The very 0rdinary life of Zen Master Chou-chou

Chao-chou, Joshu in Japanese, was born in China in 778. He lived for 120 years and was one of the greatest and most famous Zen masters in ancient China. He taught in a simple manner with just a few words, he did not use the stick or shout as some other Zen teachers did. He was without pride in his achievements.

His koan Mu is usually the foundation koan for students in the Diamond Sangha who wish to do koan work.

He began his Zen training at 18 with the eminent master Nan-ch’uan (Nansen, in Japanese), remaining with him until Nan-ch'uan died 40 years later. After 2 years of mourning, he set out on pilgrimage - for 20 years - visiting eminent teachers, inviting them to probe his mind, and checking them as well. At the age of 80 he settled down in a small temple, Kuan Yin temple, and for the next 40 years guided disciples from his wonderfully seasoned understanding.

His teaching style could be called a style of no style. It passed to him through his teacher Nansen.

He asked his teacher, “What is the Way?”

Nansen said, “Ordinary mind is the Way.”

Joshu said, “Should I direct myself toward it, or not?”

Nansen said, “If you try to direct yourself, then you deviate.”                      

Joshu asked, “How can I know the Way if I don’t direct myself?”

Nansen said, “The Way is not subject to knowing or not knowing.  Knowing is delusion; not knowing is blankness.

Nansen’s response resonated deeply with Joshu.

A later story about Joshu’s Zen is that of the oak tree:

A monk asked him, “What is the meaning of Zen?” The question was actually, "Why did Bodhidharma come from the West?" But, in essence, the monk was asking, "What is Zen truth?"

Joshu replied, “Oak tree in the front garden.” - A very 'ordinary' answer.

 After Joshu’s passing, someone asked his successor: “Your late Master had a saying - The oak tree in the garden. Is that correct?”  The successor said, “He had no such koan, don’t defile him!”

Just the tree, stripped clean, before it’s called a koan, or a teaching device. When we practice with the breath there is only the breath, only the doing. Just getting up. Just sitting down. Nothing clinging to it. A fish moving through clear water.

Another teacher commented that Joshu’s Oak tree had the activity of a thief. That is, it clears the mind, takes everything else away. Revealing the splendour of the oak tree. I dare say that Beethoven had the same experience with the first 8 notes of his 5th symphony.

Master Mumon commenting on Joshu’s Oak Tree said, “If you can see intimately into the essence of Joshu’s response - Oak tree in the front garden - there is no Shakyamuni Buddha in the past and no Maitreya Buddha in the future.“ That is the Non-Attained Buddha. No extra heads on your own head... crystal clear… precisely the same clarity that permeates everything. The Taoists have the image of empty vessels each filled with the same essence. 

Joshu left a poem titled SONG OF THE TWELVE HOURS OF THE DAY. An English version of it is in James Green’s 1998 book THE RECORDED SAYINGS OF ZEN MASTER JOSHU.

The Chinese hour was equivalent to two western hours. So the poem covers 24 hours, not 12. Joshu’s humour comes through in his poem. On the surface things seem quite grim there in his little temple; but it’s a song… a tribute:

 

Song of the Twelve Hours of the Day 

The rooster crows. Three in the morning. Aware of sadness, feeling down and out, yet getting up. There are no warm under-cloths to wear, just some tattered pance and something that looks a little like a robe. Originally I intended to practice to help save others; who would have suspected that instead I would become a fool!

 First light, five in the morning. A broken-down temple in a deserted village — there’s nothing worth saying about it. In the watery morning gruel there is not a grain of rice. Idly I face the open window. Only the chattering sparrows as friends. Sitting alone, now and then I hear dry fallen leaves blow by. Who says that to leave home and become a monastic is to cut off likes and dislikes? If I think about it, before long, tears start to fall.

Sun-rise. Seven in the morning. Doing anything with a goal in mind is to get buried in the dirt, yet the boundless domain has not yet been completely swept. Often the brows are furrowed, seldom is the heart content, it’s hard to put up with the decrepit old men of the village. Donations have never been brought here, and an untethered donkey eats the weeds in front of the hall.

Mid-morning, nine o’clock. Working to kindle a fire and gazing aimlessly at it. Cakes and cookies ran out last year, thinking of them today I swallow my saliva in vein. Seldom are things in order, incessant sighing. Those who come here just ask to have a cup of tea and not getting any they go off muttering in anger.

Late morning, eleven o’clock. Shaving my head, who would have guessed it would be like this? Nothing in particular made me ask to be a country monk. Outcast, hungry, lonely, given no respect. When visitors arrive at the gate, they only ask to borrow tea and paper and then they go.

Sun high in the sky, noon. For carrying the bowl to collect rice and tea there are no special arrangements. House after house and given only excuses. Some bitter salt, some soured barley, and millet paste mixed with old chard. The way seeking mind of a practitioner must be solid. This is called “not being negligent of the offering”.

Sinking sun, three in the afternoon. Turning things around, not walking in the realm of unity or separation. Once I heard a saying, “At the time of eating ones fill a hundred days of starvation are forgotten.” Today my body is just this. Not studying Zen, not discussing the teaching, I spread out some torn reeds and sleep in the sun. I can imagine a pure land that would not be as good as this sun toasting my back.

Late afternoon. Five o’clock. Someone is actually here burning incense and making bows. Of these five old women, three have goitre, and the other two have faces lost in wrinkles

Sun down. Seven in the evening. Except for the deserted wilderness here, what is there to protect? The way of a monk is to flow on without any special obligations. Wandering here and there for eternity. Words that go beyond fixed patterns do not come through the mouth. Aimlessly continuing where the disciples of the Buddha left off. A staff of rough bramble wood; it’s not just for mountain walking but also to chase off dogs.

Golden darkness. Nine in the evening. Sitting alone in the darkness of this empty one room. For ever unlit by the flickering candlelight, the space in front of me is pitch black. Hearing no temple bell only the sound of scurrying old rats. What more has to be done? Every moment is going beyond.

Bedtime. Eleven at night. The clear moon in front of the gate, to whom is it not given freely? Going back inside my only regret is that it is time to go to sleep. Besides the clothes on my back, what covers are needed? It’s no matter if this old bag is empty who could understand such a thing.

Midnight. This indescribable feeling, how could it ever cease. Thinking of all the people who have left home and become monastics it seems like I’ve been a temple priest for a long time now. Dirt floor for a bed, with a torn reed mat, an old block of wood for a pillow. To the Holy figure on the alter no expensive incense to offer. In the ashes of the incense burner hearing only the falling turd of an ox.

Po Chiu-i (772-846)

SITTING ALONE IN THE PLACE OF PRACTICE

I straighten and adjust robe and headcloth, wipe clean the platorm:

one pitcher of autumn water, one burner of incense.

Needless to say, cares and delusions must first be gotten rid of;

then when it comes to enlightenment, you try to forget that too.

Morning visits to court long suspended, I’ve put away sword and pendants;

feasts and outings gradually abandoned, jars and wine cups are neglected.

In these last years, when I’m no more use to the world,

best just to be free and easy, sitting here in the place of practice.

From, The Roaring stream; page 83

 

Zen Master Joshu

Song of the Twelve Hours of the Day1

 

The cock crows. The first hour of the day2. Aware of sadness, feeling down and out yet getting up.

There are neither underskirts nor undershirts, just something that looks a little like a robe. Underwear with the waist out, work pants in tatters, a head covered with thirty-five pounds of black grit. In such a way, wishing to practise and help people, who knows that, on the contrary, it is being a nitwit.

Sun level with the ground. The second hour of the day3. A broken-down temple in a deserted village — there’s nothing worth saying about it.

In the morning gruel there’s not a grain of rice, idly facing the open window and its dirty cracks. Only the sparrows chattering, no one to be friends with, sitting alone, now and then hearing fallen leaves hurry by. Who said that to leave home is to cut off likes and dislikes? If I think about it, before I know it there are tears moistening my hanky.

Sun up. The third hour of the day4. Purity is turning into compulsive passions.

The merit of doing something5 is to get buried in the dirt, the boundless domain has not yet been swept. Often the brows are knit, seldom is the heart content, it’s hard to put up with the wizened old men of the east village. Donations have never been brought here, an untethered donkey eats the weeds in front of my hall.

Meal time. The fourth hour of the day6.  Aimlessly working to kindle a fire and gazing at it from all sides.

Cakes and cookies ran out last year, thinking of them today and vacantly swallowing my saliva. Seldom having things together, incessantly sighing, among the many people there are no good men. Those who come here just ask to have a cup of tea10, not getting any they go off spluttering in anger.

Mid-morning. The fifth hour of the day7. Shaving my head, who would have guessed it would happen. Like this?

Nothing in particular made me ask to be a country priest, Outcast, hungry, and lonely, feeling like I could die. Mr Chang and Mr Lee8, never have they borne the slightest bit of respect for me. A while ago you happened to arrive at my gate, but only asked to borrow some tea and some paper.

The sun in the south. The sixth hour of the day9. For making the rounds to get rice and tea10 there are no special arrangements. Having gone to the houses in the south, going to the houses in the north, sure enough, all the way to the northern houses I’m given only excuses. Bitter salt, soured barley, A millet-rice paste mixed with chard. This is only to be called “not being negligent of the offering”, The Tao-mind11 of a priest has to be solidified.

Declining sun. The seventh hour of the day12. Turning things around, not walking in the domain of light and shade13.

Once I heard, “One time eating to repletion and a hundred days of starvation are forgotten,” Today my body is just this. Not studying Ch’an (Zen), not discussing principles, Spreading out these torn reeds and sleeping in the sun. You can imagine beyond Tsushita Heaven,14 but it’s not as good as this sun toasting my back.

Late afternoon. The eighth hour of the day15. And there is someone burning incense and making bows.

Of these five old ladies, three have goitre, the other two have faces black with wrinkles. Linseed tea, it’s so very rare, the two Diamond Kings15 needn’t bother flexing their muscles. I pray that next year, when the silk and barley are ripe, Rahula-ji17 will give me a word.

Sun down. The ninth hour of the day18. Except for the deserted wilderness what is there to protect?

The greatness of a monk is to flow on without any special obligations, a monk going from temple to temple has eternity. Words that go beyond the pattern do not come through the mouth, 1 iz aimlessly continuing where the sons of Shakyamuni left off. A staff of rough bramble wood; it’s not just for mountain climbing but also to chase off dogs.

Golden darkness. The tenth hour of the day19. Sitting alone in the darkness of a single empty room.

For ever unbroken by flickering candlelight, the purity in front of me is pitch black20. Not even hearing a bell21 vacantly passing the day, I hear only the noisy scurrying of old rats. What more has to be done to have feelings?22. Whatever I think is a thought of Paramita23.

Bedtime. The eleventh hour of the day24. The clear moon in front of the gate, to whom is it begrudged?

Going back inside, my only regret is that it’s time to go to sleep, besides the clothes on my back, what covers are needed? Head monk Liu, ascetic Chang, Talking of goodness with their lips, how wonderful! No matter if my empty bag25 is emptied out, if you ask about it, you’d never understand all the reasons for it.

Midnight. Twelfth hour of the day26. This feeling27, how can it cease even for a moment?

Thinking of the people in the world who have left home, it seems like I’ve been a temple priest for a long time now. A dirt bed, a torn reed mat, an old elm-block pillow without any padding. To the Holy Image28 not offering any Arabian incense29. In ashes hearing only the shitting of the ox.

1. The Chinese hour is equivalent to two western hours.

2. 1am to 3am.

3. 3am to 5am.

4. 5am to 7 am.

5. Motivated action having a goal or purpose.

6. 7am to 9am.

7. 9am to 11am.

8. These names are used like “Mr Smith” and “Mr Jones” to refer to everyone.

9. 11am to 1pm.

10. Begging.

11. Literally “mind of the Way”, refers to the mind of enlightenment.

12. 1pm to 3pm.

13. “Light and shade” also means “time”.

14. Tsushita Heaven is the abode of the Buddha of the future, Maitreya.

15. 3pm to Spm.

16. The “Diamond Kings” refer to the two demi-god kings who are the guardians of the Buddha-Dharma.

17. Rahula was one of the ten disciples of the Buddha Shakyamuni. He was especially adept in the esoteric teaching and in healing. The appellation “ji” after his name shows endearment.

18. Spm to 7pm.

19. 7pm to 9pm.

20. Literally “like the lacquer of Chin-chou (Kinshu)”.

21. Bells were rung to denote times of the day in towns and in temples.

22. The natural feelings that are inherent in being a human being.

23. Paramita here means to have crossed over to the dimension of enlightenment. Every thought is an “enlightened thought”.

24. 9pm to 11pm.

25. Refers to both a money bag and also, metaphorically, to the body.

26. The “empty bag being emptied out” refers to death.

27. 11pm to lam.

28. The state of mind of enlightenment.

29. The statue of Buddha.

30. Arabian incense was the most expensive type.

End of the Recorded Sayings of Ch’an Master Chao-chou

 

From The Recorded Sayings of Zen Master Joshu.

Translated by James Green

 

Tao Te Ching, Verse 15

by Lao Tzu

The ancient Masters were profound and subtle. Their wisdom was unfathomable. There is no way to describe it; all we can describe is their appearance.

They were careful as someone crossing an iced-over stream. Alert as a warrior in enemy territory. Courteous as a guest. Fluid as melting ice. Shapable as a block of wood. Receptive as a valley. Clear as a glass of water.

Do you have the patience to wait till your mud settles and the water is clear? Can you remain unmoving till the right action arises by itself?

The Master doesn't seek fulfillment. Not seeking, not expecting, she is present, and can welcome all things.

~ Translated by Stephen Mitchell (https://terebess.hu/english/tao/mitchell.html)

Henry David Thoreau

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. Every morning was a cheerful invitation to make my life of equal simplicity, and I may say innocence, with Nature herself.  “We need the tonic of wildness...At the same time that we are earnest to explore and learn all things, we require that all things be mysterious and unexplorable, that land and sea be indefinitely wild, unsurveyed and unfathomed by us because unfathomable. We can never have enough of nature.”  Live in each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influence of the earth.

 Ying’an Tanhua (1102-1163)

The quest of real followers of the path is just to oppose birth and death; they do not look for it in the sayings found in various sources in ancient and modern books. They just step back into themselves and bring it to mind, coolly yet keenly, at the very root and stem. Suddenly their hands slip, they lose their footing, and they’re lost: this is graduation from the study of a lifetime. Perceiving independently, like a solitary lamp, for the first time they are manifestly empowered. They are like mountains; how could the fears of life and death shake them any more?

If you wish to understand easily, simply face the rising mind and moving thoughts throughout the twelve hours. Just following these moving thoughts, right there, you suddenly see clearly that there is nothing to gain, like great empty space. Also, empty space has neither shape nor boundary. Inside and outside are one reality. Both wisdom and its objects disappear. Both reality and an understanding of it are eliminated. The three times, past, present and future, are all equal. Those who have reached such a field are called people of the serene way who have nothing to study and are uninvolved in doing.

If you want to cut off the path of birth and death, you should throw away everything you have always treasured in your mind. Then your six senses will naturally be clean and naked. One day you will have a flash of insight and no longer worry that the road of birth and death will not be cut off. If you do not make real application basic, and instead desire lots of knowledge and intellectual understanding, considering this the subtlety of self-realization, then you will be blown by the wind of knowledge and intellectual understanding, making you colder and hotter, constantly occurring to you, so that your nose is stuffed up and your head is unclear, day in and day out. This is a calamity you bring on yourself—it is not the fault of another.

If people who study the path are intending to concentrate on Zen, they should only concentrate on the Zen of the “solitary shining of a lone lamp in the hall of nirvana.” Do not set up specific periods, hoping to awaken to the path within a certain time. That is laughable. This Zen has no trouble and no pain: the only important thing is to step back and trust completely; hang your pack high and break your staff. Stiffen your spine, and be like wood or stone inside, and like open space outside. Suddenly the tub of lacquer comes apart, and the five clusters and eighteen elements are washed clear and clean; all beings are suddenly liberated. Once you have seen this highway, it is not the place to stop: when you arrive at clear understanding of universal truth, only then will you find true and false, right and wrong, clearly distinguished in every case. This is called insuperably great independent spiritual mastery.

Recently a kind of devil has emerged, referred to in the teachings as bad friends. They each expound different interpretations, claiming to help people. Some teach people to stop their minds and not think at all, cutting off any stirring thought the moment it arises. Some teach people to do nothing at all, not even burn any incense or perform any prostrations. Some only teach people to rationally understand past and present, just like bumbling professors. Some refer to what the ancient adepts held forth with naked hearts, and claim they were setting up schools. Some see a student come and utter a saying that seems right, then half a day later pose a question with another saying; the student presents another saying, and if it fits they say this one has penetration. Now tell me—do these ways of “helping people” actually live up to direct pointing to mind? Clearly there is no connection at all.

Those of superior faculties and great wisdom get the point right off the bat—guidance doesn’t mean gum-beating and lip-flapping. Truly awakened people with clear eyes would just laugh. The great masters of India and China only met mind to mind—from the first there was never any “mind” to attain. But if you make a rationale of mindlessness, that is the same as having a certain mentality.

A grand master said, “With uniform equanimity, everything disappears of itself.” Only then do you attain great effectiveness. When you come to the boundary of life and death, you calmly become absolutely still, without any further effort whatsoever. Just being so, like a polar mountain—does that not hit the mark? Zen students in recent times may call themselves seekers, but wherever they take up residence they just keep false ideas in their minds, making contentious disputation a way of life. They are really pitiful. Genuine seekers are not like this. Observe how the ancient sages since time immemorial went from community to company, got to know genuine spiritual friends, and spent ten or twenty years retreating into themselves, like dead ashes and withered trees, carefully finding out what’s at the root and the stem. They had to find reality before they could adapt to conditions while remaining natural and spontaneous, worthy of the name of a Zen student or high-minded pilgrim. If your state of mind is not dear, how can you stop arousing your mind and stirring thoughts twenty-four hours a day, like countless waves lapping all around? How can you dissolve them away? At this point, if you have no penetrating liberation, you are just an ignorant thief stealing the community’s food. When your time is up, all the mechanical knowledge and intellectualism you have acquired in your life will be of no use at all in facing death. Even if you do countless good works all your life, you will have less and less hope of transcending birth and death. You will only get human or heavenly blessings and rewards; when the rewards are finished, as before you have no way out.

In olden times, Ta-sui called on over seventy teachers. Those who had great vision were only one or two; the rest had accurate knowledge and perception. Hsiang-lin associated with Yun-men for eighteen years, working as an attendant; every word, even half a phrase, he would record on his paper robe. By these two extremes we can see how sincere the ancients were about truth. When they reached penetration, they were empowered, transcending beyond all traps, devices, strategies, and emotional and intellectual interpretation. This is what is meant by the saying that the lion king does not roar at random. In recent times, the Zen schools are weak and dilute. What is their problem? The problem lies in individual lack of self-trust. And where does this problem come from? It generally comes from the basis not being correct. As long as the basis is not correct, even if you put yourself in a Zen community, you will see the Zen community as an inn; even if you talk about studying Zen and learning Zen, you will be like geese hearing thunder. From these two extremes we can also see the difference between people of the present and people of olden times. 

If you want to understand readily, just be unminding at all times and all places, and you will naturally harmonize with the path. Once you are in harmony with the path, then inside, outside, and in between are ultimately ungraspable; immediately empty yet solid, you are far beyond dependency. This is what ancient worthies called “each state of mind not touching on things, each step not positioned anywhere.”

To know by thinking is secondary; to know without thinking is tertiary. It is essential for the individual to directly bear responsibility and put down the two extremes of clarity and unclarity from your learning hitherto; when you reach the state of cleanness and nakedness, then you must go on over to the Beyond, where you kill Buddhas when you see Buddhas, kill Zen masters when you see Zen masters. In Zen, this is still the work of servants. Independent people should not seek Zen or Tao or mystery or marvel from the mouths of old monks sitting on the corners of meditation seats and stuff that into stinking skin-bags, considering it the ultimate principle. Isn’t this a mistake?

The verbal teachings of Buddhas and Zen masters that have come down from the past are like bits of tile used to knock on a door; it is a matter of expediency that we use them as entrances into truth. For some years now, students have not been getting to the root of the aim of Zen, instead taking the verbal teachings of Buddhas and Zen masters to be the ultimate rule. That is like ignoring a hundred thousand pure clear oceans and only focusing attention on a single bubble.

The Zen Reader, Shambhala. Kindle Edition. Thomas Cleary

 

Kabir 

The Drop and the Sea

I went looking for Him
And lost myself;
The drop merged with the Sea --
Who can find it now?

Looking and looking for Him
I lost myself;
The Sea merged with the drop --
Who can find it now?

Still the body

Still the body
still the mind
still the voice inside

in silence
feel the stillness move

friends
this feeling
cannot be imagined

Lift the veil

lift the veil
that obscures
the heart

and there
you will find
what you are
looking for

O Slave, liberate yourself

O Slave, liberate yourself.

Where are you, and where's your home,
find it in your lifetime, man.

If you fail to wake up now,
you'll be helpless when the end comes.

Says Kabir, listen, O wise one,
the siege of Death is hard to withstand.

Hiding in this cage

Hiding in this cage of visible matter
is the invisible lifebird

pay attention
to her

she is singing
your song

Between the conscious and the unconscious, the mind has put up a swing

Between the conscious and the unconscious, the mind has put up a swing:
all earth creatures, even the supernovas, sway between these two trees,
and it never winds down.

Angels, animals, humans, insects by the million, also the wheeling sun and moon;
ages go by, and it goes on.

Everything is swinging: heaven, earth, water, fire,
and the secret one slowly growing a body.
Kabir saw that for fifteen seconds, and it made him a servant for life.

My body is flooded

My body is flooded
With the flame of Love.
My soul lives in
A furnace of bliss.

Love's fragrance
Fills my mouth,
And fans through all things
With each outbreath.

O how may I ever express that secret word?

O how may I ever express that secret word?
O how can I say He is not like this, and He is like that?
If I say that He is within me, the universe is ashamed:
If I say that He is without me, it is falsehood.
He makes the inner and the outer worlds to be indivisibly one;
The conscious and the unconscious, both are His footstools.
He is neither manifest nor hidden, He is neither revealed nor unrevealed:
There are no words to tell that which He is.

Hey brother, why do you want me to talk?

Hey brother, why do you want me to talk?
Talk and talk and the real things get lost.

Talk and talk and things get out of hand.
Why not stop talking and think?

If you meet someone good, listen a little, speak;
If you meet someone bad, clench up like a fist.

Talking with a wise man is a great reward.
Talking with a fool? A waste.

Kabir says: A pot makes noise if it's half full,
But fill it to the brim -- no sound.

Do not go to the garden of flowers!

Do not go to the garden of flowers!
O friend! Go not there;
In your body is the garden of flowers.
Take your seat on the thousand petals of the lotus, and there gaze on the Infinite Beauty.

"All know that the drop merges into the ocean, but few know that the ocean merges into the drop."

“Be quiet in your mind, quiet in your senses, and also quiet in your body. Then, when all these are quiet, don’t do anything. In that state truth will reveal itself to you.”

https://www.poetry-chaikhana.com/Poets/K/Kabir/Donotgotothe/index.html

 

     Emily Dickinson -1830 - 1886

     I’m Nobody! Who are you?
     Are you – Nobody – too?
     Then there’s a pair of us!
     Don't tell! they'd advertise – you know!

     How dreary – to be – Somebody!
     How public – like a Frog –
     To tell one’s name – the livelong June –
     To an admiring Bog!