The Merit of Giving
Photo by Joshua Earle
In the Buddha’s last teaching, he encouraged the sangha to rely on themselves and one another after his passing. He reminded his cousin and attendant Ananda that he and the other monks had everything they needed in buddha (realization), dharma (the teachings), and sangha (each other).
In this talk, Zuisei uses this teaching as a springboard to look at what it means to take refuge and also to give generously—one of the virtues of practicing in community and being one another’s support.
This talk was given by Zuisei Goddard. See below for transcript.
Transcript
This transcript is based on Zuisei's talk notes and may differ slightly from the final talk.
As the Buddha lay dying—he had eaten a piece of bad pork or bad mushrooms, the sutras say—keeping him company was Ananda, his cousin and devoted attendant. Ananda, as you can imagine, was very upset at the prospect of the Buddha dying. He kept wishing that his teacher would give a last teaching to the sangha to sustain them after the Buddha passed, and he told the Buddha this.
At first, the great teacher was a little annoyed. “What else do the monks expect from me?” he said to Ananda. “I’ve taught them everything I know. I’m old now, and just as an old cart is barely held together, my own body is kept going with support. It’s only when I focus and concentrate my mind that I’m a little comfortable.” I’m tired, in other words, I’m dying. I’ve given all I can give so just, let me be.
But then he softened. He thought, It wouldn’t be right if I don’t say goodbye to those who’ve cared for me. It wouldn’t be right at all. Let me give them a last teaching. “Ananda, he said, “be islands onto yourselves, refuges onto yourselves. With the dharma as your island, the dharma as your refuge, seek no other refuge.” And then, anticipating Ananda’s questions, he added, “And how, Ananda, is a practitioner an island onto themselves, a refuge onto themselves? Well, they investigate the very heart of things. Seeing how things arise, how they change, how they fade away, a practitioner is not worried but lives at ease, and living at ease, they are free.”
Let me repeat that last part: “seeing how things arise, seeing how they change, seeing how they fade away, a practitioner is not worried but lives at ease, and living at ease, they are free.” Seeing that things don’t stay the same, a practitioner accepts this. Seeing that things go, a practitioner lets go. A student of the way moves with impermanence, and moving with impermanence, they are free.
Now, this is one of the most famous teachings of the Buddha. Be an island onto yourself, be a lamp onto yourself, be a refuge onto yourself, and—he was saying implicitly—do it together. These islands are really tied together, connected by a spit of sand or silt that’s visible sometimes visible, hidden when the tide is high. And they have a most delightful name: a “tombolo cluster.”
We’re a tombolo cluster, connected to one another by our love of dharma and, I hope, I trust, our love for one another.
Be islands onto yourselves. The Buddha was saying to Ananda, don’t worry, you don’t need me—you have me, in fact. You have me in your own wisdom, your own realization—that’s Buddha. You have the teachings, the Dharma I have taught all these many years. And you have yourselves, you have each other, the Sangha. That’s it—that’s everything you’ll ever need.
Trusting the Buddha, aligning with dharma, living in sangha, we support each other we are each other’s ground.
A Theravada teacher by the name of Ahjan Lee, said:
Just as a good rice field has four characteristics: the ground is level and even, the dike has a water gate that is easy to open and close, the soil is rich in nutrients, and the rainfall comes at the proper season, in the same way, members of the Sangha who are to be a field of merit for the world must be endowed with the four following qualities:
1. Practitioners are level, like even ground, because they’re not self-involved. Whatever they do, whatever they say, whatever they think, is not based on their own likes and dislikes, their own desires and preoccupations alone. They’re not driven by anger or ill will. They’re not deluded in their views; in other words, they understand how things work. And, they’re not acting out of fear. They’re walking on the ground of reality. They aim to do what is right and true; what is good for everyone.
It’s interesting that whenever I tell a new person what I do for a living, invariably they’ll say, “Oh, of course! You have such a peaceful energy.” Maybe they’re picking up something, but my sense is that most often, they’re feeling in the gap themselves. They expect me to be calm, given what I do. So it’s a projection, of sorts, but at the same time, it’s not unreasonable.
Bhante Gunaratana tells the story of working as a chaplain for refugees fleeing from the Vietnam war. He was flown to a camp in Florida, and there began to greet planeload after planeload of refugees, many of whom had left their country with nothing. Some were sick, confused; imagine. They’re being flown to the very country that’s bombing the hell out of them. They got off the plane, and the moment they saw him in their orange robes, they smiled, or they burst into tears and bowed over and over again. Buddhist monk, they thought, and it meant something to them. In a foreign land, he became, however briefly, their ground.
So you could say it’s our job, as students of the dharma, to cultivate that ease of being, and to spread it outward. To be level, grounded, because otherwise what’s the point of working so hard, sitting so long? The point, in case it gets lost in our struggle, is to put an end to suffering. Despite this being a goalless practice—as you’re doing it, you don’t worry about what will happen or what came before, you really just do it—there is a point: to not suffer; to be free and at ease.
And in those times when we’re not calm, not grounded, that’s fine—we can still be grounded in that. Not fighting it, not wishing it to be otherwise, we are level, like the ground upon which we stand.
2. A member of the sangha is like a water gate that is easy to open and close. You have a rice field, and you have the irrigation ditch, and the gate that opens and closes to feed water to the field. We’re like that gate because we practice restraint: we follow the rules of the sangha, we gather in our senses (this is what concentration is), we have enough but not too much of what we need to live, and we consider what we need and how to use it so we’re not acting out of craving or greed—all of this, is closing the gate.
We open the gate of our minds by not being possessive of places, people, and things. We’re not possessive of color—meaning race, meaning class, meaning position. We’re not possessive of the Buddha’s teachings; what we know, we share. Without preaching, without trying to convince anyone, we open the gate and let the teachings flow through the way we live.
That’s why it’s so important that these not be theories. That’s why we call it practice: we try and we try and we fail and one day, we try and it works! We’re able to respond in a way that even months earlier was unthinkable. We don’t get so impatient, we’re not so reactive. We start to be more caring, more loving, more patient, just like water flooding a field.
3. We are like soil that’s rich in nutrients, because we cultivate the four immeasurables: loving-kindness (metta), compassion (karuna), joy (mudita), and equanimity (uppekha).
I read a very nice description of equanimity by Pema Chodron. She said it’s like a banquet in which everyone is on the guest list. Anger is invited, happiness is invited, insecurity is invited, lust is invited. Every part of you and every part of another is invited to take a seat at the table. We receive them all, we greet them all, and we spend time getting to know them. We say Yes, you’re allowed to be here. Otherwise, how do we expect to all get along?
4. We are like seasonal rain because we have an affinity for goodness, we are persistent, we are intent in our practice, and discerning. We’re not going about life willy-nilly, doing whatever we please. We’re appropriate and nourishing to ourselves and to others, like rain that falls at the right time, feeding the crops without distinction.
These are the four ways in which members of the sangha are a field of merit for the world. This is how together we are a field of benefaction. This is how we become each other’s ground.
The reason I wanted to speak about this, a short teaching on sangha, and on giving, is in response to a need. Just as happened when I was training at the monastery, where we responded, creating initiatives or training programs when someone brought forward a need. We’re doing the same here. I’m not sitting in my apartment plotting, Okay now, what’s a good training format for the Ocean Mind Sangha, imposing a structure I came up with in my head. I have a general idea of how things could work, but then I watch, I listen, and do my best to respond. And whenever possible, I make sure we’re responding together.
Sooner or later, in any spiritual community arises the need to care for one another in some way. Some of you already do this; you didn’t need to be asked.
Some of you have offered to help me in my work or with my travels. Some of you call or text each other, visit each other when you can, ensure there are times to sit that everyone can access. Some of you have offered to sponsor someone who otherwise might not be able to come to sesshin. And now, some of you suggested creating a sangha fund so anyone facing a difficult time can have a little help, can access resources freely gathered and freely given.
The Buddha, speaking of giving, once said, “When a person who practices giving goes to an assembly, people take notice.”
So first, I just want to say how proud I am to be part of this community. This small but mighty community of practitioners, of bodhisattvas, of noble friends. It’s so inspiring to me to see you practice, to see you care, and to see you become larger in that care. To see you offer what little you have, because that’s true offering. It’s not “I give you what I don’t want, what’s left once I take what’s mine.” It’s giving freely, generously, lovingly.
So, I want for us to be able to give to each other in this way, and to discuss the how. As you know, giving is the first of the paramitas and, the Buddha said, the easiest to practice. Why? Because we can always give something. And in giving, giver, receiver, and gift, show themselves as they are: one. One single thing
To end this dharmette—and then we can go on to our discussion—let me read from Master Dogen’s “A Bodhisattva’s Four Methods of Guidance”:
To launch a boat or build a bridge is an act of giving. If you study giving closely, you see that to accept a body and to give up the body are both giving. Making a living and producing things can be nothing other than giving. To leave flowers to the wind, to leave birds to the seasons, are also acts of giving… It is because of the merit of giving, that one’s own self comes into being.
It is because we give, that our own self comes into being.
Explore further
01 : Maha-parinibbana Sutta: Last Days of the Buddha
02 : The Bodhisattva’s Four Methods of Guidance by Village Zendo
03 : Giving Paramita with Vanessa Zuisei Goddard
The Merit of Giving, a dharma talk by Zen Buddhist teacher Zuisei Goddard on the perfection of giving, dana paramita, and the Buddha's last teaching on taking refuge in oneself and the sangha.