Actually there is not the slightest dharma which can be attained. There is no dharma of unsurpassed, proper and equal, right enlightenment which the Buddha can attain. …

If you force it and say that the Tathagata attains something called Anuttara-samyak-saṃbodhi, that Anuttara-samyak-saṃbodhi is neither true nor false. Being neither true nor false, it is the final meaning of the Middle Way; it is real mark prajña.

Therefore the Tathagata says that although there is no dharma which can be attained, yet all dharma are Buddhadharmas. There is nothing outside the Buddhadharma. Therefore all teachings are Buddhist. They do not go beyond the Buddha’s teaching, because the Buddha’s teaching contains all things. Buddhadharma is the totality of the dharma. Buddhism is the totality of all other teachings. All schools and teachings are born from within the Buddha’s teaching. Since they are all born from Buddhism, in the future they will again return to Buddhism. Therefore it is unnecessary to ask to what religion a person belongs. No matter what school, or sect, or teaching, or religion one believes none goes beyond Buddhism. The essential point is to have faith in something. Then although you may believe various teachings, switching back and forth from this one to that one, in the end you will certainly return to Buddhism. The Buddhadharma is that great. Although it says there is no dharma which can be attained, nonetheless there is not one dharma which is not the Buddhadharma. And since the Buddhadharma is ultimately unattainable, how could a single dharma be attained?

There actually is no dharma in the fruit position of the unsurpassed, proper and equal, right enlightenment which can be attained.

Why?

You personally cultivate and personally certify to the position. It is not obtained from outside, because basically you already have it. It is not that you become involved in external conditions or rely on external strength. The conditions and the strength are within you. You cultivate and you can attain. Of course to say you attain is just a manner of speaking, because basically you never lost anything in the first place so it is not possible for you to attain anything. Since it was that way for Śākyamuni Buddha, Burning Lamp Buddha gave him a prediction and a special name.

Long before in a former life, Śākyamuni Buddha had been a young cultivator practicing in the mountains about thirty miles from the capital city where the King of Kalinga held court. One day the king decided to go hunting and called together a party of soldiers, ministers, and officials to accompany him. To complete the party he summoned the most beautiful concubines in the palace. Actually he could not bear to part with his women for even the duration of a hunting trip. He found them a most pleasant pastime.

The hunting grounds on the mountain were very large, and the King of Kalinga immediately set out in pursuit of big game, leaving the timid women behind to entertain themselves. As the women strolled around on the mountain, they happened upon the young bhikṣu who was only eighteen or nineteen years old and quite handsome, despite the fact that his hair had grown long and his clothes were tattered. When they first spied him they thought he was a kind of weird creature or a man-eating beast, and they panicked. “Look,” they gasped, clutching one another, “there’s a wild animal that looks like a man!”

“I am not a wild animal, I am a cultivator of the Way,” the young man assured them.

When the concubines heard that the creature could talk their curiosity was aroused, and they edged closer to speak with him.

“What does it mean to ‘cultivate the Way’?” they asked, for they had never been outside the confines of the palace, and so had never heard of such a thing. The young cultivator spoke dharma for them. Seeing what they had never seen before, and hearing what they had never heard before, soon they were enthralled and forgot everything even who and where they were.

Meanwhile the King of Kalinga returned from his expedition to discover that his palace concubines had wandered away. He set out to find them. Eventually he caught sight of them gathered around the strange-looking man. The king, bent on discovering who the man was and what he was doing with the concubines, crept silently towards them like a spy on a secret mission. When he got close he paused, listened to the young cultivator speaking dharma, and realized that the concubines were so enraptured they had not noticed the arrival of their king. Whereupon the King of Kalinga cleared his throat and challenged the young man, “What are you doing here?”

“I am cultivating the Way,” replied the bhikṣu.

“Have you attained the fruit of Arhatship in your cultivation?” asked the king.

“No.” said the young cultivator, “I have not certified to Arhatship.”

“Have you attained the third stage?” continued the king.

“No,” said the bhikṣu, “I have not certified to the third fruit.”

“I have heard there are people who live in the mountains and by eating a certain kind of fruit they attain immortality, but they still are not free of greed and desire. They still have lust in their minds. You are so young and you haven’t certified to any of the fruits of the Way. Do you give rise to thoughts of lust?” asked the king.

“I have not cut it off,” replied the bhikṣu.

With that reply the King of Kalinga became enraged. “If you haven’t cut off lust, then when you see my… these women… you see them like this… how can you be patient with the lust which arises in your mind?” he challenged.

“Although I have not cut off lust, I do not give rise to lustful thoughts. In my cultivation I contemplate the nine kinds of impurities.”

“Ha!” spit back the king, “you cultivate the contemplation of impurities. You are a cheat! What proof do I have that you do not lust after my women? What proof that you can bear your thoughts of lust?”

“I bear them,” replied the bhikṣu. “I can bear anything.”

“Oh you can, can you? Well, we shall see about that. First I will cut off your ear.” The king unsheathed his glistening sword, took hold of the bhikṣu’s ear, and lopped it off. By that time the ministers and officials had gathered around to see what had caused such commotion. They looked at the young cultivator who appeared totally unmoved and without pain, and they pleaded with the king, “Great King, do not take your sword to him. He is a great master. He must be a Bodhisattva. You must not take your sword to him.”

“How do you know he is a Bodhisattva? How do you know?” demanded their king, bristling with jealousy.

“Look at him,” said the officials, “you cut off his ear and he did nothing. He has not even flushed. He just sits there as if nothing had happened.”

“How do you know that he feels as if nothing had happened? I wager in his mind he hates me. I shall try him out again.” He positioned his sword and neatly sliced off the bhikṣu’s nose. “Are you angry?”

“I am not angry,” replied the bhikṣu.

“You aren’t? It is more likely that you are a liar as well as a cheat. Perhaps you can cheat these women, but you can’t cheat me. I shall cut off your hand and see what you do. Can you bear it?” his voice shook as he brought down the sword again.

“It is all the same to me,” said the bhikṣu.

“All right, if it is all the same, then I shall cut off your other hand,” which he did, saying with barely controlled rage, “still not angry? Are you enraged yet?”

“No, I am not enraged,” said the bhikṣu.

“I don’t believe you. Nobody could stand to have both hands cut off and not get angry. You are certainly a freak,” he said as he cut off one of the bhikṣu’s legs. “Still not angry?”

The king chopped away at the other leg. “Angry?” he nearly screamed once more.

The maimed bhikṣu continued to sit as before, although now both his ears, his nose, both his hands and both legs were totally severed from his body. “I am not angry,” he said once again.

But by then the Four Great Heaven Kings were angry and cursing the king. They sent down a rain of hail stones the size of dumplings. The hail beat down so violently that a section of the mountain near the party fell away and went roaring down the slopes. The king froze with fear upon realizing his mistake. He knelt before the earless, noseless, handless, legless bhikṣu and begged forgiveness. “I was wrong, I was wrong,” he cried in terror. “Heaven is punishing me. Do not be angry, please do not be angry.”

“I have not become angry,” said the bhikṣu.

“That is not true,” cried the panic-stricken king. “If you are not angry, why is heaven punishing me?” He still thought the bhikṣu had called down a curse on him.

“I can prove that I have not become angry,” said the bhikṣu. “If I have, then the extremities of my body will not mend. But if I have not become angry, then my hands, legs, ears, and nose will grow hack the way they were.” No sooner had he finished speaking then his legs, hands, ears, and nose perfectly rejoined the trunk of his body. When he was whole again the bhikṣu made a solemn dedication to the king, “Upon realizing Buddhahood I will take you across first.”

Later when the young cultivator was reborn as a young prince who realized the Way and became Śākyamuni Buddha, he first went to the Deer Park to take across the former king of Kalinga, the Venerable Ājñātakauṇḍinya.

After hearing that account, some people may say, “I think I shall find a bhikṣu who practices patience in the mountains and cut off his ears, nose, hands, and legs. Then he will make the vow to take me across when he first realizes Buddhahood.” That plan would be fine if you were assured of meeting a cultivator with a compassionate, patient mind like Śākyamuni Buddha’s. However, if the cultivator gave rise to one thought of anger while you were slicing away at him, then you would fall into the unintermittent hells. So you had better think twice before attempting that method. Besides, you are not a king. If you were a king you might manage it.

Śākyamuni Buddha referred to his encounter with the King of Kalinga at that point in order to remind Subhūti that he understood the paramita of patience. “When the King of Kalinga dismembered my body, I had no mark of self, no mark of others, no mark of living beings and no mark of a life.”

“If someone hears the Vajra Prajña Pāramita Sūtra and is not frightened, or alarmed, or terrified.” Why would it frighten people? Ordinary people have always been attached to the mark of self, so if they are told there is no self they are very frightened. “What!” they exclaim, “Where did I go? How can there be no me? I am always here. How can I, myself, not exist?”

Those of the Two Vehicles have realized the emptiness of self, but have not yet realized the emptiness of the dharma. When they hear that “Even the dharma should be relinquished” they become terrified. “How can I give up the dharma? If I cast aside the dharma, what will I use in cultivation? I will not have anything.”

Although fully accomplished Bodhisattvas have certified to the emptiness of self and the emptiness of the dharma they have not obtained the emptiness of emptiness. They have not realized that emptiness also must be emptied. With emptiness still remaining, there is an attachment to it. The Buddhadharma teaches not to be attached to self and not to be attached to phenomena. However, when there is no self and no phenomena, emptiness arises. Involvement with that emptiness can cause one to be waylaid by it. Loitering in emptiness, stopped in stillness, one simply guards the emptiness within which one dwells. That is also a mistake. So when Bodhisattvas who have not realized the emptiness of emptiness hear of real mark, the principle substance of prajña which does not even admit of emptiness, they also become alarmed and terrified.

A person who hears the sūtra and is not frightened, or alarmed, or terrified understands the true proper dharma of prajña pāramita. Therefore Śākyamuni Buddha said, “You should know that person is most rare.”

Subhūti, completely understanding the meaning and implications of the doctrine of no mark expressed in the Vajra Sūtra, wept. Tears flowed from his eyes and his nose ran. Usually people cry when they are sad or worried or when something unfortunate happens, but occasionally they also cry from joy, just as Subhūti then did. “Extreme happiness brings sorrow.” The Buddha expressed the depths of prajña so thoroughly that Subhūti was overjoyed at being able to hear the specific teaching, the wonderful dharma door of prajña. Subhūti realized that his former contentment with the Small Vehicle teachings had been misguided. His awakening may be thus expressed:

“Upon realization, I do not reproach myself for the past;
I know that in the future I can rectify mistakes.
Aware that I am not too far down the muddled path,
I have now awakened to today’s rights and yesterday’s wrongs.”

The Small Vehicle was Subhūti’s “muddled path,” and his further awakening indicates that his former attachment to Small Vehicle dharmas had not been very great, he had “not gone too far down the muddled path.” “Awakened to today’s rights and yesterday’s wrongs” means he had realized it was right for him to seek the Great Vehicle dharma, and that his former fondness for the Sound-Hearer fruit of the Small Vehicle had been a mistake. He greeted those realizations with great emotion, however, so he wept for joy and exclaimed, “How rare!”

Recognizing the emptiness of all phenomena is actual truth. Recognizing the falseness of all phenomena is common truth. Recognizing that all phenomena are neither empty nor false is the truth of the Middle Way. Furthermore, throughout the present discourse on prajña, nothing has been spoken. It is just as when Subhūti eloquently spoke prajña and the Brahma Heaven King listened well to prajña, until finally Subhūti asked him, “What have I said?”

To which the Brahma god replied, “The Venerable One has not spoken.”

“Well, what have you heard?” pursued Subhūti.

“I also did not hear a thing,” came the reply.

“That is true prajña,” confirmed Subhūti.

When nothing is spoken and nothing is heard, that is called true prajña. So the prajña paramita spoken by the Buddha is not prajña paramita, but is merely called prajña paramita. It is a false name and nothing more.

Subhūti replied, “Nothing has been spoken by the Tathagata.” What do you say about that?! The Buddha spoke dharma and at the same time asked Subhūti if he had spoken any dharma. How should he be answered? Subhūti told him that he had not spoken dharma. Subhūti probably took one look and understood the principle of emptiness. He was called Empty Born because he was foremost in understanding emptiness, so he understood that with true, real prajña. It is not the case that anything is spoken. So he said, “There is nothing spoken. The Tathagata has not spoken anything.”

Most people are unable to comprehend this passage of text. Clearly the Buddha spoke dharma, and yet he asked if he had spoken dharma. Subhūti, moreover, replied that he had not spoken dharma. What is the meaning of that?

Sakyamuni Buddha and Subhūti were discoursing on true, real prajña. Since true, real prajña does not reside in a framework of language, what can be spoken? The emptiness of the dharma is beyond words and speech. The Buddha spoke dharma for forty-nine years and when the time of his nirvāṇa arrived, he said that he had not spoken one word. He said, “If anyone says the Tathagata has spoken dharma, he slanders the Buddha because he has been unable to understand what I have said.”

“Since the Buddha did not speak dharma, why are there so many sutras spoken by the Buddha?” one may rightly ask. The answer to that lies in the method of using conditioned phenomena for people bound to conditions and speaking unconditioned dharma for people who dwell in the unconditioned.

The Vajra Sūtra says, “Even the dharma should be relinquished, how much the more so what is not dharma.” The Buddha said he had not spoken dharma because he was concerned that people would become attached to the mark of dharma. Being attached to dharma is the same as being attached to self. People’s attachment to emptiness must also be broken. When the dharma door of prajña is spoken, even emptiness must not become an attachment.

A Bodhisattva who adorns Buddhalands does not think that he is adorning Buddhalands. The adornment of Buddhalands is merely a name and nothing more. It has no real substance. Therefore a Bodhisattva Mahāsattva should produce a pure mind. A pure mind is free of attachment. That means you do not broadcast your good deeds to ensure that whatever merit and virtue may have accrued be properly credited. Such a mind is impure. It is dirty. If you have the thought of self and others when you do virtuous acts to adorn Buddhalands, then there are no virtuous acts and there is no adornment. A Bodhisattva’s mind should be pure, without self or others, and without right or wrong. Thoughts which delineate self, others, living beings, and a life are not pure. A mind which is attached to the six dusts is not pure, and is devoid of true and proper merit and virtue.

Subhūti was asked if an Arhat can have the thought that he has obtained Arhatship, and he replied, “No, because although he has certified to the fruit of Arhatship, it is just a name and nothing more.” Not only upon certification to the fruit of Arhatship is there no realization, but even upon attainment of Buddhahood there is none. There is no tangible dharma which can be called Arhat. It is an empty name. If one thinks it exists, one has an attachment to dharma and has not realized the emptiness of phenomena.

If an Arhat did have the thought that he has obtained Arhatship, he would be attached to self, others, living beings, and a life. He would not have realized the emptiness of self or of phenomena, nor would he have obtained Arhatship. The thought of obtaining Arhatship carries with it the mark of self, which in turn produces its partner, the mark of others. Having the paired phenomena of self and others creates the mark of living beings, which in turn leads to the mark of a life. He would therefore be attached to the four marks.

The teaching is spoken because there are people. The medicine is prescribed because there is sickness. The dharma which the Tathagata speaks cannot be grasped. It is like sweeping the floor when it is dusty. Who speaks? Who sweeps? The dharma spoken is dharma-dust, which the Tathagata sweeps away. It cannot be grasped. It is not dharma and not no dharma. What dharma is there? There are none. There isn’t anything at all.

Therefore, that which distinguishes the worthy sages is unconditioned dharma. Unconditioned dharma is non-active and devoid of marks, characterized by its lack of marks. Basically the Buddhadharma does not need to be studied. No one is apart from it; everyone is capable of knowing it. When attachment is relinquished the Buddhadharma appears. If attachments are not relinquished the more one grasps the less one has. Before everything has been put down, nothing can be picked up. It is necessary to put attachments down with the left hand and with the right hand pick up real mark prajña. But to say one can pick up prajña is just a figure of speech. That is not to say there is actually something that can be grasped with the hands. If one could grasp all of empty space in one fist, then one could grasp hold of real mark prajña. If unable to grasp all of empty space with one swipe of the hand, one should make no futile attempt to clutch at real mark prajña. Real mark prajña exhausts empty space and pervades the dharma realm. All things are basically within real mark prajña. How could a firmer grip than that be had? It is simply because of attachments that the basic substance of the dharma body has not been attained, and one’s original face not recognized. …

Those who can truly put everything down and investigate the meaning of that, can attain genuine, originally existent real mark prajña. To say it is attained is just a figure of speech. There is absolutely nothing attained because nothing was ever lost.