DĀNA: THE WAY TO BEGIN

When someone brings me a flower I vow with all beings

to renew my practice of dāna,

the gift, the way to begin.

This is a gatha I included in The Dragon Who Never Sleeps. The idea that dāna, or giving, is the way to begin your practice, is not original with me, but is found in the earliest literature:

A monk asked Hui-hai, "By what means can the gateway of our

school be entered?"

Hui-hai said, "By means of the dāna Paramita."

The monk said, "According to the Buddha, the

Bodhisattva Path comprises six Paramitas. Why have you

mentioned only the one? Please explain why this one alone

provides a sufficient means for us to enter."

Hui-hai said, "Deluded people fail to understand that

the other five all proceed from the dāna Paramita and that

by its practice all the others are fulfilled."

The monk asked, "Why is it called the dāna Paramita?"

Hui-hai said, "'dāna' means 'relinquishment.'"

The monk asked, "Relinquishment of what?"

Hui-hai said, "Relinquishment of the dualism of

opposites, which means relinquishment of ideas as to the

dual nature of good and bad, being and non-being, void and

non-void, pure and impure, and so on."

Hui-hai does not include the dualism of self and other in his list of dichotomies we must relinquish but it is clear that he intends that it be included, for he goes on to say, "By a single act of relinquishment, everything is relinquished...I exhort you students to practice the way of relinquishment and nothing else, for it brings to perfection not only the other five Paramitas but also myriads of other [practices]."

This total relinquishment is the self forgotten, the dropped-away body and mind. This act of dropping away is dāna, out-flowing as food and housing and clothing and money, and dāna, out-flowing as the Buddha's teaching of wisdom and compassion. It is not giving money or food in order to receive the teaching. It is not teaching in order to gain sustenance. The two acts arise as pratitya-samutpada, mutual co-arising.

Thus dāna is not obligation; it is not sacrifice; it is not compassion. I think it is an expression of gratitude. The English word gratitude is related to grace. It is the enjoyment of receiving as expressed in giving. It is a living, vivid mirror, in which giving and receiving form a dynamic practice of interaction. For receiving, too, is a practice. Look at the word arigato, Japanese for "thank you." It means literally, "I have difficulty." In other words, "Your kindness makes it hard for me to respond with equal grace." Yet the practice of gift-giving lies at the heart of Japanese culture. The word arigato expresses the practice of receiving.

Pratitya-samutpada, is the fundamental phenomenon that the Buddha clarified in his teaching. This is because that is. This arises when that arises. When you smile, everyone smiles. When you are sad, everyone is sad. When you give, everyone gives, including the teacher, including our ancestors. Taking part in this primordial Tao, your contribution brings everyone's contribution. Quoting from my essay on Money:

Kuan-yin distills the dāna of primal society, of circulating

the gift that nurtures families and clans. At a single

festival, a necklace of precious shells becomes two dozen

precious pendants. At a single market holiday, a knife

becomes salt and salt becomes a colt. The honor of a new

chief is spread by blankets far and wide. Of course, Mara

blows his smoke through these exchanges. Did the primal

peoples know Mara from Kuan-yin? They never heard of either,

of course, but they knew greed when they saw it and so do we

as well.

In early Buddhist society, the Tao of dāna made the teaching possible. The fundamental needs of monks for food, housing, clothing, and medicine were met by lay followers, who were in turn sustained by the Dharma. This is the simultaneous circulation of the gift that brings forth the Dharma to our own time and place.

Greed can motivate the circulation too, so fundamentally it is as a gift of self that dāna brightens and clarifies the Dharma, the Buddha Way, and with continued unfolding it brings natural authority for more brightening and clarifying. You see its power in those who are acknowledged as leaders in traditional societies. In American history, it is the authority of John Quincy Adams, who accepted his defeat as a candidate for a second term as President with good grace and served selflessly in the House of Representatives for the last seventeen years of his long career of public service. In Buddhist history, it is Tou-shuai relinquishing his role of master and returning to practice as a monk. In relinquishing conventional power, Adams and Tou-shuai found the authority of the timeless. They pass it on to us, and with each gift of empowerment the strength of dāna in the world is enhanced. The Wheel of the Dharma turns accordingly.

Mu-chou, a disciple of the great Huang-po, became a great teacher in turn. However, he did not spend all his time in formal teaching. Between visitors, he occupied himself with making straw sandals of the kind worn by monks on pilgrimage. Such sandals are carefully crafted, but they wear out. So Mu-chou would weave them in various sizes and put them beside the highway. Monks would come along say, "Oh, look at those nice sandals. I wonder where they came from? Let's see now, here's my size." And they would go on, with feelings of great gratitude. For a long time nobody knew who was making the sandals until finally Mu-chou was found out and became known as the "Sandal Monk."

Mu-chou practiced in his hut by the road, teaching and crafting sandals--and we practice in our own circumstances. dāna is simply remembering what we are, avatars of the Buddha, and practicing our giving where we are. There is no need to call it "dāna Paramita." You and I are perfecting our out-flowing selves, saving the many beings as we greet one another and encourage one another.

Dogen Zenji said that giving a single phrase or verse of the teaching becomes a good seed in this life and other lives:

When one learns well, being born and dying are both giving.

All productive labor is fundamentally giving. Entrusting

flowers to the wind, birds to the season, also must be

meritorious acts of giving....It is not only a matter of

exerting physical effort; one should not miss the right

opportunity.

Birth and death are both ultimate forms of giving, but the key to the practice of dāna is Dogen's observation that will and aspiration are its roots. Bodhichitta, the endeavor and hope for Buddhahood, is the fundamental motive. This is not merely endeavor and hope for personal realization. I return so often to the words of Hui-neng about the first of the "Great Vows for All," the Four Bodhisattva Vows: "The many beings are numberless; I vow to save them." This, Hui-neng said, is a matter of saving them in my own mind. There are many ways to understand this. One would be, "I vow to cultivate an attitude of saving others, which is no other than the attitude of giving." This can be far more than charity. It can be the gift of body and mind, the experience of "Great Death" in Zen Buddhist terms.

Yet there is no need to wait for any kind of experience. You and I can practice the dāna of trust and respect just as we are, as if it were perfected--and thus it is indeed perfected. With our own personalities and character traits, wearing our clothes and eating our meals, Shakyamuni and Kanzeon practice "as if" we were Buddhas and Bodhisattvas--in our smallest acts of catching the bus and answering the telephone. The will to practice is the only requisite.

-Robert Aitken 2001

posted 2000.04.03

updated 2004.02.27

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