Mumonkan, Koan 34: Nansen's "Reason Is Not The Way"

Nansen said, "Mind is not the Buddha; reason is not the way."

The Buddha in the tree at a temple in Thailand
(photo from the blog "Life as you make it...")

At first, this koan seems to directly contradict what I learned in koan 33 and to also contradict Baso's words in koan 30 ("This very mind is the Buddha"). My first reaction was that these statements cannot both be true, however this is not so.

The issue is using words to speak about Zen. Words are imprecise, which is why Zen is usually transmitted wordlessly. The statements are contradictory if we focus specifically on the words and what they mean, but if we read between the lines at the understanding that these words are trying to convey, we can conclude that both statements are true and are in agreement.

We find Buddha nature through our mind, and it is the only place we can find it. However, we cannot say the mind is Buddha in a concrete way because the mind is an object just like a book or a couch or a TV set. Living things have Buddha nature, but that does not mean a cat or a whale or myself are the Buddha.

Wine has flavor, but it is not flavor. A balloon is filled with air, but it is not air. The mind is the Buddha, but the mind is not the Buddha. No object, concrete or abstract, is the Buddha. But all living things are the Buddha.

I think this is the best I can do to explain.

Bitchslapped by Koan 34

Once I've worked through a koan, I move on to the next one naturally enough. In this case, I received a big surprise when I read koan 34 given my solution to Koan 33.

Koan 34 reads: Nansen said, "Mind is not the Buddha; reason is not the Way." The first part of this directly contradicts my solution to koan 33! Hmmmmmm......

Well, koans are intended to challenge us! This should be interesting to say the least.

Mumonkan, Koan 33: Baso's "No Mind, No Buddha"

A monk asked Baso, "What is the Buddha?" Base answered, "No mind, no Buddha."

The first thing that must be noted about this koan is that it's almost identical to Koan 30: Baso's "This Very Mind is the Buddha". So much so, that any attempt by me to extract a separate meaning from this koan versus that one felt forced at first.

The repetition made me think of Bodhidharma's Bloodstream Sermon. (Note: I read the translation of this sermon by Red Pine in his book The Zen Teaching of Bodhidharma). In this sermon, Bodhidharma spends a lot of time saying "buddha is mind" and "you mind is your nature" and "your nature is buddha" in a bunch of different ways. His repeating this over and over made me think of why Zen is not transmitted verbally. He can preach the same simple message all day and all night, but if we don't understand it then it doesn't matter how many times we're told.

In any case, his point matches the message of koan 30. However, Bodhidharma also makes a related point in the Bloodstream Sermon that outside our mind or nature, there is no buddha to be found. This would seem to be the point of koan 33. So I suppose there is a difference in between the two koans. Buddha is mind or nature, and then there is nothing outside of your mind/nature to find. Kind of says the same thing, but from two separate vantage points.

Perhaps Mumon felt this point was important enough to dedicate two similar koans to it...or that the two sides of the point need to be understood to really 'get' it.

[PS: After arriving at my solution, I read Mumon's comment about this koan: "If you understand this, you have finished studying Zen." So that's pretty good evidence that he felt this koan and koan 30 speak to something essential in Zen.]

Mumonkan, Koan 32: A Non-Buddhist Philosopher Questions The Buddha

photo: Leh Ladakh Tourism

A non-Buddhist philosopher said to the Buddha, "I do not ask for words; I do not ask for non-words." The Buddha just sat there. The philosopher said admiringly, "The World-honored One, with his great mercy, has blown away the clouds of my illusion and enabled me to enter the Way." After making bows, he took his leave.

Then Ananda asked the Buddha, "What did he realize, to admire you so much?" The World-honored One replied, "A fine horse runs even at the shadow of the whip."

The Buddha's answer suggests that someone who has trained their mind does not need to be to be told they are on the Path or told anything in order to learn. Just as the mere shadow of the whip is enough to make the horse respond, the enlightened mind needs no overt words or guidance.

Further, there is something in this koan about how what we have learned manifests itself in our behavior. When we learn something...truly understand it...then it becomes part of our nature. We do not need to be told or preached to or reminded. If a person has been enlightened or come to an understanding of something, then they need no words and that learning naturally manifests itself in their life and behavior. If that isn't happening or reminders are needed, then it has not been learned and we do not really know or understand it.

There's a big difference between saying words and living the meaning behind them.

Mumonkan, Koan 31: Joshu Investigates An Old Woman

Trail to Taisan summit (photo by Scott on summitpost.org)

A monk asked an old woman, "What is the way to Taisan?" The old woman said, "Go straight on." When the monk had proceeded a few steps, she said, "A good, respectable monk, but he too goes that way." Afterward someone told Joshu about this. Joshu said, "Wait a bit, I will go an investigate the old woman for you." The next day he went and asked the same question, and the old woman gave the same answer. On returning, Joshu said to his disciples, "I have investigated the old woman of Taisan for you."

It's helpful - but not essential - to know that Taisan is a sacred mountain full of temples to which many people make pilgrimages. So the old woman's comment appears to be a criticism of pilgrims for their practice of going to a 'sacred place' of any kind. This is solid Zen philosophy: Place or location have little or nothing to do with the Path or gaining enlightenment. If you cannot find it where you are right now, moving 5 feet away to the left or making a pilgrimage to a sacred mountain will not make any difference. I believe the disciples tell Joshu about the old woman because they assume her criticism reveals an understanding of Zen.

Joshu investigates the old woman, perhaps to determine whether she truly does have some understanding. If that is the purpose of his investigation then, as soon as she answers the question in the same way and gives him the same criticism, he realizes she possesses no true wisdom.

First, to provide the same guidance or criticism to everyone you meet is wrong-minded. It is generally true that a pilgrimage is not essential to enlightenment, yet even so and even if we assume that most or all of the people who pass her have wrong-minded reasons for heading to Taisan, one still cannot mouth the same platitude to all of them and pretend that it is wisdom (or even relevant to the person being addressed). This is why Zen does not proselytize nor transmit wisdom through literal explanation. At best, even the greatest teacher can only point the way. A seeker must find the Way for themselves.

Second, since Joshu is a master who is clearly already living on Taisan at this particular time, the old woman's answer proves that she is merely mouthing a platitude - because in this case the platitude is completely meaningless. Joshu was not asking her the way Taisan because he wanted to go there (he already was there!) and not because he was seeking enlightenment (he already had attained it!). Thus her criticism is off the mark. She is not evaluating the situation or person she speaks to, her pronouncement is like the repeated words of a parrot.

Joshu's remark at the temple lacks an explanation of what he found for two reasons: 1) He found nothing, and 2) It would be wrong for him to feed his conclusion to the disciples. They must think over what occurred and what Joshu said and perhaps find their own understanding of this event. By not explaining his conclusion, Joshu avoids making the same error as the old woman.

Mumonkan, Koan 30: Baso's "This Very Mind is the Buddha"

Zen Master Baso

Daibai asked Baso, "What is the Buddha?"  Baso answered, "This very mind is the Buddha."

My first reaction was that this wasn't a koan. It's a question and an answer without any riddle or ambiguity. However, as I thought about it, I found myself considering the exchange itself. The question is an odd one to ask, since answers of this kind cannot be given to someone. Certainly not verbally.

If Zen could be transmitted verbally, I suppose this would be the way to do it. However, this answer doesn't give Daibai anything...even though it is correct. What he is asking about - what he seeks - must be found and experienced on one's own, not imparted in this manner.

Taking this line of thought to it's logical conclusion, asking such a question of another person in hope of gaining knowledge or instruction is wrong-minded.

Mumonkan, Koan 29: The Sixth Patriarch's "Your Mind Moves"

Prayer flags in the wind, Nepal
Photo: Stefanie Buehler

The wind was flapping a temple flag, and two monks started an argument. One said the flag moved, the other said the wind moved; they argued back and forth but could not reach a conclusion. The Sixth Patriarch said, "It is not the wind that moves, it is not the flag that moves; it is your mind that moves." The two monks were awe-struck.

The argument is based on interpreting what one sees with the mind, rather than simply having direct experience in the moment. As such, there is no right-mindedness while the monks argue about what is happening. They are removed from the moment. This is what is meant by "it is your mind that moves."

The argument is one of delusion since it is the debating of interpretations of reality - what each monk thinks about what they see - rather than reality itself. The distancing from reality is actually three-fold. First, there is the interpretation of reality. Second, there is the evaluation of the other monk's interpretation. Then third, there is the comparison of the evaluations against one another. Once we let our minds "move", we are quickly swept out of the moment and away from the moment into an intellectual hall of mirrors that is merely delusion.

The Sixth Patriarch was chastising the monks for their lack of discipline.

Mumonkan, Koan 28: Ryutan Blows Out the Candle

Tokusan asked Ryutan about Zen far into the night. At last Ryutan said, "The night is late. Why don't you retire?" Tokusan made his bows and lifted the blinds to withdraw, but he was met by darkness. Turning back to Ryutan, he said, "It is dark outside." Ryutan lit a paper candle and handed it to him. Tokusan was about to take it when Ryutan blew it out. At this, all of a sudden, Tokusan went through a deep experience and made bows.

Ryutan said, "What sort of realization do you have?" "From now on," said Tokusan, "I will not doubt the words of an old osho who is renowned everywhere under the sun."

The next day Ryutan ascended the rostrum and said, "I see a fellow among you. His fangs are like the sword tree. His mouth is like a blood bowl. Strike him with a stick, and he won't turn his head to look at you. Someday or other, he will climb the highest of the peaks and establish our Way there."

Tokusan brought his notes on the Diamond Sutra to the front of the hall, pointed to them with a torch, and said, "Even though you have exhausted the abstruse doctrines, it is like placing a hair in a vast space. Even though you have learned all the secrets of the world, it is like a drop of water dripped on the great ocean." And he burned all his notes. Then, making bows, he took his leave of this teacher.

This koan is full of metaphor. Inside the room with Ryutan, there are answers and light. As Tokusan leaves, he finds total darkness. There is no value in light and answers which desert a person the moment they leave the side of a teacher. What we do not know in and within ourselves, what we cannot carry with us into the world is not knowledge. Further, light or answers that are given like the candle Ryutan gives to Tokusan can be taken away. That is not possible with true knowledge or insight.

While I do not understand the reference to the "words of an old osho", the meaning of Tokusan burning all his notes is clear. The notes are like the lighted room and are not needed. Everything in the notes Tokusan has either absorbed or not absorbed. The former will not be lost by burning the notes; the latter was never his to lose.

Extending this further, perhaps he also realized his teacher should not be needed either. Either he was enlightened (or perhaps he needed solitude for a while before returning). In a way, entering the darkness or leaving his teacher is a way to avoid staying in the lit room with given answers. It's a way to confront what he does not know rather than stagnate with the security of what he is told. Of course, the other side of this is that we should never view a teacher as exerting such control. We should be able to enter the darkness even while letting the light of a teacher point the way.

Perhaps that is the real meaning of the candle being blown out: "Despite whatever teaching I give you; you must ultimately find your own way."

Mumonkan, Koan 2: Hyakujo's Fox

image: The Gateless Gate blog

I had forgotten to post this koan! Maybe I didn't because, back over four years ago when I first integrated the Mumonkan into my Zen practice, I wasn't sure if I was going to stick with it. Or it perhaps it's because I didn't think I had solved it. (Or maybe I just dreaded typing it!). Whatever. I went back into my journal so the Mumonkan thread would be complete.

When Hyakujo Osho delivered a certain series of sermons, an old man always followed the monks to the main hall and listened to him. When the monks left the hall, the old man would also leave. One day, however, he remained behind, and Hyakujo asked him, "Who are you, standing here before me?" The old man replied, "I am not a human being. In the old days of Kashyapa Buddha, I was a head monk, living here on this mountain. One day a student asked me, "Does a man of enlightenment fall under the yoke of causation of not?" I answered, "No, he does not." Since then I have been doomed to undergo five hundred rebirths as a fox. I beg you now to give the turning word to release me from my life as a fox. Tell me, does a man of enlightenment fall under the yoke of causation or not?" Hyakujo answered, "He does not ignore causation." No sooner had the old man heard these words than he was enlightened. Making his bows, he said, "I am emancipated from my life as a fox. I shall remain on this mountain. I have a favor to ask of you: would you please bury my body as that of a dead monk."

Hyakujo had the director of the monks strike with the gavel and inform everyone that after the midday meal there would be a funeral service for a dead monk. The monks wondered at this, saying, "Everyone is in good health; nobody is in the sick ward. What does this mean?" After the meal Hyakujo led the monks to the foot of a rock on the far side of the mountain and with his staff poked out the dead body of a fox and performed the ceremony of cremation. That evening he ascended the rostrum and told the monks the whole story. Obaku thereupon asked him, "The old man gave the wrong answer and was doomed to be a fox for five hundred rebirths, Now, suppose he had given the right answer, what would have happened then?" Hyakujo said, "You come here to me, and I will tell you." Obaku went up to Hyakujo and boxed his ears. Hyakujo clapped his hands with a laugh and exclaimed, "I was thinking that the barbarian had a red beard, but now I see before me the red-bearded barbarian himself."

Yeah, it's a long koan and it's rather unique because of its length. It's also unique because it contains this fantastical, supernatural story involving a form of 'divine punishment', which I find distasteful. After reading my notes about it in my journal, I think it's pretty clear I didn't really 'solve' it.  Maybe the length threw me?

My initial reaction had been to ignore the wacky story and focus on the interaction with Obaku. However, as I think about it now, that was probably a mistake (more on that in a bit). What I initially got out of this koan is how dangerous it is to give answers (this is why Obaku boxed Hyakujo's ears and why Hyakujo was so pleased that he did so). It's really suggesting that the old man's offense was not giving the wrong answer but because he gave an answer at all. To extend this, perhaps we are all foxes when we try to tell people 'answers' or hand them 'truths'.

Image: Marvin Schulz

This lesson also touches on perception through it's 'Russian doll' structure. The koan's structure is a story within a story within a story. The writer of the koan is telling us about Hyakujo, who has apparently related to him this story about an old man he met, and the old man is telling Hyakujo a yarn about being made a fox. So we are, at minimum, third or fourth hand from reality. This is another possible reason for Obaku to box Hyakujo's ears, for they were discussing interpretations of recollections of experiences, rather than dealing in direct perceptions.

Now, back to my mistake in dismissing the wacky story. In the story, Hyakujo's answer about whether an enlightened man is subject to causation is: "He does not ignore causation." This made me think of, how when I sit in zazen, thoughts always come to me as I clear my mind. What I've learned is that if I try to ignore those thoughts or silence them, they persist. It's better to acknowledge them, even as I do not pursue them. I imagine them as small helium balloon drifting towards me. I acknowledge each one and think "later" to send it away. Doing this make it much easier to clear my mind. This might be similar to what Hyakujo meant in his answer. Whether we are able to keep something from impacting us or not isn't the point; we cannot ignore it if we want to stay in the right mind state. Ignoring or suppressing something is an activity. An alert mind can be clear, but and active one? Probably not so much.

These are all nice take aways, but I'm still not sure I've exhausted this koan. Perhaps that was the reason I didn't post it way back when I worked with it, and it wasn't until much later (Koan 12) that I really grasped that koan study cannot be viewed as a relay race. Not getting a particular koan isn't a bad thing, and it's not something to be stymied by.

Mumonkan, Koan 27: Nansen's "Not Mind, Not Buddha, Not Things"

A monk asked Nansen, "Is there any dharma that has not been preached to the people?" Nansen answered, "There is." "What is the truth that has not been taught?" asked the monk. Nansen said, "It is not mind; it is not Buddha; it is not things."

If this is what has not been preached, then nothing has been preached. That is, in fact, what Nansen means. The truth cannot be taught; we must learn it for ourselves.

Mumonkan, Koan 26: Two Monks Roll Up the Blinds

photo from the Paint-Draw-Create blog

When the monks assembled before the midday meal to listen to his lecture, the great Hogen of Seiryo pointed at the bamboo blinds. Two monks simultaneously went and rolled them up. Hogen said: "One gain, one loss."

I've spent a lot of time with this koan because, each time I thought about it, I drew a blank. A few ideas came to me, but nothing definitive. Since I didn't seem to be making any progress, this post was going to be some random babble about what I'd gotten out of it so far before I moved on to the next koan. Instead, as I wrote the post, I found myself arriving at a solution. Here it goes...

The solution is related to that of Koan 6 ('The Buddha Holds Out A Flower') and Koan 3 ('Gutei Raises A Finger'). In both koans, a deep understanding is transmitted wordlessly. In Koan 6, Shakyamuni Buddha holds out a flower to the people who have come to listen to him speak, but he doesn't say anything. Mahakashyapa responds by smiling, because he has wordlessly understood the lesson. In Koan 3, after a grisly lesson, an attendant becomes enlightened when Gutei raises his finger. For this koan, when Hogen pointed at the blinds, his intent was misinterpreted by the monks. They took it as a mundane request to roll up the blinds when it was actually his lecture.

The meaning of Hogen's comment is the monks lost the opportunity to receive instruction. The 'gain' is a rather ironic one in that, while illumination was let into the room, the greater illumination was missed by a too literal response to the master's gesture.

As I figured out the koan while writing about it here, I realized my problem I had been having trouble with it because I was trying to hard. I was looking for an 'in' to the koan. I was chewing it with my thoughts, rather than letting it melt in my mind.

Koan solutions are very much like enlightenment in general. If you try to hard, you fail. Or in the case of the two monks here: if you're too literal, you miss the wisdom.

Mumonkan, Koan 25: Kyozan's Dream

In a dream, Kyozan Osho went to Maitreya's place and was led in to sit in the third seat. A senior monk struck with a gavel and said, "Today the one in the third seat will speak." Kyozan rose and, striking with the gavel, said, "The truth of Mahayana is beyond the four propositions and transcends the hundred negations. Taicho! Taicho!"

This koan's solution seems to be the same as what I pulled out of Koan 24 (Fuketsu's Speech and Silence). Specifically, the idea of speech and silence not being different. To clarify, per Sekida's notes, the 'four propositions' are existing, non-existing, both existing and non-existing, and neither existing nor non-existing. Also according to Sekida, the 'hundred negations' are the multiplying of the four propositions. I would imagine the 'multiplying' refers to interpretation and critical thinking or, in other words, thought that interprets reality rather than being a direct perception of it. (Maybe the setting of the dream also relates to the idea of the experience pulling from both existing and non-existing.)

So just as speech and silence are and are not different in the last koan, here existence and non-existence are and are not different. Two sides of the same coin perhaps. Ultimately, it doesn't matter how we think of it because the truth does not come from nomenclature, classification, or analysis. It's about the purity of experience in the moment.

The similarity of the solutions between koans 24 and 25 made me think about how and why Mumon selected koans for inclusion in the Mumonkan. Did he select and order them so as to create a ladder? By that I mean does solving one koan give you a piece of the puzzle for solving the next one? Or did Mumon simply select koans that he felt were most useful with his students?

I'm not sure anyone knows this, given how long ago the Mumonkan was put together. I suppose it's unlikely Mumon was interested in constructing a ladder. That seems to be far too linear an approach for something that should be as open-ended as koan studies.

Mumonkan, Koan 24: Fuketsu's Speech and Silence

A monk asked Fuketsu, "Both speech and silence are faulty in being ri or bi. How can we escape these faults?" Fuketsu said,"I always remember the spring in Konan, where the partridges sing; how fragrant the countless flowers!"

Ri and bi are the inward and outward actions of the mind. We do not need to 'escape' these faults; we simply should not accept that they exist. There is no inward or outward action of the mind. There is only the mind.

I understood this while sitting in zazen during my first experiences with a meditation group I joined a little over two weeks ago. In joining, I was concerned I would not be able to attain samadhi as effectively (i.e., it would be 'bad'). To a certain extent, it is harder for me to attain samadhi in these sessions because I find myself being self-conscious or paying attention to the presence of the others. While this is 'bad' it is also 'good', because it demands from me a greater discipline of mind. So it is helpful to meditate in a group precisely for the reasons that it is unhelpful. I realized that allowing the concepts of good/bad, helpful/unhelpful into my thinking was the problem, not group meditation.

This was the key for me in solving this koan. Speech and silence are not different. Inward and outward actions of the mind are not different. Each is not good or bad. They are both...and neither. We do not admit them, nor try to escape from them. All that matters is the mind, being present in the moment. This is where there are no faults. So we do not escape these faults so much as we should refuse to shackle ourselves with them.

The significance of Fuketsu's response is that he is recalling an experience he had, namely the spring in Konan. This could be related to an experience of kensho he had or perhaps it simply evokes the idea of samadhi for him. Whatever the case, maintaining the right mindset is the path away from the monk's question.

Mumonkan, Koan 23: Think Neither Good Nor Evil

The Sixth Patriarch* [*Eno] was pursued by the monk Myo as far as Yaiyu Mountain. The patriarch, seeing Myo coming, laid the robe and bowl on a rock and said, "This robe represents the faith; it should not be fought over. If you want to take it away, take it now." Myo tried to move it, but it was heavy as a mountain and would not budge. Faltering and trembling, he cried out, "I came for the Dharma, not for the robe. I beg you, please give me your instruction."

The patriarch said, "Think neither good nor evil. At this very moment, what is the original self of the monk Myo?" At these words, Myo was directly illuminated. His whole body was covered in sweat. He wept and bowed, saying, "Besides the secret words and the secret meaning you have just now revealed to me, is there anything else, deeper still?"

The patriarch said, "What I have told you is no secret at all. When you look into your own true self, whatever is deeper is found right there." Myo said, "I was with the monks under Obai for many years but could not realize my true self. But now, receiving your instruction, I know it like a man drinking water and knowing whether it is cold or warm. My lay brother, you are now my teacher."

The patriarch said, "If you say so, but let us both call Obai our teacher. Be mindful to treasure and hold fast to what you have attained."

I sense several concepts in this koan, running from how to attain buddhahood to how to retain it to what you are supposed to do with it.

Myo is offered the robe, but Eno's words have a double meaning. The robe is only a symbol, so fighting over it is foolish. That's the reason it should not be fought over. Myo can't pick up the robe anymore than he pick up the insight he seeks. Nor can either be given to him. This reminded me of a passage from Bodhidharma's Bloodstream Sermon:

"Trying to find a buddha or enlightenment is like trying to grab space. Space has a name but no form. It's not something you can pick up or put down. And you certainly can't grab it." (source: The Zen Teaching of Bodhidharma, translator: Red Pine)

Myo cannot pick up what he is seeking, but he is illuminated when Eno advises him to look within ("at this moment, what is the original self of the monk Myo?"). Thus, Myo attains enlightenment.  Neither the robe nor instruction, if given, leads to enlightenment. This comes from within.

Eno fends off Myo's question about "anything else, deeper still" by again urging him to look to himself ("your own true self"). This is done independent of good or evil...or any sort of mental assessment of what true self means or represents. It just is.

Lastly, Eno urges Myo to "hold fast to what he has attained." Without doing this, a moment of enlightenment is just that: a moment. A brief flash of illumination and then darkness again. Enlightenment must be retained and inform us from then on if it is to have any real value. Knowing is one thing; retaining and making use of what you know is something else.

Mumonkan, Koan 22: Kashyapa's "Knock Down the Flagpole"

photo: Professor Gary Lee Todd

Ananda asked Kashyapa, "The World-honored One gave you the golden robe; did he give you anything else?" "Ananda!" cried Kashyapa. "Yes sir!" answered Ananda. "Knock down the flagpole at the gate," said Kashyapa.

Sometimes there are references in koans which, not understood, make it difficult to interpret them. So a little background:

• The World-honored one is the Buddha
• The giving of the golden robe refers to transmission of Zen
• The flagpole - The flag is raised when a master is about to teach
• Koan 6 (The Buddha Holds Out a Flower) describes the transmission of Zen from the Buddha to Kashyapa (called Mahakashyapa in that koan). The picture here is a wooden sculpture of his head from the Tang Dynasty.

Ananda's question is surprising if he is a monk. Zen is not given from a teacher to a student; a person finds it for themselves. There was nothing else to give since nothing at all was given. Kashyapa's response could mean several things. It could be an attempt to illustrate that a master does not need to teach his students overtly for them to find satori. It might even suggest Kashyapa refuses to teach Ananda until he meditates on his own to answer this question for himself. Sekida's notes suggest a third possibility: 'knocking down the flagpole' as striking down what one is striving to learn in order to not be deluded by some imagine purpose.

In any case, this koan once again highlights that satori or Zen is something reached by a person, not given to them by an instructor.

Mumonkan, Koan 21: Ummon's "Kanshiketsu"

A monk asked Ummon, "What is Buddha?" Ummon replied, "Kanshiketsu!*"
* shit stick - what people back then used as toilet paper

Ummon also appears in Koan 15 ('Tozan's Sixty Blows') and 16 ('When the Bell Sounds'). He seems to be a rather colorful and feisty guy, which may explain why he had such an incredible reputation as a teacher and how he was able to found one of the five schools of Zen.

Anyway, this koan is very much like Koan 18 (Tozan's 'Masagin'). In my entry about that koan, I had mentioned that I'd thought I'd heard a nastier version of 'Masagin'. This koan must be the one I was thinking about!

Koan 18 and 21 are exactly the same, other than the name of the monk who is asked about Buddha and the answer he offers, so the basic interpretations I have are the same. Beyond that, the focus in 'Masagin' may have also been on the possibility of it being easier to have direct perception with something like masagin - or some other mundane object. In 'Kanshiketsu' Ummon's...er...earthier answer suggests something a bit different to me on top of the basic interpretation.

In a good deal of modern Zen writings of the new age flavor, there's stress placed on 'inner peace' and 'oneness' and 'world peace'. There's also tons of accoutrements you can buy at stores that get into that line of thinking: Zen gardens, clothing, pillows, music, gongs, crystals, incense, statues, self-help books, vegan recipes, etc. By saying Buddha is something you wipe your ass with, Ummon reminds us of the raw simplicity of Zen. This is what has led me to avoid - as much as I can manage to do so - the purchase of 'Zen stuff' or adopting 'a Zen lifestyle or diet'. I feel like it's the absolutely wrong way of going about it, innocent as the purchases and intentions may be. It also makes me not avoid necessarily but shy away from talking about Zen too much with people.

Maybe if I think 'shit stick' every time I'm tempted in the wrong direction, then I can completely avoid it altogether!

Mumonkan, Koan 20: The Man of Great Strength

Shogen Osho asked, "Why is it that a man of great strength does not lift his legs?"And he also said, "It is not the tongue he speaks with."

The man of great strength does not lift his legs because he does not need to. My answer recalled to me some lines from a poem I wrote during my Pete Retreat several years ago (the poem - 'Siegecraft' - is posted here on Zen Throw Down).

For the art of siegecraft

is to be...

and watch the world

wrap around you,

turning

wand to sword to scepter

A strong or wise man draws his power from inside himself, so there is no need to act (to 'lift your legs'). This does not mean you should be a non-entity who sits around and waits or expects all things to move as you wish or imagine. You let this power inside of you - your essence - speak for you, and I think the more right-minded you are the more you amplify this essence to the world around you. There is a sense of strength, conviction, or truth that comes from you. So you do not 'speak with your tongue' but with your very presence or existence...with what you are.

I can look back at certain points in my life where I was definitely in this mindset and, at those times, it felt as though people and events conformed to me the way water flows around a rock. It wasn't that I was controlling anything or dominating people around me, there was a feeling of the 'world wrapping around me' rather than me conforming or adapting to the world.

When I am in that mindset, I'm not fighting things around me, nor am I submitting to them. I just am. Things happen as a result of this steadfastness. Perhaps this is what the concept of non-contention in Taosim is all about?

Mumonkan, Koan 19: Ordinary Mind Is The Way

Photo: Larry Landolfi

Joshu asked Nansen, "What is the Way?"
"Ordinary mind is the Way," Nansen replied.
"Shall I try to seek after it?" Joshu asked.
"If you try for it, you will become separated from it," responded Nansen.
How can I know the Way unless I try for it?" persisted Joshu.
Nansen said, "The Way is not a matter of knowing or not knowing. Knowing is delusion; not knowing is confusion. When you have really reached the true Way beyond doubt, you will find it as vast and boundless as outer space. How can it be talked about on the level of right and wrong?"
With those words, Joshu came to a sudden realization.

For me, this dialogue encapsulates everything important to know about rightmindedness. I've written about 'ordinary mind is the way' (what I call Everyday Zen) elsewhere in this blog and I believe that is what Nansen is referring to.

'Seeking after it' as Joshu proposes to do is like when we see a dog chasing its tail. We laugh at how silly it is to pursue something that one already has. Seeking after ordinary mind or samadhi is the same thing. There is no seeking, you simply have to allow yourself to experience it. And then learn not to be pulled away from it. If you actively 'seek' it you will find, like the dog chasing its tail, that it constantly eludes you.

Nansen's answer about 'knowing' is also very good. Ordinary mind is just being in the moment, divorced from knowing or being confused, right or wrong, faith or doubt, better or worse. It's the wind on my face. It's a leaf falling from a tree. It's a child riding a bike down the street. It's a storm rolling in. It's a blade of grass. It's standing in an elevator. Ordinary mind - or the Way - is everywhere and everything. I think that's what Nansen means by 'as vast and boundless as outer space'.

I know the picture is a bit 'cosmic', but the idea of the Way leading to something as vast as the Milky Way definitely captures this koan's meaning for me in a powerfully visual sense.

Mumonkan, Koan 18: Tozan's 'Masagin'

A monk asked Tozan, "What is Buddha?"
Tozan replied, "Masagin!*"
* three pounds of flax

I read a version of this koan some time ago and, in that version, the reply was "birdshit!" So either Sekida is a better translator, or he's loathe to use bad language. LOL!

Anyway, Buddha is reality. That includes flax, birdshit, and all mundane objects as well as the beautiful. Direct perception of reality is buddha mind.

Tozan's reply also points to another idea. It is easiest for us to have true perception with something like flax, because our minds attach no real significance to it. True perception occurs before our minds interpret what we see, assign meaning to it, judge it, categorize it, etc. Now if you consider art, a political speech, a religious 'truth', etc. we've programmed our minds with thoughts, right/wrong, beliefs, traditions, mores, feelings, etc. and it is harder to have immediate perception. Instead we let that programming take over.

Zen is about disciplining the mind to remove that clutter and allow direct perception to take place. Only then are we able to grasp truth or reality. It's not that you banish your opinions or feelings altogether, but you learn not to substitute them for perception. They are all responses and, as such, are paths away from buddhamind and towards delusion.

Mumon's verse had a terrific couplet in it that really spoke to me:

"Those who argue about right and wrong
are those enslaved by right and wrong"

The debates of right and wrong, good or evil, remove us from direct perception and keep us locked in our delusional thinking about reality. They require debating opinions about reality, which is already two steps removed from perception. It's arguing about clutter. Politics is a good example. You can tell in a lot of debates on the subject that people are either Republican or Democrat and that they argue the 'party line'. Or with people of different religions who are determined that their view is right and others are wrong.

This kind of debate never has anything to do with truth or right/wrong but in preserving our perceptions of it against a challenge so we do not have to make the difficult effort to escape delusion and reconnect with reality. When someone is in this delusional, cluttered mindset, they are all response. They are not thinking deeply (or at all), just reacting. Ultimately, that may be the point. For religious and political parties to fight their battles and prevail, it is best to have adherents who think as they are 'programmed' to. By creating adversaries to fight (other parties, other religions, other groups), the adherents remain lost in delusion and are easily controlled.

Mumonkan, Koan 17: Chu the National Teacher Gives Three Calls

Page from the original Mumonkan

The National Teacher called his attendant three times, and three times the attendant responded. The National Teacher said, "I long feared that I was betraying you, but really it was you who were betraying me."

Chu summons his attendant who always responds. There is an element here akin to what was covered in Koan 16, When the Bell Tolls (see entry: http://zenthrowdown.blogspot.com/2011/05/mumonkan-koan-16-when-bell-tolls.html). This is about how we deal with external stimuli.

Chu is wondering whether he is betraying his attendant by summoning him and placing him in the position of responding to a stimuli just like the bell in koan 16. He is revealing his attendant's response to such stimuli. This is poor training for his attendant.

However Chu realizes that, in fact, it is he who is wrong-minded not his attendant. It is he who is initiating the entire stimulus. We also do not know his reasoning for summoning the attendant, but the fact that he has to do it three times suggests a lack of focus or clarity. Why not summon him one time for what is needed? Why summon him at all? Why have an attendant to summon?

In truth, the attendant's responsiveness betrays Chu by revealing his expectation of a response. The attendant's faithfulness encourages Chu in this reliance, and he initiates it over and over. While an attendant could practice everyday Zen in his duties, the person who summons is unlikely to be in the correct mindset. Rather than practicing everyday Zen or sitting in zazen, they are summoning or interacting or needful of the world around them (i.e., wrong-minded).

After I had my solution, I read Mumon's verse and notes and feel like I reacted to this in somewhat the same way he did. His verse here was:

"He carried an iron yoke with no hole
And left a curse to trouble his descendants
If you want to hold up the gates and doors
You must climb a mountain of swords with bare feet"

A yoke is obviously a form of imprisonment, but a yoke with no hole would be imprisonment not by prison bars, fetters, or a yoke on your neck. Instead, you are imprisoned by a burden you carry (a wrong way of thinking). If you want to attain enlightenment (line 3), do it yourself. Better to be yoked in fact and labor than to carry a pointless burden to no end. The former allows for the possibility right mindedness, the latter can only be delusion.