Editor’s Note

Venerable Guo Huei, a Dharma heir of the late Chan Master Sheng Yen, currently serves as the sixth Abbot President of Dharma Drum Mountain in Taiwan. A scholar and practitioner, he holds a PhD in Literature from Rissho University in Japan. Adapted from Relaxation to Letting Go, this article introduces the Chan practice of investigating the huatou. Venerable Guo Huei explains how contemplating impermanence can arouse this questioning. He emphasizes sustained effort and patient practice without attachment to results, as a way of opening to awakening. The article was translated by Venerable Chang Hwa and Rikki Asher, PhD, and edited by Edward Lin.

— ✦ —

To investigate a huatou effectively, one must develop a deep sense of questioning, traditionally called “doubt sensation.” The purpose is to break through this questioning and see one’s “original face”—one’s true nature beyond the ordinary sense of self.

Although we understand the Three Dharma Seals—impermanence of all phenomena, no-self of all dharmas, and the tranquility of Nirvana—through Buddhist doctrine, these are merely knowledge and concepts, not the experiential realizations from practice.

We must firmly believe that we each have a true nature, but this conviction alone is not enough; we still need a method to actually see it. The huatou, also known as the Vajra King’s Sword, can sever all delusions and afflictions and is a method that can quickly lead one to see one’s true nature.

To practice the huatou, one must first initiate a deep sense of questioning (doubt sensation); once this questioning arises, one can begin to investigate the huatou. Although the investigation of the huatou can be practiced anytime and anywhere, in daily life it is best to practice in a relaxed way. During intensive meditation retreats, it is easier to let go of all external entanglements—people and affairs—and devote oneself wholeheartedly to practice. For example, during a retreat, monastic assistants help with arrangements and daily necessities, allowing us to focus on our own practice. When our mind is settled, a deep sense of questioning arises more easily; the fewer wandering thoughts we have, the easier it is to sustain that questioning.

Why is seeing one's true nature so important? Because only after seeing one’s true nature can one truly establish faith in the practice—which Chan Buddhism calls “cultivation after enlightenment”—and only then can one truly understand what it means to be free from afflictions. Ordinary Chan practice is limited to the level of cultivating samadhi, so it can only achieve temporary purity of mental activities. The method of investigating the huatou, however, unites concentration and wisdom (samadhi and prajna), directly penetrating the profound depths of wisdom, breaking through the shell of self-centered afflictions, and illuminating the mind and seeing nature.

The Attitude Toward Investigating the Huatou

The attitude toward practice is to focus solely on the effort, not the outcome. We should always do our best to handle the primary factors within our control correctly and thoroughly, without worrying about when supportive conditions will arise—for no one knows when that will be. But when that happens, the harvest will naturally ripen at that time. As the saying goes, “To understand the meaning of Buddha-nature, one must observe the right causes and conditions.” Enlightenment requires the right causes and conditions; and what we can control is our own effort—the causes we create. Other conditions are beyond our control. When the causes and conditions come together, the fruits of practice naturally follow.

Therefore, the Āgama Sūtras also state: "Causes and conditions assemble the world; with causes and conditions, the world comes to be. Causes and conditions disassemble the world; with causes and conditions, the world ceases to exist." Mental afflictions and the cycle of birth-and-death arise due to causes and conditions; and likewise, causes and conditions are needed to liberate from the cycle of birth-and-death and all the mental afflictions. Master Sheng Yen Teaches Huatou Chan reminds us: “Don’t worry about when to get enlightened. Perhaps it’s the next thought; perhaps it’s your next life—don’t worry about it. Even if enlightenment does not come in eight lifetimes or a hundred lifetimes, you must continue to investigate the huatou.” As long as you are alive in this lifetime and know that there is huatou to investigate and use, you should cherish it deeply. The process of practice is itself the purpose; when the time is ripe, enlightenment will naturally occur.

Although enlightenment requires right timing and right causes and conditions, no one knows when it will come before it happens. Master Sheng Yen states in The Key to Chan: “Practice without enlightenment does not mean it is useless; rather, through the process of Chan practice, by using the correct methods and the right views, one can at any time reduce the suffering caused by helplessness, irritability, fear, depression, and emotional imbalance.” Whether or not we attain enlightenment through investigating the huatou, the process itself allows us to eliminate many afflictions—and that alone makes it worthwhile.

Master Sheng Yen also encourages us in The Dharma Drum Ethos: In practice we should "entrust one’s body to the sangha and entrust our lives to the Dharma protectors." Since we are already practicing, we need not worry about birth-and-death issues; what is important is to continuously strive to sow the seeds of practice. Our minds should simply remain engaged in practice at all times and in all places; we need not concern ourselves about when to get enlightened.

Contemplating Impermanence to Generate Doubt Sensation

There are four stages to practicing huatou:

1. Reciting the Huatou (念話頭)

2. Questioning the Huatou (問話頭)

3. Investigating the Huatou (參話頭)

4. Upholding the Huatou (看話頭)

The core and most vital stage is the third: investigating the huatou.

To practice huatou effectively, one must have a deep sense of questioning; if not, one must actively cultivate it. The inability to generate such questioning stems from the overwhelming power of afflictions in daily life, which renders the practice ineffective. When ordinary people lose a loved one, they may, more or less, arouse some doubt about the question of birth-and-death, but usually this happens briefly and momentarily, fading away as time passes and cannot be sustained as a practice method.

Afflictions can be divided into two major categories. One category is called "entanglements" (纏,paryavasthāna), which are relatively superficial and easy to notice. The other category is called "latent afflictions" (隨眠, anuśaya), which are deep-rooted and difficult to perceive. When one’s practice reaches a state of great stability—or even enters samadhi—one can only temporarily subdue the mental afflictions or weaken their intensity; however, meditative concentration cannot counteract latent afflictions. Latent afflictions are a kind of underlying, deep-rooted affliction that is not easy to detect. Investigating a huatou can not only counteract shallow mental afflictions but also shatter deep-rooted mental afflictions. When the investigation of the huatou reaches a state of deep concentration or settlement, a doubt sensation arises. This “deep sense of questioning” is an urgent desire to see one’s true nature prior to birth or after death. One feels at every moment that the fundamental question of life and death is an immediate, pressing crisis that permits no delay. Nothing in life is more vital than resolving this fundamental issue.

A deep sense of questioning generated in huatou practice stems from faith in the Dharma—the firm belief that one possesses a true nature free from the cycle of birth-and-death and mental affliction, and that countless patriarchs and masters from the Buddha onwards have realized this truth. Thus, through practice, we too can awaken to our true nature. This “doubt sensation” is not the “doubt” associated with the six root afflictions—greed, anger, delusion, pride, doubt, and wrong views—but rather a form of practice that transforms from deep observation and reflection of life and the questioning of the existence of birth-and-death. This is the principle behind investigating the huatou.

In many sutras, the Buddha told his disciples, “Life lies between breaths.” Master Sheng Yen Teaches Huatou Chan also mentions that an ordinary person breathes about sixteen times per minute. If one lives to be a hundred years old, that amounts to only 841,836,000 breaths—and this is not an astronomical number. For example, I am turning sixty-five next year. If I can live to the age of eighty, like my master, I will have fifteen more years to live—which, in terms of breaths, amounts to just over 100 million. As we watch the second hand tick on a clock, we are literally racing against time—second by second, relentlessly moving forward. This is a very real experience: the time of our lives is slipping away at all times.

Many people played with poker cards in childhood. These thin cards are paired into inverted 'V' shapes leaning against each other. When the first set falls, subsequent ones collapse in rapid succession—the domino effect. When it comes to our perception of time, we often hear people say that the older we get, the faster time passes. This is somewhat like the domino effect: the more familiar we become with everyday routines, the faster time seems to flow. Moreover, as we age, our bodies—like machines—frequently need maintenance, and the amount of time we can actually put to effective use is far less than when we were younger. This further intensifies the feeling that time is passing increasingly fast.

During my time as a class advisor at Dharma Drum Institute of Liberal Arts, I once took my students to visit West Lotus Pure Land Monastery, where Venerable Huimin of Dharma Drum Mountain served as the abbot. Inside the monastery, there is a memorial hall for the late Venerable Zhiyu, which displays items that the old master used during his lifetime. Among them is a clock hanging on the wall. The monk leading the tour explained the significance of displaying this clock, noting that the hour, minute, and second hands were stopped at the exact hour, minute, and second of the day Venerable Master Zhiyu passed away. This clock did not stop because of a malfunction; rather, it was intentionally set to stop at that exact moment of Venerable Zhiyu's passing. Every one of us will eventually have our own life-clock stop for the final time. Whether that moment comes a little later or very soon, we must remain alert to the matter of birth-and-death—as close as if it were right on the tip of our nose!

Photo by Ven. Changzhai

It is easy to perceive impermanence through time, and the same is true through space. In May 2022, I went to a funeral home to offer chanting and condolences for Mr. Huang Shicheng (黃石城), a consultant to the Dharma Drum Mountain Humanities and Social Foundation. Because he was very devoted to public welfare during his lifetime and made significant contributions to Taiwanese society—having served two terms as Magistrate of Changhua County, as Chairman of the Central Election Commission, and as a National Policy Advisor to the Office of the President—a great number of people came to pay their condolences. The funeral home is located across from the First Funeral Home on Minquan East Road. People living nearby should feel closest to death, because every morning when they open their eyes, they see the funeral home. Logically speaking, this should be the best place for practice. In reality, however, this is not necessarily the case. The staff there handle funerals all the time; after becoming accustomed to it, they instead feel nothing.

Therefore, the contemplation of impermanence is very important. There is a saying: "I see others die, and my heart burns like a fire—not for others, but for seeing that my turn is coming." I have had many opportunities to offer condolences at the Life Memorial Park (生命園區), and each time I feel that the impermanence of life-and-death is always in the present continuous tense.

When the various foundations of Dharma Drum Mountain conduct their routine annual financial settlements, in addition to actual income and expenditures, they also include a depreciation expense for buildings. This indicates that even inanimate materials, like living beings, undergo the processes of formation, existence, decay, and disappearance. Whether it is a living person or an inanimate object, everything is constantly in a state of impermanence—of all conditioned phenomena being subject to change.

Senior media professional Mr. Liu Zhongji (劉忠繼) was hospitalized due to a blood cell disorder. During his treatment, he told me that the book I gave him, Peace Is the Greatest Happiness (平安最幸福), particularly the chapter “Cherish Life before it Expires,” was very helpful to him. When we buy packaged food from the stores, the expiration date is always clearly marked. Even cars, elevators, and water dispensers require regular maintenance to prevent problems. It can be said that, in our daily lives, the process of impermanence is occurring everywhere at all times. For example, a light bulb suddenly burning out is a common experience; a computer suddenly crashing is something we all may encounter; and even our own lives could unexpectedly end at any moment. If we can develop such a sense of urgency about life and death, then a deep sense of questioning about life will arise and become our method of practice.

The Three Stages of Turning the Familiar into the Unfamiliar

We often say that the sequence of practice is: "Turn the unfamiliar into the familiar and turn the familiar into the unfamiliar." The so-called “Transforming the unfamiliar into the familiar” means learning to look at what we take for granted—our surroundings, other people, and even ourselves—with fresh eyes and a questioning mind. It matures our bodhicitta vow of selfless altruism and, through making this vow every day and at every moment, it becomes easier for us to let go of self-centered afflictions.

In addition, we must establish the correct concepts and views of Huatou Chan and constantly refine and polish the method and its essentials, so that practice becomes easier to engage with. We need to practice to the point where, even while handling daily affairs, we do not forget to "hold the original huatou straight up"—this is "turning the unfamiliar into the familiar." As for "turning the familiar into the unfamiliar," this means transforming our bad habits and ingrained tendencies. As the saying goes, "When personhood is perfected, Buddhahood is attained"—encouraging us first to become a good person before we can truly speak of spiritual practice.

Speaking of investigating a huatou and generating the doubt sensation, there are three stages to "turning the familiar into the unfamiliar"—initiating a deep sense of questioning about the cycle of birth-and-death.

The first stage is "to turn the familiar into the unfamiliar” toward the surroundings. Most people tend to become attached to familiar people, matters, objects, and surroundings, all of which give them a sense of security. However, familiarity also implies resistance to change and transformation. Yet the Buddha's teaching says that "all conditioned phenomena are impermanent"—this is the true nature of the world. By casting doubt on “familiarity” and feeling a sense of strangeness, it becomes easier to give rise to a deep sense of questioning.

I recall that during my time as Vice-Abbot of Dharma Drum Mountain, there were several occasions when I left the main monastery for one or two months to visit North America. On the day I returned to Taiwan, after coming back from the airport to the main monastery and entering the monks' quarters, I would always feel a sense of unfamiliarity and melancholy—as if it were no longer the environment I had once known. It would take several days before I gradually adjusted.

Furthermore, when I co-taught the course "Topics on Life Education" with Professor Yang Bei (楊蓓), one student named Huang shared her experience of visiting relatives in mainland China. Due to the COVID-19 pandemic, she was required to undergo quarantine in Chengdu, Sichuan. During those two weeks of solitary isolation, she began to question from the depths of her mind: "Who am I?" and "Where am I?"—very similar to the doubt sensation experienced in Chan practice. In fact, when one can extend this doubt sensation into one’s familiar surroundings, then one can begin investigating huatou. The first awakening in the Sutra of the Eight Great Awakenings says: "The world is impermanent; the lands are fragile and perilous." If one can frequently generate a sense of unfamiliarity toward one's familiar surroundings, then it becomes easier to apply the huatou method.

The second stage is "to turn the familiar into the unfamiliar" toward others. We often encourage those who cultivate the Mahayana bodhisattva path to emulate the Buddha in cultivating both merit and wisdom and exercising both compassion and wisdom. We use the warmth of compassion to care for the suffering of others, and the clarity of wisdom to free ourselves from afflictions. Caring for others with compassion is the power of the familiar; handling matters with wisdom—investigating the huatou —relies on the effort to turn the familiar into the unfamiliar.

After returning from my studies in Japan in 2005, I taught for two years at Taichung Healthcare and Management College (now Asia University) in Wufeng, Taichung. I frequently traveled between Taichung and Dharma Drum Mountain headquarters in Taipei. Passing through the underground mall at Taipei Main Station, I hardly recognized anyone around me, and everyone walked particularly fast. Many times I felt an impulse to grab someone randomly and ask, “Who are you?” or “Where are you going?”—just like the head supervisor or the timekeepers questioning practitioners in the Chan hall. This is a superficial doubt sensation; if one goes deeper, one directly question oneself.

During intensive meditation retreats, with the help of supporters inside and outside the Chan hall, practitioners do not need to worry about daily necessities and can focus entirely on their practice. Moreover, although they follow a shared schedule, they must observe noble silence, so there is almost no interaction between people, and they do not disturb one another. The teachers in the Chan hall instruct each practitioner, in terms of both attitude and method, to isolate themselves from the environment and even from their own minds. This is also an application of "turning the familiar into the unfamiliar." In daily life, even in the present moment while caring for others, one should not depart from the practice method of investigating the huatou —this is also "turning the familiar into the unfamiliar."

The third stage is "to turn the familiar into the unfamiliar" toward the self. The existence of a "self" is what sentient beings are most familiar with and the last thing they are willing to let go of. Yet the root of the cycle of birth-and-death and mental afflictions lies precisely in attachment to the existence of life and to self-centeredness—the attachment to a self (ātma-grāha).

 The Great Treatise on the Perfection of Wisdom (Mahāprajñāpāramitā Śāstra) says:

"It is like a merchant who sets out to sea in search of treasure. Just as he is about to emerge from the great sea, his ship suddenly breaks apart, and he loses all his treasures.

Yet he rejoices and raises his hands, saying, 'I almost lost the great treasure!'

The people around him were puzzled and said, 'You have lost your wealth and escaped naked—how can you rejoice and say you almost lost the great treasure?'

He replied, 'Among all treasures, human life is the foremost. People seek wealth for life, not life for wealth.'"

Photo by Ven. Chang Duo

On the evening of January 2, 2024, a major airplane collision occurred at Haneda Airport in Tokyo, Japan. Within an extremely limited time, nearly four hundred passengers and crew members aboard all managed to evacuate safely. One of the key principles behind this success was that everyone followed the flight attendants' instructions—to leave all luggage behind and prioritize escaping to safety. This also confirms that in times of major crisis, life is the most important thing; preserving life comes first, and everything else is external and dispensable. At the highest level of Chan practice, even this most precious and most familiar "self" must be let go of before one can attain true benefit. This is why Chan uses the metaphor of “letting go at the edge of a cliff”—completely releasing our attachment to self, which is the source of birth-and-death and all mental afflictions. Only then can one “come back to life after completely letting go” and see one’s original face.

Those who are habitually familiar with conventional perceptions of environment, others, and self tend to create a like-minded sphere or a comfort zone around their lives, making it difficult to remain alert to the impermanence of life and harder to apply the huatou method effectively. Those who begin investigating the huatou often find that even when a deep sense of questioning arises, it is easily interrupted by daily affairs, making sustained effort difficult—let alone achieving full integration of practice. However, if one can apply the three stages of "turning the familiar into the unfamiliar"—toward surroundings, toward others, and toward the self—then generating a deep sense of questioning from investigating the huatou is not difficult. The huatou is also called the "Vajra King's Sword," which destroys the hardest things. It can sweep away all deluded thinking and wandering thoughts. If the great doubt from investigating the huatou bursts, one can thoroughly shatter one’s self-centeredness and directly see the Buddha-nature. Hence it is said: "Small doubt, small awakening; great doubt, great awakening."

The doubt sensation is a profound questioning about the existence of life that lies hidden deep within the mind. Everyone should have it, but ordinary people are so busy chasing after and coping with the various gains, losses, advantages, and disadvantages of the world that this doubt—the key that unlocks wisdom—becomes buried. Therefore, the foremost priority in investigating a huatou is to generate the doubt sensation. If there is none, one must generate it—starting with reciting the huatou, then progressing to questioning the huatou, investigating the huatou and even after breaking through the initial barrier, one must continue to use the huatou—upholding the huatou.

Photo by pexels-mostafa-ft-shots & shvetsa