Spiritual Practice and Personality Cultivation

 

Spiritual Practice and Personality Cultivation

 

Writing and meditation seem to have very little in common, but they are closely related intrinsically. When I got enlightened in my spiritual practice, I got enlightened in literary creation as well. That’s why I emphasize repeatedly that for a writer it is the cultivation of his/her personality that is more important and that a Buddhist practitioner’s practice lies in the cultivation of his/her soul and personality.

 

I started to write and practice Buddhist meditation at a very young age. I found that, though these two practices seem to have very little in common, they are closely related intrinsically. The evidence was that, when I got enlightened in my spiritual practice, I got enlightened in literary creation as well. That’s why I emphasize repeatedly that for a writer it is the cultivation of his/her personality that is more important and that a Buddhist practitioner’s practice lies in the cultivation of his/her soul and personality.

 

What spiritual practice seeks is to get rid of desires and attachments, regain the pure, unaffected, bright and clear true mind, and accord with conditions. In fact, the same is true of the art of literature.

 

There are four phases in art. The first is life-like depiction of reality, which represents actual, original life experiences, also known as raw art. in the second phase, the art comes from, but is higher than, real life. Now the work of art is elevated and refined, but one drawback is a lack of vitality. It is quite similar to the second phase in Buddhist practice, when one has completed the arising stage and has just entered into the completion stage. At this stage, one has acquired a sort of pliancy and some power of concentration, but the problem is a tendency towards sitting in meditation like a withered stump, a lack of vitality. There is a story in the Chan school about a monk who has meditated for twenty years. One day, an old lady, who provides food and shelter for the monk, has a young woman embrace him and then asks him how he feels. The monk answered: “Like a withered tree leaning against a cold rock, there is no hint of warmth for three winters.” Admittedly, the monk has a power of concentration, but he lacks a vital force and his mind seems to be constrained by something.

 

The third phase of art, which is a step further than the second, is characterized by dynamic and vitality, a stirring potential. In the process of creation, the writer feels the existence of a great power. The writer has no idea where it comes from, but the reader can feel it from the work of art. That power very probably comes from the author, but at that moment there is no distinction between inside and outside, self and others. That state is very similar to “enlightening one’s mind and seeing one’s own nature” in Buddhist practice; however, one has to move on to the path of cultivation. Now the writer’s creativity is much greater than that in the previous phases; however, he/she hasn’t yet arrived at the realm of freedom, for we can still see in his/her work the limitations and effects that reality exerts on him/her.

 

In the fourth phase, the writer has surpassed all limitations imposed by real life, he get rid of all the forms and concepts he has learned, his soul flows freely, without any restraint nor any trace of the mundane world, and he attains freedom – “It cannot be spoken, it cannot be spoken; once spoken, it is wrong.” He has achieved ultimate independence.

 

Note that, in the second phase, the writer focus on likeness in spirit rather than on that in appearance. In the third phase, the writer pays attention to neither appearance nor spirit; rather, he/she focuses on “potential,” i.e., the power of movement, dynamic, vitality. In the last phase, he/she pays attention to nothing, he/she gets rid of everything about phenomena, and his/her mind is illuminated by bright light. Without the concept of art or creation, he/she is like an innocent child, out of whom the true mind overflows. That is the highest phase. Hence, a master is like a child.

 

I write in a peculiar manner. I often say that it is not so much I write novels as novels overflow out of me spontaneously. During the process of writing, I feel hot all over me and the top of my head swells as if a great power is pouring into my life. At that time, I feel no distinction between me and the world. I vibrate with Nature. I am the world, and the world is me; I am the dharma-realm, and the dharma-realm is me – the two become one and the same. My pen is an outlet of the universal sou; poetry and the true mind flows from the tip of my pen.

 

When an artist still has a sense of constraint, he/she is still in the phase of human being rather than that of the universe or dharma-realm. When he/she shatters all phases, it is equivalent to pouring a glass of water into the sea, and then he/she has the power of the sea.

 

Of course, a person who resembles a child is not necessarily a master, but a master definitely resembles a child, because he has a child’s heart. A child is blessed with an innocent heart, safe from the discrimination mind of the mundane world. A master is like an infant lying in the cradle, smiling at its mother. When a person acquires a mind like that, he/she is very close to Dao. But, still, knowledge and examination are missing. Therefore, the innocence of a liberated one must contain a childlike innocence, but the innocence of a child doesn’t contain that of a liberated one. One who has done well with the mundane dharmas can achieve the state of a child, which is called “an infant’s heart” in Daoism. One who regains the state of an infant may achieve Dao, but an infant doesn’t. for when an infant grows up and see all sorts of toys in the world, it will lose its infant heart immediately. But an achieved one won’t. When a person returns to the state of an infant, he has achieved transcendence. And then, when he sweeps the notion of transcendence out of his/her mind, he/she is likely to achieve Dao. Without such a process, an infant remains an infant. The transcendent part belongs to supramundane dharma.

 

Usually, I have no interest in those popular concepts. The mind and the world are one and the same; the mind is the world, and the world is the mind. When I am in the company of other people, I never regard them as something outside of my mind; I always feel I am speaking to myself. My heart won’t beat violently because a beautiful woman is sitting in front of me. No external phenomena will disturb my mind. I won’t try hard to think of something to talk about or to achieve some goal. I speak as the occasion arises. That’s it. Only when your mind belongs to you, only when there is no constraint whatever, can there be liberation. But there is something unique and achieved in the mind. What is it? Only achieved ones know what it is. That is to say, it not only includes mundane dharmas but supramundane dharmas as well. That is the difference between those with “docile ear” and those who have achieved supramundane enlightenment.

 

Therefore, the purpose of Buddhist practice is not to increase something in one’s mind, but to reduce something. If something is increased, it is enlightenment and wisdom. Reduce slowly the greed, ignorance, and hatred in your mind, even the desire to be achieved or enlightened. To really cast off attachment is to be enlightened.

 

The state that Buddhist practice pursues is the realm of absolute freedom, independent of anything, the perfect freedom of body and mind.

 

Oftentimes, the wisdom in the depths of your soul is far greater than what you have learned. For example, some kids, once they find the right feeling, can produce works that by no means resemble their own. At that time, they are the outlet of Nature, the outlet of wisdom. When they are writing, they are unconscious of themselves; rather, they are in the midst of a rich feeling and they enter Nature and become one with Nature. If they suddenly become aware that they are mere students, they can’t write well any more. When they attain the state in which they forget themselves, or, according to the Chinese tradition, when they attain the unity of Man and Nature, they will write marvelously.

 

For example, in Grade Four, you wrote a wonderful essay. After having been praised, you wanted to improve it. You set out to rewrite it. As a result, it turned out very badly. What was wrong? When you rewrote, you were emotionally obsessed. When you, with the capacity of a grade-four student, tried to rewrote an essay that had overflowed spontaneously, the result could only be bad.

 

One must shatter the preset framework in one’s mind and smash all phenomena. Only by smashing phenomena can one become a master. If you are obsessed with phenomena, you are only a child, with a poor command of words. Now, you use words because they are useful, not because you love them. Later, I told you to enter into the state of emptiness, think nothing about what and how to write, and use your true mind and awareness to observe and illuminate the words. Then, you started to produce good stuff again.

 

Notice

 

Translated by non-professional volunteers, there would be some inaccuracies in the translation. You are welcome to offer us some advice for emendation. Please feel free to contact us.We also look forward to you joining our voluntary translation team.

 

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附录：聆听智慧的声音

 

心灵修炼与人格修炼

 

写作与禅修，这两种修炼虽然外相上看来不太相干，但内里却有着很大的联系。当我在心灵修炼上开悟时，文学上也便开悟了。所以我常常强调，一个作家更重要的，是人格上的修炼。行者的修炼，便是心灵、人格的修炼。

 

我从非常年轻的时候就开始写作与禅修，我发现，这两种修炼虽然外相上看来不太相干，但内里却有着很大的联系。证据是，当我在心灵修炼上开悟时，文学上也便开悟了。所以我常常强调，一个作家更重要的，是人格上的修炼。行者的修炼，便是心灵、人格的修炼。

 

心灵修炼追求的是去除欲望、执著，找回一颗质朴、纯净、明朗的真心，遇事随缘。其实，文学艺术也是一样。

 

艺术有四种境界，第一种境界是对现实的写真，它代表最本真最原始的生活，也叫原生态。源于现实又高于现实是第二种境界，这时作品被升华提炼了，但弱的一点就是缺少活性，就像修行中间出现的第二种境界——在生起次第完成之后，进入到圆满次第，那时候已经得到一种轻安和定力，但容易流于枯禅，缺乏活性。禅宗的故事中便有这样一个案例，一个和尚坐了二十年禅。一天，供养他的婆子打发一个女子去抱住他，然后问他什么感觉？他说：“枯木依寒岩，三冬无暖气。”那时，他虽然有定力，但是缺乏鲜活的生命力，心灵好像被什么束缚住了。

 

艺术的第三种境界就是更进一步，具有动感、活力，有了一种激荡的势，作者总感到在创作中有一种巨大的力量存在。这种力量不知来自何处，但读者也能从艺术作品中感受得到。这种力量很可能来自作者自身，但这时他已经没有内外、自他之分，非常接近于修行中“明心见性”的境界，但还得进入修道。此时作者的创造力已经远远高于前面的境界，不过仍没有达到自由之境，因为我们还能从作品中看到一种现实对作者的制约和影响。

 

第四种境界，作者已经远远超越了生活对他的所有制约，他把过去学到的形式一扫而尽，心灵在自由地流淌，不受任何拘束，没有一点儿红尘之气，达到了自由——“不可说，不可说，一说就错”，得到了大自在。

 

注意，在第二种境界中，作者不注重形式，而注重神似；到第三种境界时，他对形和神都不管了，而重“势”，即运动的力量、动感、活性；到了最后一种境界，他什么都不管，破除了一切外相的东西，脑中一片朗然光明，没了艺术之相，没了创造的概念，就像一个孩子那样尽兴地流淌真心，这就是最高境界。所以说，大师若童。

 

我的写作状态也很奇怪。我常说，我不会写小说，是小说自己往外喷。我写作的时候浑身发热，头顶发胀，仿佛有一种巨大的力量注入我的生命。这时候，没有我和世界的区别，我与大自然达到了一种共振。我就是世界，世界就是我；我就是法界，法界就是我，二者融为一体了。我的笔就是宇宙灵性的出口，诗意和真心从笔端往外流淌着。

 

当艺术家还有束缚的时候，那仅仅是人的境界，不是宇宙、法界的境界。当他把所有的境界破掉，就等于一杯水倒进了大海，就有了大海的力量。

 

当然，像孩子的不一定是大师，而大师绝对像孩子，因为他有一颗童心。孩子没有世间乱七八糟的分别心，他有的是赤子之心。大师就像是躺在摇篮里望着母亲笑的孩子。当一个人拥有这样的心时，就非常接近“道”了，但是这里还缺少知识与检验。所以，解脱者的纯真中一定要有孩子般的纯真，而孩子的纯真却包含不了解脱者的纯真。把世间法修得很好的人，也可能达到婴儿状态，道家称之为“赤子之心”。“复归于婴儿者”可能得道，而婴儿却没有得道。因为婴儿会长大，当他长大后见到世界上有许多好玩的玩具时，他就会立刻失去那颗赤子之心。但得道者则不会。当一个人复归于婴儿的时候，就有了超越，然后再把“超越”这一名相从心里扫出去，就可能得道。没有这个修炼的过程，婴儿就还是婴儿。超越的部分就是出世间法。

 

许多时候，我对那些流行的概念根本不感兴趣。心和世界是一味，心就是世界，世界就是心。我和别人在一起的时候，从来不把他们当做游离于心外的什么，我总是感觉我在和自己对话，不会因为前面坐着美女，心就怦怦乱跳。所有的外现已经无法干扰我的心了。我绝不会挖空心思地想要说些什么话，要达到什么目的，只是随缘地说，仅此而已。只有当心属于自己、没有任何束缚的时候，才叫解脱。但这颗心里还有一种独有的、证得的东西。什么东西？只有证得的人才知道。就是说，它不仅仅包括世间法，更重要的是出世间法，这也是那些达到“耳顺”的人，跟出世间证悟者的区别。

 

因此，修行的目的不是要在心中增加什么，而是要减少。如果说有增加的话，那就是增加觉悟和明白。慢慢地减少心中的贪婪、愚昧、仇恨等等，甚至包括贪图成就和觉悟，也要减去。真正的放下就是觉悟。

 

修行追求的境界就是绝对自由的境界，不依托任何东西，而达到身心绝对的自在。

 

许多时候，心灵深处的智慧远远高于你所学的东西，比如有些孩子找到感觉后写出来的文章，绝不像是他写的。那时候，他就是大自然的出口，是智慧的出口。写作时他没有自己，而是在一种浓浓的感觉中间，进入大自然并和大自然融为一体。如果他突然发现自己还是个学生，他就写不好了。当他达到一种忘我的境界，按照中国传统的说法就是天人合一的时候，他就会写得非常好。

 

比如，你在四年级的时候写过一篇作文，写得非常好。得到夸奖后，你想改得更好些，结果，改来改去，反而改得一塌糊涂。为什么呢？因为你改的时候带有了一种情绪化的执著。当你以四年级的水平去改自然流淌出来的东西时，肯定就会改坏它。

 

一个人必须要把心中既定的框框破除掉，实现破相。破相后才能成为大师。当你著相时，你就是一个孩子，文字就不行了，因为这时候的文字是因为“用”而不是因为“爱”。后来，我告诉你进入那种空性状态，不要去想怎么写，不要去想写的内容，只要那份真心和警觉，用那份警觉去观照文字，你才又写出了后面的那些好文章。

 

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