For several days, I have felt an exuberant, political need

to love, to kiss affection on its two cheeks,

and I have felt from afar a demonstrative

desire, another desire to love, willingly or by force,

whoever hates me, whoever rips up his paper, a little boy,

the woman who cries for the man who was crying,

the king of wine, the slave of water,

whoever hid in his wrath,

whoever sweats, whoever passes, whoever shakes his person in my soul.

And I want, therefore, to adjust

the braid of whoever talks to me; the hair of the soldier;

the light of the great one; the greatness of the little one.

I want to iron directly

a handkerchief for whoever is unable to cry

and, when I am sad or happiness hurts me,

to mend the children and the geniuses.

I want to help the good one become a little bit bad

and I badly need to be seated

on the right-hand of the left-handed, and to respond to the mute,

trying to be useful to him as

I can, and also I want very much

to wash the lame man’s foot,

and to help the nearby one-eyed man sleep.

During the dearth and lack of those two thousand
Million years of death, one wished primarily
Just to grasp tightly, to compose, to circle,
To link and fasten skillfully, as one
Crusty grey bryozoan builds upon another
To be anything particular, flexing and releasing
In controlled spasms, to make boundaries-replicating
Chains, membranes, epitheliums—to latch on with power
As hooked mussels now adhere to rocky beaches;
To roll up tightly, fistlike, as a water possum,
Spine and skin, curls against the cold;
To become godlike with transformation.

And in that time one eventually wished,
With the dull swell and fall of the surf, to rise up
Out of oneself, to move straight into the violet
Billowing of evening as a willed structure of flight
Trailing feet, or by six pins to balance
Above the shore on a swollen blue lupine, tender,
Almost sore with sap, to shimmer there,
Specific and alone, two yellow wings
Like splinters of morning.

Arousing the aspiration for enlightenment is making a vow to bring all sentient beings [to the shore of enlightenment] before you bring yourself, and actualizing the vow. Even a humble person who arouses this aspiration is already a guiding teacher of all sentient beings.

This aspiration is neither originally existent nor does it emerge all of a sudden. It is neither one nor many. It is neither spontaneous nor formed gradually. This aspiration is not in yourself, nor are you in it.

This aspiration is not pervasive in this world of phenomena. It is neither before nor after. It is neither existent nor nonexistent. It is neither self nature nor other nature. It is neither common nature nor causeless nature.

Yet, in response to affinity [between the teacher and the student], the aspiration for enlightenment arises. It is not given by buddhas or bodhisattvas, and it is not created by yourself. The aspiration arises in response to affinity, thus it is spontaneous.

This aspiration for enlightenment has been aroused mostly by humans who live in the Southern Continent, Jambudvipa. It has also been aroused by those who abide in the eight difficult situations [to attain enlightenment], but not by most of them.

After arousing the aspiration for enlightenment, bodhisattvas practice for many eons, for one hundred great eons. They practice for countless eons, become buddhas, awaken, and benefit sentient beings through this bodhisattva determination.

Is an optimist necessarily a blithe, slightly sappy whistler in the dark of our time? I am totally confident not that the world will get better, but that only confidence can prevent people from giving up the game before all the cards have been played. The metaphor is deliberate; life is a gamble. Not to play is to foreclose any chance of winning. To play, to act, is to create at least a possibility of changing the world.

What leaps out from the history of the past hundred years is its utter unpredictability. This confounds us, because we are talking about exactly the period when human beings became so ingenious technologically that they could plan and predict the exact time of someone landing on the moon, or walk down the street talking to someone halfway around the Earth.

Who foresaw that, on that day in Montgomery, Alabama, in 1955, when Rosa Parks refused to move from the front of the bus, this would lead to a mass protest of black working people, and a chain of events that would shake the nation, startle the world, and transform the South?

I believe that solutions do exist to our problems. But will we find them? That’s another question. As Einstein said, problems can never be resolved at the level at which they were created. The environmental crisis was caused by the human mind—or more accurately, by the ways in which we habitually use it. But problems created by the mind cannot be resolved by the mind.

We are used to turning to the mind for guidance, and when it can’t make out the path, we tend to feel hopeless. Yet if we can make peace with the fact that our mind is not in control of this journey, then we can open to the possibility of what some might call a miracle. We usually think of miracles as events that contradict the laws of nature, as when Jesus turned water into wine. But the kind of miracle I’m talking about here does not contradict nature. Rather, it’s guided by the intelligence of nature itself, who is the ultimate miracle worker.
 

The great Indian masters of Nalanda Monastery set out two principal methods for generating bodhichitta: the seven-point cause-and-effect method and the method of equalizing and exchanging self and others.

In the seven-point cause-and-effect method, you visualize every being as your own beloved mother or as another person for whom you have the utmost affection—someone who for you embodies great kindness. To practice this aspect of the method, call up the feelings of affection that arise with regard to one’s mother or another maternally kind and loving person and then extend those feelings to every other being, perceiving that each being has been equally kind and loving to you. When we truly realize our interconnectedness over the scope of beginningless lifetimes, we realize that every other being has been our parent and has treated us with this same loving and nurturing kindness.
 

Just as the Sugatas of old adopted the Spirit of Awakening, and just as they properly conformed to the practice of the Bodhisattvas,

So I myself shall generate the Spirit of Awakening for the sake of the world; and so I myself shall properly engage in those practices.

Upon gladly adopting the Spirit of Awakening in this way, an intelligent person should thus nurture the Spirit in order to fulfill his wish.

Now my life is fruitful. Human existence is well obtained. Today I have been born into the family of the Buddhas. Now I am a Child of the Buddha.

Thus, whatever I do now should accord with [the Bodhisattvas’] family, and it should not be like a stain on this pure family.

Just as a blind man might find a jewel amongst heaps of rubbish, so this Spirit of Awakening has somehow arisen in me.

It is the elixir of life produced to vanquish death in the world. It is an inexhaustible treasure eliminating the poverty of the world.

It is the supreme medicine that alleviates the illness of the world.

It is the tree of rest for beings exhausted from wandering on the pathways of mundane existence.

It is the universal bridge for all travelers on their crossing over miserable states of existence.

It is the rising moon of the mind that soothes the mental afflictions of the world.

It is the great sun dispelling the darkness of the world’s ignorance.
 

Generally we look at life in terms of two questions: “Will I get something out of this?” or “Will this hurt me?” We may seem serene, but under that surface of serenity these two questions bubble and boil. We come to a spiritual practice like Zen trying to find the peace and satisfaction that has so far eluded us, and what do we do? We take the same habits that we lived with all our lives and put our practice into that same framework. We set up one goal after another, continuing this lifelong habit of running after something: “I wonder how many koans I can pass this sesshin”; or “I’ve been sitting longer than she, but she seems to be progressing more quickly”; or “My zazen was so wonderful yesterday—if only I could get it back again.” In one way or another, our approach to practice is based on the same struggle to achieve something: to be recognized by our peers, to be important in the Zen world, to find a safe hole to hide in. We’re doing the same thing we’ve always done; we’re expecting something (in this case Zen practice) to give us satisfaction and safety.
 

So you question, what is this? What is great faith? What is the Buddha Way? What is the dharma? Who am I? What is it? The more serious faith you have, the more serious the questioning that may or may not arise. If this questioning does arise, it is ideal to focus on. Then the third prerequisite, great determination, naturally follows. The more serious you are in resolving this matter, the more desperate you feel, the stronger your determination becomes, and a clearer, quicker answer is realized. What is that answer? The answer is already there as your life. Your life is no other than that!

By such an awakening, you assure yourself that this life has always been the Way. The awakening experience is important, but relatively speaking, it is rather minor. What is more important? This life that we are constantly living minute after minute is most important. Our practice is here! Now! How to do it? In fact you are doing it. Please, I do not know how to say it: focus or unfocus. Focus in the sense that this life is the life of the buddhas! Live it and clarify it! On the other hand, if we are trying to figure out what to do with our so-called limited or confined conscious mind, then unfocus. Let go of that. Forget about it!