HUANG PO
(775? - 1850?)
Wanfu Temple 2019
I arrived in a Fuzhou park in the relative seclusion of the shadows beneath the Shenhai Expressway, a toll road humming with traffic even at six AM. I had managed my journey without any displacement of time or space, my cloud-hopping working a treat, surprisingly, in the relatively heavy weather. The clouds must have cut off my sensory meddling, and I managed on ‘instruments.’ I made my way to Shizou Road, and walked back to the somewhat ominously named Tourism Distribution Center. The bus station was just two blocks off. The TDC was a bit of a revelation; comfortable sofas, massage chairs, free hot water, vending machines, and a shop with all the trinkets you could wish for.
According to the schedule on the wall, the buses ran down to Yuxi Town regularly, leaving at 9.30 AM. I had three hours to wait. Thought a nap was in order. I settled into a massage chair with a cup of tea and quickly discovered that while the chair took coins eagerly, no massage ensued. The rough looking middle aged man next to me said something that might have been, ‘Broke the godawful crap a this town.’’ He looked to be Chinese, Asian at least; he spoke some dialect of Chinese and some erratic English that had him sounding like a thug from Trenton.
“Where ya headed?” he said.
I thought his ‘ya’ may have been affected, a bit of the hard guy though his thin frame belied toughness.
“Wanfu Temple,” I answered.
“Maye oughta walk up,” he offered. “Only a mile or two. Ya know.’
“A bit further, I think. Over an hour by bus.”
But we were talking at cross purposes.
“Naw. Once ya get there. Yuxi Town is just down the hill.”
I gave his information some thought.
“Well,” I said, “Might just do that. We’ll see when I get there.”
He sat quietly then, lit a cigarette, smoked.
“Ya know the history of the place?” His cigarette bobbed in the corner of his mouth..
I opened my eyes and gave him a look. “Some,” I said.
I think he said ‘humph.’ He folded his arms across his chest and seemed to nod off. I got as comfortable as I could in an uncomfortable chair and tried to follow suit.
We ended up next to each other on the bus; he had followed me on and taken the seat beside me; and for the next two hours I got a run down on Wanfu Temple. The fellow was none too impressed by the rebuild.
“Looks like some all-inclusive joint, ya know. Originally built back when, 760 or 70. Got burnt down, torn down, and rebuilt half dozen times. No nails in the places back then. All wood. Take’em apart; put’em back together again.”
He pulled out his cigarettes, had a look around at the tightly packed bus, and thought better of it. He scratched his chin, and went on with his lecture.
“Wanfu was built up in 790, thereabouts. Some fella from Putian passing through liked what he seen of Huangbei Mountains and so built himself a temple. Called it Banruo. Way it happened back then. Kept adding on. Became known locally by the mountain’s name, Huangbei.”
“Not Huang po?”
“Same difference, ya know. Character’s all the same.”
With two fingers he shaped logograms on the seat back in front of him.
“Place lasted a couple of hundred years, burned down, got rebuilt around 1400. Japanese pirates torched the place again in 1555. The Ming emperor, Wanli, got involved and built a new place, named it Wanfu. That was 1614. Place had a good run after that. But in the big storm of 1928, most of the side buildings got washed away. Then in ‘49, fire took what was left. Weren’t too careful with candles, those boys.”
“When did the new reconstruction begin?”
He shrugged. “Don’t know. Mao and his bunch took over the country, so I’m guessing early ‘50s the locals started thinking about putting the pieces back together. Justa few years ago, they got her pretty much done. Old Huang Po woulda hated the place.”
“Probably wouldn’t have liked all the tourists roaming around either.”
“Like you, huh.”
I didn’t mention my cloud-hopping, time traveling plans. Didn’t say, when I see him I’ll ask him. Thought it, but kept it to myself.
“Old Hsi Yun didn’t much like Kuangtang much either. So I heard.”
“Kuangtang?”
“That’s what the local yokels called it. Back in the day.” The old man shrugged. “He weren’t here much. Went traveling like all them old boys did. But never forgot the place.”
Back in the day.
That dates this fellow. Me too. The Beastie Boys. Hip hop. The 80s, the 1980s.
I would leave him with his past. My interest was with Huang Po. It would be good to get him situated in the right temple, but not essential.
Little is known about the man. Born, apparently, in Fuzhou, date unknown, but the late 8th century seems likely. Like many young novices, he was probably a third or fourth son and so ‘encouraged’ to become a monk. And so he did, a novitiate at the temple on nearby Huang Po Mountain where he received his Buddhist name Hsi Yün. When old enough, he ventured out as was the norm, seeking instructions from various Chan masters. He visited Mt. Tiantai and received instruction from the National Teacher Nanyang Huizhong. He may also have studied under Nanquan Puyuan (748–835) , a student of Matsu. However, Huang Po's main teacher was Huaihai; and it was with Huaihai’s prodding that he was able to reach his goal of enlightenment.
According to The Blue Cliff Record, the meeting between the two men who were destined to become patriarchs of Chan was a typical, memorable exchange between masters. Huang Po, tall and stout, stepped up to Huaihai, and gave a curt bow, suggesting a meeting between equals. Huaihai, short and thin, exclaimed, “Magnificent! Imposing! Where have you come from?” Huang Po replied, “Magnificent and imposing, I’ve come from the mountains.”
And it was in the mountains he was to remain.
Guangjiao Temple ( 广教寺; traditional 廣教寺) in Jiangxi Province.
Formerly K’ai-yan Temple; built in 1843 for Huang Po