- Written by: Rev. Ken Yamada
Some people give lots of money to Buddhist temples, thinking, the more I give, the more "good luck" and "good fortune" I'll receive. Is this what it means to be Buddhist? Not really.
People tell me, “I haven’t been to Sunday service in awhile—I’ve been a bad Buddhist.” Are they really? Other people describe themselves as “nightstand Buddhists” because they like to read Buddhist books before going to bed, but don’t belong to any sangha or follow any practice. Are they real Buddhists?
When I was first ordained as a priest over twenty years ago, I had to shave my head and wear traditional robes. As I walked through the temple grounds in Kyoto, people reverently bowed to me because they saw someone who “looked” like a real Buddhist. Feeling uncomfortable, I wanted to shout: “Hey, I’m just like you.”
Sitting in a dull college lecture that lacked personal feeling and emotion, I once commented to a friend, “Sometimes, I wish these Buddhist professors were Buddhists!” To which my friend said: “You think only people who call themselves Buddhists can talk about Buddhism? Well I know some Christians who are more Buddhists than Buddhists. And I know some Buddhists who seem more Christian than Buddhists!”
Who is a true Buddhist?
My brother Bill I believe became a true Buddhist. For most of his life, he wasn’t religious. Aside from attending Dharma school for a short time as a child, he didn’t do anything in his adult life connected with Buddhism. Instead, he focused on his career as an advertising executive, first in San Francisco and then in New York City. There, he rose to a high position at a large company while enjoying the fruits of his labor—a condominium in a fashionable part of town, a luxury automobile, imported clothes, and a life of jet setting to faraway places.
One day, he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, a particularly deadly and fast-spreading condition. The world of luxury and comfort he strived to create, suddenly crumbled, leaving him in a state of shock. He telephoned our mother and while telling her about his condition, broke down and asked, “Why did this happen to me?”
He fought the disease with various treatments, but to little effect. As his condition worsened, he became more thoughtful and introspective. He began spending more time with his two children. When he was busy climbing the ladder of corporate success, he often didn’t have time for them. Now they were a priority. During the winter holidays, he brought his sons to their grandparents in California. He asked me to drive them to Lake Tahoe to see the snow. While parked near the lake, the two boys played outside while my brother lay in his seat, too weak and in too much pain to go out.
The way he thought was changing. He told people not to work so hard, not to think about money so much, but rather, to appreciate life more, and to spend more time with family and friends. This advice was the total opposite of the way he lived while he strived for riches and career success.
On New Year’s Eve, our temple held a year-end service. Although my brother was sick, he insisted we go. Standing before the altar, he put his hands together in gassho, quietly recited “Namu Amida Butsu,” then slowly and deeply bowed his head. Watching him, I thought: “This is the act of a truly spiritual person.” My brother’s journey in life had ultimately turned inward.
A similar kind of experience took place in the early life of the Buddha. Born into a royal family, Prince Siddhartha, as he was called, lived in a palace surrounded by luxury. He ate the best food available, wore expensive garments, lived in a big house, had horses and chariots, and basked in a life of comfort. One day, Siddhartha ventured out of the palace with his servant. He encountered a person on the side of the road who was pale and weak. “What is wrong,” he asked his attendant. “He is sick; sickness affects all of us,” came the answer.
Another day, Siddhartha saw a person walking very slowly, hunched and with scaly skin. “What is wrong,” he asked. “He is old; aging affects us all,” came the answer.
On another day, Siddhartha saw a procession of people who were crying and quite sad. They carried upon a board a person who was stiff and white. “What is wrong,” Siddhartha asked. “He is dead; All people meet with death,” came the answer.
All that Siddhartha had seen greatly disturbed him, upsetting his comfortable life. He began to question life and its meaning. All that he believed—that life was about pursuing pleasure for oneself, accumulating wealth, and surrounding himself with comfort—was fleeting and empty, for when he thought about it, those things only lead to a temporary feeling of happiness, but ultimately, they fade away. “What is the true meaning of life,” he asked himself. “Who am I? Why am I here?”
One day he encountered an ascetic who was walking serenely down the road. “Who is he?” “He is a spiritual seeker looking for life’s answers,” came the answer. Siddhartha decided to follow a spiritual path.
In life, we encounter sickness, old age, and death, through our friends, through our family members, and ultimately through our own lives. In other words, we all experience hardship, suffering and conflict. In doing so, our life may turn upside down. At this point, it is easy to feel lost, anger, frustration, depression and sadness, feeling cheated that life isn’t going the way it should. The world of happiness that we were striving to create through our efforts, suddenly disappears and we’re left with a feeling of emptiness.
People naturally begin to question their assumptions about the way they were living. “What is my purpose? Just to make money and buy things? To make myself better than other people? Am I alone in this world? Why was I born? Why must I die? Where is my life going?”
To begin asking these questions—to become a “spiritual seeker”—is to follow the footsteps of Siddhartha. In setting out in our journey, fortunately we may tread on the path set forth by the Buddha, learning through his words, teachings, experiences, and practice. Asking questions, seeking answers and following the path of the Buddha is the true meaning of being “Buddhist.”
As the saying goes, “Seek and ye shall find.” In asking life’s questions, life’s answers will come. If there are no questions, then there are no answers. The Buddha dharma only makes sense to people who are seeking the deeper truths about life. People who go about life without any urge to see beyond the everyday world, of course have no need for “spirituality” or Buddhism. It makes no sense to them and has no value. This way of thinking is quite logical indeed. That’s why there’s no importance placed on “converting” people to Buddhism. If life is good, then there’s no need for Buddhism. Fine. As they say, “You can bring a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink.”
For the thirsty, however, Buddhism is a fountain of spring water. To people who are really seeking to understand their lives, to those “true Buddhists,” the Dharma is the light of infinite wisdom.
- Written by: Rev. Ken Yamada
What is your biggest goal in life? To become rich? Make a lot of money? To get married and have a family? Depending on your age and circumstances, you may say, "to graduate from school," or "get a job."
In probing deeper inside a person, ultimately I think the answer is really "to be happy." If being happy is truly at the root of human desire, then it must be the reason why so many people work so hard, worry so much and struggle through each day.
Where can we find happiness? People assume it lies in "having a successful career," "raising a family," "making money," "buying nice things" or "having more leisure time." Does it really?
First, what is happiness? The dictionary defines happiness with words such as pleasure, exhilaration, bliss, contentment, enjoyment and satisfaction. We can certainly feel exhilaration at graduation from college, feel contentment at having raised a family, and enjoy retiring after many years of work. However upon closer examination, we see that after graduating from college, we worry about finding a job, after raising a family, we worry about being lonely, and after retiring, we worry about growing old. Happiness once grasped seems to slip away.
Sometimes, people confuse happiness with the expectation of happiness. Having fallen in love, it's easy to dream about the happy days that lay ahead once we are married. But marriage is no guarantee of a happy life. We are elated when we find a job, but once it starts, we face a new set of worries. This expectation is like walking in a desert and seeing a mirage of an oasis. Just the thought of drinking from its waters provides a certain pleasure, which alas, is only fleeting and never satisfying.
The Buddha observed that people are easily attracted to such appearances, although there is no substance behind them, like the mirage in the desert. We badly want to be happy, so we'll grasp at anything that promises it.
Yet, people are so firm in their belief that they know exactly what makes them happy-love, money, possessions, fame or power-they spend their whole lives chasing after it. So strong is their belief that even when they get what they want and don't find happiness, they think acquiring more is the key.
The Buddha told the story of a man, a widower, who left his son at home to go to work. When he returned, he discovered that his house had burned down and that the charred body of a child lay close by. The man cried and cried, and soon had the little body cremated. The ashes were put in a small pouch, which he carried everywhere.
Late one night, the man heard a knock at the door and asked, "Who's there?" A little voice said, "I am your son, Daddy, please let me in." The father answered, "My son is dead and I carry his ashes. You must be a naughty boy trying to play a trick on me." The man refused to unlock the door. The boy eventually left and never returned. Thus the father lost his son forever.
In telling this story, the Buddha warned people against becoming attached to their views, ideas and perceptions, which can become obstacles to the truth. To believe so strongly in things that make us happy, when they never provide lasting happiness, is the kind of attachment the Buddha spoke about.
The Buddha observed and taught that all of life is impermanent and constantly changing. We see this truth in the mirror everyday as we see ourselves aging. We see this truth in the temporary happiness we experience when we get what we want, but which swiftly disappears in our desire for something else. This means that we are not something permanent experiencing something permanent. Rather, we are something impermanent experiencing something impermanent. In this constantly changing universe, how can we ever attain lasting happiness?
In Buddhism, happiness is not the goal we should seek. Rather, our enlightenment or "awakening" is most important. Constantly looking for happiness in things that never truly make us happy means to live in a world of dreams and illusion, like a sleepwalker. Waking up from that dream world means seeing the true nature of life.
The true nature of the world is that we are all connected to one another, interdependent and One. It is an illusion to think we exist alone in life, only to satisfy our selfish desires. Rather, we create life together with the earth, the oceans and the sky. We create life together with each other. That is why we can't be happy alone. We cannot be happy if our loved ones are suffering. We cannot be happy if the earth is suffering. Your suffering is my suffering. Your happiness is my happiness.
Wake up to this truth and our life transforms from a self-centered existence to a life that reaches out to the world around us. Instead of being consumed with the desire for only our own happiness, our concern extends to the happiness of others. We no longer live for just ourselves, but we live for each other. Your suffering is my suffering. Your happiness is my happiness. Wake up from the dream world and truly begin living in a world of wisdom and compassion, the Pure Land, a place of true happiness.
- Written by: Rev. Ken Yamada
With the stock market dropping and unemployment rising, many signs point to tough times ahead--not just financially, but spiritually as well.
The current economic downturn is being compared to the Great Depression of 1929, when banks closed, companies failed and millions of people lost their jobs and sometimes their homes. The suicide rate rose amid a growing sense of anger, frustration, depression and helplessness.
Today, similar events seem to be unfolding. According to a recent news account, a man shot his wife, mother-in-law and two children, before turning the gun on himself. In a suicide note, he blamed financial problems.
In our world today, who we are—our identity and sense of worth—is tied tightly to our jobs, possessions, status and money. If these things disappear—if we lose our job, lose our home, lose our savings—suddenly we may lose our identity and sense of who I am. Facing such darkness, we may become confused, lost and paralyzed. Relationships with loved ones may suffer and we may lose them too. No wonder people sink into desperation and loneliness.
Fortunately, there is a light that guides us out of darkness. This light was given to us by the Buddha. It is called wisdom. Buddhism is more accurately called “Buddha dharma.” The word “Buddha” means “enlightened person” and “dharma” means “teachings.” Therefore, Buddhism is the “way to become enlightened.” Or simply: the way to live in light or wisdom. The Buddha’s life story teaches us about our own life.
Born as prince Siddhartha, he enjoyed the comforts of the palace and satisfied all his worldly desires. Yet he was unhappy. So he left the palace and became an ascetic living in the forest, denying himself many things, including food, sleep and even love. But this life of self-denial almost killed him. Siddhartha realized he needed food, clothing and shelter in order to live. He gave up both pleasure-seeking and ascetism, understanding the “middle path” was the best route to seeking truth.
Thereafter, he took what food, clothing and shelter was necessary to live, but no more, living simply and humbly, knowing the key to happiness did not lay in over-indulgence or self-denial. In our materialistic world, it’s easy to feel we somehow failed if we don’t make a certain amount of money, rise to a certain status, live in a certain size house, and acquire certain possessions. Experience shows us even if we reach those goals, we don’t achieve lasting happiness. Instead, we are dissatisfied and continue to crave more.
The Buddha acknowledged we need certain things in life in order to live. Beyond these necessities, he observed that acquiring more won’t make us any happier. Rather, the key to happiness lay in understanding the true nature of life. The great truth is that we are not created by our own efforts to satisfy selfish desires and inflate our egos. Rather, this life is given to us by innumerable causes and conditions that have come together in this very moment in time.
This moment was created by our parents, our grandparents, our great grandparents, and so forth endlessly. It was created by our friends, our family and the community in which we live. It was created by the earth and her rivers, oceans, mountains, valleys, fields, and all her inhabitants that serve as the food we need. This moment is created by our thoughts, experiences and by our loved ones of the past. It also is created by our future hopes and dreams.
Contained within the present is the past and future. Contained within this moment is eternity. To understand this deep, deep truth is to be filled with joy and gratitude. It doesn’t matter if you’re rich or poor, young or old, male or female, healthy or sick. This wisdom is for everyone.
In the Tathagata-garbha sutra (Sutra on Buddha-nature), the Buddha explained how everyone, no matter who you are, carries the seed of this wisdom: Imagine a rotting flower with wilted petals. You may think it is merely garbage to be thrown away. But I see inside it lays a shining image of the Buddha. Imagine a swarm of bees clumped on a tree. You may think to avoid this tree, to run away from it. But I see underneath this swarm lay golden honey with the sweetest taste. Imagine a poor family in a broken-down house. They think their lives are miserable and they have nothing. But I see buried beneath the floor of this house, a chest filled with gold.
These passages explain “Buddha nature.” All of us have Buddha nature. I heard it described as a little Buddha sleeping inside us, waiting to wake up. In other words, each of us has the potential to become a Buddha. Each of us has the potential to lead fulfilling lives of joy and gratitude. We live in uncertain times facing great challenges. Whatever path our lives may traverse, remember the greatest treasure in life is already inside us, waiting to be discovered.
- Written by: Rev. Ken Yamada
My kids always seem to fight: Arguing over chores, who gets to watch television, and who talks more on the telephone. It’s normal for kids, I think. What really worries me, though, is if they fight as adults.
Unfortunately, a big cause of fighting between kids is the death of their parents. Too often, children fight over their parents’ money and property. At first glance, the matter may seem simple: Two kids can split in half the inheritance; four kids get 25 percent each.
What if one child takes care of an aging parent, while the other child never visits? Does one child deserve more than another? Maybe the oldest one feels he deserves the most; likewise, a financially needy sibling with her own children may feel she deserves more. Throw in a stepmother or stepchild and there could be all-out war. Brothers and sisters will stop talking to each other, sometimes feuding the rest of their lives.
What started out as good intentions—parents wanting to leave behind their “fortunes” (life-savings, homes, a family business)—sometimes turns out to be a curse. It seems the bigger the fortune, the bigger the curse.
Yet, most people probably think of money or property as the fortune they most want to leave behind. Is that the kind of fortune our children need most in life? An old saying comes to mind: “Give a man a fish and he eats for a day. Teach a man to fish, and he eats for a lifetime.” Is there a teaching we can leave behind that would be more helpful and valuable than money?
Recently, I saw a documentary on television called “The Bridge” (more information at www.ifctv.com), about a film crew who recorded people jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge. For an entire year, they trained their cameras on the bridge, and from time to time, recorded the suicides. Then they interviewed family, friends and witnesses of the people who jumped, piecing together the stories of how that moment came to be.
A windsurfer who was below the bridge during one jump said that when he surfed that day, he was feeling on top of the world. At the same moment, he said later, he realized there was someone who felt at the bottom of the world.
I wondered for a person who has reached the lowest point in his or her life, what could possibly help. According to the interviews, those people were dealing with a variety of problems, related to personal relationships, careers, their emotions, sometimes mental illness and sometimes, but not always, money. A young man jumped after his mother, who was his closest friend and confidant, passed away. He couldn’t see any meaning to his life.
What kinds of things could have helped these people? More than money or possessions, I thought of things such as patience, the ability to tell right from wrong, to try your best, to focus on what’s important (and not worry about what’s not important), to feel compassion in your life, and to live with wisdom. I then remembered that these six qualities are none other than the Six Paramitas in Buddhism, which are the six paths to becoming a “bodhisattva” (or Buddha-like).
These six aspects of life are what the Buddha tries to teach us. Through words, through texts, through rituals and through services, this is the wisdom that is handed down to us through generations, by various teachers and by those people who have preceded us as seekers of truth in the Buddhist tradition. By understanding these six aspects and embodying them in our lives, we gain the strength, wisdom and courage to encounter whatever difficulties life throws at us. We can live with joy and fulfillment, whatever our circumstances, whether we are young or old, male or female, rich or poor, healthy or sick. There can be no greater fortune than the wisdom that helps us see life truthfully.
We may not all be parents, but we are all children who have inherited this legacy from our parents, whether they are our real parents, or our “spiritual” parents. The parents who have come before us worked hard to build our temple, so that the “Buddha dharma,” the truth that awakens us to the preciousness of life, would be kept alive and passed on to us.
Some of you have said you only come to special services out of respect for your parents, who were once active at our temple. But your parents helped keep this temple alive for you. It was your parents’ wish to bestow you with great wisdom to live a fruitful and fulfilling life, that would break the bounds of our selfishness and help us embrace the universe and all the people in it. More than money and more than a big house, what greater fortune could you receive than knowing the true meaning of your life? Once grasped, then each moment of your life becomes a gift and you feel an unbroken connection to the world around you. This unbroken connection is expressed in the words “Namu Amida Butsu.”
In this way, people come to the temple to express their gratitude for having a place where they can hear teachings that are more precious than diamonds and jewelry, more useful than a business or law degree, and more valuable than a roomful of cash. Many of your parents felt this way, keeping this temple alive with the hope of passing this legacy to the next generation. And many of you feel the same way, supporting the temple through your efforts and contributions, helping to pass this wisdom down to yet another generation.
This is how the Dharma was passed down through the ages, from one generation to the next, over the past two thousand five hundred years since the time of Shakyamuni Buddha, from India, across Asia, over the Pacific, and all the way here to you today. Behold the most precious gift in the world.
- Written by: Rev. Ken Yamada
In growing older, a woman once told me her knee became sore and weak. She began to use a cane, moving slowly and more cautiously than before.
While taking walks outside, she began to notice other people with difficulty walking. Her eyes couldn’t help but see people who used canes, crutches and walkers, who walked slowly or with limps. Suddenly the world seemed full of people like herself, whose steps were unsteady. She saw them struggle and felt their pain. She worried for their safety and prayed in her heart they would be all right. These thoughts spontaneously arose from within her.
These people who had trouble walking did not suddenly increase in number, making them more visible. Rather, the woman’s own pain stirred in her a sense of empathy and awareness, opening her eyes to people who were always around her, but whom she had not seen. Before, they were strangers and invisible, but now she felt a kinship with them.
I’m reminded of a saying: “We live in a dream and go through life in a fog.” We think we know what’s important—money, possessions, status, power, knowledge, accomplishments, friendship and love. We think we must focus on our goals and ourselves, and our families and friends. We think positive and avoid negative thoughts.
Imagine a glass half filled with water. When asked how much water is there, you may say it’s “half full” or “half empty,” depending on your mood. Either answer is correct, right?
Imagine the water in the glass represents all of those positive things we think are important in life—money, possessions, friends, etc. To focus on the water is only seeing half the glass. Ignoring the “empty half” makes us blind to the other half of life.
In this example, the empty part symbolizes negative things we want to avoid and not think about—failure, loss, hardship, frustration and pain, among others. It represents sickness, aging and death. Perhaps we feel thinking about these things will drag us down and prevent us from reaching our goals. Yet, these things are part of—in fact inseparable from—the so-called positive side of life, as the glass of water shows us.
To see only the water is to see life only as “positive.” No wonder “we live in a dream and go through life in a fog.” We see only what we want to see. This is natural. This is human nature.
However, this view of life sooner or later comes face-to-face with the painful reality of existence. We become sick. We grow old. Our loved ones pass away. We face death ourselves. We fail to find permanent happiness. When the only side of life we know crumbles and disappears, fear and anxiety arise to take its place.
We are encouraged by the Buddha to see all of life—the full and the empty, the positive and the negative, life and death. This life is not about “I” at the center in pursuit of desires. It is about awakening to the world of wisdom and compassion around us.
You may read these words and think, “What a nice thought,” but your heart will not change. Again, this is human nature. Freud called this strong sense of self the “ego.” The Buddha said this “ego” is a person’s greatest impulse. That’s why it’s so difficult to awaken to truth through our own will, or self-efforts.
In the Samyutta Agama sutra, the Buddha told of “The Parable of the Four Horses.” He explained: “There are four kinds of horses. The first horse gallops merely at the sight of a whip. The second horse gallops when the whip touches its hair. The third horse gallops when the whip touches its skin. The fourth horse only begins to gallop when the whip touches its bones.”
Most of us are like the fourth horse. We may suspect there’s something missing in life, but we are unaffected. We hear about this truth but are unmoved. We may see truth close by, but cannot grasp it. Not until our flesh begins to bleed are we moved.
Shortly after my father passed away a few years ago, people began to tell me, “I lost my father recently,” or “My mother passed away a few months ago” or “My parents have been gone for a few years.” Suddenly I felt what others must have felt in losing a parent, but their suffering had been invisible to me. A great many of us share this common human experience, yet it had not register in my consciousness until I experienced this loss in my own life. I felt a sense of shared pain with others.
The woman with the cane, without knowing it, felt the same way. Experience opens our eyes. This “other side” of life opens our eyes. Shinran Shonin called it Great Compassion that awakens us. This is how the invisible becomes visible.