208 t He tang Dy na s t y
that it is what is ultimately true about the object being analyzed, whatever that
object may be.”16 Meditation on emptiness leads to the realization of the only per-
manence or self-existence, which is variously called the dharma body or law body
of the Buddha (dharmakāya), the Buddha realm (dharmadhātu), or enlightenment,
nirvāṇa. Thus Wang Wei’s “empty mountain” is the mountain as it really is from
the perspective of an enlightened person. The first couplet as a whole affirms that
this truth is not distant from our human world—it is indeed right here among us.
The schools of Chinese Buddhism followed the traditional Indian Mādhyamaka
(Middle Way) understanding that the true nature of phenomena is nondual: all
things lie somewhere between the extremes of being and nonbeing. This is as true
for the unconditioned law body as it is for things in this conditioned world—thus
there is no possible separation between nirvāṇa (the other shore, or enlighten-
ment) and saṃsāra (this shore, or the world of suffering, the round of rebirth).
Looked at from another perspective, both nirvāṇa and saṃsāra are empty; thus
both are the same. The implication is that all things are related and all are inter-
penetrated by the law body. Enlightenment is not transcending one reality to reach
another, but is the discovery of the law body within this reality.
The second couplet—as always in jueju—is dominant. Why is the light returning
and shining again on the green moss? Consider that in a dense forest on a moun-
tainside, logically the only times during the day when moss on the forest floor
might be illuminated are sunrise and/or sunset, when light can shine in under-
neath the tree canopy. The description Wang Wei presents suggests that this is
part of his meaning: fanying (returning light)17 recalls the phrase huiguang fanzhao
(returning light shining back), which refers to the glow of colored light in the sky
right at sunset. There is something suggestive about the scene: the light seems to
purposefully illuminate the moss, over and over again. Both the light and the moss
become important symbols—but for what?
An enlightenment metaphor is at work here. The interpenetration of nirvāṇa
and saṃsāra suggests that the law body is innate within us. Indian writers termed
this aspect tathāgatagarbha (Buddha essence, Buddha nature) and held that it is
a common possession of all sentient beings. This Buddha nature is, on the one
hand, what makes us yearn for nirvāṇa in the first place and, on the other, what
makes it possible for us to reach it. Enlightenment does not produce anything;
instead, it is a paring away of illusions (caused by ignorance) to reveal the Buddha
already within us.18 Chinese Buddhists referred to this realization in many ways,
one of which was the borrowed term huiguang fanzhao—here, the returning light
shining back illuminates one’s original nature.
That explains the light, but what of the moss? One feature of early Chinese Bud-
dhism was an expansion of the scope of tathāgatagarbha: it came to be viewed as
the common endowment of not only sentient beings, but also nonsentient things.19
The idea is implicit in several sutras, but it became a major focus in China, particu-
larly through the influential teachings of the Huayan school. Conze has summa-
rized basic Huayan thought as follows: