HOMECOMING
Susan Ji-on Postal
In many traditions, the spiritual journey is often seen as a process of coming home, of returning to a state of non-separation and completeness. One of the classic Buddhist descriptions of this process is found in the Lotus Sutra in the parable of the rich man’s son. Here it is in synopsis:
A father and son parted company while the son was still very young.
In the course of time, the father became very rich while the son sank into the
depths of poverty and beggary. Once during the course of his wanderings,
he happened to come to the palatial home of his father.
The father, at once recognizing him, had him brought into his presence.
This only frightened the poor young man and the father had to let him go.
Then he sent two of his attendants to ask the beggar whether he would accept
A job doing menial labor on the rich man’s estate.
The beggar consented and worked in this way, shoveling manure, for many years.
On day the rich man told the manure shoveler that, in his view, after his many years
of honest and conscientious service, it’s time to reward him and move him up to
managerial status. So he became in charge of his entire household and all
his possessions and he had to keep track of expenses and such. Several years more
passed and the rich man one day gathered his entire household together
and his clan and he told them that this former beggar was his son from
whom he had been parted many years before and he was now reclaiming him
and declaring him to be heir to all his possessions.
When the former beggar heard this, he was amazed, thinking that he’d
received something quite unexpected. *
There are four essential elements in this story that I would like to look at: first, the fact of separation; second, the fear of not knowing; third, the sense of fundamental unworthiness; and fourth, the growth of true confidence. In these elements we find a universal story of the spiritual journey, our journey, towards wholeness and peace.
Exploring the experience of silent sitting, we have often spoken about our separation from our very life and breath, from this moment. We have seen, sometimes painfully, how we quickly get caught in the "me, mine" of conditioned mind. In some sense we can never know why we human beings have to experience this separation from our own true nature. Just as in this parable, we are not told why the rich man parted company from his son. Maybe it’s the same reality that is described in the idea of "original sin." Could being cast out of the garden of Eden be seen as a description of the reality of separation? The Buddha taught that the source of our suffering (dukkha) lies in our topsy-turvy view of self. We have this conceptual picture of our "self" as fixed and separated, filled with expectations. Freedom from this suffering, or lack of ease, would be possible if we could realize our intrinsic non-separation, or oneness, with all things. We might then accept what is happening, even if it is difficult, with equanimity, clinging less to our own expectations of how things should be.
Probably everyone here has, at some point, encountered the arising of fear in their practice. Some students express to me a fear of literally "losing themselves," commenting that if they continue to do this they are afraid they will disappear, be nobody. Sometimes this is experienced as coming up against a veil or a curtain which is frightening. As though to move beyond that barrier, even if it is almost transparent and filmy, would trigger a sense of non-existence. And so they pull back, resting more comfortably in the familiar observer and commentator. So it is not accidental that the reaction of this beggar who literally doesn’t know who he is, is fundamentally that of fear. He is terrified out of his mind. This rich man calls him in front of him and sets him down and he just goes bonkers. In the longer version it says, "You’ve seized me! Why? What have I done? Let me go, let me go." * The rich man is very clever. He dresses up two attendants in rags and says that if they look like the beggar than he won’t be so afraid. He sends them out to offer the beggar the most menial job on the estate.
Remember the line in the Heart Sutra, "no hindrance, therefore no fear." This is the gift of the Bodhisattva, to take away fear.
The beggar can accept the job of manure shoveling not only because the attendants were dressed in rags like him, but also because he feels so totally unworthy of anything but the most degrading work. Most of us, when we begin to approach a teaching that says our intrinsic true nature is right here, clear and awake, react with something like "Oh no, not in me, I’ve got all these hang-ups and problems and neuroses." This is exactly what is being illuminated in this story. We almost hide from the teaching of our own Buddha Nature. Our habitual self-deprecation is so clearly portrayed by this beggar son who will only accept a job cleaning the stables. He will do that, but seeks nothing else. But then something very interesting happens — he shovels for some twenty years. Sounds a bit like our practice no? Shoveling, shoveling, shoveling the excrement, digging in the manure to fertilize our lives. What happens is that he begins to experience his own steadiness. He experiences his own conscientious effort. This is a nice guy, this son. He has done nothing wrong. He just somehow got lost. He turns out to be a good worker. He shows up; he does his cleaning with dedication and with no idea of gain.
When he begins to have true confidence in his own capacity, the journey unfolds. He is invited to become a kind of estate manager. He can accept his promotion because he has had his own experience of his ability, not because he was told. And that is exactly our situation. We have to know for ourselves by our own personal and direct experience that we can do this work of awakening. When we experience direct verification; genuine confidence grows. This is not the glossy self-confidence we might strive for in our careers, but rather a trust that our practice is doing us inspite of our "selves".
So now, with real confidence growing, the former beggar is asked to handle all the money and jewels and family treasures. He learns to be comfortable with what is beautiful and valuable. And so it is with us. We have experiences — sometimes quite beautiful and amazing. We begin to be comfortable in that arena. We learn to handle the "special" experiences without clinging and greed. We can express what needs to be expressed. We need to do this for years. Gradually we come to accept our own capacity. Again, not ego-confidence, but deep whole body-knowing of the wonder and mystery which fills our life.
Finally, the rich man is able to offer his son everything. Finally, this former beggar is able to claim his rightful true home. The Buddhadharma invites us to do just that. The aim of the Buddha’s teaching is not simple stress reduction, to relax and feel better, although these may be welcome side-effects. Rather we are invited to deeply realize our own intrinsic true nature for ourselves. That nature is described as vast and boundless as the sky, luminous, peaceful, and complete. All of us have experienced being far from this, being lost, being separated, afraid and unworthy. Some of us are beginning to experience some deep confidence or trust. All of us can begin to know that it is possible to truly come home, inheriting what is already ours. That, of course, is the wonderful message in this parable. The son didn’t acquire some new thing, it was always his. And so too, it is with us. Our awakened nature is here. It has never been anywhere else and it is nothing that we can create or acquire. It is completely present and has been so right from the beginning.
*Hurvitz, Leon, trans. Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma,
Columbia University Press, pp. xi, 84-89.
From a Dharma Talk at a Practice Across Traditions Retreat, August 1997