Tracking Bodhidharma Read online

  He says, “Bright Sea is already up on the mountain.”

  Okay, I think, in that case I’d better get on one of the buses. I pull out my cell phone and text a message to Bright Sea that I’m going with the buses to Treasured Palms Temple. Then I make my way to the parking lot where a bevy of buses is already loading pilgrims to ferry them to the day’s events.

  As the sun starts to come up, my bus of pilgrims grinds its way up the winding mountain road to the ancient residence of the Old Ancestor. Although the place is located only a few miles away over the mountains from where we’re staying, the circuitous road to the place requires more than an hour to drive. Not far up the final mountain ascent, someone starts handing plastic bags from the bus’s overhead rack to passengers at the back of the bus. I notice that some people are retching from motion sickness. I’m doing fine, but soon, from right behind me, I hear a number of disturbing sounds being emitted.

  The bus weaves and climbs through the scrub pine forest, occasionally offering a lookout over mountain valleys where a water reservoir sits far below. After an extended ascent, we pass a sign that says SCENIC AREA, accompanied by some worn-looking guesthouses. The plant life on the mountain changes as we ascend, from semitropical undergrowth to coniferous forest, and the temperature drops noticeably. Most of the buses in the caravan stretch out along the highway, but we remain close to the bus winding up the hill in front of us. Finally, we come to a group of buildings and an intersection where cars are parked along the road. We slow to a crawl, an apparent indication we’ve drawn near to our destination. However, the bus in front of us continues straight through the intersection and up the mountain, and our bus follows. After another mile or so, it becomes clear that neither the bus in front of us nor ours is on the right road. No other buses can be seen, and the road seems to be diminishing among a few ragged buildings. We finally turn around and go back down the mountain toward the intersection, arriving there to see many other vehicles and a fair number of people all clustered on the road. The bus stops, and we are instructed to get off and walk on the road that branches from the intersection. Apparently we’ll walk the last couple hundred feet or so to the Old Ancestor’s Temple. Maybe 120 people, from the two buses, walk together from the intersection toward the temple.

  The mountaintop’s dawn sky changes to a thick gray fog. The road weaves around outcroppings covered with ficus and pine trees. After twenty minutes we find ourselves strung out along the mountain road with no temple in sight. Some people are older and having trouble walking the long distance. Suddenly a large drop hits the pavement in front of me, and I realize that what looked like fog has evolved into threatening rain clouds. The rain begins to fall steadily. We all have no idea how much farther it is to the temple, but we know that it’s a twenty-minute walk back to the intersection. Some people start running. I pull my broad-rimmed travel hat from my backpack. One man pulls a large broad leaf from the undergrowth and holds it over his head. The rain falls harder. Everyone’s moving fast, and some people notice that that road is now descending through switchbacks and it may be possible to take shortcuts down the mountain between the corners. Many people try this, slipping and sliding down the mountain on the wet leaves and rocks. Some fall down in the effort and land on the muddy paths, soiling their clothes. I decide to remain on the road, but without the temple or any other shelter in sight, things start looking a little worrisome. Then, thankfully, the rain starts to let up and within another minute or two has almost ceased. People calm down.

  Several vehicles now start to pass us on the road, and I realize that dropping us off at the intersection seems to have been a spur-of-the-moment decision by someone who didn’t know how much farther we needed to go. The other buses apparently had kept going on the road and delivered the passengers directly to the temple. After another ten minutes or so, we reach a pretty mountain valley. At last, I spy some large red balloons with Chinese characters rising from what appears to be a group of buildings in the distance. Then the sound of drums and symbols rings across the mountain, and I realize that the vanguard of our strung-out group is being welcomed into the temple grounds. Our destination finally comes into view, nestled against a mountain, and on its left there is a blue lake contained by peaks on its far side. Two nearby peaks rise to the same altitude, quite close to one another. We’ve reached Twin Peaks and Treasured Palms’s old temple residence, now newly rebuilt and ready for its blessing. We walk into its big parking lot to the cadence of two long lines of welcoming drummers, all lay women. They are dressed in festive red sweaters and black slacks, each keeping time on a small drum draped over her shoulders.

  To the left of the women, opposite the front of the temple, is Produce Wood Lake. A legend says that when the old ancestor Treasured Palms’s temple was first being built, logs needed for construction miraculously appeared in the lake’s waters. Similar legends abound in China, often connected with the building of important temples. On the far side of the parking lot, I see other pilgrims disembarking from buses, and a long line of people is filing toward me as I stand aside the temple gate.

  A total of seven peaks surrounds the mountain valley where Old Ancestor’s Temple sits lofty and remote. The seven peaks are together called Lotus Peak since they appear arranged to match the petals of that sacred Buddhist flower. Thus hidden, Old Ancestor’s is the type of place a Zen temple should be, far from trouble. It’s clear why the Old Ancestor and other monks of the Zen tradition made their way to this remote mountaintop to live and teach. Besides being a place of great natural beauty, it conveys the feeling described in the old Chinese saying that says “heaven is high, and the emperor is far away.”

  Ceremonies have begun by the time I reach the temple. Monks, lay practitioners, and officials fill the Buddha Hall and the surrounding area, all under the watchful eye of a large number of police and public security officials. Decorative banners hang throughout the place, and big balloons shaped like traditional Chinese lanterns are tethered to the earth with wide banners that display more slogans.

  Part of the art of surviving in China’s political ferment has been about knowing exactly what to say and knowing what political line is currently fashionable. One bright banner hanging from a balloon juxtaposes religion and politics, saying TAKE THE BUDDHA DHARMA AND MIX IT INTO SOCIETY: TAKE THE INDIVIDUAL AND MIX HIM INTO THE MASSES! Another says FACE THE WORLD WITH A GRATEFUL HEART; HARMONIZE WITH OTHERS WITH AN INCLUSIVE MIND.

  It’s impossible for me to understand the speech issuing from the loudspeakers, especially under the din of the large crowd that is part watching the proceedings and part just chatting and enjoying the day with their friends and relatives. I circle the perimeter of the crowd to see if Bright Sea is anywhere to be seen. I can’t find him, though he may be inside the hall where ceremonies are being conducted by a big contingent of monks. As I stand looking at the crowd, I notice that there are defined contingents of people, different groups, each with its own flag, from a variety of famous temples in Southern China.

  I consider going back out the front of the temple for a few photos of the outside and so move toward the front gate. As I make my way through the crowd, I suddenly see Bright Sea, along with a small contingent of people from Cypress Grove Monastery, enter the temple. One of his aides points me out and he turns to greet me.

  His first question is “Have you seen my shifu [teacher] here?” He’s referring to his teacher Jinghui, the former abbot of Bai Lin Monastery who now leads the Fourth Ancestor’s Monastery. I tell Bright Sea I haven’t seen him although he may be inside the Buddha Hall where I haven’t been able to enter.

  In their terrific enthusiasm for participating in today’s religious event, some lay people go a little overboard in their desire to show respect for the high-ranking monks that are about. As I talk to Bright Sea, several people who recognize him literally start prostrating themselves to show their respect on the wide sidewalk where he is standing. I’ve seen this happen before when high-status Chines
e monks appear in public, and I feel a little uncomfortable talking with Bright Sea in a normal conversation while several people are prostrating themselves toward us. It’s like Bright Sea was the actual Buddha or something. To their credit, monks don’t encourage or seem to like this sort of thing. They usually say “Don’t bow. Don’t bow!” to people who nonetheless refuse to quit doing so. Sometimes the monks give up trying to stop this behavior, not because they like it, but because it’s futile to do so, so it’s better to just act normal. Bright Sea simply ignores the scene around him. He seems very much at ease and happy. He takes my hand and says to his entourage, “Come on! Let’s take a look around.”

  We make our way through the crowd and circle to the rear of the Buddha Hall. Bright Sea explains the story of the Old Ancestor, the millenarian, to me. He was yet another foreigner that the Chinese greatly honor. I can’t help but reflect again about how China has accepted and honored a wide array of foreigners into their society down through the centuries. The idea that China has always been a closed society, contemptuous of things from outside, is simply wrong. That perception of China comes in part from modern events, from the strong reaction China developed against the encroachments by the imperial powers in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. That relatively short historical era and the xenophobic ideas projected by Westerners toward China gave birth to the ridiculous ideas that the Chinese are insular and inscrutable. In fact, Chinese are open and welcoming, appreciative of foreign ideas and customs. In ancient Chang An, the capital of China’s great Tang dynasty, there were so many foreigners arriving over the Silk Road that the emperor gave them a special market where they could conduct their business. This “foreign” market was on the west side of the market area, and the traditional Chinese market was on the east side of the same. If you were going shopping, you would say you were going to buy, literally, “east-west” (dong-xi) by visiting those east and west markets. Since that time, thirteen hundred years ago, the word east-west has taken on the meaning of a “thing,” a meaning derived from buying things in those ancient foreign and domestic shopping centers. The fact that the word east-west means “thing” in Chinese has long baffled new students of that language, but it is actually an early indication of the Chinese welcoming foreigners into their society.

  Foreign people and things have deeply influenced China, Bodhidharma being a case in point. Moreover, the idea of respecting and following the customs of others when visiting them is widely accepted in China. Confucius counseled this path by saying, “When in another country, follow its customs,” a well-known saying almost matching the phrase “When in Rome ...” from Western cultures. Certainly, everywhere I travel in China today, I’m welcomed with the utmost enthusiasm and warmth. Of course this is not unique to China, as people in many countries do the same thing. The Chinese are generally no different.

  As we tour the temple, a familiar face appears. It is a monk named Mingji, a former resident of Cypress Grove Monastery and fellow student with Bright Sea under Jinghui. He says some words to Bright Sea, who suddenly grabs my hand and leads me back toward the Buddha Hall. A minute later Bright Sea is pulling me behind him as he enters a side door of the hall. I try to hold back, but he is insistent. As we enter, instead of turning toward the center of the hall itself, Bright Sea leads me out the front door to a wide rostrum where rows of chairs filled with high monks and officials are sitting. Now I really try to stop and go the opposite direction, but several people, including Mingji, push me toward an empty chair only a couple of rows back from front center stage. I notice that there are television crews and camera people shooting the scene. I nearly panic, but now I dare not embarrass everyone by taking flight. I stand for a few moments with everyone else, trying to maintain a facial expression solemn enough to make up for my unshowered, unshaven face and unkempt hair. I think it then becomes apparent even to Mingji, who is standing close to me, that I don’t want to be here. Perhaps having a token and bedraggled foreigner on the platform isn’t that important, so he doesn’t say anything as I turn and walk to the back of the rostrum. Someone then grabs my arm and leads me along the back row to another open seat at the far side. At least here I’m out of the range of the TV cameras, but I still try to avoid sitting down with the high-ranking monks assembled beside me. Yet my hosts are insistent, so I finally sit down in a proffered chair and try to be unobtrusive. Several different officials and high monks now get up, one after another, to address the crowd through a microphone at the front of the wide rostrum. I notice that front and center is Jinghui, the Old Master and abbot of Sizu.

  I first met Jinghui in the ’90s when I sought out and found Cypress Grove Monastery. I’d gone looking for the place where the famous Zen master Zhaozhou once lived. A guide book I had said that nothing remained of the old temple site except a broken-down pagoda that marked Zhaozhou’s grave along with some old cypress trees. As I roamed the streets of Zhaoxian, a provincial town where the temple was located, I noticed a big new temple. I went there and inquired about where I could find Zhaozhou’s old temple site and learned that this was the very place, as a new temple had recently been built on the old site. This was where I later gave the fateful lecture on American Zen. Bright Sea was then only in his late twenties or so and actually looked hardly older than a college student. In contrast to his now photogenic presence, he then seemed rather diminutive. In that first visit to Cypress Grove, Bright Sea arranged for me to meet Jinghui. I learned that some very high officials had been in the temple during the past couple of days, including the fourth-ranking official of the central government. Then I met Jinghui face-to-face. The abbot of one of China’s most important temples, who had just finished talking with high government officials, warmly welcomed a foreign stranger who had wandered in the front gate of the monastery with the status of a tourist.

  The families of several high-ranking Communist officials visit and even study with high-ranking Zen monks. And while it is not widely publicized, high-ranking Communist officials sometimes formally study Zen teachings. Zen is regarded even by the party as an important part of China’s cultural and spiritual landscape. It’s regarded as the “orthodox” Buddhist religion of China. The government calls on some Zen monks to refute the heresies of various groups that might threaten political security. Cults that are influenced by Taoist ideas are especially anathema to the government and are targeted for elimination. The reasons for this go deep into history. Taoists have long tended to believe in occult powers, especially embracing things like magic amulets or spiritual mantras that they believe confer protection from harm on their practitioners. I already mentioned the Taoist love of long-life elixirs. Taoist-influenced cults often were involved in political rebellions, thinking they had special powers to protect them from the arrows or bullets of government troops. Such groups appear more dangerous to the government than Buddhists, who are usually content to practice their religion quietly and who tend to emphasize meditation over confrontation. Taoists are bigger political threats than Buddhists.

  This is not to say that Buddhists haven’t led any rebellions. At various times Buddhist monks have been rabble-rousers. This was particularly true around the time that Bodhidharma visited China, the period covering about 470 to 530 CE. Then, under the Wei dynasty that ruled Northern China, several revolts broke out where Buddhist monks rallied peasants against the government. More on this later.

  Jinghui, the Old Master, is the most honored guest and main speaker at the event. Finally, he rises to speak to the crowd. I seize the opportunity to grab my camera from my backpack and retreat completely from the rostrum under the pretext of taking his photograph. Freed at last from the spotlight, I relax again. Jinghui delivers his remarks and his congratulations for the reopening of the temple, and thereupon a cascade of fireworks is set off above the temple’s front gate, signaling an end to the day’s formal activities. As the crowd disperses, a monk motions me to a door leading upstairs to a dining room. Ascending the stairs, I see Bright Sea an
d members of the Cypress Grove Monastery delegation and join them to enjoy a buffet lunch.

  After we’re done eating, Bright Sea pulls me toward the exterior walkway that runs along the side of the building. “Let’s go see him,” he says. I realize that there’s a crowd clustered there, all waiting for the chance to see the Old Master, Jinghui. I feel like an imposter as the crowd opens to let Bright Sea and me pass. But anyway I go along, and soon we find ourselves in a guest reception room where Jinghui sits in front of an enthusiastic crowd of admirers. I go forward to pay my respects. He’s seated and looks up at me as I approach him.

  “Do you remember me?” I ask.

  “Feng Keqiang?” he asks, saying my Chinese name.

  I’d like to ask Jinghui a few questions, but the crowd is pressing into the meeting room. Jinghui’s celebrity now draws throngs of well-wishers. After a few moments Bright Sea and I retreat to a nearby reception room for some photo taking. Soon it’s time to leave, and I fall in with Bright Sea’s entourage to push through the crowd to the front of the temple. We board a waiting bus that fills up quickly behind us. Minutes later we are winding down the mountain en route to the city of Huangmei. After we arrive at Bright Sea’s hotel, he kindly arranges for his private car to return me to the Fourth Ancestor’s Temple.

  While I was dealing with festivities at Laozu Temple, my longtime friend Eric Lu has arrived back at the Fourth Ancestor’s Temple and is waiting for me there upon my return. Eric and I have traveled widely in China together for more than a decade. A college graduate who majored in English, Eric speaks that language with complete fluency. He’s joined me to visit the next few stops on Bodhidharma’s trail.