The Best Buddhist Writing 2010 - Melvin McLeod [107]
In Buddhism there are five kinds of blindness. The first is what we call the blindness of ignorance or separation. The second, the blindness of one who denies the teachings of Buddhism. The third is the blindness of emptiness, where a person first perceives the absolute basis of reality. The fourth is the blindness of attaching to emptiness. The fifth is transcendental blindness, in which there is no distinction between seeing and not seeing.
In the midst of ignorance, we are convinced that we are separate from the mountain and from the rest of the world. We think the world is out there and we are here, contained in this bag of skin. The problem is that when we see ourselves as separate from the rest of the universe, we abdicate our responsibility for it. This is most evident in the way we treat the environment, what we commonly call nature.
In general, we have a very limited understanding of nature. We believe it’s made up of phenomena in the physical world but does not include manufactured objects and human interaction. But the fact is that human beings are nature—just as much as a tree or a spider web or the Brooklyn Bridge is nature.
How can we discount our own role in creating the earth? We’ve altered this planet irreversibly. We’ve produced automobiles, factories, and aerosols. We’ve refined carbon-based fuels. We’ve created global warming. All of these are acts of nature—human nature.
Most of the disasters we face today are human created. Tsunamis and earthquakes kill tens of thousands, but our wars kill millions for profit. Yet we are blind to most of the killing. When we include the human element in our understanding of nature, we become conscious of the fact that we’re responsible for the whole catastrophe. The question then becomes, what will we do about it? When will we do it? What are we waiting for?
3.
We should realize that the blue mountains must be understood on the basis of many phenomenal realms. We must carefully investigate the walking of the blue mountains, as well as the walking of the self. And this investigation should include walking backward as well as backward walking. We should investigate the fact that since that very time before the appearance of any subtle sign, since the age of the King of Emptiness, walking both forward and backward has never stopped for a moment. If walking had ever rested, sages and wise ones would never have appeared; if walking were limited, these ancient teachings would never have reached the present. Walking forward has never ceased; walking backward has never ceased. Walking forward does not oppose walking backward, nor does walking backward oppose walking forward. This virtue is called “the mountain flowing,” it is also called “the flowing mountain.”
COMMENTARY
Though we may speak of it, it cannot be conveyed;
try to picture it, yet it cannot be seen.
When the universe collapses, “it” is indestructible.
Eighteenth-century zen master Tenkei Denson, who wrote a commentary on the Mountains and Rivers Sutra, suggests that Dogen’s reference to “walking backward and backward walking” in this passage was actually a mistake, that Dogen really meant to say “walking backward and walking forward.” Walking forward is activity, creation. Walking backward is stillness, extinction. Creation and extinction, or activity and stillness, are both characteristics of the blue mountain. When the mountain advances—when you’re advancing—activity covers everything. When there is receding, stillness overtakes everything. There is nothing outside of it. But whether the correct translation is “backward walking” or “walking forward,” the spirit of what Dogen is pointing to remains the same—whole