⏑−⏑−¦−⏑⏑¦−⏑−⏑−¦¦⏑−⏑−¦−⏑⏑¦−⏑−⏑− Vaṁśastha
imā
hi śocyā vyavamukta-bhūṣaṇāḥ
prasakta-bāṣpāvila-rakta-locanāḥ
|
⏑−⏑−¦−⏑⏑¦−⏑−⏑−¦¦⏑−⏑−¦−⏑⏑¦−⏑−⏑−
sthite 'pi patyau
himavan-mahī-same pranaṣṭa-śobhā
vidhavā iva striyaḥ || 8.36
8.36
These
women are deeply to be commiserated,
who
have shed embellishments,
Whose
bloodshot eyes have been clouded forever by tears,
Who
– though their master is still there,
standing
firm on those flat Himalayan uplands
[or
remaining as constant as the Himalayas or the Earth]
[or
being the same as the Himalayas and the earth]
[or
being as even as the snow-clad earth]
[or
being as even as the ground in the Himalayas] –
Are
like widows who lost their former lustre.
COMMENT:
For
anybody who likes to dig, today's verse allows a lot of digging to be
done.
On
the surface, Yaśodharā is describing as “to be sorrowed for”
(śocyāḥ), the women of Kapilavāstu who have lost their lustre
(pranaṣṭa-śobhāḥ),
taking lustre in the sense defined by the Merriam-Webster dictionary
of
2a
: a glow of light from within : luminosity;
2b
: an inner beauty : radiance.
In that case,
- vyavamukta-bhūṣaṇāḥ describes the women as having unfastened their jewellery;
- prasakta-bāṣpāvila-rakta-locanāḥ describes their eyes as reddened by their constant boo-hooing;
- sthite 'pi patyau himavan-mahī-same describes their lord and master (patyau = the prince) being apart from them, Chandaka having left him resolutely standing firm (sthite) on flat Himalayan uplands (himavan-mahī-same).
Below the surface, meanwhile, the usual metaphor is operating in which “the women” (striyaḥ) stand for us, common or garden Zen practitioners, who (ironically) are to be commiserated for having been relegated to the living of a simple life, and thereby having been deprived of our former lustre, taking lustre in the sense defined by the Merriam-Webster dictionary of
3 : a
superficial attractiveness or appearance of excellence.
In that case,
- vyavamukta-bhūṣaṇāḥ ironically describes us girls as shorn of all fripperies and embellishments;
- prasakta-bāṣpāvila-rakta-locanāḥ might ironically describe our tear-stained acceptance of the ever-present reality of faulty sensory appreciation; and
- the description of our master, the Buddha, as sthite 'pi patyau himavan-mahī-same opens up a great big can of worms.
But first a digression...
As I lay heavy-headedly
in bed this Sunday morning, it came into my mind to tell the parable
of Aśvaghoṣa's CAT. The fantasy went like this.
Aśvaghoṣa throws out
cards containing three letters, C, A, and T, and asks a group of bloodshot-eyed girls to make of these letters what we can.
One girl, steeped in
the ways of Rinzai Zen and thus versed in Chinese Zen koans, steps up
and tells the story of Nansen's CAT.
“No,” says Aśvaghoṣa, “not that.”
Up steps another girl,
one who has eschewed study of koans but who has devoted herself single-mindedly, four times every day, to moku-sho-zen,
the Zen of silent contemplation, or just sitting.
“To me,” girl
number two ventures, those three letters spell out TAC, that is, a
needle, or a stimulus, for Zazen.
“No,” says Aśvaghoṣa, “not that.”
A third girl stands up
and with iron self-confidence prostates herself three times, arranges
the three letters to spell out ACT, and stands silently by her seat,
detachedly awaiting Aśvaghoṣa's affirmation.
“No,” says Aśvaghoṣa, “not that either.”
“The word I had in
mind,” the old Horse-whisperer says, winking, “was TACT.”
In
the 3rd
pāda of today's verse the enigmatic compound himavan-mahī-same is
somewhat akin to the three letters A, C, and T in the above flight of
fancy. What are we to make of it?
Each
of the three professors took himavan (Mount Himavat/the Himalayas) and mahī (the earth) as
separate elements; hence:
though
their lord still stands as unshaken as the earth or Mount Himavat
(EBC);
though
their lord is still in existence as much as are the Himalayas or the
earth (EHJ);
though
their husband remains alive, like the earth or Himalayas (PO).
At
the same time, EHJ recognized that there might be more than one way
to understand the compound, noting that
himavan-mahī-same has several meanings, primarily as in the translation; Kapilavāstu being in the foothills, one is at liberty to imagine Yaśodharā enforcing the point with a gesture towards the snowpeaks, whose visibility to all present would back up her assertion. Secondarily it implies as C [the Chinese translation; 依止如雪山, 安意如大地 ] has it, “as reliable as the snowy mountain, as steadfast as the great earth.” It may also mean, as Formichi takes it, 'on the plain (i.e. the upland) of the Himalayas,' Chandaka having left the prince in the terai under the mountains (see BC7.39).
Following
EHJ, PO noted further
The comparison probably has many facets. Siddhārtha remains steadfast and real like the earth or the Himalayas, but yet unconcerned and withdrawn. He exists, but is of no use. Alternatively, the compound himavan-mahī-same can also refer to the uplands of the Himalayas where Chanda left him.
To
take the compound himavan-mahī-same word by word,
- himavat as an adjective means “having snow” or “snow-clad” and as a noun it means the snowy mountain or mountains, the Himalayas.
- mahī means the earth, both in the sense of planet Earth and in the sense of earth, ground, land.
- same is the word that really opens up the can of worms, since it could mean so many things.
As
a noun expressing the location of the action of sthite (standing),
same ostensibly means “level ground” but it could also mean
“equability, equanimity, imperturbability.”
As
an adjectival suffix, same could be functioning, like iva, to indicate the making of a comparison -- the comparison in question being between sthite (remaining) and himavan-mahī (the Himalayas and the earth).
And
as an adjective describing sthite (standing, standing firm,
continuing in existence), same could mean “constant”
or “even” or “normal” or “upright,” and so on.
Where
to begin?
The
starting point, as I was taught to think by Gudo Nishijima, is
idealism. Thus, in the first phase,
we might take sama as meaning “constant” or “eternal,” so
that himavan-mahī-same is describing our Master, Gautama Buddha, as
“constant/eternal as the Himalayas or the Earth.” The point,
then, if we were Buddhists who worshipped Gautama Buddha like Jews
and Christians and Muslims worship God, would be to think of our Lord
Buddha as eternally present.
The
second phase is antithetical to the idealism of the first phase.
Thus, if the idealistic thesis is that our Lord Buddha is eternally present,
the antithesis is that our Lord Buddha was an impermanent human being
who, when he died, was cremated, and then the ashes were taken off in
different directions. Furthermore, thinking sceptically or
scientifically at the second phase, the Himalayas and the Earth –
though both are relatively constant, at least in comparison with
something as flimsy as a human life – are also subject in the end
to the 2nd
law of thermodynamics. This susceptibility to change of even the
Himalayas is nowhere more dramatically illustrated than by the
presence of marine fossils at the top of Himalayan peaks. At the
second phase then, the master is “the same as the Himalayas and the
earth,” in that he is subject, as everything else in the material
world is subject, to the law of impermanence.
In
the third phase, we are not here to be idealistic and not here to be
materialistic. We are here to act!
(Sounds good, doesn't it? -- a bit
like big girl no. 3 in the parable. Do I sound like a Zen master?
Would anybody like to embellish me with a Japanese title, like Roshi, and give me a Roshi stick?)
Even when all the bold preachiness has been dropped off, we are still here, in the third phase, to act. We are here
to sit. We are here to practice sitting-meditation. We are here to
ride our bicycles, and in so riding to investigate the principle that
so long as we keep pedalling we can stay in balance for miles and
miles and miles, but if we stop pedalling it is very difficult to
remain in balance. So in the third phase there is a close
interrelation between action and balance, or between keeping moving and staying still and even.
In The Long Discourse Giving Advice to Rāhula, the Buddha tells Rāhula
(in Pali):
Paṭhavī-samaṁ
Rāhula bhāvanaṁ bhāvehi.
“Develop the
meditation, Rāhula, that is to be even as the earth.”
Or
“Cultivate that work
on the self, Rāhula, which is to be even as the earth.”
In this memorable
phrase, samam means even, flat, balanced.
In
the third phase, then, I take himavan-mahī-same
as meaning “even as the snow-clad earth” – in the sense that
the earth is originally even, and when it is covered in thick layers
of snow it becomes even more even.
In
the fourth phase, as Gudo Nishijima taught it, are combined all the
elements of the three previous phases. Hence, it has been said since ancient times 諸法実相 (Jap: SHOHO-JISSO), all dharmas are real form. And to realize this truth, girls like us are required to park our arses on round black cushions,
put right feet on left thighs, left feet on right thighs, and aim to
drill holes in our cushions with our ischial tuberosities.
Even
while being all-inclusive and all-affirming, the fourth phase
demonstrates a certain antipathy towards the grasping intellect.
Hence, for example:
When
we express it in the further ascendant state,
just what is the Buddha-nature?
just what is the Buddha-nature?
Have you fully
understood?
Three heads and
eight arms!
The fourth phase thus
tends to be characterized by irony and by paradoxes -- but no more so than reality itself is characterized by irony and paradoxes.
In
BC8.32 Yaśodharā can be read as saying, paradoxically but truly,
me
samaṁ kampate manaḥ,
“my
mind wavers in a balanced manner.”
In today's verse,
at the fourth phase, same can be read as expressing a still more striking paradox.
The
point is that, a priori, we tend to think of wavering and being
balanced, as opposite conceptions. But when we investigate in
practice what it means to stay balanced, like a good surfer for
example stays balanced, balance turns out to be all about wavering –
as opposed, in particular, to fixing.
Again, the Himalayas might be
thought of as the last place on earth where the ground is flat. So
sthite himavan-mahī-same, if we translate it as “remaining as even
as the ground in the Himalayas” at first glance seems paradoxical. In some sense, then, “the ground in the Himalayas” works less well as
a metaphor for balance than does the “the snow-clad earth.” But
in some sense “the ground in the Himalayas” works much better
than “the snow-clad earth” as a metaphor for what we are
pursuing, or for what is pursuing us, in sitting-meditation. In what sense does the Himalayan landscape work better as a metaphor for samādhi? In the sense that the bumpy Himalayan landscape is conspicuously real in its own right, and is not only a metaphor that some bright spark has thought up to make a Buddhist point.
It
is now quarter past eleven already and I have knackered myself out
writing this comment.
I
think the reason the parable of Aśvaghoṣa's CAT bubbled up from my
unconscious mind in my sleep is as a response to seeing myself, and
at the same time not wanting to see myself, as engaged in some kind
of competition with EH Johnston and Patrick Olivelle, two professors
who already understood that himavan-mahī-same was a deliberately
ambiguous phrase. If I have put those two professors squarely in
their place, demonstrating that their puny spadework barely scratched
the surface of the tortoise, have I thereby served Aśvaghoṣa?
If
Aśvaghoṣa were alive today, would he pat me fondly upon the head
and say, “Thank you, Mike, for being a paragon and champion of TACT”?
I
somehow doubt it.
So
the parable of Aśvaghoṣa's CAT might be a warning to clever dicks
everywhere, and especially to anybody aspiring to be head girl
because of her mighty intellect, that even when we feel very sure
that we have understood Aśvaghoṣa's intention, we very probably
haven't understood yet. Maybe when we have understood a tree of life
in the garden, or got to the bottom of the Himalayas and the Earth,
then we will be able to say that we have understood Aśvaghoṣa's
intention.
VOCABULARY
imāḥ
(nom. pl. f.): these [women]
hi:
for
śocyāḥ
(nom. pl. f.): mfn. to be lamented (n. impers.) , deplorable ,
miserable
śuc:
to suffer violent heat or pain , be sorrowful or afflicted , grieve
, mourn at or for ; to bewail , lament , regret (acc.) ; to be
absorbed in deep meditation
vyavamukta-bhūṣaṇāḥ
(nom. pl. f.): their ornaments unfastened
vy-ava-
√ muc: to unloose , unfasten , take off
bhūṣaṇa:
n. embellishment , ornament , decoration
prasakta-bāṣpāvila-rakta-locanāḥ
(nom. pl. f.)
prasakta:
mfn. mfn. attached , cleaving or adhering or devoted to ; continual ,
lasting , constant , eternal
bāṣpa:
n. tears
āvila:
mfn. turbid (as a fluid) , foul , not clear ; (ifc.) polluted by or
mixed with
rakta:
mfn. coloured , dyed , painted ; reddened, red ; excited , affected
with passion or love
locana:
n. " organ of sight " , the eye
sthite
(loc. sg. m.): mfn. standing ; standing firm ; standing , staying ,
situated , resting or abiding or remaining in (loc. or comp.) ; being
or remaining or keeping in any state or condition (loc.)
api:
even, though
patyau
(loc. sg.): m. a master , owner , possessor , lord , ruler ,
sovereign ; a husband
himavan-mahī-same
(loc. sg. m.):
himavat:
mfn. having frost or snow , snowy , frosty , icy , snow-clad ; m. a
snowy mountain ; the himālaya
mahī:
f. " the great world " , the earth (in later language also
= ground , soil , land , country); earth (as a substance); space
sama:
mfn. even , smooth , flat , plain , level , parallel ; same , equal
, similar , like , equivalent , like to or identical or homogeneous
with (instr. e.g. mayā sama , " like to me " ; or gen. ,
rarely abl.) , like in or with regard to anything (instr. gen. loc. ,
or -tas , or comp.) ; always the same , constant , unchanged , fair ,
impartial ; having the right measure , regular , normal , right ,
straight ; equable , neutral , indifferent ; just , upright , good ,
straight , honest ; full , complete , whole , entire ; m. peace
(perhaps w.r. for śama) ; n. level ground , a plain (samé bhū́myāḥ
, " on level ground ") ; n. equability , equanimity ,
imperturbability
pranaṣṭa-śobhāḥ
(nom. pl. f.): having lost all lustre
pranaṣṭa:
mfn. lost , disappeared , vanished , ceased , gone , perished ,
destroyed , annihilated
śobhā:
f. splendour , brilliance , lustre , beauty , grace , loveliness
vidhavāḥ
(nom. pl.): f. (accord. to some fr. vi + dhava) a husbandless woman
, widow
dhava:
m. (said by some to be fr. √ dhū , but more probably a secondary
formation fr. vi-dhávā) a man , husband
√ dhū:
to shake, agitate ; to strive against , resist
iva:
like
striyaḥ
(nom. pl. f.): women
此諸貴夫人 憂悴毀形好
涕泣氣息絶 雨涙横流下
夫主尚在世 依止如雪山
安意如大地 憂悲殆至死
涕泣氣息絶 雨涙横流下
夫主尚在世 依止如雪山
安意如大地 憂悲殆至死
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