我見過一些蒲團，圓的、方的、厚的、薄的、上面繡著各式蓮花，裡面裝著鬆軟的蒲花或曬乾的葦葉。
最先只知道蒲團是用來跪拜的，後來又知道可用來坐禪。有人告訴我，和尚坐在蒲團上回憶往事，今年想著去年，去年想著前年，前年想著大前年，一直往前想，直至三歲、兩歲、一歲，母腹之中乃至前世、再前世……好生了得！和尚坐蒲團竟能坐出這樣的功夫！當時我驚異得說不出話來。
後來才有些明白，此僅是一種技術性的說法，真正坐禪卻是無可言說的清淨之境。大概只有我們這樣的俗子，才能用一年年想過去的辦法，追究自己的來處。
寺廟裡的蒲團給僧人提供了坐與跪的方便；對於我們這些門檻外人，只有跪的功能。跪是很簡單的動作，不須要什麼技巧，只要膝蓋一彎曲就行了。但是這個動作對許多人來說，難度相當大。我們常在影視、書本上見到叛徒或軟骨頭的形象，其中一個典型的動作就是下跪。那是一種喪失人格的下意識行為。
由此，許多人羞於下跪，他們的膝蓋代表自尊、人格、正氣，同時也代表著傲慢。何以見得？他們當然不會在眾目睽睽之下彎膝，那太失體統，無論是神靈還是俗人，他們一律不跪。可是有的人臉上留著跪了千百次的痕跡，面對權勢、名利，他們跪得全力以赴。當然也有見誰都不跪的硬漢，可他的無視一切，不正說明他很看重自己嗎？誰知他對著自己下跪膜拜了多少回？
我自有了蒲團以來，開始懂得膝蓋是不重要的，依附于它的一切也是不重要的。人的傲氣就是在這一彎一曲中跪掉了。人死之時將拋下一切，膝蓋算得了什麼？人在下跪的一剎那，平時念念不忘的「我」，無處藏身；一個真性的、能容納一切的「我」，由此立起。
釋迦牟尼佛剛成道時，他的父親淨飯王迎他回國。相別六年，父子相見，淨飯王竟下跪禮拜問訊。一個是堂堂的一國之君，一個是乞食為生的僧人。國王向僧人下跪，父親向兒子下跪；煩惱向智慧下跪，這一幕是多麼動人，又多麼自然。
我們何妨不跪上一跪？拋開世俗定理的下跪，定然能得到一番輕鬆，不同于慣常的思惟，可以瞥見新的世界。下跪本不痛苦、羞恥，痛苦、羞恥全是人自造的。難道我們的童年，沒有跪在草地上、沙灘旁、窗戶前，面對的僅僅是一隻螞蚱、一朵野花和一隻飄飛在天上的風箏嗎？ |
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I’ve seen all sorts of cushions (lit. rush mats)—round and square, thick and thin, embroidered with lotuses, stuffed with soft rushes or sun-dried reeds.I knew these cushions were for kneeling and bowing, and later I found out they were also used for sitting in meditation. Someone once told me, “When a monk sits on his cushion and recollects the past, he starts with the present year and traces back year by year until he reaches the time when he was three, two, and one. Then he continues pushing his memory back to when he was in the womb, and then to his last life, the life before last, and so forth.” I was stunned by this account of what a monk can do while sitting on his cushion. Later I realized that this was only a kind of technique. Genuine Chan is a state of purity beyond words. Only common people like us need to rely on the method of thinking back year by year in order to discover our origins.
While the cushions can be used in the monastery for meditating as well as kneeling, they are used by amateurs primarily for kneeling. Kneeling is a simple movement that doesn’t take much skill—all you have to do is bend your knees till they touch the ground. Easy as this may be, it is extremely difficult for many people to do. In novels and on television, we always see the rebels and the cowards being made to kneel. It’s a form of debasement. That’s why many people are ashamed to kneel. Their knees represent their self-esteem, integrity, honor, and pride. They would never go down on their knees in public; it would be way too undignified. They would kneel neither to spirits nor to people. On the other hand, some people have knelt thousands of times in wholehearted submission to power, fame, and profit—and it shows in their faces. There are also the tough, macho guys who never kneel to anyone. Now, isn’t their scorn for everyone else an indication of their own sense of self-importance? How many times they bowed to themselves, I wonder?
Ever since I’ve had a cushion, I’ve learned that my knees and the things they represent are not that important. The simple act of kneeling wipes away our pride. Since we must cast aside everything when we die, how much could our knees be worth? In the instant of kneeling, the “self” that we ordinarily never can forget has no place to hide and the all-encompassing “true self” arises.
After Shakyamuni Buddha attained enlightenment, his father, King Suddhodana, invited him back to his kingdom. When father and son met for the first time in six years, Suddhodana knelt and prostrated himself before his son. One was a dignified king, the other a mendicant monk. The king knelt before the monk; the father knelt before his son; the afflicted one knelt before the wise one: what a touching and yet spontaneous scene!
Why don’t we try kneeling? If we cast aside the mundane notion of bowing, we will certainly find ourselves in a new, carefree world that we never knew before. Kneeling is not in itself painful or shameful; the pain and shame come from people’s minds. After all, didn’t we, as children, kneel on the grass or on the beach or by the window, facing a mere grasshopper, a wildflower, or a kite flying in the sky?
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