A Chan Student’s Guide to Buddhism’s famed Heart Sutra

For a long time, in my daily life and on Chan and Zen retreats, I had absolutely no clue what I was repeating when chanting Buddhism’s famous Heart Sutra — it was just words without any correlation to my practice or my life. Yet my heart has been pushing me to repeat and contemplate it, until I fully understand its wisdom; that’ll be a lifetime of study and effort, I’m sure! 

So I’m not saying I fully understand it yet. I am not a Buddhist scholar. But I’m a serious practitioner — and did get my bachelor’s in religious studies — and would like to offer some insight to this ancient sutra that might benefit your life and your practice. 

First, let’s look at the English Heart Sutra translation I am most familiar with, which comes from the Dharma Drum Chan Buddhist lineage of Master Sheng Yen.

The Prajnaparamita Heart Sutra

Upon first chanting or reading this, especially with no prior Buddhist background or study, this can all be overwhelmingly unclear and confusing! So let’s consider the wording throughout the sutra. 

I still remember the first time I chanted this on my very first retreat, fumbling around with the pronunciations of Bodhisattva and Avalokiteshvara. “What am I even saying?” I thought to myself. Eventually, I learned the meaning of the first line. “Bodhisattva” literally translates to ”awakened being,” someone who is not only wise but also compassionate, willing to spend their entire life (or perhaps many lifetimes) easing the suffering of the world. Avalokiteshvara (known as Guanyin in Chan Buddhism) is the bodhisattva of compassion whose name literally translates to “the one who hears the cries of the world,” sometimes depicted with many arms, each one reaching out to ease the suffering of the world. 

I personally don’t believe in deities or gods, so my understanding of Avalokiteshvara is that he is a personification of the potential for infinite compassion that already exists within us all. I am not praying to some god outside of myself, but to my own inherent ability for unlimited and unconditional compassion. Much like an acorn that has the potential to become a great oak tree, each one of us has the possibility of becoming a wise, compassionate being like Avalokiteshvara. Buddhists call this “Buddha-nature,” and I have found this concept to be quite helpful for my life. Growing up Catholic, I had the belief that I was born a sinner and needed to be saved by someone outside myself. Buddha-nature flips this concept around and reminds us that we are all born with basic goodness, but due to an innocent misperception of reality, we don’t always recognize it. This sutra, along with our dedicated practice, reminds us that if we tend the garden of our hearts and minds, we too can liberate ourselves from our suffering and become a bodhisattva who can help heal this broken world.

Then comes the second half of that first sentence. Coursing in the deep, what in the what now? Prajnaparamita means for the perfection of wisdom, or perfect wisdom. So, putting it all together, this great compassionate being was resting deeply in perfect wisdom; completely free at home in their true nature. 

Over the years, I’ve come to realize that this perfect wisdom is already who we are. This has simplified my practice tremendously, as early on, I used to practice feverishly for enlightenment. I was hoping for some awakening outside of my direct experience; some blissful explosion that would somehow magically fix my life. Although transformational experiences have happened, they – like all things – have come and gone, and they surely didn’t fix everything I believed was wrong with my life. Over the years of reflecting on this sutra, I eventually realized what I’ve been searching for has been here the entire time. Like a fish swimming around searching for the Great Ocean, I have been intimately connected to what I’ve been looking for all along. This realization, which continues to deepen, has allowed me to relax into my life, warts and all, and recognize that it’s all an expression of the awakened mind. Although I’m nowhere near enlightened, I’ve definitely learned to rest a little more deeply in what I call a profound okayness that lies just beneath the chaos of my everyday life.

The five skandhas are form, sensation, perception, volition, and consciousness. Put another way, that may be more helpful: form is our body. Sensations are the feeling tones of any particular object we experience through our senses that are either pleasant, unpleasant, or neutral. Perception is our mind’s ability to remember, recognize, and categorize the world around us. Volition is all the mental activity that arises in our minds (memories, judgments, expectations, storylines, etc.), and consciousness is that which knows experience; the silent observer that bears witness to every moment of our lives.

Although it’s pretty easy to understand what the five skandhas are, it’s another thing to decipher what the sutra means by them being empty: My body is empty? Empty of what? Empty of a solid, unchanging, separate self. Typically, we cling to this body and mind and believe that these experiences are who we are. We have a body, and we feel “I am this body,” or at the very least that there is some solid entity that is the owner of the body. But through deep investigation in meditation, we begin to see that things are not necessarily the way that we think they are. 

Where in your body can you locate some unchanging essence that you can call “me” or “mine”? Ever since it was born, your body has been in a constant state of change. We constantly lose skin cells, and even cut our hair and nails, often with no loss to this sense of self. Are we located in our bones? Skin? Organs? When we really observe deeply, we begin to see that “I” cannot be found anywhere in the body. 

Not only can we not find any sense of self in the body, the body itself follows its own nature of change, subject to aging, illness, and death. Although there is some volition in how we decide to move this body, ultimately most of its functions are out of our conscious control: think of your heartbeat or your digestive process. These functions follow their own nature and are empty of some solid self pulling the strings.

Alternatively, instead of the word empty, it may be useful to try “boundless” or even “not independently arising.” Rather than saying the body is empty of a self, we can say the body is boundless and doesn’t arise independently of non-body causes and conditions. 

This isn’t as confusing as it sounds. In order to have a body, there needs to be oxygen for the body to breathe. Oxygen depends on trees, which depend on soil, rain, the sun, and the atmosphere. If one of these non-body conditions vanishe,d there wouldn’t be a body. We can’t have a body without all the proper causes and conditions that allow it to arise in the first place. In this way, the body is boundless because its existence depends on infinite causes and conditions. This body is an expression of the universe being exactly the way it is. If one condition were different, the body wouldn’t be here. If the Earth were closer to or further from the sun, the conditions wouldn’t be optimal for life, hence there would be no body. 

Now, if this all seems very confusing, please don’t worry. What is trying to be expressed is beyond words and intellect. The important point is to contemplate, investigate, experience, and realize it for yourself. 

The last part of this section declares that Avalokiteshvara is now free from all sufferings. How is this possible? Because all of our suffering comes from believing in and living from this solid sense of self. I call this delusion “Me-world,” and define it as the self-centered part of the mind that filters every experience we have. The main theme of Me-world is, “What does this have to do with me?” If it’s pleasant, we want more. Unpleasant, we want to destroy or avoid it. And so we go through life limited by this small filter that has been conditioned by our lives. Once we are able to realize that this self we think we are isn’t as real and solid as we believe it to be, there is immense freedom, ease, and joy.

I have found reflecting on the emptiness of self to be quite liberating, especially when in the middle of a stressful or painful mind state. In moments of suffering – if I’m lucky enough to remember to practice – I pause and reflect on the experience I’m having. Who is it that’s mad at this moment? Is my hair upset? My fingernails? Bones? Organs? Where is this solid, unchanging person that’s creating this issue? No matter how many times I contemplate this, I never find the self I’m looking for. There’s definitely an experience happening, yet the self having that experience is nowhere to be found. Much like a rainbow which exists based on certain causes and conditions, but cannot be found upon searching for it, my self seems to always elude me when I look for it. Realizing the fluidity of the moment and the lack of any self-existence in my thoughts and feelings, which are coloring the moment, my mood lightens, and there is a softening that happens. From this “still point of the turning world,” as TS Eliot once wrote, I’m able to respond to the moment out of wisdom rather than blindly react from my limited conditioning. I’m not saying I have freed myself from all my sufferings, but I’ve definitely reduced some.

(Sariputra is the name of one of the Buddha’s original disciples, known for his sharp intellect and deep wisdom. This whole sutra is a dialogue between Avalokiteshvara and Sariputra, and I don’t find that to be a coincidence. As I see it, one represents the heart, the other the mind or wisdom. The meeting of wisdom and compassion is not only the essence of this sutra, but is at the heart of all Buddhist practice.)

The next lines further the point made above. Not only is our body boundless and empty of some solid, unchanging entity, but so are the sensations, perceptions, volition, and consciousness. Each of these skandhas are just like the body, all arising due to their own specific causes and conditions. Pleasant sensations, for example, have no sense of self and are simply an expression of certain causes and conditions. If we take a bite of a cookie, the sugar hits the taste buds, which (for most of us) generates a pleasant experience. Perceptions and mental activity generate in the same way. We can only name things in a language that was taught to us. And how our minds respond to what we are experiencing is also conditioned by many factors outside of us, and all of this is subject to change. If I love cookies and eat so much that I throw up, the next time I see a cookie, it may not be a pleasurable experience. The belief that I love cookies may change, now that I’ve gotten sick from eating them. Because the belief changes, so do the cravings and desires associated with it. In this way, there is no self that’s doing all of this, but rather conditions are constantly interacting and playing themselves out.

This all makes sense for the body and mind, but what about consciousness? Isn’t that who we are? Can’t we find a self there? 

Although I won’t argue that it sure does feel like I am the awareness which knows, it’s not actually the case. In fact, as soon as I say that I am aware, I’ve already added a thought on top of the immediate experience of awareness. 

I once heard someone call awareness the “ownerless open,” and I absolutely love that because it’s a perfect expression of consciousness. Ownerless, because no one owns the clarity and luminosity of mind, and open because, like the sky which can hold any amount of storms without being affected, awareness can do the same as it holds all the changing conditions of our lives. As Tara Brach once said, “However it is, there’s room for it.” So, although there is an experience of knowing, there isn’t a solid, unchanging knower that owns it. Consciousness is simply what is, not me or mine. In my own practice, I’ve found that simply pausing and resting in this silent witness, “Buddho” as they would say in the Thai Forest Buddhist Tradition, can be profound and transformative. Once I really got the sense of Brach’s message, I realized at any given moment I could pause and hold things just the way they were. Having a stressful full-time job, along with being a husband and father of four young children, I can’t tell you how many times I simply stop what I’m doing and bear witness to the moment just the way it is. Although not a magic pill by any means – I still usually feel the frustration or stress – there is a sense of relief and coolness that can help refocus my attention and bring me back to the situation from a calm, more balanced space. 

This verse continues the theme of boundlessness. Because there isn’t one thing that exists separate from everything else, nothing is actually born or destroyed. Anything experienced in this life is an empty, temporary expression of the whole body of life. There is no pure or impure, no coming or going, no increasing or decreasing, but instead the ever-changing play of the one body of the universe. 

The sutra repeats what we’ve been saying all along, that everything that makes up who we think we are is not actually how we imagine it to be. Here we go through the six realms that make up our experience and find them all negated. At any given moment, we experience our lives through the six sense doors. Each sense door has its own consciousness, which experiences the six realms that make up our lives. There is the eye, eye consciousness, and sights; the ear, ear consciousness, and sounds; nose, nose consciousness, and smells; etc. Any moment of life has these six realms of experience. Why would the sutra negate them?

It is helpful here to consider the Buddhist concept of the relative and the absolute. Since this whole sutra represents an enlightened being’s expression of perfect wisdom, we are speaking about the absolute; the one body of the universe, the True Self, the Big Mind. From this perspective, there is oneness. And actually, to say all is one still doesn’t capture the actual truth because oneness implies duality, where oneness in truth has no duality. In this sense, the true oneness is actually zero, hence the negation found in the sutra. What’s true is impossible to contend with via only concepts and words, which is why the sutra refers to everything in the negative sense. 

When chanting many of these lines, especially the part which mentions the six senses, I like to go slowly through it and feel and experience each body part, and wonder what the sutra is pointing to. For example, when I get to “no sight, sound…” I pause for a moment and experience both sights and sounds, and rest in the wonder of what I’m chanting. Avalokiteshvara is saying there are no sights and sounds, yet at this moment, I am experiencing both. What could this mean? I like to think of this sense of wonder (or “great doubt” as they call it in the Chan / Zen tradition) as a tea bag steeping in hot water: While I repeat the sutra with this sense of doubt, I let its mystery steep in my heart and mind until it infuses me. If we practice in this way, over time,e the understanding will begin to be experienced directly.

As the sutra goes on, it even begins negating the foundational teachings of Buddhism: Ignorance as the cause of our suffering, the Buddha’s four noble truths, dependent origination, and the attainment of wisdom. Does this mean that it’s all a waste of time and nothing matters? Not at all. Again, this seems to be the experience of life on the absolute level. Of course, we have a life that begins and ends, and in between there is a path we must walk and cultivate. Yet, on the other hand, there is simply this moment: the one body of life, perfect exactly as it is. This holding of both the relative and the absolute reminds me of one of my favorite quotes from the Lankavatara Sutra, “Things are not what they seem, nor are they otherwise.” An old Zen saying explains similarly, “In the beginning, mountains are mountains and rivers are rivers; later on, mountains are not mountains and rivers are not rivers; and still later, mountains are mountains and rivers are rivers.” I reflect on these teachings often, understanding that on one level, I’m Mark and I have my life to live, yet at the same time, I’m not Mark at all, but rather an expression of the entire cosmos. I try my best to live my life with this understanding, taking it absolutely seriously, while also living light-heartedly, understanding that everything I take to be solid and real, actually doesn’t exist the way it seems (nor is it otherwise!). 

If throughout our entire lives we’ve been afraid of a boogeyman in our closet, and finally realize that there wasn’t ever one there to begin with, instantly all our fear should disappear. In the same way, when we get a glimpse of the emptiness or boundlessness of our experience, instantly we recognize freedom, and all our fear and confusion will go away, at least for that particular moment of awakening. 

Although I can’t say too much about Ultimate Nirvana or perfect enlightenment — the translation of Anuttara-Samyak-Sambodhi — I do know that we human beings are capable of waking up to this truth the sutra is pointing toward. Over many years of practice, we can continue to deepen our experiential understanding of the sutra’s mysterious depth, and this can be powerful for our lives. I’m not asking you to believe me, but to see for yourself as the Buddha counseled us to do.

The final line is the “mantra of perfect wisdom,” which can be translated as, “Gone, gone, gone beyond, gone utterly beyond, Oh what an awakening!” It’s the sutra’s parting wisdom, encouraging us to continue our journeys to the other shore of enlightenment. Repeating this short mantra can remind us of the essence of the Heart Sutra and motivate us to continue practicing.

Recently, I’ve been using this mantra to cultivate concentration during my meditation sessions and to stay present and less in Me-world throughout my day. Sometimes it’s a little more convenient to repeat the short mantra instead of the whole sutra. The mantra alone is filled with just as much mystery, depth, and wisdom, and I find that repeating it can infuse my body with its meaning. 

When studying any text or sutra, one of my favorite professors during my time studying religion would always ask us, “What does this have to do with Tuesday afternoon?” I took that to mean, What does this sutra have to do with my life, here and now? I am now encouraging you to take some time with this sutra yourself and find out what it’s saying about your actual experience. Don’t just read through it once or twice. Recite and contemplate it every day for a few months, a year, a lifetime… 

It is my hope that, at the very least, you can now better understand the Heart Sutra and feel more empowered to reflect on and put into practice its wisdom, ultimately freeing yourself from suffering and being of growing benefit to this world.