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The Heart of Perfect Wisdom (The Heart Sutra)

With commentary by Hakuin

Avalokita, the Holy Lord and Bodhisattva, was moving in the deep course of the wisdom which has gone beyond. He looked down from on high, he beheld but five heaps, and he saw that in their own-being they were empty.

Here, O Sariputra, form is emptiness, and the very emptiness is form, emptiness does not differ from form, nor does form differ from emptiness; whatever is form, that is emptiness, whatever is emptiness, that is form. The same is true of feelings, perceptions, impulses and consciousness.

Here, O Sariputra, all dharmas are empty of characteristics. They are neither produced nor stopped, neither defiled nor immaculate, neither deficient nor complete.

Therefore, O Sariputra, where there is emptiness there is neither form, nor feeling, nor perception, nor impulse, nor consciousness, no eye, or ear, nor nose, or tongue, or body, or mind, no form, nor sound, nor smell, nor taste, nor touchable, nor object of mind, no sight organ element, etc. until we come to, no mind-consciousness element; there is no ignorance, no extinction of ignorance, etc. until we come to, there is no decay and death, nor extinction of decay and death; there is no suffering, nor origination, nor stopping, nor path; there is no cognition, no attainment and no non-attainment.

Therefore, O Sariputra, owing to a Bodhisattva's indifference to any kind of personal attainment, and through his having relied on the perfection of wisdom, he dwells without thought coverings.

In the absence of thought-coverings he is clear-minded and fearless, he has overcome what can upset, and in the end is sustained by Nirvana.

Through reliance on perfect wisdom all Buddhas of the three periods of time became fully awake to the utmost, right and perfect enlightenment. Therefore one should know the perfection of wisdom as the great spell, the spell of great knowledge, the utmost spell, the unequalled spell, allayer of all suffering, in truth - for what could go wrong? By the perfection of wisdom has this spell been delivered.

It runs like this: GONE, GONE, GONE BEYOND, GONE ALTOGETHER BEYOND, O WHAT AN AWAKENING, ALL HAIL!

A Selection from Hakuin's Commentary

(The) <Heart (Mind)>

For untold ages this didn't have a name. Then they blundered and gave it one. When it flies into your eyes, even gold dust will blind you.


<Sutra>

This is one sutra they didn't compile
Inside their cave at Pippali.
Kumarajiva had no words to translate it,
Ananda himself couldn't get wind of it.
At the north window, icy drafts whistle through cracks.
At the south pond, wild geese sport in snowy reeds.
Above, the mountain moon seems pinched thin with cold;
Freezing clouds threaten to plunge from the sky.
Buddhas might descend to this world by the thousands,
They couldn't add or subtract one thing.>


<Avalokita> (, the Holy Lord and . . .)

He's the Great Fellow supplied one to every person. Nowhere on earth can you find a single unfree man! You cough. You spit. You move your arms. You don't get others to help you. Who clapped chains on you? Who's holding you back? Lift your left hand up; you just may scratch a Buddha's neck. Raise your right hand; when will you be able to avoid feeling a dog's head?

Fingers clasp and feet walk on without the help of others,
While thoughts and emotions pile up great stocks of Wrong;
But cast out pro and con, and all likes and dislikes,
And I'll call you an Avalokita right there where you stand!



<Bodhisattva > (, was . . .)


To show his difference from the Shravakas and Private Buddhas, and to set him apart from full-fledged Buddhas as well, he is given the (provisional) name of Bodhisattva. He's on the road but hasn't budged from home; he's away from home constantly, but he's not on the road. I'll snatch from you the practice of the Four Universal Vows - that's the very thing will make you Superior Men, able in both directions.


<Moving > (in . . .)


What's he saying! He's just making waves. Stirring up trouble. It's sleeping at night and moving around in the daytime. Urinating and passing excrement. Clouds moving and streams flowing. Leaves falling and flowers scattering. But hesitate or stop to think, and Hell rears up in all its hellish forms. Yes, practice is like that all right, but unless you once penetrate by the cold sweat of your own brow and see it for yourself, there is trouble in store for you and plenty of it!


<The Deep Course of Wisdom> (which has gone beyond. He looked down from on high, and he saw . . . )


Bah! Gouging out healthy flesh and creating an open wound. How strange, this "prajna" of his. Just what is it like? "Deep"? "Shallow"? Like river water? Can you tell me, what kind of prajna has deeps and shallows? I'm afraid it's a case of mistaken identity, confusing the pheasant with the phoenix.

Annulling Form in the quest for Emptiness, is shallow,
Seeing Emptiness in the fullness of Form, is called deep.
He prattles about wisdom with Form and Emptiness in his clutches
Like a lame tortoise in a glass jug clumping after a flying bird.



<That the five categories of things are empty of their own being. >(Here, O . . .)>


The sacred turtle's tail sweeps away all his tracks. But how can the tail help leaving traces of its own?

You see another's Five and you think that's you,
Then you cling to them, with personal pride or shame,
It's like a bubble that forms on the surface of waves.
Like the lightning that snaps across the sky.


<Sariputra,>


Phuh! What could that puny-fruited Arhat possibly have to offer? Around here, even Buddhas and Patriarchs have to beg for their lives. Where is <he> going to hide, with this "Hinayana face and Mahayana heart"?


<Form is emptiness, and the very emptiness is form >(, emptiness does not differ from form, nor does form differ from emptiness;. . .)


A nice hot kettle of stew, and he plops a couple of rat turds in and ruins it. It's no good pushing delicacies at a man with a full belly. Striking aside waves to look for water when the waves <are> water!

Forms don't hinder emptiness, emptiness is the tissue of form;
Emptiness is not dissolution of form, form is the flesh of emptiness.
Inside the Dharma Gates where form and emptiness are-not-two.
A lame turtle with painted eyebrows stands in the evening breeze.



<Whatever is form, that is emptiness, whatever is emptiness, that is form.>


Trash! What a useless collection of junk! Don't be trying to teach apes how to climb trees! These are goods that have been gathering dust on the shelves for two thousand years.



<The same is true of feelings, perceptions, impulses and consciousness.>


Just look at him now wallowing in the sow-grass! When you encounter strange phantoms without alarm, they self-destruct!


Earth wind fire water are tracks left when a bird takes flight;
Forms reception perception conception are sparks in a man's eye;
A stone woman works a shuttle, skinny elbows flying,
A mud cow barrels through the surf, baring her bicuspids.


<Here, O Sariputra, all things are empty appearances.>


Like rubbing your eyes to make yourself see flowers in the air. If all things don't exist to begin with, then what do we want with "empty appearances"? He is defecating and spraying pee all over the clean yard.


The earth, its rivers and hills, are castles in the air,
Heavens and hells, a bogy bazaar atop the ocean waves;
The "Pure" land and "unpure" World are brushes of turtle hair,
Nirvana and Samsara are hare-horn riding whips.



<They are unborn, undying, not stained nor immaculate, neither deficient nor complete.>


Real front-page stuff! But is that really the way it is? How did you hit on that part about everything being "unborn and undying"? You'd better not swindle us! An elbow doesn't bend outwards.



<Therefore, O Sariputra, in emptiness >


A regular jackal's den. A cave of shadowy ghosts. How many pilgrims have fallen in here! A deep black pit. The unnutterable darkness of the grave. What a terrifyng place!



<There is neither form, nor reception, nor perception, nor conception, nor consciousness,>



"Dreams, Delusions, Blossoms of air. Why bother to get hold of <them>? Profit and loss and right and wrong must all be chucked out." This scrupulousness of his only stirs up trouble. What's the good of making everything an empty void?


A boundless unencumbered place, perfect, open, still;
Earth and hills and rivers, are but names, nothing more.
The Mind may be quartered, and Forms lumped into one,
But they're both still just echoes in empty ravines.


<No eye, or ear, nor nose, or tongue, or body, or mind, no form, nor sound, nor smell, nor taste, nor touchable, nor object of mind, no realm of sight, till we come to no realm of consciousness;>


Well I have eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body and mind! And forms, sounds, smells, tastes, touch, and things do exist!


When the Six Senses slightly stir, Six Fields appear;
When the Mind-Root rests, the Six Dusts as well.
The Roots and Fields and Senses, all Eighteen Realms -
Just a bubble of foam on a great shoreless sea.


<There is no ignorance, no extinction of ignorance, till we come to, there is no decay and death, nor extinction of decay and death;>


Pearls scattered inside fine purple curtains. Pearls packed inside filthy begger-bags; it takes a wise man to know that those are jewels. The water that a cow drinks turns to cream; the water that a snake drinks turns to poison. The twelve-storied mansions where sages dwell are wrapped in perpetual five-coloured clouds far beyond man's reach.



<There is no suffering, nor causation, nor cessation, nor path;>


Shining gems in the dawn light beyond the bamboo blind. The fool goes at them with an upraised sword. The salt in the seawater, the size in the paint. Egrets settling in a field a thousand flakes of snow. A warbler alighting on a bough, a treebranch all in flower.



<There is no wisdom, no attainment> (, and no non-attainment.)


Setting up house in a grave again! So many misunderstand these words! A dead man peeping bug-eyed from a coffin.


A black fire burning with a dark, gem-like brilliance,
Draining vast heaven and earth of their yellows and blacks;
Mountains and rivers are not seen in the mirror of Mind,
A hundred million worlds agonize, all for nothing.



<Owing to a Bodhisattva's indifference to any kind of personal attainment,>


Get him out of here! A thief pleading innocence with the stolen goods in his hands. Acting by circumstances, in response to sentient beings wherever they may be, but still never leaving the Bodhisattva Seat. Unless you're clear about three and eight and nine, you'll have a lot to think about as you confront the world.


Bodhisattva, Great Being!
In Chinese, "Sentient Hero with Great Heart."
He enters the Three Ways, taking men's sufferings on himself;
Unbidden, he proceeds joyfully through every realm;
He vows never to accept the meager fruits of partial truth;
While pursuing higher enlightenment himself, he works to save others.
The vast void of boundless space could cease to be, still he'd
Urge his Vow-Wheel on forever to save the ignorant multitudes.



<And through his having relied on the perfection of wisdom, >(he dwells without thought-coverings. )


What a choke-pear! He's gagging on it! If you catch sight of any thing at all to depend on, spit it out at once! I'm able to endure the northern wastes of Yuchou, but the mildness of Chiangnan is shear agony.


Tell us you've discovered greed and anger in Saints, but don't
Give us that about Bodhisattvas depending on Wisdom.
If you see a single thing around to depend on,
That's not "unhindered" - he's tied in chains.
Bodhisattva and Prajna are essentially the same,
Like beads rolling on a tray, sudden, ready, uninhibited.
He's neither worldly nor saintly, stupid nor wise -
What a shame, when you draw a snake, to add a leg.



<In the absence of thought-coverings he is clear-minded and fearless, he has overcome what can upset,>


Nothing extraordinary about that. Supernatural powers and wondrous activity are just drawing water and carrying fuel. Lifting my head, I see the sun setting over my old home in the west.


<And in the end is sustained by Nirvana.>


This is the hole pilgrims walk into; they fill it up year after year. He's gone off again to flit with the ghosts. It's worse than stinking socks! The upright men of our tribe are not like this; the father conceals for the sake of the son, the son for the sake of the father.


The Mind of Birth-and-Death of all beings
Is as such the Buddhas' Great Nirvana.
A Wooden hen sits upon a coffin brooding on an egg;
An earthen mare follows the wind back home to the barn.



<Through reliance on perfect wisdom all Buddhas of the past, present, and future> (became fully awake to the utmost, right
and perfect enlightenment.)


By holding a good man down he cheapens him. The bare skin and bones are fine as they are, with a natural elegance and grace, without larding them with paint and powder. There's no cold water in a boiling cauldron.



<Therefore one should know the perfection of wisdom as the great spell,>


Carrying water to sell by a river. Don't drag that old chipped lacquerware out here! Transcribe a word three times, and a crow becomes a how, and then ends up a horse. He's trying to palm off shoddy goods again, like some little shopkeeper. When walking at night, don't tread on anything white; if it's not water, it's usually stone.


Cherish the Great Charm of your own nature,
That turns a hot iron ball into finest sweetest manna;
Heaven, Hell, and the floating World of Man -
A snowflake disappearing down a glowing furnace.




<The spell of great knowledge,>


Don't say "spell of great knowledge"! Break apart the staff that comes rough-formed and unshapen, and the great earth's Indigenous Black stretches out on every side. Heaven and earth lose all their shapes and colours. The sun and moon swallows all their light. Black ink pouring into a black-lacquer tub.


Spell of great knowledge, round and perfect in every man.
Casts a calm illumination over mountains and rivers of the world;
The vast, barrier-like ocean of our age-long sins vanishes.
Like foam-bubbles atop waves, like sparks within the eyes.



<The utmost spell,>


And what about down around your toes? Bring me the lowest spell! One feels tender affinity for the autumn leaves falling amidst pattering drops of rain. Yet how can that compare to the intimate richness of sunset clouds glowing over bearded fields of grain?


The Finest, the Noblest, the First,
Enthralling even Sakya and Maitreya,
What we all have with us at birth,
But we each have to die, and be reborn.



<The unequalled spell,>


Talk! He talks and two stakes appear. What ever happened to that single Stake? Where is it now? Who said, "there is no equal anywhere, above, below, or in the four quarters?" He has broken it all up into little bits, there are pieces strewn all over. That idle old gimlet Teyun, how many times is he going to come down from the Summit of Wonder Peak? He hires a foolish old saint to help him fill up a well with snow.


Last winter the plum was bitter cold;
A dash of rain, a burst of bloom!
Its shadow is cast by the moon's pale light,
Its secret fragrance carried on the spring breeze.
Yesterday, you were only a snow-covered tree,
Today, your boughs are starred with blossom!
What cold and suffering have you weathered,
Venerable queen of the flower rain!




<Allayer of all suffering,>


Picking a lily bulb apart to find the center. Shaving a staff of square bamboo to make it round. Ripping the threads from a Persian carpet. Nine times nine is, now and always, eighty-one. Nineteen and twenty-nine meet, but neither offers its hand.


When you pass the test of Mind and Emptiness
Your parts are instant ash;
Heavens and Hells are old broken-down furniture,
Buddha-worlds and Demon-worlds smashed into oblivion.
A yellow bird chortles ecstatic strains of "White Snow,"
A black turtle clambers up a lighthouse, sword in belt;
And anyone who wishes to enter their samadhi,
Must once pour down rivers of white-beaded sweat.



<In truth - for how could it not be so?> ( By the perfection of wisdom has this spell been delivered.)


Liar! He's lying in his teeth right there! We rub elbows with him all day long - How do we resemble him?



<It runs like this:


He's at it again! Over and over! What about woodcutters' songs and fishermen's chanteys? Where do they come in? And what about warbling thrushes and twittering swallows? Don't enter the waves and pick bubbles from the surf!


These weed-choked fields with their seven-word furrows
And the castles of verbiage in lines of five
Weren't menat for the eyes of flinty old priests, I wrote only
To help you brothers, cold and hungry in your huts;
For unless you find the Way, and transform your self,
You stay trapped and entangled down a bottomless pit.
And don't try to tell me my poems are too hard -
Face it, the problem is your own Eyeless state.
When you come to a word you don't understand, quick
Bite it at once! Chew it right to the pith!
Once you're soaked to the bone with death's cold sweat,
All the koan Zen has are yanked up, root and stem.
With toil and trouble, I too once glimpsed the Edge -
Smashed the Scale that works with a blind arm;
When that Tool of Unknowing is shattered for good,
You fill with the fierceness and courage of lions.
Zen is blessed with the power to bring this about,
Why not use it to bore through to Perfect Integrity?
People these days turn away as if it were dirt,
Who is there to carry on the life-thread of Wisdom?
Don't think I'm an old man who just likes to make poems,
My motive is one: to rouse men of talent wherever they are.
The superior will know at a glance where the arrow flies.
The mediocre will just prattle about the rhythm and rhyme.
Ssu-ma of the Sung was a true prince among men,
What a shame that eyes of such worth remained unopened!
Whenever he read difficult "hard-to-pass" koan,
He said they were riddles made to vex young monks;
For the gravest crimes man is sure to feel repentance -
Slander of the Dharma is no minor offense!
Crowds of these miscreants are at large in the world,
The Zen landscape is barren beyond belief.
If you have grasped the Mind of the Buddha-patriarchs
How could you possibly be blind to their words?



<GONE, GONE, GONE BEYOND, GONE ALTOGETHER BEYOND, O WHAT AN AWAKENING, ALL HAIL! >


To serve a Superior Man is easy, to please him an impossible task. A falling shred of mist flies together with a lone white gull; the autumn waters are a single colour with the far autumn sky. A rain squall sweeps the sky from the hamlet in the south to the hamlet in the north. A new wife carries boxes of lunch to her mother-in-law in the fields; grandchild is fed with morsels from grandfather's mouth.