Alms

So the stone woman and wooden man
carry the burden of appearing to be two;
as do the bowl and icy filling,

as do the stork and round moon;
as do form and emptiness
or form and mirror's image.

As do Boy and snorting Ox,
relative and ultimate,
stick and struck,

arrow and flesh,
way and weary feet,
cedar box with cedar lid,

dollar and power,
bully and victim,
peace and war.

We might for metaphor prefer
thousand-armed Monju
offering us, hands extended,

a thousand Shakyamunis,
each with his bowl presented
for our alms.

Sometimes it's enough just to walk
around the block, shake rain 
from umbrella, sit down,

glance around the room.

-- shonin



MUMONKAN (The Gateless Gate)

13th century Chinese koan collection

Case 12: Zuigan Calls His Master

Zuigan Gen Osho called to himself every day, “Master!” and answered, “Yes, sir!” Then he would say, “Be wide awake!” and answer, “Yes, sir!” “Henceforward, never be deceived by others!” “No, I won’t!”

MUMON’S COMMENT

Old Zuigan buys and sells himself. He takes out a lot of god-masks and devil-masks and puts them on and plays with them. What for, eh? One calling and the other answering; one wide awake, the other saying he will never be deceived. If you stick to any of them, you will be a failure. If you imitate Zuigan, you will play the fox.

MUMON’S VERSE

Clinging to the deluded way of consciousness,
Students of the Way do not realize truth.
The seed of birth and death through endless eons:
The fool calls it the true original self.

Pretty good stuff

Ling Xingpo visited Master Fubei Heshang to pay her respects. They sat together and drank tea, and she asked him, “If a true word can’t be spoken no matter how hard you try, how will you teach?”
Fubei said, “Fubei has nothing to say.”
Ling was not satisfied. She placed her hands inside the opposite sleeves of her robe and cried out: “There is grievous suffering even within a blue sky!”
Again Fubei had nothing to say.
Ling said, “To be a human being is to live in calamity.” -- Hidden Lamp, page 260 

The assertion that true Dharma cannot be conveyed by words goes way back. 

"After old man Shakyamuni had attained the Path in the land of Magadha, he spent three weeks contemplating this matter: "The nature of all things being quiescent extinc­tion cannot be conveyed by words; I would rather not preach the Dharma, but quickly enter nirvana." When he got to this point, even Shakyamuni couldn't find any way to open his mouth. But by virtue of his power of skill in technique, after he had preached to the five mendicants, he went to three hundred and sixty assemblies and expounded the teachings for his age. All these were just expedients. For this reason he had taken off his bejewelled regal garments and put on rough dirty clothing. He could not but turn towards the shallows within the gate of the secondary meaning in order to lead in his various disciples. If we had him face upwards and bring it all up at once, there would hardly be anyone in the whole world (who could under­stand)." -- The Blue Cliff Record, tr. T. Cleary and J. C. Cleary

Changqing once said, “I would rather say that arhats have three types of poison than say that the Tathāgata [Śākyamuni Buddha] has two kinds of expression. It’s not that the Tathāgata has no expression. It is just that he does not have two kinds of expression.”
Baofu Congzhan asked, “What is the Tathāgata’s expression?” Changqing asked, “How can a deaf person hear it?”
Baofu said, “I knew you were speaking on a secondary level.” Changqing said, “Then what is the Tathāgata’s expression?” Baofu said, “Have a cup of tea.” -- Shingi Shobogenzo

"Whenever Chao Chou saw a monk, right away he would say, "Have you ever been here?" Whether the monk said he had or he hadn't, Chou would always say, "Go drink some tea." The temple overseer asked, "The teacher always asks monks if they've been here or not, then always says, 'Go drink some tea.' What is the meaning?" Chou said, "Overseer!" When the over­ seer responded, Chou said, "Go drink some tea."" -- The Blue Cliff Record, tr. T. Cleary and J. C. Cleary

In some depictions of Manjushri, such as one well-known one from the Dunhuang Caves, he has 1000 arms and hands, each one holding a begging bowl, and he is said to be offering Buddha/Dharma to us, the Sangha, from each bowl. Us is everyone; we are all the Sangha either in the past, the present, or the future. It is said that the offer is good until we accept it, though we resist for kalpas. 

Wu Cho, a traveling monk, visits Diamond Cave on Five Peak Mountain and meets an old man there who offers him tea. The old man drinks from a crystal bowl. He shows the bowl to Wu Cho and asks, "Do they have these where you came from?" "No." "What!? How do they drink tea then?" Later, Wu Cho realizes he has been drinking tea with Manjusri. (Blue Cliff Record)

Yunyan was boiling some tea. Daowu asked who he was making it for. Yunyan answered, "nobody special."
-- Soto Zen Ancestors in China, Mitchell, 72.

Chongxin of Mount Longtan was making rice cakes for a living. When he met Tianhuang, he bowed and left his household.
Tianhuang said, “Be my attendant. From now on I will teach you the essential dharma gate.”
After one year passed Longtan said, “When I arrived, you said that you would teach me the essential dharma gate. I haven’t received any of your instruction yet.”
Tianhuang said, “I have been teaching you for a long time.”
Longtan said, “What have you been teaching me?”
Tianhuang said, “When you greet me, I join my palms. When I sit, you stand beside
me. When you bring tea, I receive it from you.”
Longtan was silent for a while.
Tianhuang said, “When you see it, you just see it. When you think about it, you miss
it.” Longtan then had great enlightenment. -- Shingi Shobogenzo

There is no getting out of the calamity. But Fubei's tea is probably pretty good stuff.

-- shonin 

One head

 I've brought a head of red cabbage into the tiny hut kitchen to blanch, pickle and water bath can, using the few narrowmouth lids I have on hand (small jars). About half of this will go in the freezer. All will be small batches, to have with rice, spuds or noodles. 

[later] All done; it made about six pints of canned "imitation kimchi" in jars and five pints in bags in the hut freezer. That's enough for about thirty-three meals for me, in combination with other ingredients.

Two heads, they say, are better than one, but thirty-three meals' worth of cabbage is a lot for me in one year. So it's as well that only one of my cabbages made a head! I'm fine with that; the collards did much better and will likely be the main winter veg this year.

We are a two-headed species. One head witnesses a singing bird. The other talks to itself: "Oh, there's a singing bird." This monologue appears to be a step away from the world, or what could be called nature, even though of course the monologue occurs within nature -- it can't be anywhere else! But we fool ourselves.

The epitome of such fooling is when we try, sometimes with horrible success, to fool one another. As a civilization we're approaching fully automated 24/7 fooling, with a corresponding massive leap in gratuitous suffering.

Zen folks have a project to let go of that second head, for as much of the time as is practicable. Releasing the past as regret, releasing the future as expectation, hear the bird, see the garden, inhale, exhale, cut the cabbage.

-- shonin 

The Woman Lets It Be

Hidden Lamp, p.62

 

Master Langye Huijue had a woman disciple who came to him for instruction.  The master told her to examine the saying “Let it be.”  He said that if she faithfully used this sentence as a scythe, she would cut down illusions and reap enlightenment.

 

The woman followed his instructions faithfully.  One day her house burned down and she said, “Let it be.”  ....

One day she started to make fried cakes for dinner as her husband lit the fire.  She prepared the batter and heated the oil, then poured a spoonful of batter into the hot oil.

 

When she heard the sizzling sound, she was immediately enlightened.  She threw the pan to the ground and jumped up and down, clapping her hands and laughing.

 

Her husband shouted at her, “What are you doing?  Have you gone mad?”  She answered, “Let it be.”

 

Then she went to Huijue and he confirmed that she had indeed harvested the holy fruit.

 

Waiting for go

         Jiaoan’s Sand in the Eye

Hidden Lamp p.90

 

Jaioan was the niece of a high official of the Song dynasty.  When she was young, she decided not to marry or bear children and she set her heart on the way of Chan.  She experienced a clear awakening at the words of Master Yuanwu Keqin as he spoke to the assembly.

 

Later Yuanwu said to her, “You should go on to erase your views –then you will finally be free.”

 

She answered in verse:

 

          The pillar pulls out the bone sideways;

          the void shows its claws and fangs;

          even if one profoundly understands,

          there is still sand in the eye.

 

To set one's heart on the way is to sit at the entrance and admire it, or to cling to the gate. Way-entering is devoid of clinging. Yuanwu could see that she could let go, so told her directly to just do so. Life gives us sandstorms. We squint, we hide behind buildings, we make excuses. Forward is just forward. No point waiting for the sandstorm to stop, eh?

Has my head been casting shadows inside as well as out? When I'm told to make an effort, I suddenly picture myself sitting and grunting, as if I might take in an elusive fact.It would be more the other way round if there were any direction for facts to go.

 

-- shonin 

Reality gives me cold toes

 

Chiyono’s No Water, No Moon. Hidden Lamp, p. 37. Chiyono was a servant in a Zen convent who wanted to practice zazen. One day she approached an elderly nun and asked, “I’m of humble birth. I can’t read or write and must work all the time. Is there any possibility that I could attain the way of Buddha even though I have no skills?”

The nun answered her, “This is wonderful, my dear. In Buddhism there are no distinctions between people. There is only this – each person must hold fast to the desire to awaken and cultivate a heart of great compassion. People are complete as they are. If you don’t fall into delusive thoughts, there is no Buddha and no sentient being; there is only one complete nature. If you want to know your true nature you need to turn toward the source of your delusive thoughts. This is called zazen.”

Chiyono said, with happiness, “With this practice as my companion I have only to go about my daily life, practicing day and night.”

There are varied stories of Chiyono's life. Richard Bryan McDaniel, in Zen Masters of Japan, says: "One of Bukko’s students was the first Japanese woman to receive a certificate of inka. Her Buddhist name was Mugai Nyodai, but she is remembered by her personal name, Chiyono. She was a member of the Hojo family by marriage and a well-educated woman who long had an interest in the Dharma. After her husband died and her family responsibilities had been fulfilled, she went to study with the Chinese master."

He goes on to recount a longer version of the story told in Hidden Lamp, after warning us it is apocryphal, as Chiyono was of the lower samurai class, rather than of the Hisabetsu-buraku (discriminated hamlet class) as implied in both the story and in Hakuin's illustration above. 

Was she perhaps in a servant-like role as many new students are, in a training-monastery setting? Whether as a servant or a somewhat respectable widow, there is the implication that Chiyono must seek enlightenment with the handicap of actual or temporary (for training purposes) low status to be overcome.

There is also a story that when Chiyono was ready to begin her koan study with the master, her presence in the zendo was at first objected to by the monks, on the grounds that her beauty would distract them. And that to overcome this she burned her face with a hot iron rod. Some have noted an apparent sag in her face as depicted in her lifelike portrait sculpture as evidence of the truth of this story.

These two stories are related. But to continue.

Zen is grounded in work, both on and off the cushion. Work off the cushion is called samu. Monks and nuns are famous for their samu: sweeping, chopping wood and carrying water. Chiyono is known to have carried water.

After months of wholehearted practice, she went out on a full moon night to draw some water from the well. The bottom of her old bucket, held together by bamboo strips, suddenly gave way, and the reflection of the moon vanished with the water. When she saw this she attained great realization.

She wrote a realization poem.

With this and that I tried to keep the bucket together,
And then the bottom fell out.
Where water does not collect,
The moon does not dwell.

I have been asked three questions in the presence of this koan.

1. What are you trying to keep together at this time of your life?
2. Where does the moon go when its reflection disappears?
3. Where do we go when we let go completely?

1. What I am trying to keep together at this time of my life is my body, with its diminishing capacity for activity/work, awareness, compassion, and kindness, largely because I feel I still have some responsibilities to family and community, including the sangha. My life has been greatly simplified due to bodily conditions: I don't drive or shop or handle finances, and am praised for shuffling around the block with my two sticks. "Got your phone? Okay, have fun."

I still have grief and regret. There's not much to do about that but carry a few tiny blossoms to a cairn nearby. Some self-indulgence in this, I think, may be excused.

It's easy to vanish into an easy chair. Letting go, now, would be as simple as the decision not to try to stand up. But also I'm still capable of spouting verbal abuse, which originates right here in the body, a part of nature. Channeling my speech (and facial cues) away from such may be my final exercise in letting go.

2. I reflect on the moon's beauty in its path across the sky, and then I don't. The moment a thought is over, it's nowhere, especially as near-term memory paths erode in one's cortex.  In resting from even reflection we come to ground truth -- not by seeking to rest, but by the simple expedient of absent-mindedness. This could be called the practice of not practicing, for which, for our purposes, we may use the model of a pet rock.

3. We don't go anywhere at all.

The bucket's bamboo strap unwinds and its moldy bottom falls out. Icy well water sluices down mossy stone steps. My feet are wet. Reality gives me cold toes.

-- shonin 

A cloudless sky

Asan was an eighteenth century Japanese laywoman who studied Zen with Master Tetsumon and was unremitting in her devotion to practice. One day during her morning sitting she heard the crow of a rooster and her mind suddenly opened. She spoke this verse in response:

The fields, the mountains, the flowers, and my body too are the voice of the bird -- what is left that can be said to hear?

-- From The Hidden Lamp, Caplow, ed., et. al.

Xiangyan sat for many years, then his life turned around when he heard the tile strike the bamboo.

I like to think I have had many moments like that, but I'm very stubborn and mightily resist turning. There's maybe half a turn, then the noise sets in.

I drove once a month for years to Bird Haven Zendo. Sit, kinhin, sit, bow, jundo to altars, reflect, receive instruction, eat, trim candles, sit, kinhin, sit, join kitchen table dharma, smile goodbye, drive home.

It was only one day a month, but I count it as steadily ongoing training of a sort, as it set the tone, or it seemed to me it should have, for all the days in between, gardening, making tea, walking with the dog to the river.

Some days, every sight or sound was itself. Others, they gave rise to wandering thoughts. And more wandering thoughts, and more wandering thoughts.

It's as if I am just underwater, and can see the shining sunlight right there above me in a cloudless sky.

I'm the most industriously lazy monkey-mind I know of! It's frustrating because I know the effort to halt this is like paddling to cross to the other shore when there is no paddle. 

Gardening, making tea, walking all happen before there is a single delusion.

-- shonin

Your unborn mind is the Buddha-mind itself, and it is unconcerned with either birth or death. As evidence of this, when you look at things, you're able to see and distinguish them all at once. And as you are doing that, if a bird sings or a bell tolls, or other noises or sounds occur, you hear and recognize each of them too, even though you haven't given rise to a single thought to do so.

-- Bankei, The Unborn tr. Norman Waddell.

 

In Place 57

 

She chases light with her cot and desk

in winter, looking south,

in summer, looking north.

in the morning, sun. At night, stars

 

With the large windows, which she had retrieved from a salvage pile, she finds company in sunbeams, songbirds, even a passing fox. At night, lying on her cot, she discovers the Milky Way entangled in bare twigs and branches. What is there to discuss about koans that is not like arguing over the color of the sky?

Out of the way, I don’t seek the carriages of the eminent.
At dawn pear-blossom rain splashes my secluded window,
At dusk I borrow fragments of stars to mend broken tiles.

-- Wang Duanshu (1621–ca. 1680), tr. Zong-Qi Cai