using the arrow buttons.
by clicking on the page.
the page around when zoomed in by dragging it.
the zoom using the slider when zoomed-in.
by clicking on the zoomed-in page.
by entering text in the search field, and select "This Issue" or "All Issues"
by clicking on thumbnails to select pages, and then press the print button.
displays sections with thumbnails and descriptions.
displays a slider of thumbnails. Click on a page to jump.
allows you to browse the full archive.
about your subscription?
Buddhadharma : Fall 2015
fall 2 0 1 5 buDDhaDharma: the practitioner’s quarterly 29 caregiver thinks he or she is in a situation different from the one the patient is in, and, as a consequence of this, feels pity for the patient, the caregiver won’t be much help. The patient will feel pitied and sense separation. In the end, she will feel alone. This is often the worst part of serious illness—the feeling of abandonment. No one is willing or able to share the experience with you. It’s only when we accept that we are all in this together, that the one who is sick and the one who isn’t sick are really in the same boat, that we can help somehow. Although you might be in the bed nowandIamnot,soonIwillbeinthebedand someone else will be ministering to me. We do this for each other and we always have—we are sick and well together. This is our human life. Your illness is a gift to me, and my illness is a gift to you. Sometimes it is hard for us to give and receive these gifts. We think, “Oh, I don’t want to be a burden to anyone.” I suppose it’s good for us to feel this. It’s kind. But also, we need to know that our illness is a gift to others and that when we give someone the gift of caring for us or receive the gift of caring for someone, we are also taking care of ourselves. When we approach caregiving this way, it isn’t really caregiving any more—it is just being together in loving-kindness, helping each other out in whatever way we can. I am sure that Daowu, knowing this as well as he did, was a very good caregiver. I am sure the sick people he visited enjoyed seeing him. Once when Master Ma was unwell, the monastery director asked him, “How is your venerable state these days?” Master Ma replied, “Sun-faced Buddha, moon- faced Buddha.” Master Ma was famous for being a very robust person. I think it was unusual for him to be unwell. So the question is, can Master Ma still be Master Ma when he isn’t robust, when the faculties he usually relies on to be who he is are no longer in operation? Sun-faced Buddha is a robust buddha with a long bright life, like the life of the sun. Moon-faced Buddha is a less robust buddha who burns with a cooler fire, like the moon, and only lives for a day and a night. I think we’d all prefer being sun-faced buddhas, which is natural enough. But a moon-faced buddha is also a buddha. Sun- face is different from moon-face, but the buddha in both cases is exactly the same. Suzuki Roshi, speaking on this story, offered this: The sun-faced buddha is good; the moon-faced buddha is good. So whatever it is, that is good: all things are buddha. And there is no buddha. ... If, when I die, the moment I am dying, I suffer, that is all right. That is suffering buddha. No confusion in it. Maybe everyone will struggle because of the physical agony or spiritual agony too. But that is all right. That is not a problem. We should be very grateful to have a limited body like me or like you. If you have limitless life, it will be a great problem for you. When we’re well and robust we should enjoy that, commit ourselves to that. Although of course the moon-faced buddha is right there in the middle of the sun-faced buddha, as the sick person is there in the middle of the well person, and vice versa. No matter. We can embrace completely whatever kind of buddha is arising and commit ourselves fully to that buddha. That commitment, and the mind and body that flow from it, activates the buddha in us.