When we really meet the present moment, more than just the moment itself opens in it. In the depth of zen and contemplation, every moment can become a place where timelessness emerges—and the ordinary takes on new meaning.

-Willigis Jager

The bright moon cherishes being carried along with the flowing water.

Hongzhi Zhengjue

(1091 – 1157)

The Backward Step and the Upright Cauldron

With the depths clear, utterly silent, thoroughly illuminate the source, empty and spirited, vast and bright. Even though you have lucidly scrutinized your image and no shadow or echo meets it, searching throughout you see that you still have distinguished between the merits of a hundred undertakings. Then you must take the backward step and directly reach the middle of the circle from where light issues forth. Outstanding and independent, still you must abandon pretexts for merit. Carefully discern that naming engenders beings and that these rise and fall with intricacy. When you can share your self, then you may manage affairs, and you have the pure seal that stamps the ten thousand forms. Traveling the world, meeting conditions, the self joyfully enters samadhi in all delusions and accepts its function, which is to empty out the self so as not to be full of itself. The empty valley receives the clouds. The cold stream cleanses the moon. Not departing and not remaining, far beyond all the changes, you can give teachings without attainment or expectation. Everything everywhere comes back to the olden ground. Not a hair has been shifted, bent, or raised up. Despite a hundred uglinesses or a thousand stupidities, the upright cauldron is naturally beneficent. Zhaozhou's answers "wash out your bowl" and "drink your tea" do not require making arrangements; from the beginning they have always been perfectly apparent. Thoroughly observing each thing with the whole eye is a patch-robed monk's spontaneous conduct.

The Clouds' Fascination and the Moon's Cherishing

A person of the Way fundamentally does not dwell anywhere. The white clouds are fascinated with the green mountain's foundation. The bright moon cherishes being carried along with the flowing water. The clouds part and the mountain appears. The moon sets and the water is cool. Each bit of autumn contains vast interpenetration without bounds. Every dust is whole without reaching me; the ten thousand changes are stilled without shaking me. If you can sit here with stability then you can freely step across and engage the world with energy. There is an excellent saying that the six sense doors are not veiled, the highways in all directions have no footprints. Always arriving everywhere without being confused, gentle without hesitation, the perfected person knows where to go.

The Mind Ground Dharma Field and the Single Seed

The field of bright spirit is an ancient wilderness that does not change.  With boundless eagerness wander around this immaculate wide plain. The drifting clouds embrace the mountain; the family wind is relaxed and simple. The autumn waters display the moon in its pure brightness. Directly arriving here you will be able to recognise the mind ground dharma field that is the root source of the ten thousand forms germinating with unwithered fertility. These flowers and leaves are the whole world. So we are told that a single seed is an uncultivated field. Do not weed out the new shoots and the self will flower.

The Resting of the Streams and Tides

 Just resting is like the great ocean accepting hundreds of streams, all absorbed into one flavor. Freely going ahead is like the great surging tides riding on the wind, all coming onto this shore together. How could they not reach into the genuine source? How could they not realize the great function that appears before us? A patch-robed monk follows movement and responds to changes in total harmony. Moreover, haven't you yourself established the mind that thinks up all the illusory conditions? This insight must be perfectly incorporated.

(Translation by Taigen Daniel Leighton with Yi Wu)

The Snow Man

By Wallace Stevens

 

BLUE CLIFF RECORD [HEKIGAN ROKU]

Case 1:

Bodhi Dharma’s Vast Emptiness

The Emperor Bu (or Ryu) asked Bodhi Dharma, “What is the first principle of the holy teaching?”

Bodhi Dharma said, “Vast emptiness, nothing holy.”

The Emperor said, “Who is this person confronting me?”

Bodhi Dharma said, “I do not know him.”

The Emperor could not reach an accord.

Bhodi Dharma then crossed the river and went on to Gi. The Emperor later took up this matter with Shiko.

Shiko said, “Does your majesty know that person yet?"

The Emperor said, "I don't know him."

Shiko said, “That was the Bodhisattva Kannon conveying the mind-seal of the Buddha."

The Emperor felt regretful, and at once sought to have a messenger dispatched to urge him to return.

Shiko said, “There is no use in sending a messenger. Even if everyone in the country went after him, he would not return.”

"The art of knowing is knowing what to ignore." -Rumi

 

The Buddha's last teaching: Be your own island, your own refuge.

When the Buddha had stayed in Ambapālī’s grove as long as he wished, he addressed Venerable Ānanda, “Come, Ānanda, let’s go to the little village of Beluva.”

“Yes, sir,” Ānanda replied. Then the Buddha together with a large Saṅgha of mendicants arrived at the little village of Beluva, and stayed there.

There the Buddha addressed the mendicants: “Mendicants, please enter the rainy season residence with whatever friends or acquaintances you have around Vesālī. I’ll commence the rainy season residence right here in the little village of Beluva.”

“Yes, sir,” those mendicants replied. They did as the Buddha said, while the Buddha commenced the rainy season residence right there in the little village of Beluva.

After the Buddha had commenced the rainy season residence, he fell severely ill, struck by dreadful pains, close to death. But he endured unperturbed, with mindfulness and situational awareness. Then it occurred to the Buddha, “It would not be appropriate for me to become fully extinguished before informing my attendants and taking leave of the mendicant Saṅgha. Why don’t I forcefully suppress this illness, stabilize the life force, and live on?”

So that is what he did. Then the Buddha’s illness died down.

Soon after the Buddha had recovered from that sickness, he came out from his dwelling and sat in the shade of the porch on the seat spread out. Then Venerable Ānanda went up to the Buddha, bowed, sat down to one side, and said to him, “Sir, it’s fantastic that the Buddha is comfortable and well. Because when the Buddha was sick, my body felt like it was drugged. I was disorientated, and the teachings weren’t clear to me. Still, at least I was consoled by the thought that the Buddha won’t become fully extinguished without making some statement regarding the Saṅgha of mendicants.”

“But what could the mendicant Saṅgha expect from me, Ānanda? I’ve taught the Dhamma without making any distinction between secret and public teachings. The Realized One doesn’t have the closed fist of a teacher when it comes to the teachings. If there’s anyone who thinks: ‘I’ll take charge of the Saṅgha of mendicants,’ or ‘the Saṅgha of mendicants is meant for me,’ let them make a statement regarding the Saṅgha. But the Realized One doesn’t think like this, so why should he make some statement regarding the Saṅgha?

I’m now old, elderly and senior. I’m advanced in years and have reached the final stage of life. I’m currently eighty years old. Just as a decrepit cart keeps going by relying on straps, in the same way, the Realized One’s body keeps going by relying on straps, or so you’d think. Sometimes the Realized One, not focusing on any signs, and with the cessation of certain feelings, enters and remains in the signless immersion of the heart. Only then does the Realized One’s body become more comfortable.

So Ānanda, be your own island, your own refuge, with no other refuge. Let the teaching be your island and your refuge, with no other refuge. And how does a mendicant do this? It’s when a mendicant meditates by observing an aspect of the body—keen, aware, and mindful, rid of desire and aversion for the world. They meditate observing an aspect of feelings … mind … principles—keen, aware, and mindful, rid of desire and aversion for the world. That’s how a mendicant is their own island, their own refuge, with no other refuge. That’s how the teaching is their island and their refuge, with no other refuge.

Whether now or after I have passed, any who shall live as their own island, their own refuge, with no other refuge; with the teaching as their island and their refuge, with no other refuge—those mendicants of mine who want to train shall be among the best of the best.”

Translation by Bhikkhu Sujato
From: Chapter 12, Maha Parinibbana Sutta

 

Perhaps the best part of this house where I am is the small private back garden, the little deck on one side, trees on two sides and distant hills.

As a contemplative, a deep sense of calm is engendered - cessation, if you will. The falling away of body and mind - as Dogen Zenji called it. The myriad things come forth and experience themselves in simplicity and clarity.

The cessation experience is synonymous with the realm of compassion, and that the other is also ones-self. No-self, love, unity, the recognition of ones true identity.

Zen koans such as, “With hands of emptiness I take hold of the plough.” “Say something without moving your throat and lips.” “Pick up a stone from the bottom of the ocean without wetting your hands.” - foretell this. As does the koan Mu - in its “Form” and “Empty” aspects - or it did when I worked on it 39 years ago with Aitken Roshi. He commented, “Functioning as body and mind, but free from body and mind;” and, the Diamond Sutra's, "Dwell nowhere and bring forth that Mind."

 

Kindness

Naomi Shihab Nye - 1952-​

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.
​
Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to gaze at bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
It is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.

From Words Under the Words: Selected Poems. 

 

 “When you practice looking deeply, you see your true nature of no birth, no death; no being, no non-being; no coming, no going; no same, no different. When you see this, you are free from fear. You are free from craving and free from jealousy. No fear is the ultimate joy. When you have the insight of no fear, you are free. And like the great beings, you ride serenely on the waves of birth and death.”

~ Thich Nhat Hanh

This is the stone,

drenched with rain,

that marks the way.

             - Santoka,

             trans. by R. H. Blyth,

             A History of Haiku