Episode Details

dust returns to dust earth to earth mind always at home in itself where does it return?

This past week I was reflecting on the 6th Chan Ancestor, Huineng and his encounter with a verse from the diamond sutra.

Huineng lost his father early in life, and supported himself and his mother by selling firewood. On one occasion, he was selling firewood to a customer, and someone passed by chanting the words of the diamond sutra.

Huineng heard a single line and was profoundly moved—it touched something in him and his heart was opened.

He managed to stop the person who was chanting to inquire as to what the origin of the verse was and found out that it was from the diamond sutra, and a teacher in a distant part of the country was encouraging their students to chant this sutra.

For Huineng, this was a “call to adventure moment.” He knew he needed to meet this teacher, which meant leaving his current life. For Huineng, this worked out. He was able to find someone to care for his mom, and he set out on a difficult journey to meet this unknown teacher.

I feel like this story is relatable. Has something like this ever happened to you? Have you ever heard a phrase from a song, poem, a prayer or a teaching and it touched you profoundly? It stoped you. Perhaps caused you to find out the source of the words, or left you on a quest to discover who wrote it? what book was it from?

These moments can take us on an adventure of discovery.

But also, more importantly—the words themselves touched something that is beyond words. They often wake us up to the immediacy, the intimacy of this life.

Sometimes this happens with words from a chant or prayer we recite regularly, or have heard often. One day, they feel imbued with a new kind of meaning.

This past Wednesday was Ash Wednesday, and the words: remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return—have been with me. I remember the first time the profundity of that simple phrase really got in—I was an adult and my grandfather had just passed away.

I got interested this year in the practice of lent, and read the lenten gospel from Matthew, where Jesus is speaking about prayer. He is reminding his disciples that prayer isn’t about being seen doing something great, or making some big sacrifice—but perhaps the most genuine prayer is secret, a private affair between one’s self and the great mystery.

We live in a time in the world where we share intimate details of our lives on social media platforms. There isn’t anything inherently wrong about this, but I got interested in the invitation towards a secret life of prayer or meditation.

I think we long for an intimacy with ourselves and the universe—the great mystery, that can’t be displayed or need not be. That gets to be hidden, secret, kept close.

I had a dream recently on this theme. In the dream I was given a bright green folder and told to always keep it close. When I explored what was in the folder there was a roll of masking tape, a book I wrote in kindergarten about a tree named Fred, and vast emptiness.

I was left opened to the unnameable absence—roaring silence, pure potentiality.

In this task of being human, in this life’s work of discovering our true nature—words, stories, images, dreams and symbols can serve as pointers, but we all will encounter the mystery of this life for ourselves.

Dharma practice invites nearness. What are you keeping close? What practices allow you to stay with your inner-most heart? To stay with your self moment-to-moment? To stay close to the vows you wish to live by?

This on-going commitment to awakening is something that for most of us operates in secret, its that inner orientation, remembering ourselves back to ourselves, recognizing what is nearest.

I got curious about what Huineng actually heard and so did some research to find the passage from the Diamond Sutra. Be