Gyōji (行持) — Continuous Practice | PART TWO

“Our benevolent spiritual father, Great Master Shakyamuni Buddha, had been observing ceaseless practice deep in the mountains from the nineteenth year of His life until His thirtieth year, when there arose the ceaseless practice by which He realized the Way simultaneously with the great earth and its sentient beings. Up through the eightieth year of His life, He was still doing ceaseless practice in the mountains, and in the forests, and in the monasteries. He did not return to His father’s royal palace or assume governance over the prosperity of the nation. For clothing, He kept to the large sanghati robe—the kind that monks still wear—and He did not exchange it for another type of robe for the rest of His life. He did not exchange His alms bowl for another one during His lifetime, and He never stayed alone, not even once in a day. He did not reject so much as a single worthless alms offering from either ordinary folk or those in lofty positions, and He bore with patience the insults of non-Buddhists. In sum, His whole life was ceaseless practice. It can never be said that the Buddha’s examples of washing His robe and accepting alms for His food were not ceaseless practice.

The Eighth Indian Ancestor, the Venerable Makakashō, was the Venerable Shakyamuni’s Dharma heir. Throughout his life he completely devoted himself to the ceaseless practice of the twelve zudas. The twelve zudas are as follows:

(1) Not to accept personal invitations from people, but to go on alms round for one’s food each day. Also, not to accept money with which to purchase even part of a monk’s meal.
(2) To lodge overnight on a mountain and not to stay in the dwelling of ordinary folk, in a highly populated district, or in some town or village.
(3) Not to beg people for clothing. Also, not to accept any clothing that is offered by people, but simply to take the clothing of the dead that has been discarded at gravesides.
(4) To lodge under a tree within some field, whether cultivated or not.
(5) To eat one meal per day. This is sometimes called sunka sunnai.
(6) Not to lie down, day or night, but simply to sleep while sitting up or to do walking meditation when drowsy. This is sometimes called sunnai sashakyō.
(7) To possess only three robes and never to have an extra robe. Also, not to sleep wrapped in a blanket.
(8) To reside in cemeteries and not to take up permanent residence in Buddhist temples or among people. To do seated meditation and seek the Way while looking directly at the skulls and bones of the dead.
(9) To desire merely to live by oneself, without desiring to meet other people or to sleep amidst a group of people.
(10) To eat the raw fruits of trees and plants first, and then to eat one’s cooked food. After having finished eating one’s cooked food, to not then eat the raw fruits of trees and plants.
(11) To be content to sleep out in the open, without seeking shelter under some tree.
(12) Not to eat meat. Also, not to eat processed milk products or apply hemp oil to one’s body.

These are the twelve zudas. The Venerable Makakashō did not regress or turn away from these throughout his whole lifetime. Even though the Tathagata’s Treasure House of the Eye of the True Teaching was directly Transmitted to him, he did not step back from practicing these zudas.

The Buddha once said to him, “You are already one who is old in years, so you should eat what the other monks eat.”
The Venerable Makakashō replied, “If I had not met the Tathagata in this lifetime, I would have been a pratyekabuddha. I would have resided all my life in mountains and forests. Fortunately, I encountered the Tathagata in this lifetime and have been blessed with the beneficence of the Dharma. Even so, in the end, I will not eat as the other monks in the community eat.”
The Tathagata praised him for that.

On another occasion, because Makakashō had been ceaselessly practicing these zudas, his body had grown emaciated. When the assembly of monks saw him, they belittled him. Thereupon, the Tathagata cordially summoned Makakashō and made room for him on half His seat. The Venerable Makakashō sat down on the Tathagata’s seat. You need to keep in mind that Makakashō was a senior monk of long standing in the Buddha’s assembly. We cannot fully enumerate the ways in which he ceaselessly practiced for his whole life.

The Tenth Indian Ancestor, the Venerable Barishiba, once vowed that for the rest of his life he would not let his ribs touch his mat. Even though he was eighty-six years old, he did his utmost in practicing the Way and was soon given the one-to-one Transmission of the Great Dharma. Because he did not let his days and nights idly slip by, he was given the one-to-one Transmission of the True Eye of Enlightenment after barely three years of effort. The Venerable One had been in his mother’s womb for sixty years, and when he was born, his hair was already white. Because he kept to his vow not to lie down like a corpse, he was called ‘The One of Venerable Ribs’. In the dark, he would release a radiance from his hands by means of which he was able to read the Scriptures and thereby procure the Dharma. This was a strange and wondrous trait that he was born with.

The One of Venerable Ribs was almost eighty years old when he renounced home life and dyed his robes.
A young man who lived in the area asked him, “You foolish, decrepit old man, how can you be so dim-witted? Besides, those who leave home life to become monks have two kinds of undertakings: first, they learn how to meditate; second, they chant the Scriptures. You are now feeble and senile, so there is no way for you to progress by doing either. To put it simply, you will carelessly muddy up the waters and will fill your stomach with alms offerings to no purpose.”

The One of Venerable Ribs, upon hearing these rebukes and snide remarks, then thanked the man and made a vow, saying, “I will not let my ribs touch my mat until I have thoroughly mastered the fundamental meaning of the Tripitaka, cut off all craving for anything within the three worlds of desire, form, and beyond form, obtained the six marvelous spiritual abilities, and equipped myself with the eight kinds of detachment from delusion.”

From that time on, there was not even one day that he did not practice walking and seated meditation, as well as practicing mindful meditation while standing still. During the day, he investigated and learned the Scriptures and Their underlying principles; at night, he calmed his discriminatory thinking and cooled down his active mind. Continuing on in this way for three years, he explored and thoroughly mastered the Tripitaka, cut off his craving for the three worlds, and attained the wise discernment which arises from the three forms of clarity. People at that time, out of deep respect, gave him the name of the One of Venerable Ribs.

The One of Venerable Ribs left the womb after having first spent sixty years there. Surely he must have been doing his best even whilst in the womb. After he left the womb, it was almost eighty years before he sought to leave home life and explore the Way. This was a hundred and forty years after he was conceived! Truly, he was an extraordinary person, and even so, he was a decrepit old man who must have been more decrepit and more old than anyone else. He had already attained old age whilst still in the womb, and he was advanced in years since having left the womb. Even so, he paid no heed to the slanderous and snide remarks made by people of his time and single-mindedly kept to his vow, never turning away from it. Who could possibly think it would be an easy task to try to emulate his spiritual wisdom?

Do not regret your reaching old age. It is difficult to know what this thing called life really is. Is a person ‘really living’ or ‘not really living’? Is a person ‘old’ or ‘not old’? The four perspectives are completely different; all the various types of perspectives are different as well. Just concentrate on your intention and make your utmost effort to pursue the Way. In your pursuit of the Way, train as if you were facing a life-and-death situation: it is not simply your pursuit of the Way within life-and-death. People today have become so foolish as to set aside their pursuit of the Way upon reaching the age of fifty or sixty, or upon reaching seventy or eighty. Although we are naturally aware of how long we have lived, this is simply the human mind energetically engaged in discriminating and has nothing to do with studying the Way. Do not concern yourself with being in the prime of life or having reached old age. Just be single-minded in exploring the Way thoroughly and diligently, for then you will stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the One of Venerable Ribs.

Do not always be lamenting the fact that you will end up as a pile of dirt in a graveyard. Do not spend your time worrying about it. If you do not single-mindedly devote yourself to reaching the Other Shore, who will rescue you? When people are aimlessly wandering about in the wilderness like skeletons without a Master, they need to cultivate right perception so that they may fashion an eye for themselves.”

SENSEI MICHAEL BRUNNER COMMENTARY

We move here from principle into embodiment. It is one thing to speak about ceaseless practice, to say that nothing falls outside of it. It is another thing entirely to live in such a way that there is no gap between realization and how one actually moves through the world.

This is where realization, if it remains an idea, is meaningless. If it does not express itself as actualization, if it does not take form in the way we live, relate, work, respond, then it is nothing more than something we think about. Something we visit and then leave behind. That is not the Way.

What is being shown here is a life where realization does not sit apart. It is not something possessed. It is not something concluded. It is something that must function. It must show itself. And it shows itself as ceaseless practice, as a life that does not step outside of the Way at any point.

This directly challenges the assumption that realization resolves practice. It does not. It demands it. It removes the ability to compartmentalize. There is no longer a “practice time” and a “life time.” There is only this life, and the question is whether realization is functioning within it or being set aside.

So the emphasis shifts. Not “Have I realized something?” but “Is it being lived?” Because if it is not being lived, it is not complete. It is not actual. It has not penetrated.

This is why the dhūtas are brought forward. These are not arbitrary rules, and they are not moral constraints imposed from the outside. They are expressions of a life that has nothing extra. They strip away the ways we pad our existence, the ways we create comfort, identity, and separation. Not as punishment, but as clarity.

This is why the lives that are pointed to here matter. Not as ideals, not as something to imitate externally, but as demonstrations of what it looks like when realization is no longer held as something separate. Nothing is added to these lives to make them spiritual. Nothing is removed to make them ordinary. The distinction collapses because realization is functioning everywhere.

So again, it comes right back to us. Not whether realization is present, but whether it is being actualized. Whether this moment, as it is being lived, is being lived from that, or whether we are continuing to hold it at a distance as something we think we understand.

Because if realization is real, it cannot remain still. It must move. It must take form. It must become the way this life is lived.