Ven. Myo Ji Sunim (Former Teacher)
Myoji Sunim first encountered Zen Master Seung Sahn in 1982. This marked the beginning of her devotion to the practice of Zen Buddhism. She began training as a nun in 1992. Shortly thereafter, she became the abbot of Chogyesa Zen Center,
becoming the sole religious Korean leader in New York City. She promoted the introduction of Korean Seon Buddhism by opening a new temple in Manhattan in 2004. MyoJi Sunim’s concept of Buddhism is based on action, emphasizing practice. She was known for leading intensive, extended retreats and 1000-bows-a-day series. And, in the last 10 years, she has led the Zen classes at Union Theological Seminary. Further contributions to the greater community include her role as chaplain for the Red Cross during 9/11 and serving as president of the International Council for the Celebration of Buddha’s Birthday Lantern Festival. To her, Chogyesa was more than a temple. It grew to become a Buddhist Arts and Cultural center accessible to a broader community. Her mission was to promote Buddhism internationally, to encourage harmony between all religions and to advance Buddhist cultural education for youth. She leaves behind a 17-year legacy as a charismatic practitioner of Zen Buddhism. Myo Ji Sunim, JDPS, passed away on November 4th 2011. MyoJi Sunim was a leader, a mentor, a role model and a pioneer. Her absence will be felt by everyone whose life she touched.
She will be profoundly missed.
becoming the sole religious Korean leader in New York City. She promoted the introduction of Korean Seon Buddhism by opening a new temple in Manhattan in 2004. MyoJi Sunim’s concept of Buddhism is based on action, emphasizing practice. She was known for leading intensive, extended retreats and 1000-bows-a-day series. And, in the last 10 years, she has led the Zen classes at Union Theological Seminary. Further contributions to the greater community include her role as chaplain for the Red Cross during 9/11 and serving as president of the International Council for the Celebration of Buddha’s Birthday Lantern Festival. To her, Chogyesa was more than a temple. It grew to become a Buddhist Arts and Cultural center accessible to a broader community. Her mission was to promote Buddhism internationally, to encourage harmony between all religions and to advance Buddhist cultural education for youth. She leaves behind a 17-year legacy as a charismatic practitioner of Zen Buddhism. Myo Ji Sunim, JDPS, passed away on November 4th 2011. MyoJi Sunim was a leader, a mentor, a role model and a pioneer. Her absence will be felt by everyone whose life she touched.
She will be profoundly missed.
| Primary Point: Tribute to Myo Ji Sunim, JDPS |
Inka Speech by Myo Ji Sunim, JDPS
[Raises Zen stick over head, then hits table with stick.]
Empty is full. Full is empty.
[Raises Zen stick over head, then hits table with stick.]
No empty, no full.
[Raises Zen stick over head, then hits table with stick.]I
s that empty or full?
KATZ!
Korean sky is blue, American sky is also blue.
Even as a young child, I always felt an emptiness in whatever I did. When other kids joined a dancing class, I thought, “Maybe that is what I want”. So, I took the dancing class. But it was not what I wanted. Some others tried piano, so I thought, “Maybe that is the way I have to go”. But that was not for me either. Whatever others were interested in, those activities were not my way.
Both my father and grandfather were Christian ministers. The house I grew up in was like a church. But I was never 100 percent into that because everything felt empty. I was always searching for something, nothing seemed to complete me. My question was this: If what people say is true, why do I feel so much doubt? Why do I always feel this emptiness? When I moved to North America, however, I did have a belief system. I joined the Catholic Church. I fell in love. But I still asked myself, “If these things are true for me, why is there still this emptiness?”
Later I met a Buddhist nun and asked her, “What is Buddhism?” She said, “Mind creates everything.” When I heard that, I hit myself and cried, “That’s it!” That nun was the one who taught me how to practice, to bow. Then one day she called my house and said, “There is a great Zen Master visiting our temple. You must come and meet him.” I dropped everything I was doing and rushed right over; that was when I first met Zen Master Seung Sahn.
At that time I was very busy, working long hours every day, so he told me to do midnight kidos. If I just sat, I would fall asleep, so I bowed from 12:00 to 2:00 every night. I was getting by on very little sleep but still I had a lot of energy, I don’t know where it all came from. Today I am not empty any more because of this practice. The emptiness was filled in and things have become clear. This practice is our teacher.
These days I don’t have money, a car, a house or even hair! But I am no longer empty, it’s fulfilled.
[Raises Zen stick over head, then hits table with stick.]
Empty is full. Full is empty.
[Raises Zen stick over head, then hits table with stick.]
No empty, no full.
[Raises Zen stick over head, then hits table with stick.]I
s that empty or full?
KATZ!
Korean sky is blue, American sky is also blue.
Even as a young child, I always felt an emptiness in whatever I did. When other kids joined a dancing class, I thought, “Maybe that is what I want”. So, I took the dancing class. But it was not what I wanted. Some others tried piano, so I thought, “Maybe that is the way I have to go”. But that was not for me either. Whatever others were interested in, those activities were not my way.
Both my father and grandfather were Christian ministers. The house I grew up in was like a church. But I was never 100 percent into that because everything felt empty. I was always searching for something, nothing seemed to complete me. My question was this: If what people say is true, why do I feel so much doubt? Why do I always feel this emptiness? When I moved to North America, however, I did have a belief system. I joined the Catholic Church. I fell in love. But I still asked myself, “If these things are true for me, why is there still this emptiness?”
Later I met a Buddhist nun and asked her, “What is Buddhism?” She said, “Mind creates everything.” When I heard that, I hit myself and cried, “That’s it!” That nun was the one who taught me how to practice, to bow. Then one day she called my house and said, “There is a great Zen Master visiting our temple. You must come and meet him.” I dropped everything I was doing and rushed right over; that was when I first met Zen Master Seung Sahn.
At that time I was very busy, working long hours every day, so he told me to do midnight kidos. If I just sat, I would fall asleep, so I bowed from 12:00 to 2:00 every night. I was getting by on very little sleep but still I had a lot of energy, I don’t know where it all came from. Today I am not empty any more because of this practice. The emptiness was filled in and things have become clear. This practice is our teacher.
These days I don’t have money, a car, a house or even hair! But I am no longer empty, it’s fulfilled.
[Raises Zen stick over head, then hits table with stick.]
Ven. Myo Ji Sunim at the 49-day Ceremony for Zen Master Seung Sahn
Some people say that monks and nuns should not cry. I am a nun, but I am a human being, and I am crying because I miss Zen Master Seung Sahn. I miss him in my bones. I will cry; I want to cry. I miss his shout. I miss his laughter. Every time I chant shin-myo jang-gu dae-da-ra-ni, I remember him and it makes me cry. I knew, I’m going to cry on Tuesday. Now the tears come out. In your lifetime, you will have many kinds of problems. At those times, the best thing is to cry out, and then feel better. Maybe somebody says, You don’t have a strong tantien. It doesn’t matter if you have a strong tantien or not. I’m crying anyway. So, join me please.
Also, I’m doing bulsa practice, which means meaning making a temple. In all these many, many years, Zen Master Seung Sahn always helped me stand up right this moment. When I was at Hwa Gye Sah in Seoul, he asked me several times to take the abbot’s job at New York Chogye Sah temple in Queens. Each time I said, Oh no no no, no abbot’s job for me—I’m too old a nun! I have to practice and get enlightenment. Finally he said, That’s the point! That’s your togul.
In Korea, at big temples, sometimes a monk or nun has their own practice place, called a togul. It can be a big place like a monastery, or it can be a little hermitage or cave. When he said, This is your togul, something that had been pushed down just released and I felt so happy. I thought, Yes! Togul! I need a togul! And I said, Okay, I’ll go. That was ten years ago.
Ten years later, he asked us to move to Manhattan. We paid two and a half million dollars for a building. Two and a half million! I don’t have two and a half million dollars, I don’t even have ONE dollar myself. I still don’t know how we did it. I must be crazy. You already understand crazy-mind, though—all you Providence Zen Center people know. Manhattan Chogye Sah owns a two and a half million dollar brownstone because of Dae Soen Sa Nim’s incredible energy and clear direction. You already understand. Thank you.
Also, I’m doing bulsa practice, which means meaning making a temple. In all these many, many years, Zen Master Seung Sahn always helped me stand up right this moment. When I was at Hwa Gye Sah in Seoul, he asked me several times to take the abbot’s job at New York Chogye Sah temple in Queens. Each time I said, Oh no no no, no abbot’s job for me—I’m too old a nun! I have to practice and get enlightenment. Finally he said, That’s the point! That’s your togul.
In Korea, at big temples, sometimes a monk or nun has their own practice place, called a togul. It can be a big place like a monastery, or it can be a little hermitage or cave. When he said, This is your togul, something that had been pushed down just released and I felt so happy. I thought, Yes! Togul! I need a togul! And I said, Okay, I’ll go. That was ten years ago.
Ten years later, he asked us to move to Manhattan. We paid two and a half million dollars for a building. Two and a half million! I don’t have two and a half million dollars, I don’t even have ONE dollar myself. I still don’t know how we did it. I must be crazy. You already understand crazy-mind, though—all you Providence Zen Center people know. Manhattan Chogye Sah owns a two and a half million dollar brownstone because of Dae Soen Sa Nim’s incredible energy and clear direction. You already understand. Thank you.
Inka Dharma Exchange
Article from the Uptown Chronicle "A House that Zen Built"
On April 7, 2001 Myo Ji Sunim received inka in a ceremony at Providence Zen Center with Zen Master Soeng Hyang presiding.
Q: We just finished a 90-day Kyol Che up at the monastery. The other day I was looking up at the altar and I saw something very strange. I noticed that the statue on the altar is Kwan Seum Bosal. But then I looked up and I saw that the painting behind Kwan Seum Bosal also has Kwan Seum Bosal in it. And the Kwan Seum Bosal in the painting is bowing. So, what I don't understand is, how can Kwan Seum Bosal be bowing to Kwan Seum Bosal?
Myo Ji Sunim: You already understand.
Q: So, I ask you.
MJSN: [Bows, pause] Is that not enough?
Q: Thank you. Kwan Seum Bosal.
Q: I grew up in Queens. So, I ask you, Queens and Manhattan, are they the same or different?
MJSN: You already understand.
Q: But I ask you.
MJSN: In Queens the sky is blue, in Manhattan the sky is also blue.
Q: If there wasn't Buddhism, what religion would you practice?
MJSN: You already understand.
Q: No, I'm asking you.
MJSN: The floor is yellow.
Q: Thank you for your teaching. Good religion.
Q: We have known each other a long time. But still I don't know one thing. In Korea there is a huge painting, bigger than here, and there's many bodhisattvas and Buddhas. I want to know which one is you?
MJSN: You ask me a question and I answer you.
Q: Thank you for your teaching.
Q: Last time you came to Germany, Arne and I were there and we translated for you from German to English, and your English to German. But next time, maybe Arne and I will not be there, and no one will be there to translate for you. How will you teach the truth then?
MJSN: You already understand.
Q: A little bit more.
MJSN: Danke.
Q: Danke.
Q: We just finished a 90-day Kyol Che up at the monastery. The other day I was looking up at the altar and I saw something very strange. I noticed that the statue on the altar is Kwan Seum Bosal. But then I looked up and I saw that the painting behind Kwan Seum Bosal also has Kwan Seum Bosal in it. And the Kwan Seum Bosal in the painting is bowing. So, what I don't understand is, how can Kwan Seum Bosal be bowing to Kwan Seum Bosal?
Myo Ji Sunim: You already understand.
Q: So, I ask you.
MJSN: [Bows, pause] Is that not enough?
Q: Thank you. Kwan Seum Bosal.
Q: I grew up in Queens. So, I ask you, Queens and Manhattan, are they the same or different?
MJSN: You already understand.
Q: But I ask you.
MJSN: In Queens the sky is blue, in Manhattan the sky is also blue.
Q: If there wasn't Buddhism, what religion would you practice?
MJSN: You already understand.
Q: No, I'm asking you.
MJSN: The floor is yellow.
Q: Thank you for your teaching. Good religion.
Q: We have known each other a long time. But still I don't know one thing. In Korea there is a huge painting, bigger than here, and there's many bodhisattvas and Buddhas. I want to know which one is you?
MJSN: You ask me a question and I answer you.
Q: Thank you for your teaching.
Q: Last time you came to Germany, Arne and I were there and we translated for you from German to English, and your English to German. But next time, maybe Arne and I will not be there, and no one will be there to translate for you. How will you teach the truth then?
MJSN: You already understand.
Q: A little bit more.
MJSN: Danke.
Q: Danke.
A Morning at the Manhattan Chogyesa Templeby Daniel Marrin
Last week, members of Faith House attended the Sunday service at Manhattan’s Chogseya Temple. Located on 96th Street just west of Central Park, the temple looks just like any other apartment building on the street from the outside, a simple white stone building unadorned except for a door buzzer that reads “Zen Temple.” The temple holds three halls, a basement temple, a parlor and kitchen space with a garden behind on the ground floor, and upstairs another temple and library of Buddhist texts. Our morning service was held in the small basement temple dedicated to Ji-Jang Bosal, a much-respected boddhisatva, or Buddhist who dedicates his existence to helping others.
In the center of the room sits a life-size gold-painted statue of Ji-Jang Bosal, the wall behind him covered with tiny statues given as memorials in remembrance of the departed. (Ji-Jang is said to intervene on behalf of the deceased.)
About 15 people attended the service, young and old but all Korean, except for us Faith House visitors. We sat on pillows in lines on either side of Ji-Jang’s statue, while the temple’s two abbots, Myo Ji Sunim, a Korean abbess, and Myong Haeng Sunim, vice abbot, an American, who sat directly opposite the statue, facing it. Both abbots had a smiling joyful demeanor and conveyed a sense of great vigor about their work.
The service consisted of chants and songs all in Korean, which were mostly either dedications to Ji-Jang Bosal or promises to hold true to the Buddhist lifestyle. In order for us to participate, the Temple gave us a dual-language song booklet: the Korean was written phonetically on the left, and on the right were the English translations. The question was was it more important to sing the Korean and share in the experience of chanting, or concentrate on the translation to get the meaning. In essence, which is more important for one’s first encounter with a faith - to share the experience or understand it?
I chose the middle way: when the songs talked about personal philosophies and Buddhist beliefs, I read over the translations. But for songs that praised individual Buddhists in a list of names, I figured I might as well sing the Korean.
The service demanded a good deal of stamina from its participants, especially in the amount of prostrations. One prostration consisted of going from standing with hands in prayer position, then going down to your knees, bowing your head to the ground, straightening up, standing again, and returning your hands to your chest. This was typically done in less than 10 seconds: the service had us doing it straight for about seven minutes straight while chanting the entire time!
In Catholic churches, I’ve have seen some people struggle to get up after just kneeling for 5 minutes. Here, I saw women twice my age getting up, down, and chanting for nearly ten minutes straight without showing any sign of weakness. Meanwhile, while I was able to keep up with the movements, I was beginning to work up a sweat and couldn’t keep up with the chants: it felt like some kind of Buddhist gym class!
After a brief sermon on simplicity, we closed the service, with three bows, one to Ji-Jang Bosal, another to the portraits of the Zen masters on the wall, and then a bow to each other. For that last bow, the man next to me smiled and said, “Become Buddha,” which apparently is a translation of the prayer between the people. To me, that sounds a little grandiose: become Buddha? Become the father of wisdom and enlightenment? It sounded a bit naïve and haughty to think that I could possibly “become Buddha.”
And yet, the more I thought about it, such a desire is exactly what drives the Eucharist in most Christian churches, that desire to have Christ dwell within us and us in him, to BE his body. Despite that, it’s rarely been said to me that I needed to “become Jesus,” since most Christians view Jesus as a God to be worshiped.
Yet at the Chogyesa temple, the goal seems to be to emulate Buddha more than to worship him. The abbots told us that they were more interested in spreading Buddhism as a way of life than as a religion. It made their teaching more approachable for me, seeming as a complement to my Christian faith. In some ways, the emphasis on detachment from earthly desires was a perfect complement to the Christian teaching that we are “in this world but not of it,” souls moving through in an imperfect and impermanent world.
“WASTE NOT: WANT NOT”
For all the talk of impermanence though, the Buddhists placed great value on conservation of resources, as they showed in the meal afterward. We went upstairs to the long parlor, with pillows placed around in an oval for us to sit, the food in the middle.
The meal began with a group prayer, first with an expression of gratitude to Buddha for the relief of our hungers and desires, and the value of the food to our health. Then everything was passed around the room, starting with the abbots, then moving clockwise around: pots of white rice, tempura vegetables, kimchi, pickled vegetables and scallion pancakes (pajeon), all delicious and flavorful.
As the food went around, abbess Myo Ji said we had to eat everything we put on our plate to avoid waste, and that anyone who left food at the end would be punished. (I THINK they were kidding, but I ate everything to make sure.)
I’d been taught to clean your plate as a kid, but the temple abbots brought it to a whole new level. After the meal was over and all that was left were crumbs, we were served tea and the abbess demonstrated the last part of the cleaning. She poured the tea onto her plate and swirled it around the center so that any remaining crumbs mixed in with the liquid. Then she held the plate to her lips and drank, effectively removing every last crumb.
This emphasis on avoiding waste extended beyond the food. At one point, I asked if they had napkins, and though someone offered, the abbey said, “No, no waste!” and she showed me to use the top of my cotton placemat to clean my hands and mouth.
After we finished, we folded the mats, collected the plates, and then passed towels around for each of us to clean the floor around us and leave it shining, with no trace left of the meal. This was definitely one of the most amazing examples of “waste not want not” I’ve ever seen put into practice in my entire life…and tasty too! More importantly, the practice of the meal seemed to reflected the group’s faith and values. Although life is impermanent, we must still value what we have been given here.
The abbots have invited us to visit their Sunday services and talks any time we want. To find out more, you can visit their website at nychogyesa.org.
Daniel Marrin is a New York freelance journalist, and member of the emergent Christian group Transmission in New York. His writings, and other work, can be found online at danielmarrin.googlepages.com.
Last week, members of Faith House attended the Sunday service at Manhattan’s Chogseya Temple. Located on 96th Street just west of Central Park, the temple looks just like any other apartment building on the street from the outside, a simple white stone building unadorned except for a door buzzer that reads “Zen Temple.” The temple holds three halls, a basement temple, a parlor and kitchen space with a garden behind on the ground floor, and upstairs another temple and library of Buddhist texts. Our morning service was held in the small basement temple dedicated to Ji-Jang Bosal, a much-respected boddhisatva, or Buddhist who dedicates his existence to helping others.
In the center of the room sits a life-size gold-painted statue of Ji-Jang Bosal, the wall behind him covered with tiny statues given as memorials in remembrance of the departed. (Ji-Jang is said to intervene on behalf of the deceased.)
About 15 people attended the service, young and old but all Korean, except for us Faith House visitors. We sat on pillows in lines on either side of Ji-Jang’s statue, while the temple’s two abbots, Myo Ji Sunim, a Korean abbess, and Myong Haeng Sunim, vice abbot, an American, who sat directly opposite the statue, facing it. Both abbots had a smiling joyful demeanor and conveyed a sense of great vigor about their work.
The service consisted of chants and songs all in Korean, which were mostly either dedications to Ji-Jang Bosal or promises to hold true to the Buddhist lifestyle. In order for us to participate, the Temple gave us a dual-language song booklet: the Korean was written phonetically on the left, and on the right were the English translations. The question was was it more important to sing the Korean and share in the experience of chanting, or concentrate on the translation to get the meaning. In essence, which is more important for one’s first encounter with a faith - to share the experience or understand it?
I chose the middle way: when the songs talked about personal philosophies and Buddhist beliefs, I read over the translations. But for songs that praised individual Buddhists in a list of names, I figured I might as well sing the Korean.
The service demanded a good deal of stamina from its participants, especially in the amount of prostrations. One prostration consisted of going from standing with hands in prayer position, then going down to your knees, bowing your head to the ground, straightening up, standing again, and returning your hands to your chest. This was typically done in less than 10 seconds: the service had us doing it straight for about seven minutes straight while chanting the entire time!
In Catholic churches, I’ve have seen some people struggle to get up after just kneeling for 5 minutes. Here, I saw women twice my age getting up, down, and chanting for nearly ten minutes straight without showing any sign of weakness. Meanwhile, while I was able to keep up with the movements, I was beginning to work up a sweat and couldn’t keep up with the chants: it felt like some kind of Buddhist gym class!
After a brief sermon on simplicity, we closed the service, with three bows, one to Ji-Jang Bosal, another to the portraits of the Zen masters on the wall, and then a bow to each other. For that last bow, the man next to me smiled and said, “Become Buddha,” which apparently is a translation of the prayer between the people. To me, that sounds a little grandiose: become Buddha? Become the father of wisdom and enlightenment? It sounded a bit naïve and haughty to think that I could possibly “become Buddha.”
And yet, the more I thought about it, such a desire is exactly what drives the Eucharist in most Christian churches, that desire to have Christ dwell within us and us in him, to BE his body. Despite that, it’s rarely been said to me that I needed to “become Jesus,” since most Christians view Jesus as a God to be worshiped.
Yet at the Chogyesa temple, the goal seems to be to emulate Buddha more than to worship him. The abbots told us that they were more interested in spreading Buddhism as a way of life than as a religion. It made their teaching more approachable for me, seeming as a complement to my Christian faith. In some ways, the emphasis on detachment from earthly desires was a perfect complement to the Christian teaching that we are “in this world but not of it,” souls moving through in an imperfect and impermanent world.
“WASTE NOT: WANT NOT”
For all the talk of impermanence though, the Buddhists placed great value on conservation of resources, as they showed in the meal afterward. We went upstairs to the long parlor, with pillows placed around in an oval for us to sit, the food in the middle.
The meal began with a group prayer, first with an expression of gratitude to Buddha for the relief of our hungers and desires, and the value of the food to our health. Then everything was passed around the room, starting with the abbots, then moving clockwise around: pots of white rice, tempura vegetables, kimchi, pickled vegetables and scallion pancakes (pajeon), all delicious and flavorful.
As the food went around, abbess Myo Ji said we had to eat everything we put on our plate to avoid waste, and that anyone who left food at the end would be punished. (I THINK they were kidding, but I ate everything to make sure.)
I’d been taught to clean your plate as a kid, but the temple abbots brought it to a whole new level. After the meal was over and all that was left were crumbs, we were served tea and the abbess demonstrated the last part of the cleaning. She poured the tea onto her plate and swirled it around the center so that any remaining crumbs mixed in with the liquid. Then she held the plate to her lips and drank, effectively removing every last crumb.
This emphasis on avoiding waste extended beyond the food. At one point, I asked if they had napkins, and though someone offered, the abbey said, “No, no waste!” and she showed me to use the top of my cotton placemat to clean my hands and mouth.
After we finished, we folded the mats, collected the plates, and then passed towels around for each of us to clean the floor around us and leave it shining, with no trace left of the meal. This was definitely one of the most amazing examples of “waste not want not” I’ve ever seen put into practice in my entire life…and tasty too! More importantly, the practice of the meal seemed to reflected the group’s faith and values. Although life is impermanent, we must still value what we have been given here.
The abbots have invited us to visit their Sunday services and talks any time we want. To find out more, you can visit their website at nychogyesa.org.
Daniel Marrin is a New York freelance journalist, and member of the emergent Christian group Transmission in New York. His writings, and other work, can be found online at danielmarrin.googlepages.com.
