Pointing to the Moon: Instructions for Hwadu Practice

In Korean Zen the technique of don’t-know meditation is referred to as Hwadu practice. Hwadu, in Sino-Korean, literally translates as “word head.” This meditation technique uses a question, usually one of an existential nature, like “What is this?” or “What am I?” The words of the question are called “the tail of the question.” Like a dog’s tail, they are something that trails behind.

Where the words point your mind to is the “word head,” or the moment before words and speech. “Word head” could be translated as ante-word: before words, before speech. Often, we explain it more descriptively, saying, “The words of the question are like a finger pointing at the moon.” But if you clearly see the moon, you don’t then keep looking at the finger. So the words of the question are like a tuning device that points you to a particular state of mind—or a particular state of no-mind. This is because, at least for a second or two, it cuts off the stream of conceptual thinking—there’s a moment of just “Don’t know!” At that moment there are no words and no speech, just the sense of openness. Hwadu technique is like that: it cultivates this complete questioning. At the moment the question becomes complete—100%—the words of the question aren’t there anymore. There’s only a feeling like a question mark, a very subtle sense of curiosity, of perplexity, of pondering something—what is it?

To support this kind of practice, the basics of meditation first cover how to keep your body, breath, and mind and then how to use the question itself. The Korean word for the device that is typically used in Zen halls to signal the start and end of meditation is the chugpi. The meditation session begins when the head monk hits the chugpi three times, making a sharp wooden sound. At the end of meditation, he or she will again hit the chugpi three times. You can see this is not something that’s going to lull you into a dreamy reverie. Its message is “Wake up! Stay awake!”

In the Zen tradition, the most important aspect of sitting posture is keeping your body erect. Whether you’re on the floor in a cross-legged position or in a chair, the vertical axis of your torso should be straight and your belly should be open. You should relax your shoulders and feel like your ears are more or less in line with them. Your nose should be more or less aligned with the center of the chest and your navel. The hands are usually put in the cosmic mudra; to form it, place the left hand on top of the right, and lightly join the thumbs. Your hands should touch your belly just a little bit below the navel. One final note about the body—Zen meditation is never done with the eyes fully closed. The eyes are kept about half-open—or half-closed—so that you are gently looking down at the floor about a foot or two in front of you. That way there is still a sense of alertness.

The second element of meditation is your breathing. You should pay attention to your abdomen and breathe in a relaxed way down into your belly. Often when someone starts a meditation session they will take a few slow, deep breaths, letting the belly expand like a balloon, then very gently let the air out so the abdomen flattens slightly. Do that three or four times so that you settle down into your body and into your belly. Then give up controlling the breathing, and let it flow on its own. Observe it for a moment or two. A long breath is just a long breath. A short breath is just a short breath. Let the breath be as it is.

The third element is the basic attitude of mind. Keep an attitude of non-interference. Don’t try to get rid of any particular thoughts or any particular feelings. Likewise don’t try to forcefully hold on to any particular state of mind or any particular feeling. Just let everything come and go like clouds floating freely in the sky. Don’t be bothered by your thinking. Thinking appears; thinking disappears. Feelings appear; feelings disappear. No problem. The idea of “no mind” or “no thought” is not to get rid of thought. It’s not to be bothered by thought. Sounds appear from outside and you hear them. Then they disappear. Sensations appear in the body and pass away. Just gently perceive whatever is occurring moment by moment by moment.

Now, keeping your mind relaxed, pick up this question: “What am I?” Ask yourself this question several times with sincerity. At first you may have several different answers, but you’ll realize very soon that none of the answers that you supply really suffice and satisfy the feeling of the question. Even if you give some philosophical answer, you then have to ask yourself, “Do I really, really know what that means? Do I really have the experience of that?”

You’ll come to a sense sooner or later, where you feel that all opinions, all ideas, all concepts do not really satisfy the essential feeling of the question: “What am I?” “What is this that we call ‘I’?” “What?” You will be left with a feeling like this…“Don’t know!” Now, be very careful not to take don’t-know as if it were the answer to the question. Don’t know is not the answer to the question. Don’t-know is the state that arises from sincere questioning. So keep returning to that don’t-know state which is before ideas, before concepts. And, if you lose it, again bring up the question: “What am I?”