Infinitely Lite

Early in the morning on the day we were leaving Jackson Street in Oakland, I was down on the street, loading our bags into the car. I heard a commotion coming down the sidewalk in my direction. Not totally out of the ordinary for a town like Oakland. I was surprised and unexpectedly accosted by a Chinese Buddhist nun, who was yelling out to any  and all people she passed along the way. She was aggressively suggesting that everyone should chant or recite “Amitabha Buddha,” “A Mi To Fo” in Chinese. When she turned her attention to me,  and saw that I was standing there observing her, she of course approached me still repeating, even admonishing aggressively that I to should say the Name. She also added that I should attempt to follow a vegetarian diet. Of course she couldn’t have known me or my own deep and long history with Chinese Buddhism: the time in monastery in the jungle on a mountain, and the long nights, months, and years of study. And the hundreds of thousands of recitations of that very Name. Or my own profound experience of Recitation Samadhi experienced during a marathon seven day straight retreat of continuous Name recitation. She certainly couldn’t have known, or even accept that I probably knew more about Buddhism then she herself knew.

After speaking together for a while, she suggested that I come to visit her temple on Harrison Street.The name of which escapes me now. She said to come to the 2^nd floor. I spoke a few words of Chinese to her (I actually remember very little Chinese these days; although my pronunciation is still quite good) I pretended that I could speak and understand more than I can. She laughed and said “You no tell me you speak Chinese.” We stayed there for a time talking, then parted ways.

She was wonderful, fanatical. Not at all how I would aspire to be, but for her very walking down the street in Oakland, yelling out the name of the Buddha of Infinite Light and Life, was an unexpected reminder of the thousands upon thousands of recitations I have myself made, back when I had a faith, when I took refuge in the idea or hope that something extraordinary hidden from our deluded view, existed and was in fact more real than reality.

Then there is this whole idea of a Pure Land, a “heaven” if you will, to begin with. It is certainly easy to see that this life is an illusion – on so many – maybe even on every, level.  But does that suggest that minute experiences of bliss or clarity imply a specific locale or reality like a Sukhavati, complete with trillions of Enlightenment Beings, led by an Absolute omniscient Pure Being of Limitless Life, Limitless Light?

In her poem, Death Sunyata Chant: A Rite For Passing Over, the Beat writer Diane Di Prima starts out by quoting Sogyal Rinpoche, himself quoting from “Hidden Adept” of Tibet:

Everything is illusion

But I am confident all is well

She then begins, saying:

If there is a Pure Land

We release the spirit

Send it flying

Into the Buddha’s heart

Everything is illusion

If there are angels 

Will they carry you

Singing

Into the Presence?

I am confident

If the flesh is light and the fire

is a lover

If the ashes are scattered at sea

on the wind or planted in the earth

If all the five elements

Are Wisdom Dakinis

And I am confident that all is well.

Maybe. For many, faith that such a place exists, and faith at all, for that matter, is a necessary component to hold one together in a world that is clearly illusion, populated by the delusional. Indeed, is walking down the street in Oakland calling out and demanding that all must subscribe to any one delusion that irrational? Some of us need it to be more real. At least a little bit.

Is it irrational? Or is it wonderfully irrational… but so right at the same time?