THE AUTUMN IN HUMAN LIFE
These past few days, the air has begun to turn cool. Some days it was warmly sunlit, the sky was a clear and gentle blue; yet some morning it veiled in mist. In the front yard stands a tree. Last spring it burst into pure white blossoms. Now its leaves have deepened into a rich crimson. Slanting rays of the morning sun set them ablaze with color. Through another window, leaves on several trees have softened into a pale lemon yellow while in spring time, they were covered with light violet blossoms along every branch. Grasses, trees, flowers, and leaves in each season carries its own beauty, harmonizing naturally with blue sky and white clouds. Every spring, they tender young leaves unfurl beside white peach blossoms. In summer, leaves wither under the blazing sun. Then, they fall and carpet the ground after some autumn rains, or during the blustering winds at the season end. It seems that the death of leaves is the most poetic of all. It seems only leaves, as they turn yellow and red, drift and spiral through the air, tracing a few gentle arcs with the wind, light and free. How beautiful is the way of taking leave of every leaf!
I remember a poem I learned by heart back in elementary school:
“Autumn along the tropical almendron tree branches,
Two yellow leaves remain only.”
Y’all, only two yellow leaves remain.
Long ago, the original monastic community of the Sunyata Patriarchal Monastery consisted of seven members; now, only two yellow leaves remain. You can see them in the photograph, taken in spring, on March 3, 2008. At the center stands the Sunyata Abbot. On the Abbot’s right is Venerable Tuệ Chân, followed by Venerable Không Chiếu, and at the far right, Venerable Không Như. On the Abbot’s left are Venerable Sisters Phúc Trí, Triệt Như, and Hạnh Như. This was the first monastic community, also the central Sangha, which resided permanently at the Patriarchal Monastery. All of them were still present in full participation up to the 20th Anniversary of the Dharma propagation, celebrated on February 22, 2015.
The Abbot was supported by four unshakable pillars who stood shoulder to shoulder with him, firmly steering the boat across the vast ocean, never once leaving his side throughout twenty years.
Venerable Tuệ Chân acted as Deputy Abbot, since the Abbot was frequently away on Dharma propagating journeys.
Venerable Không Như guided the practice of Sunyata Qigong.
Venerable Không Chiếu guided Zen meditation as the Dharma Preceptor.
Venerable Nun Phúc Trí oversaw the nuns’ community.
In this original community, Venerable Không Như (1925) was the eldest, then Venerable Không Chiếu (1927), then our Abbot Master (1929), Venerable Tuệ Chân (1935); after the Venerables was Venerable Nun Hạnh Như (1937), Venerable Nun Phúc Trí (1939) and Venerable Nun Triệt Như (1941).
Today, I would like to recall the past once again just because later generations of practitioners may not be aware of this first Sangha. Why did I regard them as the four pillars I so admired? That admiration may well have been subjective. When I first stepped into the Master’s classes, I was still a layperson, with a worldly mind. At that time, I saw the Master’s four disciples as four “heroes.” The previous generation or the generation of the Venerable Masters was the one in which nearly all young men were soldiers. After completing university, everyone was required to join the military, either at the Thủ Đức Officers Training School or the Đà Lạt Military Academy. Those who committed themselves to a professional military career trained at the Đà Lạt Military Academy, while those called up through reserve mobilization were sent to the Thủ Đức Officers Training School. Venerable Không Như, it was said, graduated top of his class from a cohort at the Đà Lạt Military Academy, and eventually rose to the rank of Colonel in the Armored Corps. Venerable Không Chiếu also graduated from the Đà Lạt Military Academy and likewise attained the rank of Army colonel. Venerable Tuệ Chân was a major in the Air Force. On one occasion, a practitioner, a figure from another Buddhist lineage, came to “enlist” under our Abbot Master. Everyone gathered around him and asked,
- “How did you know about this place? What brought you here?
He smiled and said, “I saw that everyone under this master’s command were all ‘fierce tigers,’ so I came.”
Only then did I begin to vaguely understand the past lives of the venerables. They simply lived in attuning to circumstances forced upon them. Yet at heart they were genuinely good and kind people, always helping the local people, and for that they were loved and deeply appreciated. The fourth figure was Venerable Nun Phúc Trí. She was simple and gentle, always smiling, smiling so softly that no one ever heard a sound. It was said that when she was young, she was known as “the beauty of Bình Dương,” for Bình Dương was truly her hometown.
This brief introduction of their former lives is offered simply as a way to look back now on those years when the venerable monks and nuns changed their “passports,” becoming the children of the Buddha and taking the surname Thích Ca. From the moment they became monastics, it was as if they had crossed into an entirely new life. Venerable Tuệ Chân and Venerable Nun Phúc Trí met the Abbot Master very early on, back when he was still living in the city of Beaverton, Oregon. However, when they aspired to ordain, the Abbot Master advised them to return to Vietnam to receive ordination under Most Venerable T.T. Perhaps at that time, having only recently arrived in the United States, our Abbot Master did not yet possess the conditions necessary to establish a formal ordination platform. This was likely around the year 1998.
By 1999, the Abbot Master moved to California. At that time, the meditation hall was nothing more than a prefabricated house with three bedrooms. The living room served as the meditation hall, where a statue of Buddha Shakyamuni holding a lotus branch, brought over by the Master from Vietnam, was placed. This very statue would later become the main Buddha image in the central hall of the Sunyata Patriarchal Monastery as it stands today. It was in the meditation hall, located in Santa Ana, that Venerable Không Chiếu received ordination, with the additional authorization of Most Venerable GN.
By 2002, the meditation monastery in Riverside was established, and all the Master’s disciples moved there. At that time, there were only three monastics in residence which consisted of just a single house, surrounded by over four acres of uncultivated land, mostly soil and rocks, with wild grass. The Master and his three disciples worked in the sunlight together as if they were in the rustic countryside.
In November 2004, three more disciples took ordination during a pilgrimage to India with the Abbot Master. They were Venerable Không Như, Venerable Nuns Hạnh Như, and Triệt Như. From the time I first met the Master until my own ordination, I had spent ten years training under him and had accumulated some personal experience. The Master had suggested ordination several times, yet my mind remained hesitant, even though I had been a strict vegetarian for five years before meeting him. Venerable Không Như had a similar story. At that time, he was Mr. Minh Lý, sixty years old. When the Master first suggested ordination, he laughed and said, “Not now, Master.” At his seventy ages, the Master reminded him again, “It’s time to ordain.” Again, he replied, “Not now. Master.”
Finally, one day, Mr. Minh Lý declared, “Whenever Ms Từ Tâm Thảo ordains, then I will!”
The whole class burst out laughing.
I asked, “Are you sure?”
Mr. Minh Lý replied, “Absolutely!”
Later, the Master recounted:
“Mr. Minh Lý, in his lay robe, came to see me privately. After prostrating, he said:
‘I am now eighty years old, Master. I wish to ordain. Will you have no objection?’”
Thus, in that year, the three disciples took ordination together during the pilgrimage to India.
Here’s another amusing story. Once, Venerable Không Như and I accompanied the Master to San Jose for a retreat. During a break, a lay practitioner, who was a martial arts teacher with his own school, leaned over and whispered to me:
- “Back in the day, I never dared stand near Venerable Không Như.”
- “Why not? Did you know him before?”
- “Back then, I was his junior. I didn’t dare go near him. Very afraid of him!”
I looked again at Venerable Không Như, laughing heartily there—what was there about him that would make people afraid to stand close? Looking more carefully, I noticed his eyebrows slanting upward like a military general’s ones. He used to glare; it must have made anyone’s heart skip a beat. Now, though, his eyebrows have all turned white, and he’s missing a tooth when he smiles, so he looks nothing but gentle and friendly.
Once, in winter at the Sunyata Patriarch’s Monastery, it was bitterly cold. Venerable Không Như stepped out into the garden, his breath turning into mist in the air. I asked him:
- “Venerable Không Như, I heard that in the old days you breathed fire, didn’t you?”
He burst out laughing. Hahahaha!
- “But how come now you’re breathing out smoke?”
Again, he loudly laughed. Hahahaha!
Both Venerable Không Chiếu and Venerable Không Như did love driving. But Venerable Tuệ Chân didn’t at all. He drove only when absolutely necessary. As for the three nuns, none of them could do it so whenever they need to see a doctor or go grocery shopping, they used to ask either of the two Venerables to give them a ride, and both always agreed cheerfully. That said, both of them drove in a very “military” style, so sometimes I had to bring motion-sickness medicine with me. If the braking got too frequent, I quietly took some pills to keep myself from getting too exhausted. Venerable Không Chiếu was especially well-noted for his driving with an excellent memory. Once he has been somewhere just a single time, he remembered the route and never needed a map again.
Once, the entire sangha traveled together in a van driven by Venerable Không Chiếu. Venerable Không Như should normally have taken the front passenger seat beside the driver. That seat was reserved for the Abbot Master when he was present. But Venerable Không Như chose to sit all the way in the back, yielding the three nuns in the two middle rows (very French-school manners of him, really!!). The two Venerable Nuns then insisted that I should take the front seat instead. The van sped along, through rural areas where the roads were unpaved, jolting up and down. When we reached a stretch of winding, twisting road, the three of us didn’t dare say a word, each silently trying to steady our minds. Glancing toward the back of the van, I saw Venerable Không Như swaying left and right, but he laughed broadly, and called out loudly:
“Venerable Không Chiếu, why does it feel like I’m riding on a boat?”
Ven Không Chiếu remained utterly calm, without easing off the accelerator.
On another day, the Abbot Master needed to go somewhere, perhaps to the airport, and Venerable Không Chiếu drove him in his own car. I was sitting alone in the back seat. Once again, we reached a serpentine section of road, almost like a mountain pass. Even though there were only rocks and earth on both sides, with no steep drop, the back seat still swayed from side to side. I took out my medicine and swallowed a pill, gripping the seat tightly to keep from being tossed around. After enduring it for a while, the Master spoke softly: “Slow down a bit, Không Chiếu.” Venerable Không Chiếu replied at once: “Oh! I can’t take it a little slower, Master!”
I don’t know how to drive, so I had no idea whether it was actually possible to reduce the speed at that point or not. My friends, just imagine sitting in a car hurtling along with no brakes. What else can you do but close your eyes and let it go wherever it can.
Those are just a few lighthearted stories that come to mind when I think of the two venerable monks. Some more. Venerable Không Như loved gardening. He once grew a gourd trellis, and watered it himself every day by carrying buckets of water. The other areas were sprinkled by a shared irrigation system. The gourd vines flourished, lush and green, which made him absolutely delighted. One day, after checking on the vines, he came back into the house and proudly announced, “Every time I go out to look, there’s a new gourd! I told them, ‘Why are there so many ones?’” Then one day, he tripped and fell without anyone noticing. When the Abbot Master found out, he scolded him:
- “You’re not allowed to carry water buckets to feed the plants anymore!”
Venerable Không Như replied softly, “Yes…” But as he walked far away, he mumbled under his breath, “If I can’t water the plants anymore, I might as well die happy”.
As he grew older, Venerable Không Như would still occasionally drive out to the communal mailbox to collect the mail. In the hilly countryside, each household doesn’t have its own mailbox. Instead, there is a shared one located far away, around several kilometers from the monastery. When the Abbot Master found out, he warned Venerable Không Như again:
- “You’re getting old now. You shouldn’t be driving anymore.”
Venerable Không Như, clearly swallowing yet another enduring, muttered to himself:
- “If I can’t drive anymore, I might as well die happy!”
And finally, Venerable Không Như still kept a laptop just to sometimes check in on his old friends. One day, he was reprimanded again:
- “You shouldn’t keep reaching back into the past. Just focus on your practice. Watch! I might confiscate it. Or do you want me to send you back home?”
Venerable Không Như looked utterly dejected. He possibly murmured to himself: “I might as well die happy!”
But truly, the Venerable often said: "I’ve gone monastic; whether I live or die, I remain here in the monastery!"
I still carry his straightforward spirit deep in my heart. Once we’ve got ordained, either we’re alive or dead, we stay here in the communal sangha. This is the Buddha’s house, the house of the people. We eat from the offerings of countless households, we dwell in a place that belongs to all people, and our work serves all people.
However, toward the end of his life, his children brought him back to his hometown. His health was weakened, yet he often expressed a desire to return to the monastery. His children could not fulfill that wish, as traveling from the northern part of the U.S. to the south was no small distance. Everyone feels touched when hearing of his last wish but being unable to grant it naturally. But now, Venerable Không Như! You have returned to the Sunyata Patriarchal Temple. Surely by now, you have met with the Abbot Master and the three elder Dharma brothers. Somewhere, the five of you are together again, enough to form your own “troupe,”, don’t you?
Ah! One more story about Venerable Không Như. He often said:
“Back in the day, I was the Master’s friend, and now I have to prostrate myself before him as my teacher.” As he said this, he opened his eyes wide like he was trying to spook me, then laughed proudly, implying: “Look at me. I’m awesome like this but I admire the Master to the max! And you ladies, always full of nonsense. No wonder you got admonished.”
Venerable Tuệ Chân and Venerable Không Chiếu were much quieter, especially the former who was very strict; so, there weren’t many funny stories about them.
Well… actually, there was one.
Once, after a retreat with a large number of practitioners, the closing ceremony was followed by a communal meal. The lay practitioners had set up a long row of tables. The central seat at the head of the tables was reserved for the Abbot Master. On his both sides firstly were for the monastics, then the practitioners.
Everyone settled in. But hold on… Where did the monks go?
Looking all the way down to the far end of the tables, there they were! The three all were sitting way over there.
After the meal, I ran into them and said,
“Hey, your seats were arranged to be right next to the Master!”
Venerable Tuệ Chân smiled and said,
“Yup! Sitting next to “the sun” is so hot, you know!”
So, it turns out all three of those “heroes” were afraid of the “sun.” ☀️😄
That’s some reminiscing about the venerable monks. As for the venerable nuns, well, they were easygoing as always, but nothing particularly dramatic to tell. Venerable Nuns Phúc Trí and Hạnh Như were both kind and gentle by nature, quietly took care of everything in the kitchen. Every time I returned from a teaching trip, I’d wander down there, but I was often shooed away by the two of them: “Go care of your own assignments!” And just like that, year after year, I completely forgot how the cooking. Frankly, I didn’t truly have the kitchen to myself until the coronavirus showed up. Only then, after all those years, I did finally become the “master” of the kitchen. How deeply grateful I am to those who cooked for me, day after day, for so many years
On those occasions, the two nuns would prepare a little “feast” to welcome me back, fresh herbs, stir-fried jicama and tofu wrapped in seaweed dipped in soy sauce with chili. Sometimes there would be braised tràm salted mushrooms served with cooked rice because they knew how much I loved that dish. Nun Phúc Trí went out of her way to find those mushrooms, asking her relatives back in Vietnam to buy them, carefully selecting the big ones of best quality, then mailing them all the way over. She saved them especially for my return, so she could braise them with black pepper for the whole sangha to enjoy together. Just the other day, I opened the cupboard and happened to pick up a packet of dried tràm mushrooms. I stood there, dazed and deeply moved.
I was away from the monastery most of the year, only around there for a few days at a time before picking up my luggage and heading off again. Each time I returned, I could bring back a bottle of medicated oil, a jar of cajeput oil, a pack of cough drops, or a box of ginseng, and usually shared them with the two nuns. We were all getting on in years; that was really all we needed. The three of us used to take turns rubbing medicated oil on one another whenever someone caught a cold. The bond between us felt closer than blood ties, made even deeper by understanding that we were walking the same path, sharing the same aspiration.
Venerables Không Như and Không Chiếu had been close friends of the Master when they were young, long before their monastic ordination. The three of them also together endured
a prolonged, “forced retreat” of thirteen, fourteen years that consumed nearly all of their prime.
Perhaps because of that, beneath the master-disciples bond, there remained a closeness of true friendship. Once, I heard laughter from outside:
- “Why is it that under our Master-Commander-in-Chief are only ‘old generals’?”
Sometimes our Master must have worried. Seeing his sharp gaze fell on the “old-general disciples”, I braved a reasoning:
- “Yes, Abbot Master, our sangha may be elderly, and not yet as skillful as you wish, but we get along well, never causing trouble for one another. You’ve said that the goal of the path is harmony. So, by that, we are doing well in the practicing!”
Our Master laughed; so, he had pardoned the six “old generals” for their “crime of being past their prime.” And since the “commander-in-chief” himself was also pretty “long in the tooth,” they all could easily sympathize with one another.
Today, recalling stories from the old days which were only some years ago; yet it feels like endlessly distant. Joyful days passed so quickly! Twenty years gone! There wasn’t even the chance to celebrate the twenty-fifth anniversary before everyone had drifted away. Fall is coming, then spring, then autumn again. And now, only two yellow leaves remain, lonely and thinly clinging to the branch.
Bhikkhuni Thích Nữ Triệt Như
Sunyata Monaster, Nov 3, 2021
English version by Ngọc Huyền
Link to Vietnamese article: https://tanhkhong.org/a2841/triet-nhu-snhp034-mua-thu-cuoc-doi
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