Seijo's Two Souls

Chokan had a very beautiful daughter named Seijo. He also had a handsome young cousin named Ochu. Joking. he would often comment that they would make a fine married couple. Actually, he  planned to give his daughter's hand in marriage to another man. But young Seijo and Ochu took him seriously: they fell in love and thought themselves engaged. One dav Chokan announced Seijo's betrothal to the other man. In rage and despair, Ochu left by boat.  After several days journey, much to his astonishment and joy he discovered that Seijo was on the boat with him! They went to a nearby city where they lived for several years and had two children. But Seijo could not forget her father: so Ochu decided to go back with her and ask the father's forgiveness and blessing. When they arrived, Ochu went to the father’s house. He humbly apologized to the father for taking his daughter away and asked forgiveness for them both. “What is the meaning of all this madness?” the father exclaimed. Then he related that after Ochu had left, many years ago. his daughter Seijo had fallen ill and had been comatose in bed since. Ochu assured him that he was mistaken, and, in proof, he brought Sejjo from the boat. When she entered, the Seijo lying in the bed rose to meet her and the two became one. Zen Master Goso,  observed that Seijo had two souls. One always sick at home in bed and the other in the city, a married woman with two children. Which was the true soul?”

COMMENT: When one attains enlightenment, one transcends duality and is able to understand the truth of all things. The truth cannot be divided or dichotomized. Illusion and reality are only relative. There is no so-called reality without illusion. The new exists only in relation to the old. As for east and west, there are no such things. “To be” or “not to be” is not much of a problem. Life and death are different phases of one thing. Enjoy spring; enjoy summer. Enjoy, also, fall and winter! Truth is one; truth is many.

MY COMMENT: I have noticed in my life that everything is really the same, not in a bad or boring way. Good and bad are opposite ends of one state. Happy and sad are both simply emotions. Everything is everything. 

Koans

 

Koans are stories, or questions, given to students and monks by their Masters to discipline them and to test their understanding of Zen. Zenists also use the koans to challenge each other and to test each other’s—as well as their own— ability. In ancient days it was the custom for monks to visit different Zen Buddhist monasteries and temples with the purpose of challenging the residing Master. This was sincere and rigorous practice. The koan literally means “public record.” Ko means public; an means record. Just as the reports, or case records, in courts of law are used as precedents in order to exercise and interpret the law, the koan is utilized to express the universality, or absoluteness, of Zen. The koan is not private or mystic in any sense. It is through the koan that the essence of Zen, the essence of life, is communicated. This is somewhat like love, which is experienced privately but, at the same time, has universality—anyone can experience it. Though universal, love is. communicated directly from one person to another, just as Zen is transmitted from mind to mind.

In order to communicate love, words are often insufficient. Since love is life, it is immediate and direct, and the method of communication is very dynamic. Love may even be communicated by hitting, scolding, and other contrary expressions. Sometimes to express deep concern and love we say, “I don't love you.” Love gives and love takes away. Love does not have just one, static form. So in Zen, the truth of reality, the essence of life is
communicated dynamically. There are koans, “Khats” (deep sudden cries), and blows, all aimed at awakening the student. Negative methods are often more effective than the ordinary affirmative ways of teaching. There is no room or sentimentality because Zen deals with the essence of life and the truth of the universe. The koan is never solved by reason or by the intellect. Koans are solved only through living experience or by intuitive understanding. Today, many people intellectualize and conceptualize life and so become victims of concepts and intellect. Concepts create trouble in life because conceptualizations become confused with real things. Life is living, clear and simple. (Why can’t we become more simple and direct?) The koans point out the simplicity and directness of life and truth; therefore, reasoning and intellectual judgment are totally useless to solve koans.

Of course, to understand and appreciate koans fully, one should have some background in Chinese and Japanese culture and in Buddhism—the more one has, the easier the task will be.  If one wishes to study further, there are excellent English translations of The Hekigan Roku, with commentary by Setcho and Engo, and the Mumonkan, with commentary by Mumon. If one wants to enjoy, appreciate, and live life fully, one must be aware of the truth of life. Ancient Chinese and Japanese Zen people had such an awareness, as is reflected in their approach to nature and human life. Man is, after all, only a small part of nature. Those ancient Zenists always harmonized and became one with nature. They never thought in terms of “conquering” nature. To see Chinese pictures and read Chinese poems is to discover that man always disappears into nature. Indeed, nature is frequently more compatible with man’s well-being than is human society—particularly when it is dominated by politicians and profiteers. 

To illustrate this, there is a story about a Chinese Zen monk who lived in a tree. The governor of the district, named Hakurakuten, heard of this famous Zen monk and visited him one day. Seeing the monk perched high up in the tree, the governor said, “Living on the tree is quite dangerous; you might fall at any moment. Why don’t you live on the ground?” The monk replied, “Is it safe down there on the earth?” We can see the dangers of earthly life today more clearly than ever before. Many koans are difficult to understand because they treat the absolute, the essence of life, in such a simple yet symbolic way.

The koan deals with a dimension deeper than the world of the five senses. All of our knowledge is based on sensation, perception, conception, ideas,  conscious thought, and the psychological subconscious mind. We are firmly attached to these areas of knowledge and tend to feel there is nothing outside them. But Zen deals with wisdom that transcends ordinary knowledge. And when one comes to understand the Zen realm of non-attachment, the factual world is seen in an entirely different light. All the troubles of life, without exception, are the result of attachment. Instead of clinging—or attaching—to things and conditions, one should understand the true, changing nature of the world and live freely within it. 

One can become the master of life and of one’s world instead of a slave to both. That is the intention of Zen, and the koan, in trying to demonstrate the reality of life, is Zen’s most useful tool. After all, the purpose of studying a koan is not simply to understand it and be finished with it, but to live the koan, solving it each day.

Joshu's Mu

Joshu  was a famous Chinese Zen Master who lived in Joshu, the province from which he took his name. One day a troubled monk approached him, intending to ask the Master for guidance. A dog walked by. The monk asked Joshu, Has that dog a Buddha nature or not? The monk had barely completed his question when Joshu shouted: “MU!

Of all koans, Joshu’s Mu is the most famous. It is extremely popular with Zen Masters, who frequently assign it to novices. If the student tends properly to business, Mu comes to resemble a hot iron ball stuck in his throat—he can neither swallow it nor spit it out. The importance of Joshu’s Mu is its succinct (one syllable) revelation of Buddhism. Mu is the negative symbol n Chinese meaning “not” or “no-thing.” 

Mu is also a basic concept in Oriental philosophy. There is a relative Mu and an Absolute Mu. The relative Mu, in Chinese characters, is the opposite of U which means “is.” The Absolute Mu of Zen Buddhism transcends “is” and “is not.” In order to “understand” this koan, it is necessary to be aware of this distinction. When the monk asked Joshu, “Has that dog a Buddha-nature or not?” he was asking not only from the standpoint of his own troubled mind, but from the basic Buddhist teaching that “all beings have Buddha nature.” Joshu realized this.

His “MU!” was a blow aimed at breaking, or untying, the monk’s attachment to that teaching. The essence of Buddha’s teaching is non-attachment. All human troubles and sufferings, without exception, are due to attachment. Even attachment to the idea of nonattachment is attachment! Joshu wanted the monk to transcend the relative world, transcend the teachings, transcend U and Mu, transcend Buddhism, and gain the free and independent world of enlightenment.

Satori, or enlightenment, is this new dimension or perspective in life. Ordinary human life is always attached to the relative: the “is” and the “is not, good and bad, right and wrong. But life itself is constantly changing; the condition of society changes; right and wrong changes; every situation is different according to time and place. Static concepts are not appropriate to life. Thus, Mu is crucial: it offers no surface upon which the intellect can fasten. The word Mu must be experienced as the world of “MU”

The Staff

Shuzan held out his short staff and said, “If you call this a short staff, you oppose its reality. If you do not call it a short staff, you ignore the fact. Now what do you wish to call this?” 

COMMENT: If the student calls it a short staff, he attaches to its name; if he doesn’t call it a short staff, he ignores its reality. He can neither assert nor deny. Only when he falls to the very bottom of contradiction and utter confusion will he enlighten himself. “What is this?” Shuzan demands. It just is. Don't talk about it; experience it.

MY COMMENT: I think this koan pertains to my practice in that I need to do it, sit and practice rather than talk about it or just think about it.

Heat and Cold

 

A monk asked Tozan, “How can we escape the cold and heat?” Tozan replied, “Why not go where there is no cold and heat?” “Is there such a place?” the monk asked. Tozan commented, “When cold, be thoroughly cold; when hot, be hot through and through.”

Comment: Heat and cold cause discomfort; they represent troubles in life. When troubles arise, what should we do? If one can escape fine. But many of life’s problems cannot be escaped. Where is the place of no trouble? Zen says: Become one with trouble. When the day is hot, don't cry, “Oh, it's too hot! What shall I do?” Take the heat and be it instead of complaining about or trying to escape it. Whatever it is, if we become totally one with it, we become the master instead of the victim.

My Comment: This koan is about being present.

Every Day is a Good Day

Unmon said: “I do not ask vou about fifteen days a go. But What about fifteen days hence? Come, say a word about this!” Since none of the monks answered, he answered for them: “Every day is a good day.”

Comment: “Every day is a good day” is a simple statement, but it probably doesn't mean what you think it does. The “good day” does not refer to a nice day as compared to a bad day. It means the absolute, not the relative, day. Today is the absolute day, the only day in the eternity of time. Today is never repeated. Every day is fresh and new just as one’s life is new each day. Every day is a good day, but the good is not of one’s own making. It is good in the original, or absolute, sense—rain or shine, war or peace, sickness or health. The past is only reference; the future is only hope. Today is real.

Manjushri and the Gate

 

One day as Manjushri stood outside the gate, the Buddha called to him, Manjushri, Manjushri, why do you not enter? Manjushri replied, I do not see myself as outside. Why enter?

My Comment: All borders and barriers only exist in the mind and are created by man.

The Temple Flag

Two monks were arguing about the temple flag waving in the wind. One said the flags moves and the other said the wind moves. They argued back and forth but could not agree. Hui-neng, the sixth patriarch said, Gentlemen, it is not the flag that moves and it is not the wind that moves. It is your mind that moves. The two monks were awestruck.

Futility and Absurdity

In early times in Japan, bamboo-and-paper lanterns were used with candles inside. A blind man, visiting a friend one night, was offered a lantern to carry home with him. “I do not need a lantern,” he said. “Darkness or light is all the same to me.” “I know you do not need a lantern to find your way,” his friend replied, “but if you don’t have one, someone else may run into you. So you must take it.” The blind man started off with the lantern and before he had walked very far someone ran squarely into him. “Look out where you are going!” he exclaimed to the stranger. “Can’t you see this lantern?” “Your candle has burned out, brother,” replied the stranger.

My Comment: Sometimes life is futile. Sometimes we’re damned if we do and damned if we don’t. Sometimes good luck is disguised by bad luck and vice versa. Sometimes a kick in the ass propels us forward, and sometimes it’s just a kick in the ass.

The absurdity of the human condition is both very painful and very laughable. It’s an ironic and incongruous and poignantly imperfect. But that’s also half the fun of it. Life comes at us fast, and sometimes the healthiest thing to do is to laugh despite the speed of it all.

Between the pain of life’s lessons and the medicinal laughter of cultivating a good sense of humor, there is the unvanquishable absurdity of life kicking us around. Sometimes all we can do is kick back with a ruthless sense of humor, not despite irony and incongruity, but because of them.

Dive in! The water is warm (and cold and safe and dangerous)  But don’t let that stop you from living; from dancing through the glaring futility and venomous absurdity of it all with a humor of the most high.

If You Meet the Buddha on the Road, Kill Him - A Koan

The Zen Master warns: “If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him!” This admonition points up that no meaning that comes from outside of ourselves is real. The Buddhahood of each of us has already been obtained. We need only recognize it. Philosophy, religion, patriotism, all are empty idols. The only meaning in our lives is what we each bring to them. Killing the Buddha on the road means destroying the hope that anything outside of ourselves can be our master.