Amazon.com
In the steady hands of poet George Crane, previously unknown Zen master Tsung Tsai comes off as truly extraordinary. A "poet, philosopher, house builder, scientist, doctor, and when necessary, kung fu ass-kicker," Tsung Tsai would still be wandering about anonymously if it were not, Crane says, for the need of financing provided by an advance on this book. The last of the monks from his Chinese monastery, Tsung Tsai felt he had to return one last time to find and honor his master's bones and rekindle his tradition. Crane recounts their joint adventure, opening with Tsung Tsai's harrowing decades-earlier escape from newly communist China, walking from Inner Mongolia to Hong Kong through a war-torn, famine-struck, psychotic land, nearly starving along the way. Crane, a self-styled hedonist ne'er-do-well, who says that meditation makes him nauseous, sets the stage for an entrancing buddy story back to China with this highly disciplined but carefree Zen master. As their mutual affection grows, Crane absorbs Tsung Tsai's spare but demanding philosophy, which sustains them through the base poverty of northern China, a life-threatening 18-hour climb up and down a treacherous mountain, and a confrontation with a master of black magic. A page-turner and an eye-opener, Bones of the Master is worth every penny of that advance. --Brian Bruya --This text refers to the Hardcover edition.

From Publishers Weekly
Though not as widely discussed as the Cultural Revolution, China's Great Leap Forward (1957-1963) also inspired an internal struggle among Chinese Communist Party leaders. As they argued about the pace and type of development best suited for China, famine settled upon the land, killing tens of thousands and affecting millions. In 1959, the monks of Puu Jih Monastery knew they had to leave in order "to keep Buddha's true mind alive." Tsung Tsai, the youngest, journeyed alone through the heart of China to Hong Kong, eventually settling in Woodstock, N.Y. The story unfolds in an engaging way as author Crane befriends his quirky new neighbor, Tsung Tsai. When Tsung Tsai proposes to return to China to find the bones of his master and build a shrine, Crane follows to record the event. Despite their abbreviated poetic nature, Crane's impressions of Chinese life are some of the richest and most vivid readers will encounter. His words float like silk prayer flags at a Buddhist temple, enticing readers to explore their own spirituality. This book is the best reflection on Ch'an Buddhism to appear in quite some time. Written on multiple levels, it will appeal to readers looking for a good story, armchair travelers who want to understand more about China and spiritual seekers with an interest in Buddhism. (Mar.)
Copyright 2000 Reed Business Information, Inc. --This text refers to the Hardcover edition.

From Library Journal
In 1959, after the Red Army had decimated his monastery and killed his fellow monks, Tsung (Ancestor Wisdom) fled across China and eventually made his way to the United States. There he became a meditation teacher, doctor of traditional Chinese medicine, martial artist, poet, and calligrapher. Forty years after his emigration, Tsung convinced his neighbor Crane, a poet and former journalist, to return with him to his old home near the Gobi Desert, where Tsung hoped to plant and nurture the seeds of spirituality. Although reluctant to leave his wife and daughter, Crane joined Tsung in his quest, which led them to an isolated mountain cave where they encountered unexpected physical danger and realized that faith isn't for the faint-hearted. This story of faith, friendship, and determination is fascinating, but, unfortunately, it is told in a passionless voice that can leave readers uninvolved. Only for large academic libraries with Asian or Buddhist studies collections.
-Pam Kingsbury, Florence, AL
Copyright 2000 Reed Business Information, Inc. --This text refers to the Hardcover edition.

From Beliefnet
As a young monk in 1959, Tsung Tsai made a hair-raising, 2000 mile escape from China, evading the Red Army that was flooding and destroying the country. His monastery destroyed, its monks killed, China flattened, and himself a hunted man,....Forty years later, he returned, with Crane, to a remote region on the edge of the Gobi to find the bones of his beloved master and renew the spirit of Buddhism in China. They returned to a still unfriendly China, and a China whose peoples are living with very little. We cannot but feel the utter desolation of this minimalist world. Crane, a poet, draws us into Tsung Tsai's world with consummate skill. In the first page of this dramatic true story, the reader feels the rhythm, flesh, and tones of Tsung Tsai's remote monastery of the 1950's, and this feeling of immediacy never stops as Crane takes us from Woodstock to Mongolia, from Hong Kong to New York. --This text refers to the Hardcover edition.

From Booklist
After an early blizzard blanketed the Catskill mountains in 1987, Crane, a poet, went out to investigate, met a neighbor he didn't know he had, and entered into a relationship that changed his life. Tsung Tsai, a small but strong man, introduced himself as an old Buddhist monk, and invited Crane in for the first of many visits during which they talked about poetry and Tsung Tsai's need to return to Inner Mongolia. Like the Dalai Lama, he fled from the murderous Red Guard in 1959, covering thousands of miles alone and on foot, utterly heartbroken at having to leave his beloved teacher, Shiuh Deng, behind. Now, decades later, he convinces Crane to accompany him to Mongolia to search for his teacher's bones so that he can give him a proper burial. Crane is no Buddhist, yet he is deeply affected by Tsung Tsai's remarkable powers and unshakeable faith, so off they go on a seemingly quixotic and unquestionably dangerous mission. They make an odd but endearing and effective pair, and Crane chronicles their perilous and miraculous adventures, the beauty of Mongolia's wilderness of wind and sand, and Tsung Tsai's transcendent determination with uncommon clarity, wit, vitality, and love. Donna Seaman --This text refers to the Hardcover edition.

From Kirkus Reviews
A poetry-filled account of the friendship between author Crane and Chan Buddhist master Tsung Tsai and of their fascinating journey through Chinas remote outer regions. When maverick poet Crane meets his new neighbor, Buddhist monk Tsung Tsai, in upstate New York, the two strike up a friendship based on a mutual love of verse. Crane soon learns that his hermetic neighbor is the last master of the Chan sect as well as a revered scholar, artist, and healer. Once their friendship deepens, Tsung Tsai invites Crane on a quest to find the bones of his deceased teacher, thought to be somewhere in inner Mongolia. His double purpose is to honor his mentor with a ritual cremation and to return Buddhism to this physically and spiritually barren territory. Cranes narrative recounts Tsung Tsais past, including a harrowing trek through Communist China to escape religious persecution at the hands of the Red Army during the famine of 1959, as well as the self-revelations his own association with Tsung Tsai elicits. Their trip brings the reader through the outskirts of Chinawhere Mao, Buddha, and Mickey Mouse all dwell together in timeless desert villagesand on to Hong Kong, the heart of chaos. Throughout, the matter-of-fact juxtaposition of Tsung Tsais spirituality with Cranes worldly outlook makes this record of their journey refreshingly devoid of the political overtones and moralizing that usually accompany Western glimpses of modern China, resulting in descriptions as clear and pure as the poetry both protagonists love so much. Ultimately, however, Cranes objective appears to be to pay homage to the venerable, ever-so-charming Tsung Tsai. For all his occasional narrative longeurs, Cranes insights into Chan beliefs and his unlikely friendship with Tsung Tsai prove that poetry in its purest form is indeed universal. -- Copyright ©2000, Kirkus Associates, LP. All rights reserved. --This text refers to the Hardcover edition.

Review
"A jewel … firmly in the company of Matthiessen, Chatwin, and O'Hanlon."
— Parabola

"A fascinating, beautifully written account of a great (and delightful) Ch'an master's return pilgrimage to remote Inner Mongolia after forty years of exile."
— Peter Matthiessen, author of The Snow Leopard

"Crane chronicles their perilous and miraculous adventures, the beauty of Mongolia's wilderness of wind and sand, and Tsung Tsai's transcendent determination with uncommon clarity, wit, vitality, and love."
— Booklist (starred review)

"A search for lost time, which the author recounts with haunting brilliance."
— Richmond Times-Dispatch

"As if a Ch'an master stepped out of the ancient tales and took you on a journey both moving and inspiring."
— Jack Kornfield, author of After the Ecstasy, the Laundry

Named "Best Spiritual Book of the Year" by Beliefnet.com

Review
"A jewel ? firmly in the company of Matthiessen, Chatwin, and O'Hanlon."
? Parabola

"A fascinating, beautifully written account of a great (and delightful) Ch'an master's return pilgrimage to remote Inner Mongolia after forty years of exile."
? Peter Matthiessen, author of The Snow Leopard

"Crane chronicles their perilous and miraculous adventures, the beauty of Mongolia's wilderness of wind and sand, and Tsung Tsai's transcendent determination with uncommon clarity, wit, vitality, and love."
? Booklist (starred review)

"A search for lost time, which the author recounts with haunting brilliance."
? Richmond Times-Dispatch

"As if a Ch'an master stepped out of the ancient tales and took you on a journey both moving and inspiring."
? Jack Kornfield, author of After the Ecstasy, the Laundry

Named "Best Spiritual Book of the Year" by Beliefnet.com

Book Description
In 1959 a young monk named Tsung Tsai (Ancestor Wisdom) escapes the Red Army troops that destroy his monastery, and flees alone three thousand miles across a China swept by chaos and famine. Knowing his fellow monks are dead, himself starving and hunted, he is sustained by his mission: to carry on the teachings of his Buddhist meditation master, who was too old to leave with his disciple.

Nearly forty years later Tsung Tsai — now an old master himself — persuades his American neighbor, maverick poet George Crane, to travel with him back to his birthplace at the edge of the Gobi Desert.

They are unlikely companions. Crane seeks freedom, adventure, sensation. Tsung Tsai is determined to find his master's grave and plant the seeds of a spiritual renewal in China. As their search culminates in a torturous climb to a remote mountain cave, it becomes clear that this seemingly quixotic quest may cost both men's lives.


Inside Flap Copy
In 1959 a young monk named Tsung Tsai (Ancestor Wisdom) escapes the Red Army troops that destroy his monastery, and flees alone three thousand miles across a China swept by chaos and famine. Knowing his fellow monks are dead, himself starving and hunted, he is sustained by his mission: to carry on the teachings of his Buddhist meditation master, who was too old to leave with his disciple.

Nearly forty years later Tsung Tsai ? now an old master himself ? persuades his American neighbor, maverick poet George Crane, to travel with him back to his birthplace at the edge of the Gobi Desert.

They are unlikely companions. Crane seeks freedom, adventure, sensation. Tsung Tsai is determined to find his master's grave and plant the seeds of a spiritual renewal in China. As their search culminates in a torturous climb to a remote mountain cave, it becomes clear that this seemingly quixotic quest may cost both men's lives.


From the Back Cover
"A jewel … firmly in the company of Matthiessen, Chatwin, and O'Hanlon."
— Parabola

"A fascinating, beautifully written account of a great (and delightful) Ch'an master's return pilgrimage to remote Inner Mongolia after forty years of exile."
— Peter Matthiessen, author of The Snow Leopard

"Crane chronicles their perilous and miraculous adventures, the beauty of Mongolia's wilderness of wind and sand, and Tsung Tsai's transcendent determination with uncommon clarity, wit, vitality, and love."
— Booklist (starred review)

"A search for lost time, which the author recounts with haunting brilliance."
— Richmond Times-Dispatch

"As if a Ch'an master stepped out of the ancient tales and took you on a journey both moving and inspiring."
— Jack Kornfield, author of After the Ecstasy, the Laundry

Named "Best Spiritual Book of the Year" by Beliefnet.com

About the Author
George Crane is a poet as well as a translator of poems from the Chinese (A Thousand Pieces of Snow, co-authored with Tsung Tsai). He lives in upstate New York. Bones of the Master is his first nonfiction work.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
The Last Days of Puu Jih

October 1959: Crow Pull Mountain, Inner Mongolia

The ninth day of the tenth month. The Yellow Season. Tsung Tsai woke at three, two hours before first light. In the dry grass beyond the monastery's stone and mud-brick walls, the last slow-dying cicadas scraped their wings.

The monk lit a candle stub and warmed his hands by its flame. The wick spat, guttered, then flared. The light flickered over his face and over the stark stone of the six- by nine-foot cell where he had lived for eighteen years. In it were his few possessions: a sleeping pad and quilted blanket roll, his rough brown robes, writing table, inkstone and brushes, a book of poems. He went to the window that looked north and west to the mountains, toward Morhgujing and the Silk Road -- the ancient caravan route through the black Gobi and the Taklimakan. He could just make out the winter plum that stood beneath his window, its branches bare and its bark worn gray with blowing sand. In a few hours, the monks would pace there in walking meditation.

Tsung Tsai broke the skim of ice floating on the washbasin and splashed his face. He dried his hands and got his prayer beads from inside his robes that hung on the wall. Then he lit an eight-inch length of incense and sat. The ash still smoldered when, after meditation, he put on his robes and went downstairs to the kitchen. He finished his tea as he heard his brothers wake to the hollow clap of the night-ending gong. He listened to them wash and cough. The monks' routine during these last days would proceed as usual. But today he would not join them. He heard the swish of their robes as they shuffled down the corridor to the temple. Then he left.

The gate in the monastery's south wall was still closed against the world. For another day Puu Jih would remain a Ch'an Buddhist sanctuary where monks, seeking enlightenment, studied the Dharma of Mind Transmission:

Break off the way of speech. Destroy the place of thinking. Awaken the mind to no-mind. Find silence and ... sudden understanding.

There was still no sign of dawn when Tsung Tsai pushed the gate closed behind him. He was anxious to see his teacher, so he hurried up the path that curved past the garden and the storehouse. He knew the way. He knew the sound of his feet on the trail scree and the stream falling away to the east.

He had tied his robes up around his waist for the climb. The sun at forty degrees north latitude would burn in a fierce arc, so he wore a straw hat to protect his shaved head. In a basket strapped to his back he carried the last of the millet. There was only a few days of lamp oil left in the monastery. Yesterday the monks had harvested the last of the cabbage and potatoes. The yellow beans, the wheat, and the millet were finished. China was starving. More than thirty million would die in the next two years. Only bureaucrats and rats would eat.

A decade of chaos had begun. Even in remote Mongolia and Tibet the monasteries would be smashed, books burned, and monks murdered.

When would death arrive at Puu Jih? There were stories, rumors sliding from village to village like the hunger. And then last week, late one night, a young lama from Mei Leh Geng Jau lamasery on the Ulansuhai plateau roused them from their beds with his shouting and pounding on the gate. His face was drawn white, thin as paper. His eyes were wild. He told them that the ninth patriarch, the great Ch'an master Hsu Yun, Empty Cloud, had, at the age of one hundred twenty, been hacked to death by the Communists.

Tsung Tsai climbed the last steep face of gravel slide and boulder and reached the ridge; he found his teacher boiling millet for two in a can and staring into the glow of the fire. For more than thirty years Shiuh Deng had eaten only soupy millet or gruel. He seemed weightless. Hollow cheeks, legs and arms wasted to skin and bone by the hard years.

As always, his teacher was waiting for him. No cry of welcome or surprise, for like many Tibetan and Chinese shamans, Shiuh Deng practiced not only mystical heat but telepathy.

The cave where Shiuh Deng had lived for the thirty years was at the back of the narrow cliff, cut under a knot of boulders. Its floor was swept and beaten flat. In winter, Tsung Tsai would pile bundles of dry grass in its mouth and slip away with his teacher for days, sometimes weeks at a time, sitting on flat stones warmed by a small fire. Before Shiuh Deng, it had been occupied by another; Shiuh Guan, the lama who could walk on water, has wandered into Mongolia from Tibet toward the end of the nineteenth century. His ashes and a shinbone shard rested against the rear wall on a blunt stone shelf.

They ate in silence, using twigs as chopsticks. It was a lovely afternoon: the sun was warm on their faces and they sat as Siddhartha had, beset by sorrows and by demons, the night he became the Self-Awakened One--.

Out of the silence, his teacher asked, "When?"

"Tomorrow, after evening practice."

In the long pause that followed, a yellow bird sang. Finally his teacher said, "I am too old."

The monks' evening chant filled the temple. Then it was over. One by one the monks of Puu Jih filed past Buddha, lit an incense stick, bowed, and left the temple. No one looked back. Puu Jih was finished. Incense fumed in the bronze lotus boat, rising to the smoke-stained beams like clouds.

As they crossed the courtyard toward the front gate, the monks found Shiuh Deng waiting for them beneath the winter plum. He stepped out from the shadows, his robes blowing around him, his face lit by the faint waver of candles from the temple.

The monks bowed to their master, amazed that he had descended the mountain at night. But the time for ceremony had passed. He grasped each of them by the shoulders and held them for a moment. To Tsung Tsai he said, "Everywhere are hungry ghosts. Go quickly. Keep a strong mind."

Tsung Tsai said nothing. There was nothing to say, no gesture for endings. Soon, he knew, his teacher would forget the world, forget himself, simply let go, and die. He feared his older brothers too would soon be dead, and he could not contemplate the emptiness of the world without them.

Let us, like snow, whirl away, he thought.

So he turned and walked into the future.






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