; in fact, often, I’d rather be just like that.

On our first day, the Abbot asked us to allow ourselves the full experience of the retreat – to forget the world and all worries in the next seven days. Our main task is to sit, and hopefully discover the mind’s true nature.

The first two nights, I found myself still wide awake after lights out. I could already hear my roommate snoring on their futon, but I’m kept up by my chattering mind, and wondering about things other than the present, worrying whether I could wake up on time, and distracted by itchy insect bites.

The time we spend outside the Chán hall – that is, time not spent for sitting or walking meditation, are punctuated by hand bells, or the wooden board, struck in a distinctive pattern by a monk moving about using a mallet – to indicate time – to retire, to wake up, or to announce the next incense session.

During the retreat, there’s a proscription on mobile phones, alarm clocks, reading, and writing. Waking time is to be devoted for meditation and mindfulness. As interim preceptors, living in a monastery, we take a similar (but shorter) vow taken by monastics, to live simply like them, including the option of not eating after the noon meal.

A discovery that surprised me was my penchant for knowing the time; how that, in turn, would prescribe what other things which I thought I ought to be doing – time to go, time to wake up, or time for bed, time for this, or that.

On my third night, after evening service, I was lying on my mat already dozing when I heard the first part of the tok-tok-tok-tok… – the monastic going about to announce lights-out. I sprang out of bed, got off my mat, and began tidying my beddings — waking up, and surprising a roommate, who also got up. After a few seconds, I was confused by the silence, because normally the wake up call stirs up the whole building, but the rest of the building was still. I took a peek outside our room, and the hallway was quiet, which confirmed my suspicion: it was curfew, and not a wake up call. So I quietly went back to bed.

After that night, I got into the routine comfortably. I got up, on my own, without having to wait for the wake up call. Between incense sticks, when we could rest or take a nap, I would find a quiet corner and meditate by myself, then head back early to the Chán Hall to meditate more.

The meditation time during morning and evening services are dear for me. This is the time when the monastery is still and quiet. In that quiet Zen hall, amidst the beautiful mountains of Nantou, and with a comfortable early-spring breeze, we all sit cross-legged. There are moments when I thought I managed a glimpse of the mythical Mind. I then tell myself to let go, and just breathe.

With around 1,800 participants, and over 300 people in the same hall I was assigned to, you’d be surprised by the hush, as everyone sits placidly.

When I left Manila, the Shifus bid us with “Have a good stick of incense”, which I thought was just a reminder for us to have a positive retreat experience, not any different from “Bon Jour”. The monastery’s Abbot, the Venerable Master Jiandeng, also said the same when we started the retreat. I was itching to ask him how that is determined – “What are the metrics?” I thought – but missed the chance to ask it during our tea with him.

Now though, I think I have an idea. A good stick of incense is when your mind is still, and you are aware of where you are; your back is complaining – and you shut it out; your knee is hurting – and you quiet the thought; and your leg is numb, and you just acknowledge it, and continue sitting still; when you nudge your wandering thoughts to stillness, but still acknowledge them when they monkey about.

Ding!

The hand bell is struck to remind you it’s time to come out of sitting meditation. Forty minutes has gone, and you thought it was just five.

Ding! Ding!

The hand bell is struck twice, and people stir to prepare for walking meditation, and you choose to be still some more.

A few friends may wonder: what’s the point of meditation? I used to say that it helps to calm my mind, and it still does. Now, I’ll probably just say “it’s just is.” That is, meditation helps me realize that the only purpose in life is to fully live in the “now.”

There is no past, and no future. They are mere abstracts derived, or inferred from the immediate moment. A “good stick of incense” is not 60 minutes long. It’s an infinite now – but only until your next thought.

Sometimes, we travel far to seek home, when we’ve been home all along.

Sorry, this entry is only available in 中文.

Sorry, this entry is only available in 中文.