Snow falls endlessly amidst life and death. -Taneda Santoka, 1882 -1940

 

The Flowers whirl away in the wind like snow.

The thing that falls away is myself.

Kintsune, 13th Century

Dogen Zenji 1200 - 1253

“To study the Buddha Way is to study the self. To study the self is to forget the self. To forget the self is to be actualized by myriad things. When actualized by myriad things, your body and mind as well as the bodies and minds of others drop away. No trace of enlightenment remains, and this no-trace continues endlessly.”

 

When all thoughts are exhausted,

I slip into the woods and gather

A pile of shepherd's purse.

Like the little stream making its way

Through the mossy crevices,

I, too, quietly turn clear and transparent.

-Ryokan 1758-1831

 

Hekiganroku (Blue Cliff Record) Case 22

By Yamada Kôun Roshi

Instruction:

As for greatness, there is no boundary, as for minuteness it is as if it were next to emptiness. Grasping and setting free are not in someone else, rolling up and spreading out are in me. If you by all means want to rid yourself of what sticks and remove all fetters, straight off you must erase the traces and swallow your voice. Each person will sever the point of essence by sitting, and each one will be a thousand-foot cliff. Tell me, whose state of consciousness is this? I will try to present such a case, look!

Case:

Seppô, instructing the assembly, said, "There's a poisonous snake on the South Mountain. All of you should look at it carefully!" Chôkei said, "Today in the Zen hall there is a great one who has lost his body and life." 

A monk told this to Gensha, who said, "Only Elder Brother Ryô could say something like that. However, I wouldn't talk like that." The monk asked, "What then would you say, Master"? Gensha replied, "Why does it have to be 'the southern side of the mountain'?"

Unmon threw his staff down in front of Seppô and acted frightened.

 

Verse:

Elephant-bone Rock is too high for people to reach;

Whosoever gets there must be a skilled handler of snakes.

Master Ryô and Master Bi cannot do anything.

Is there anyone at all who has lost body and life?

Shôyô knows and sweeps the grass again;

North, south, east, west – it is nowhere to be found.

Suddenly the staff sticks out;

It hurls itself at Seppô, mouth open wide;

It opens its mouth wide, quickly like a flash of lightning,

If you raise your eyebrows, you will not see it.

It's hidden now before Breast Peaks;

Those who come, look at each maneuver.

The master shouts loudly: "Look under your feet!"

 

Today is the middle day of our sesshin; we have only two and a half days left. Do your very best. To those people working on post-kensho koans, I would say that your kenshos are still covered with lots of dirt. When you go on practicing with further koans, you can be polished gradually. In fact, you should take the moment you finish all your koans to be the real starting point of your practice.

There are quite a few ways to understand "kensho." One of the two representative ways tends to apply the word "kensho" very rigidly and deeply, and the other acknowledges kensho rather generously, somewhat like in a "bargain sale." As far as I know, the master who regards kensho in the deepest sense is Master Bassui. With him it is "kensho" from the very beginning to the very end. No matter how far you go, you are dealing only with attaining kensho. Even when you're struggling with post-enlightenment practice, after completing all koans, you are no less concerned with getting kensho. According to Master Bassui, "the clear kensho" is the alpha and omega of Zen.

To use an example I often cite, when you graduate from college with a bachelor's degree, you are only starting your own academic study; up to that point you have been instructed by your teacher. In Zen, you have been taught by your own master [up to the completion of the koan study]. So please bear in mind: Only when you are through with all your koans can you say you have "attained kensho" to a certain degree. From that point of view, your so-called initial kensho experience allowed you to see but a little bit of the essential world. Of course, it makes a lot of difference whether you've actually seen it a little or you haven't seen it at all. But even if you have seen it, that's just a tiny bit of it, and it takes a long time to make it really clear. At any rate, I know you are trying your best: those who are endeavouring to attain kensho, please get this very first glimpse of it by all means. The most important thing is to be purely one with your practice. Be purely one, and get the first peep into the true world – once in your life is enough – then (I'm presumptuous to say that) I'll take over the rest of the work to make your kensho clearer and clearer. My wish would be to bring you to the first kensho as soon as possible, but I can't control that. I can only tell you how to practice; it is you who have to have the experience. After your experience happens, however, you can trust me to make it deeper and deeper as you go along. Please become single-mindedly one with your Mu and attain the very first glimpse, however cursory it may be, into the world of essence.

On the Instruction:

As for greatness, there is no boundary; as for minuteness it is as if it were next to emptiness. This rather puzzling sentence depicts our true self. It's an explanation of our essential nature. When you observe it from the standpoint of greatness, there is no limit. No matter how far you go, there's no point at which you can say, "This is far enough." It's limitless. In the Hôkyô-Zanmai [Samadhi of the Treasure Mirror] it says: "As for minuteness, it enters where there is no gap; as for greatness, it transcends space." So, concerning greatness, it is as big as the universe. Or rather, if you say, "the universe," that too is limited. We don't know how vast it is. Why is that? Because there is not one thing. With nothingness there is no point where we could stop and say, "This will do." When we examine our true nature carefully – how do we examine it? from inside our minds! – we find that no matter how far we go, there is no boundary. "As for greatness, there is no boundary." "As for minuteness, it is as if it were next to emptiness." You might perhaps wonder if there is such a thing as "next to emptiness." Recently, that seems to have made its appearance. In his teisho, Iida Tôin Roshi calls "next to emptiness" an electron. An "electron" is a particle, and these days still smaller particles have been discovered and they are truly next to zero. Somewhere in the United States there is an enormous setup which has helped to discover new particles (I have heard there is something similar in Japan, too). These particles are given extremely complicated names. Where such a particle springs from I don't know, but it appears suddenly, shows its form for just an instant in the visible world and then disappears, leaving nothing behind. This is indeed "next to emptiness." Humans are amazing beings to be able to discover such a thing and measure its life span. That is said to be one-hundred millionth of a trillionth of a second. How on earth could scientists measure such a short span of time? Probably not through an apparatus, but through theoretical calculation.

Now it is true even with the smallest of particles that "one is all, all is one." One such particle is nothing but the whole universe. This must be clearly grasped. In "Gutei's one-finger," for example, the raised finger exhausts the universe. But now, the tiniest particle exhausts the entire universe as well. From the point of view of greatness, our essential nature is limitless; from the point of view of minuteness, it is infinitesimal. No wonder it is so, because there is nothing at all. The Instruction says its minuteness is next to emptiness, but I'd prefer to say that, while its greatness is without boundary, its minuteness is zero. As for smallness, it is null. That is our true self. Not until a person grasps this world clearly can she or he instruct others in Zen; only then can one be Zen teacher.

Next, the activity of such a teacher comes to the fore: Grasping and setting free are not in someone else; rolling up and spreading out are in me. "Not in someone else" means it is in me. The power to "grasp and set free" is in my own hands. It is the same thing with "rolling up and spreading out." Think of a scroll, for example: when unrolled it spreads out; when rolled up, however, it becomes smaller and smaller, and becomes eventually a stick.

"Grasping" and "rolling up" designate the same aspect, corresponding to the "minuteness". Now, such expressions as "grasping and setting free," "rolling and spreading out," "killing and giving life," "depriving and granting," and "gathering and letting go" – they are all saying the same thing about Zen practice. The easiest to understand may be "killing and giving life." A single sword can be wielded both as "a sword that takes life away" and as "a sword that gives life"; freely one can take life away or one can give life. So, freely you can "grasp and set free," since that is "not in someone else." Freely you can "roll up and spread out," as it is in your own hands. The "killing," "grasping" or "rolling up" means to make the student throw everything away and bring him or her to the point of total nothingness. It is to deprive the student of all delusive thoughts and carry him or her to a state of colorless transparency. That is, to bring the student to kensho. This activity is called "rolling up" or "killing." Then, simultaneously, the person comes back to greater life, as the "great life manifests itself" [daikatsu-genjô].

The universe consists of the phenomenal world and the essential world, and these two worlds are one and the same. They are not two worlds but one. Seen from one side, there is only the world of essence where there is nothing at all; observed from the other side, the phenomenal world is clearly revealed before us. If you truly die and come to see the world of colorless transparency, immediately the great life will manifest itself and the phenomenal world comes back to life as it really is. This is what the phrase "great death – great manifestation of life" [daishi-ichiban, daikatsu-genjô] signifies. In other words, "Grasping and setting free are not in someone else; rolling up and spreading out are in me" means that "killing" completely and "giving" the great life anew is the ability of every accomplished Zen master. This is pointing to Seppô and Unmon in the Case which follows. They take away everything, deprive a person of all delusions and concepts and bring him or her to the state of colorless transparency, only to give great life anew. This is the strength of a true teacher – so maintains the Instruction.

If you by all means want to rid yourself of what sticks and remove all fetters. We havehabitual attachments to things, sticking to them like birdlime [torimochi]. When we practice zazen the dense lime gradually thins out and becomes more like honey. But that's still sticky! If we go on still further, it becomes like water with no stickiness at all, until we no longer adhere to anything. It is extremely hard to reach this stage. Even for one who has attained kensho it's not easy to become free of the "sticking" attachments. That's why the practice of zazen after enlightenment requires so much time and effort. If you try with all your devotion you might come to some enlightenment even during a one-week sesshin. But the most important thing is to disencumber yourself of attachments, and this work can't be accomplished perfectly in this world. Classical Zen texts often mention this point. To return to one's true self is that difficult. So long as we are inclined to stick to something, we are never free. "And remove all fetters" means to cut off all the binding ropes, called delusive thoughts and feelings, that trammel us. After enlightenment there still remain sticky birdlime and fettering ropes. These kinds of dirt, together with the traces of enlightenment, must gradually be cleaned away.

Straight off you must erase the traces and swallow your voice. To "swallow your voice" means you have nothing more to say. When you keep rubbing out all traces of enlightenment, there is nothing left to talk about. How hard it is to get there! But once enlightened you must reach this level, and the task of a genuine Zen master is to lead people to that point.

When all traces of enlightenment have been thus banished, then what? Each person will sever the point of essence by sitting, and each one will be a thousand-foot cliff. Various explanations have been offered for the meaning of "the point of essence." Yasutani Roshi says it means the pivotal point of Zen practice. By sitting and sitting the essentials of zazen are also cut off, or rather are killed. That is, even the most important points in zazen practice are killed by sitting. If you sit really radically, even such things become unnecessary, says Haku'un Roshi. Iida Tôin Roshi, on the other hand, says that "the point of essence" means the place where consciousness does not reach, where the way of the mind is extinguished, and all delusions have disappeared. I somehow feel that this is a better interpretation. The place to which consciousness has no access to, the place where there is nothing at all, where not even the slightest delusive thought stirs – that is "the point of essence." Now you must kill even this "point" by sitting persistently on your cushion. If you don't do that, the great life will never be truly manifested.

All paths of consciousness are deadlocked, not one delusive thought arises .... As you practice "Muuuu, Muuuu," you reach a stage where you are in a daze and your mind doesn't move at all. This fogged, dazed state of mind is crucial. The most important thing at this juncture is not to let go of Mu. Persist desperately in your practice of Mu to the end. Then your eyes will open to the real world, the world of great life.

Having reached this point, each one will be a thousand-foot cliff. Every person who severs the "point of essence" is likened to "a cliff of a thousand feet" (or sometimes: "of ten thousand feet"). It is a sheer cliff that defies scaling, not granting any access at all. That means, not even the Buddha or Bodhidharma can get a hold on it. There is no way the buddhas and patriarchs could get even a peep at it, let alone find a place to grab onto it. Not until you become this way are you truly on your own, able to swallow the universe and say, "Above and below the heavens I alone exist," or "In heaven and on earth there is no one else." To become one with the universe to this degree is what is meant by "Each one will be a thousand-foot cliff."

Tell me, whose state of consciousness is this? I will try to present such a case, look! Has there ever been a person like this? Reaching the stage of a "one-thousand-foot cliff"? I'll show you an example, so have a good look at it!

On the Case:

Seppô, instructing the assembly, said, "There's a poisonous snake on the South Mountain. All of you should look at it carefully!" In all probability Master Seppô was delivering a teisho in front of his disciples. "South Mountain" is Mt. Seppô, where Master Seppô resided. Mr. Ino'ue Shûten explains that the "poisonous snake" was a cobra, and that cobras must have inhabited the area including the Province of Kanton in southern China at that time. Seppô tells his students, "On South Mountain there is a cobra, so watch carefully!" But what is the "cobra" we are supposed to deal with today?

Seppô was a great master with many fine disciples, among whom are Unmon Bun'en, Gensha Shibi, Chôkei Eryô and Hofuku Jûten. Seppô himself was a disciple of Master Tokusan Senkan, famous for using a stick to whack anyone who came before him. It took Seppô a long time to come to kensho. An early kensho is not necessarily an unmixed blessing, for it tends to be shallow. People of old said, "Hard work will necessarily result in great brilliance." It's just like saying that the harder you try, the greater will be the light of your kensho. That's how it was with Seppô, creating a magnificent light. I hope that each of you too will attain a great enlightenment rather than a feeble one, even if it takes a long time.

How Seppô came to enlightenment is a very illuminating story, but today I cannot go into it. Gantô, Seppô's brother in the dharma under Tokusan, was a kind of Zen genius. Although he didn't practice as hard as Seppô, he had a deeply enlightened eye. However, he apparently had some form of bad karma from a previous life, of which he was well aware. He said that he was not the type to go out into the world to teach, and that Seppô would be the most appropriate person for such work instead (Seppô was older, but in the dharma Gantô was the senior). Indeed, Gantô ended his life without gaining any fitting acknowledgement from the world. He was murdered by bandits in the end. When Master Hakuin heard this story as a young man, he was deeply distressed. How could a great man like Gantô come to such a tragic end? What value was there in practicing Buddhism, then? When he had a deep enlightenment, however, Master Hakuin clapped his hands with joy and exclaimed, "Oh, Gantô has been very well! He is still very much alive!" Gantô and Seppô always encouraged each other, and Gantô, being senior to Seppô, guided the latter to become a great master, and from Seppô came forth one famous master after another.

Now, Seppô said, "There's a poisonous snake on the South Mountain. All of you should look at it carefully!" Then Chôkei Eryô stepped forward and said, "Today in the Zen hall there is a great one who has lost his body and life." The Japanese word ôi-ni, translated here as "great," can also mean "many," so Yasutani Roshi interprets it as "Today there are many people in the Zen hall." But other people maintain that it's not a question of number and I'm inclined to follow this interpretation. Chôkei is saying, "Today there's a great person in the Zen hall. He was bitten by this poisonous snake and died." Chôkei is speaking of himself, and the "poisonous snake" means, of course, our essential nature. "Being bitten by the snake" means coming to kensho, with the mind and body fallen off. There is such a person in the zendo. "Today there's a great person in the Zen hall. He was bitten by this poisonous snake and died."

A monk told this to Gensha. Then a monk in the assembly went and told this to Gensha, another of Seppô's disciples,and elder brother in the dharma to Chôkei. Gensha also was a great master. Until he was 30 years old, he worked as a fisherman. One day, when he was out fishing with his father, the latter fell over the side of the boat and drowned right before his eyes. This experience made him realize the impermanence of all things and he decided to become a monk. Therefore, although he may have had little learning, his state of enlightenment was splendid. He was respected highly by Master Dôgen.

Upon being told by the monk what Chôkei had said, Gensha commented, "Only Elder Brother Ryô could say something like that. However, I wouldn't talk like that." "Ryô" means Chôkei, whose full name was Chôkei Eryô. So Gensha said, "Oh I see. Only my big brother Chôkei could talk that way. But I am a bit different myself."

The monk asked, "What then would you say, Master?" Gensha replied, "Why does it have to be 'South Mountain'?" Gensha's answer was, "What's the use of bringing in South Mountain? That wouldn't be necessary. Isn't the poisonous snake everywhere?" That's right. Everyone of us is a poisonous snake. In fact, all human beings are poisonous snakes! And these poisonous snakes are wonderful snakes! That's why Gensha says that the poisonous snakes aren't limited to South Mountain. They are everywhere.

Unmon must have been in the assembly. Unmon threw his staff down in front of Seppô and acted frightened. Unmon threw his staff and acted frightened, "Here's the snake! Here's the snake!" If you think he made a snake out of the staff, you are wrong. That would be mere play. You must understand that he presented the poisonous snake itself. In fact, Unmon liked to make use of his staff. In Case 60 of the Hekiganroku (Unmon's Staff), it says, "Unmon showed his staff to the assembly and said, 'This staff has changed into a dragon and has swallowed up heaven and earth.'" He means to say, "This staff has become a dragon and gulped down the entire universe." So the same staff is at one time a dragon, another time a snake. How true! A single staff exhausts the entire universe. Unmon's presentation is outstanding.

In short, the "poisonous snake," the cobra, has come out as the essential nature here. It is nothing but our essential nature that is the topic of this koan. When we talk about "our essential nature" or "our true self," you may think it is limited to human beings. But our "essential nature" and the "essential world" are one and the same. They are not two, just one. That is what this koan is dealing with.

 

On the Verse:

Elephant-bone Rock is too high for people to reach. "Elephant-bone Rock" is another way of referring to Mt. Seppô, where Master Seppô resided. It is said that this name came from the fact that on its top there was a rock shaped like an elephant bone. That this Rock is too high for people to come up to means that Seppô's state of realization is so lofty that no one else can attain it or even have access to it.

Whoever gets there must be a skilled handler of snakes. Seppô's state of enlightenment being so high, there's scarcely anyone who could come near it. But if there ever were such a person, he or she would have to have the ability to play freely with snakes. Unmon is certainly one such master snake charmer.

Chôkei and Gensha are in the same league as Unmon, but, in order to extol Unmon, in this Verse they are handled with the depreciating words, Master Ryô and Master Bi cannot do anything. "Master Ryô" is Chôkei Eryô and "Master Bi" is Gensha Shibi. Setchô, belonging to the Unmon Sect, probably felt a special affection and respect for Unmon. Although Chôkei and Gensha are likewise splendid, they are intentionally kept low so that Unmon should be praised.

Is there anyone at all who has lost body and life? Is there anyone who has died away? That is, has anyone been bitten by the snake and perished? In common terminology, is there anyone here who has had a deep enlightenment and lost his or her ego? When you open your eyes to your true essential nature, you understand clearly that what you thought was "I" or "me" is really empty. This is what it means to lose your body and life. How many are here who have truly attained great enlightenment? Are there any at all?

Shôyô knows and sweeps the grass again. Great Master Unmon lived in Shôyô in Kanton Province, so "Shôyô" here means Unmon himself. Great Master Unmon knows the matter well and sets off to sweep the grass to find the snake again. "Again" means that Chôkei and Gensha already swept the grass to expose the snake, but now it's Unmon's turn to sweep the grass once more to find the snake.

North, south, east, west – it is nowhere to be found. No matter where you go, you won't find the snake. This refers to the world of nothingness. Zen always handles freely both the world of nothingness and the clearly manifest phenomenal world. In actuality it's all just one reality: Looked at from one side we see the world of nothingness, from the other we see the phenomenal world. It's just like the famous verse that goes, "In nothingness there are limitless things: flowers, the moon and lofty towers."2 It is from the point of view of nothingness that the Verse says, "North, south, east, or west – it is nowhere to be found."

But suddenly the staff sticks out. All of a sudden Unmon flings out his staff. The "staff" is actually the poisonous snake. Abruptly, the cobra appears.

It hurls itself at Seppô, mouth open wide. This cobra bears the spirit of Unmon; in fact, it is Unmon himself. Frightening! Its mouth is wide open.

 It opens its mouth wide, quickly like a flash of lightning; if you raise your eyebrows, you will not see it. The lightning flashes, and at the same instant it opens up its mouth wide. If you open your eyes big and try to see it, you can't. No wonder, because the one trying to see is the IT itself. Sometimes I think how strange it is that I can never see my own face, my whole life long. I can see my reflection in a mirror, but that's just an image and not my real face. There is no way that you can see your own face. How mysterious! And how sad, too, that no matter how wide you open your eyes, it cannot be seen. But if you ask me whether or not I have a face at all, yes, I do have one. And that's certain. This is the same as "if you raise your eyebrows, you will not see it."

Where is the snake now? It's hidden now before Breast Peaks. "Breast Peaks"[Nyû-Hô] refer to Mt. Setchô since it had two peaks called Small Breast Peaks, resembling two female breasts. That the snake is now hidden and is in front of Mt. Setchô means that it is hidden with Setchô himself.

Those who come, look at each manoeuvre. All those who come to Mt. Setchô should observe what a competent snake handler he is. The snake rests in his hands.

And the last line: The master shouts loudly: "Look under your feet!" A loud shout! If you want to see the snake, come to Mt. Setchô! Observe my skill! Where is the snake? Look under your feet! But if you literally look under feet, you won't find it there. It's in everyone – but even this wording is incorrect because it becomes two. Rather, each person is the snake. Everyone must wake up to the fact that he or she already has something marvellous. The way to come to awakening is to do MU right to the finish [toko-ton made]. This "right to the finish" is difficult. It means thoroughly, or in common Japanese, "until you penetrate to the bottom" [soko ni tessuru made]. Your MU must penetrate to the bottom, it must clearly touch the lowest bottom. You shouldn't just go halfway with your MU and then draw back, and keep repeating the same process. Your "MUUUUU...." must hit the very bottom. If it does, without fail IT will appear. Practice wholeheartedly and thoroughly, and IT will certainly appear.

The 5^th precept: I take up the way of not giving or taking drugs.

Isn’t it in our Zazen practice that in time the clouds of the mind are blown away; with the support of following the precepts and other fields of Zen training.

I think of our miscellaneous koan, number 21c: “If there is a bit of difference, it is the distance between heaven and earth” (from Dogen’s Fukanzazengi). Without giving the answer away - it is the overactive thinking process that produces the clouds that seperate heaven and earth. This is endorsed in such Zen lines as: “The great way is not difficult, it simply dislikes choosing,” and “With a bit of thinking about if a dog has Buddha nature, or has no Buddha nature, then our body is lost and our life is lost.”

I recall at a Jukai ceremony, probably more than 25 years ago now, Robert Tindal, when adding his personal vow for the 5^th precept, said, “I take up the way of not giving or taking drugs; I vow not to have more than two and a half cups of coffee a day.”

Of course, the precepts may still be followed without doing Jukai. If Jukai becomes a source of pride - clouding the mind - it might be better not to do it. I know of Roshis who did not do Jukai until just before they received transmission.

Towards the end of our koan study, the individual precepts are looked at as koans . In this context, Bodhidharma and Dogen’s brief comments on each precept is helpful. For this 5^th one, Bodhidharma added: “In the realm of the intrinsically pure dharma, not giving rise to delusions is called the precept of not giving or taking drugs.” And Dogen adds: “Drugs are not brought in yet. Don’t let them invade. That is the great light.”

 

Awareness of Body and Breath

Awareness of body and breath – insight, Prajna. The Heart Sutra, recited daily in Zen establishments, puts it in a nutshell. It begins: “When the Bodhisattva of Compassion was practicing deep awareness, she clearly saw that form, feeling, thought, choice and consciousness are all empty. Thus, transformng anguish and distress."

The 12^th Century Japanese teacher Dogen Zenji, in his Shobogenzo, wrote, “To study the way is to study the self. To study the self is to forget the self. To forget the self is to be enlightened by all things. To be enlightened by all things is to remove the barrier between self and other.” This is also the source of compassion.

I have been re-reading Robert Aitken’s book, Taking the Path of Zen. He and Anne Aitken founded the Diamond Sangha lineage of Zen.

I found it interesting in the Dokusan room if I got off-topic how he brought the conversation back to the point of the koan that I was working on at the time.

For example, I said that in zazen I had the sensation of being surrounded by golden light. He asked, “What is the age of Mu?” – that is the koan I was working on at the time. Sometimes he put in something like, “That must be encouraging” or “that resonates.”

I believe this came from his deep faith in koan, and an understanding that words can go on forever and be all over the place, as well as, of course, to retain some kind of order and focus for himself and for me.

To my eye, Aitken Roshi and Michael Kieran Roshi - the current master at the Honolulu temple - are the clearest manifestations of the Kensho experience I have seen. I mean, something that is visible even before they speak.

Robert Aitken Roshi

Using the Self  (1981)

In the Ts'ai-ken t'an, a seventeenth-century Chinese book of brief essays and fables, we find this passage:

The wind blows through the bamboo grove, and the trunks clatter together. When it has passed, the grove is silent once more. Geese crossing the sky are reflected in a cold, deep pool. When they are gone, no trace remains. For the sage, when something comes, it is reflected in the mind. When it goes, the mind returns to the void.

We can test our practice with these metaphors. "What is it that does not die down in our mind?" Ask yourself that. It will probably turn out to be something that centers on yourself.

-oOo-

If the bomb goes up at last

I vow with all beings

To relinquish even the Earth

To the unborn there all along

From, The Morning Star, by Robert Aitken. Pages 179, 228

I usually do about half an hour of tai chi each morning in my garden. It’s very private, surrounded by trees. I become completely relaxed there, and quite unselfconscious.

I usually begin with five minutes of standing yoga asanas and a short karate breathing kata I learnt 50 years ago called sanchin.

I find this tai chi time very good for the Zen experience of “The falling away of body and mind,” also translated as, “Functioning as body and mind, but being completely free from body and mind.”

The tai chi seems to help move this from being just conceptual or something academic into an actual experience. Perhaps like in our kinhin.

To see that even though we are born, mature, decline and die, we are at the same time unborn and undying.