Bunny Suicides

The image (centre) is of Garuda, mythical bird in Buddhist and Hindu lore, mentioned below. NOT A BUNNY.

I can't quite work out how this fluffy bunny (see picture opposite) managed to depress the lever -from inside the toaster - after inserting himself (or herself) into the toasting slot. Can this be a case of assisted suicide or bunny euthanasia?

The technology-assisted self-destruction shown in the picture (below, at the bottom) shows a level of ingenuity, and a capacity for meticulous pre-planning, I wouldn't have associated with bunnies. But the older I get the more I realise how I may always have taken the sensibilities of animals for granted, and underestimated their intelligence.

Several years ago my daughter gave me the Book of Bunny Suicides for Christmas, and I was impressed with Andy Riley's finely-observed compilation of several dozen cartoons, each depicting the self-executed demise of a "little fluffy bunny who just doesn't want to live any more". Whatever one thinks of the incidence, causes and morbidity of depression in bunnies (and I haven't previously given it much thought at all), this book illuminates the issue vividly, and I read it at a single sitting.

To say I read it gives a false impression, as there is hardly any text at all, it's all pictures, there's a laugh on every page, and not many pages overall. On several pages I laughed out loud, and on quite a few I laughed helplessly. These cartoons are wickedly funny, consistently, inventively morbid, timeless and also de nos jours. Some bunny-suicides as illustrated take a bit of working out: for example, one bunny - presumably having tried unsuccessfully to die at his own paw using other methods - succeeds in fixing himself to the front of an Underground train (super-glue, velcro, blue-tack?) from which position - suspended above the tracks - he urinates directly and precisely onto the third 'live' rail, with the result that a violent electric charge passes up his urine-stream, with the intended result: he sizzles.

You have to see it to be swept away with admiration at his determination and his ingenuity. How did he manage to fix himself on to the front of the train without attracting the driver's attention? How much did he have to drink to be sure that he could maintain a steady urine-stream for long enough to hold the circuit and produce death? Did he have to practice this method by 'dummy runs'? All this is fascinating conjecture, without even going into what caused bunny to be depressed in the first place, even if he were depressed, which is itself debatable (there are other motives for suicide than depression).

Shortly after I got the Book of Bunny Suicides I passed it on to someone I visited in hospital, dying of an inoperable brain tumour. I did this on an impulse, and it turned out to be a helpful one. The person to whom I gave it found it a real tonic, and got many laughs out of it during his final illness. It's a book you can keep around and turn to in those moments of rather ponderous solemnity and self-concern we're all subject to now and then.

I bought a dozen of these Bunny Suicide books, one for myself, and the rest to give away when the circumstances seemed right, especially around terminal illness: I don't think offering this book as a gift to someone dying is a matter of very fine judgement, in fact I think that bringing very fine judgement to bear on dying and death can be a fearful business. Attending on the dying and death of others - and our own - calls, perhaps, for the qualities of that mythical and fearless Buddhist bird, Garuda.

Garuda is a do-anything, go-anywhere bird, and he can fly as soon as he is hatched. He crawls out of his shell on to the narrow shelf overlooking a vertiginous precipice and - finding no where to perch - falls into the void spreading his wings and flying at once, looking fearlessly for evil adversaries to slay: doubt, prevarication, hesitation, self-consciousness. It's said that Garuda sat on the Lord Buddha's throne as a protector until - during the Buddha's delivery of the Heart Sutra - a bat farted. Garuda promptly killed the bat for its insolence, whereupon he was banished for breaking the First Precept.

I do think (by the account given in the story) the Lord Buddha seemed very hard-hearted, but perhaps he didn't issue the order that banished Garuda, perhaps it was a pompous minion acting ultra vires. If the Lord Buddha lacked a sense of humour, or a sense of proportion, and had never himself farted in public (doubtful indeed), he would probably have had me banished - like that flatulent bat -for distributing Bunny Suicide books to dying friends. Which is why I've always taken stories about the life of the Buddha with a pinch of salt, or with a whiff of bat-fart.

As far as I can recollect, Garuda was eventually re-instated, and is now available to me - when the occasion presents itself - to deliver the remaining two Bunny Suicide books I've got left to give away.

Sutra Cordis

Thanks to Mariano Marcigaglia of the Buddhist Society who forwarded this majestic Latin rendering of the Heart Sutra for everyone's enjoyment......

Sutra Cordis Magnae Sapientiae Transcendentis

(Om laudetur Domina Nobilissima Sapientia Transcendens!)

Sutra Cordis Magnae Sapientiae Transcendentis
Bodhisattva Avalokita
profundam Sapientiam transcendentem excolens,
quinque complexuum vacuam naturam conspexit

et hoc modem omnes dolores superavit

Shariputra, forma dissimilis non est vacuitatis,

vacuitas dissimilis formae non est.
Forma est vacuitas, vacuitas forma est.
Idem accidit sensibus, perceptionibus, propensionibus, conscientiis.
Shariputra, omnia phaenomena natura vacua sunt:

non nata neque exstincta, non pura neque impura,

non crescentia neque descrescentia.

Ideo in vacuitate

forma, sensus, perceptio, propensio, conscientia non est;

non oculus, auris, nasus, lingua, corpus, mens;

non species, sonus, odor, sapor, contactus, notio.

Sensus videndi non est, neque alia elementa huius generis

usque ad mentis conscientiam.

Ignorantia non est, neque finis eius, aliaque huius generis

usque ad senectutem et mortem, neque finis eorem est,
Labor non est, non causa, non exitus, non via.
Scientia non est, neque adeptio.
Cum nihil adipiscendum sit
bodhisattva Sapientia transcendente nisus,
animo libero ab impedimentis vivit.
Impedimentis non obstantibus nulla timet,
falsas cogitationes relinquit et summum Niravana fit.
Cum Sapientia transcendente nitantur, omnes Buddha trium temporum
perfectam illuminationem consequentuur.
Scito igitur Sapientiam transcendentem
sublimem mantra esse, mantra magnum et fulgentem,

maximum mantra, mantra sine aequali,
quod omnes labores dissolvere potest.
Verum est, sine errore.
Proinde mantra Sapientiae transcendentis ita pronuntia:
GATE GATE PARAGATE PARASAMGATE BODHI SVAHA
GATE GATE PARAGATE PARASAMGATE BODHI SVAHA
GATE GATE PARAGATE PARASAMGATE BODHI SVAHA
(Ivit, ivit, transivit, totum transivit, Illuminatio tum sit!)

Vapour trails in the sky

The skies are strangely unblemished by vapour trails since air-traffic has been suspended, and I am in an odd - but not disagreeable -psychological space because of this.

It's as if the unblemished sky reminds me somehow of another more innocent time, and I feel a small tug of nostalgic yearning for that time, a small hope that the sight of intercontinental jet aeroplanes high in the sky above our home in South-East England has gone forever.

I've done my share - perhaps more than my share, indeed certainly more than my share - of careless jetting around Europe in recent years. It hasn't even been entirely careless: every trip has caused me a twinge of guilt about the self-indulgence of cheap flights to European destinations, but the twinge has never been sharp enough to make me desist. It's always been possible to rationalise my discomfort: for example, as a concerned spouse meeting his wife's legitimate need to visit a daughter abroad, and - of course - his own need too. And I've also made a fair number of more expensive and tiring trips abroad by car, and on the train, to 'reduce my carbon footprint', although I have no confidence at all in this 'fig-leaf' of self-deception.

Next week my wife and I were to have travelled to Italy by air for a four-day break, two in Rome and two in Florence. This visit to Rome and Florence has long been a dream of my wife, who craves the warmth and sunshine of the countries of southern Europe as a temporary respite from her forty year exile in the nippy Northern hemisphere - her birthplace was sub-Saharan Africa.

Along with millions of others we shall need to grin and bear the disappointment, and find some consolation in the early Spring sunshine here at home. At least we shall be here to see the flowering cherry we planted in our garden ten years ago come into ravishing blossom, a heart-stopping display that quickly tarnishes and fades a day or so after its pristine first flush.

Alongside the disappointment I shall feel (more for my wife, vicariously, than for myself) there is something like satisfaction, perhaps vindication of my long held view that my life of self-indulgence is intrinsically hollow and illusory, although I have often felt locked into it by circumstances, by powerful social convention, ties of affection and family solidarity that can't be undone, not that I want to undo them.

I am only one individual in a family of (currently) five constituent members, and the other family members don't necessarily agree with my purely theoretical ideas on the merits of self-denial, and abstinence from small pleasures which they - quite validly - feel they have earned. We do have discussions about this, as I imagine most families do - I may be wrong about this, I often am on such matters. Such discussions sometimes mar the serene skies of family accord with vapour trails that disperse only slowly, and are replaced quickly by new ones when they fade.

The trouble with me, as always, is that I'm not as ready to give up my own pleasures as I am to point out to my loved ones the value - to them - of giving up theirs.

Perhaps there's hope for me yet in terms of personal turn-around, although I think there may not be a lot of time.....

Essence of Care.....

I can't resist commenting on the Lift Game installed in North Wing of St Thomas's Hospital, a scene from which is captured in the picture opposite. Devised and crafted by Tim Hunkin, the game bears some resemblance to an end-of-the-pier amusement game, you put a coin in the slot, choose from one of three flashing buttons, and your reward (if you punched the right button) is a tableau from hospital life (see picture), enacted as one of three lift-doors opens randomly to reveal a member of staff, delivering a service to an old dear on a trolley.

The old dear (I'm conscious as I write of the possible political incorrectness of such a term) sits up on the trolley when the designated service arrives, gazes at it or submits to it reflectively, nods his or her head in solemn approbation, then sinks back on to his/her trolley, ready to be wheeled passively by the solemn porter to the next assignment. It's mesmerising......and great fun.

When we aspiring chaplains go to St Tommy's for our course, we've started to tarry by the Lift Game and use our loose change to gamble on seeing who pops out of the lift to attend to the old dear. Of course if you push the wrong button, and the old dear has been manoevred to the 'wrong' (non-opening) lift door by the long-suffering porter, the 'wrong' door opens to display something less dynamic. a thin old thing standing erect but forlorn and unattended, wearing a nightshirt, attached to an intravenous drip on a stand, and quivering like a recently struck tuning fork. Disconcertingly pathetic. I don't know whether the top-to-toe vibration was contrived, or whether it was just an unintended mechanical effect. But it unsettled even me, inured as I am by years of nursing to the suffering of others (I jest).

The lift game, despite its power to disconcert, is great fun, and we spent a happy ten minutes feeding it coins, and laughing like kids at the fun of being wrong-footed by the machine, and whoping with pleasure when we banged the right button and got a prize. This is heralded by a cheerfully raucous pealing of the lift bell as the lift 'arrives', the doors open, and the tableau is set in motion.

I "Googled" the Lift Game and got Tim's email address to send him a word of appreciation: it's worth reading his account of how the Lift Game came to be; how much effort he put into getting it right; what obstacles he had to overcome; and how much it still demands from him by way of attention. If you go by the game yourself, think of Tim - he's a craftsman, and something of a genius; maybe something of a bodhisattva too.

The little figures Tim has crafted, although apparantly simple and stylised, seem to me to carry some extraordinary quality of sensibility, of responsiveness, and of care. I think it is this essence of care that Tim has captured (through his observation of people at work) that calls forth my own emotional response - of concern, but also of joy - and, I would surmise, a variety of emotional responses in others. I think this work deserves wider recognition, and there might well be more of it.

**** **** **** **** **** ****

The course itself is going well, and I'm enjoying it. Clearly a lot of thought has gone into planning it so that the content is balanced, and so that - all things considered - the participants have an opportunity to meet the objectives, which are by no means modest. One of the sessions at our last meeting invited us to work in small groups to develop our thinking about what setting up a chaplaincy service might involve. To invest this task with a bit of dynamism, we were asked to think about how our new chaplaincy service might respond to an early challenge.

Wwe were three, and we conjectured that we were setting up a chaplaincy service to the UK Space Agency, whose mission was to put on astronaut on Mars. The agency employed at least 1,600 people, one of whom was the astronaut. The urgency that confronted us was a sudden and inexplicable spike in sick-absence amongst the staff. Where did we fit in? What might we contribute to the agency? And how would that work out in practice?

This was great fun, but it did challenge us in many ways, and at many levels, including the level of dharma-practice. I got a lot out of it, and so - I think - did my collaborators. After a while the several small groups (all of which had their own different scenarios) met to compare notes and share experience with each other and with Keith Munnings and Chris Blomeley, the facilitators.

It's a moot point whether we succeeded in bringing an effective spiritual or pastoral ministry to our 'organisations', but I for one will feel better equipped in future to join others in doing so.

**** **** **** **** **** ****

I've been pressing on with the new zhen zuang energy-work, and I'm now in my third month of daily practice, with encouraging results. I feel more integrated, look and feel better, and look forward to the practice happily each day. More details can be found at George Draffan's website, well worth a visit I reckon.

The caravan moves on....

Image is of a deva (see text below)

Another tent-pitching occasion for the Kalyana Mitra caravan, yesterday at the Buddhist Society, where the first meeting took place of the second chaplaincy development programme for aspiring chaplaincy candidates, or 'dharma-workers' - a provisional title tentatively offered by Keith Munnings - who led the training event, attended by twelve participants.

For the first time I made sense of the fact that there are two training programmes, or development programmes, offered by Kalyana Mitra. The one at St. Thomas's that I wrote about earlier is for intending or existing NHS chaplains, and addresses the needs of healthcare chaplains in particular detail.

The programme I attended yesterday is for anyone who is working in a helping capacity: the term 'chaplaincy' has accordingly been 'stretched' or expanded to embrace all such endeavour, whether actual (people who are already in a helping 'role' of some sort), or intending (people who would like to help others in some way).

I've been more than a little sceptical about the value of training for a defined role in Buddhist 'helping', as I understood (or misunderstood) it, since I first became aware that the training was envisaged, and I have expressed discordant opinions with Keith and Chris Blomley about their plans.

I was wrong on two accounts: first, there is no reason why a formal training scheme for volunteers should not co-exist with a volunteer scheme such as the Ananda newtwork (which does not supply training or accreditation); there is room for both, and perhaps each meets a need in different ways. Second, the training scheme/development programmes offered are less propositional, more open and flexible, and more susceptible to the experience of the participants than I feared they might be otherwise. And my fears may have been based on a misunderstanding on my part of what was intended, why it was intended (the rationale), and how that 'what' was to be achieved.

Here are the purposes of the programme I attended yesterday(quoted from the programme literature), or rather the first of seven sessions that make up the complete programme:

"Who we are and what we hope to achieve from these session:

- Kalyana Mitra - Buddhist Chaplaincy Support Group (BCSG)

- sharing dhamma teachings and chaplaincy experience

- strengthen dhamma practice of the attendees

- towards development of Buddhist chaplaincy in the UK (EU) enabling trainees to provide Buddhist spiritual, moral and pastoral care to the community inclusively, effectively and professionally within a mutifaith environment".

The programme was introduced by Dr Sunil Kariyakarawana "the man with the longest surname in the world", who directs the BCSG with sunny humility and charm (he is a very humorous speaker), none of which disguises his intellectual brilliance and scholarship.

The day comprised an experiential journey around the Mitta Sutta (Seven Qualities of a Friend) of the Pali Canon (AN VII 35), with individual and paired reflection, group work, and whole group discussion. Before lunch we were treated to a Jakata Story reading by Professor Upul. I had never heard one of these fables before, but it was a treat, fantastic, full of symbols and allusions, and of course with a moral message for the listener.

Professor Upul clearly enjoys this traditional dharma-vehicle, and he is a great story-teller; his eyes twinkle, his voice is expressive, and for me the message 'went in', almost without touching the sides, as most good stories do. It's true for me that - possibly - something of the fable's magic was lost in translation, but there were enough long and musical names in Pali to convey some of that fabulous quality to every listener, as if in a trance-state.

The day 'ticked all my boxes': and it seemed to me to be well on course to fulfil its purposes, especially if participants are able to complete it.

At the start of one of the sessions we were invited to choose one of eleven fruits of metta practice, and reflect (with a partner) on what particular value it might hold for us, what obstacles might stand in the way of our receiving it, and how - if we received it - it might bring benefit to others.

I chose "devas will protect you". I chose it because it caused me a certain dissonance. Do I "believe" in devas? I'm not sure I know what devas are, but in my strange surmises I see them as exotic female images in odd poses (see image above), limbs akimbo and breathing fire etc. No, I can't seriously believe in them.

But - and this I can't deny - it is quite possible, indeed very likely, all that stands between me and their protection is my perception, and my stubborn attachment to belief. Not belief in anything or something, just the B-word itself. And it's not just about me, all that, perception, belief, the kleshas, stand between me, the devas, and everything and everyone else, reinforcing my separation, reinforcing the walls of self-imprisonment that surround me.

So I think a little gratitude may be overdue, for a richly blessed and fortunate life, and if a little of that is due to the devas life-long protection, I shall certainly withhold it no longer.

The process continues....

Trustees eat posh lunch

I'm not sure what my telling of this adventure will do for the Trust's reputation, or more widely for the fortunes of British Buddhism, or for the hapless kitchen staff at the Canteen, but I will report it nonetheless. It may be turn out to be an appropriate coda to the business of the Buddhist Hospice Trust, only time will tell.

The trustees took lunch together at one of Britain's reputedly finest and most voguish 'eateries', by all accounts the acme of Traditional English Food, the Canteen at the South Bank Centre.

This meal was taken during an interval in our trustees' meeting, which we held in the South Bank Centre itself, on what is probably called the mezzanine floor of the Royal Festival Hall: it's upstairs from the Thames embankment, and its pretty huge, with lots of seating around tables, some sofas, and no officials to hurry one on, or to ask why one is loitering with apparant business intent. The Canteen is on the level below.

We chose to hold our meeting at the South Bank Centre (it was Bodhiprem's idea) because we've noticed a recent social trend amongst purposive-looking types with laptops, Blackberries and netbooks, to hold quite loud conferences in coffee-bars and pubs; so we decided to do the same, save ourselves the cost of a poky room in a conventional venue (like Friends House), and - with the money saved - treat ourselves to a working lunch, in company with the world's army of lobbyists and corporate duty-men and -women, and with our precepts and principles intact.

Lunch was served in what I might rather ungratefully describe a a tarted-up canteen, styled (I imagine) on a recollection of old-time workers' canteens in someone's modern mind, or possibly reproduced from sepia photographs of Longbridge Motor Works canteen circa 1940, with benches rather than tables, and narrow bench-seats onto which customers slide their artisanal behinds to eat the authentically-crafted, workmanlike fare provided.

This comprised a variety of nostalgic items, notably a range of pies, looking very pie-like in a retro kind of way, piled up in neat stacks in a heated cabinet. Fish and chips were also on the menu. None of these items were particularly cheap.

I had the fish and chips, with tartare sauce; at £10.75 I thought it expensive. The haddock was over-cooked in batter, dark and very dry. Cook had served me two fillets; the second was, I think, a sort of conciliatory gesture, a mute apology for the state of the pair. One curled up and almost scorched fish was more than enough, my eating of it was tokenistic, so as not to seem churlish; after all it was being paid for by voluntary donations from Trust supporters.

The chips were similarly dry and unappetising. A kind of karmic gloom hung over my meal; however, fellow trustees seemed satisfied with the fare offered, and plates were emptied, including my left-overs. This generosity was, I thought, a touching, and an intimate gesture by the others. It redeemed the event for me. Service was rather nice, however, and the late arrival of another diner at a bench ordered for four was handled cheerfully, perhaps because six buttocks will just about squeeze on to a bench made for four.

The meeting was generally counted a success. We agreed unanimously to invite three talented, enthusiastic Trust supporters to become trustees: Tony Webster, of Association La Porte Ouverte in Civray, France; Arati Banerjea, of Golders Green in London; and Willemien Hoogendoorn, of Beckton, also in London.

The Trust has continued to garner new support over the past twelve months, and to consolidate this we have agreed to publish an electronically distributed newsletter, with 'hard' copies for the minority of supporters who don't have, or don't want, Internet access and email. The newsletter will be titled "The Buddhist Hospice Trust Newsletter", and will be published in colour using Adobe Acrobat's .pdf format, at no charge.

The newsletter will be a platform for advertising Trust events, for keeping people in touch with Trust affairs and with each other, to encourage credit and debit card donations (but also cheques for as long as these are still current), and for any other worthwhile purposes. It will not carry articles, but may well supply links to such.

We've agreed, for the time being, to hold one annual members' convention. There are no plans at present for further public meetings or lectures, or for any meetings along "Inner Work School" lines. Trustees and supporters will be urged to "put themselves about" in their localities, to raise the Trust's profile; to publicise its philosophy, its approach, and its aim to "be present, bear witness, and befriend" people in need - from a Buddhist position, whatever that need may be, and whoever expresses it.

Minutes of the meeting are available to supporters on application to me, Peter. I would appreciate your sending me a stamped addressed envelope if you want them.

Is this a Buddhist love story?

Like most Buddhists I know (admittedly not many of these are bhikkhus or bhikkhunis), I have often struggled with practice, especially formal sitting meditation practice. Like most Buddhists I know, I recognise the central importance of meditation practice to most Buddhist traditions; and in my personal experience, such formal sitting as I've done is of great value in developing a mind that is clear, open, flexible and - even more important than these qualities - a mind that can respond to the suffering of fellow beings, and to my own, with compassion and wisdom.

I admit that my efforts at sitting have never been truly consistent, my application uncertain and sometimes unwilling, and my practice has been generally unsupported by an experienced guide.

Some expert advice has come my way, and I've welcomed it, especially because it has reinforced my prejudice against sitting, and encouraged me to work with other methods, some of which have seemed promising, some of which have seemed improbably effective as ways of training the mind to watch itself, and to accept what is sees with kindness, compassion, sympathetic joy, and equanimity.

In recent times I have felt the need for more support and - in the absence of any enthusiasm on my part for an institutional sangha - I have joined an on-line sangha, the varied and large assembly of on-line dharma-practitioners around the teaching of Ken McLeod, author of "Wake Up To Your Mind", and founder of Unfettered Mind (see the link in the left column of the blog).

I've belonged to Unfettered Mind for several years now, and it is indeed my practice-mainstay, members of the virtual sangha my spiritual friends and collaborators. Modern technology means that we can meet regularly using Skype to hold conference calls across the world, New Zealand, Papua New Guinea, Texas, Canada, Los Angeles. These meetings are as warm, as friendly and as intimate as any I have joined face-to-face. I count myself very lucky to have stumbled across this resource, and grateful for what has flowed from it in terms of personal enrichment, and the touch of many dharmas.

Each week one of our small group poses a question for the rest to ponder during the week until we meet again. The questions tend to arise naturally from an earlier discussion we've had about our individual practice, how we're doing, what's 'come up' for us etc. We've established a convention of confining our reporting-in to a single sentence each, heard in silence and without questions or comments until each of us has said our short bit.

Last week's question was about 'awkwardness', and that arose in part from what we had talked about before around the topic of 'meditating standing up', a method suggested by Will Johnson, a Canadian exponent of embodiment, whose book "Aligned, Relaxed, Resilient" I took to as a duck takes to its first encounter with water, with a delighted "Quack!" Without going into detail which can be found by following the links, I can say that my practice has been transformed by standing up, and I am 'sold' on it: it's like coming home, and has led to further explorations of what I now realise is a school of Buddhism that has been kept a well-guarded secret, Ecstatic Buddhism.

Certainly, when we met at the chaplaincy training group on Sunday last, none of the participants had heard of it; several of these were experienced dharma-pactitioners and teachers of repute. I suspect, and it is only a conjecture on my part, that - as with all ecstatic traditions within the majot world faiths - ecstatic Buddhism is the object of mistrust, because of its sexual content- or at least because of its attention to psycho-sexual energies, and the immense world of sensation they entrain. Such energies are released by meditation techniques that open up to our embodiment, and which are enjoined by such encouragements as "Happy Practice!" and "Relax, smile, rest".

So it was interest and curiosity that I turned to Ken McLeod's book for guidance on the matter of sex. The book is titled "Wake Up To Your Life". It runs to 478 pages and the index contains over 1,000 entries. The book is manifestly addressed to my life (and any other readers), and I know my life is as much about sex as it is about food, drink, shelter, self-esteem, relationships, money, emotions or the internal combustion engine. But the word sex isn't in the index. I found one mention, on p476, about problems with the teacher-pupil relationship.

What is it about religion and sex? What is it about Buddhism and sex? Don't YOU want to know?
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I thought to add the following story as a frivolous addendum to the above. It's the love story I alluded to at the beginning of this blog, at least, that's my romantic interpretation.

"A large assembly of monks gathered around the Buddha at Vulture's Peak to hear him teach about the nature of being.

Buddha, sitting quietly, held up a flower and showed it to the whole gathering.

Everyone sat in silence.

But one student, the venerable Kashyapa, smiled.

The Buddha then said, "The one true teaching is beyond form and does not depend on words or letters. It is a special transmission outside all scriptures. I now entrust it to the venerable Kashyapa".

The image above is of Shakyamuni Buddha with his friends Ananda and Kashyapa.