Bankei Zen
Page 12
The Master said: “People all value enlightenment, but Chōzen was lucky enough to destroy enlightenment and become a man of perfect freedom.”
(zenshū, pp. 139–140.)
The craftsman’s dilemma
A layman asked: “I’m a founder by trade. When I make pots and kettles, eight out of ten have holes, but I patch them up and sell them, saying they’re perfect. This weighs on my mind. Is it a crime?”
The Master said: “Are you the only one who does this sort of thing?”
“Not at all,” he replied, “everyone else does exactly the same.”
The Master asked: “Do you sell your wares at night?”
The founder answered: “I sell in broad daylight.”
The Master said: “The people who bought your things did so with their eyes open. If you were to sell your wares at night, claiming damaged pieces to be perfect, that would be criminal, but since it’s happening in broad daylight, these people shouldn’t buy such things if they know they’re damaged. You needn’t accuse yourself unnecessarily over this business.”
(zenshū, p. 140.)
The angry abbot
One winter, during the training period at the Sanyūji in Bizen,35 laymen and monks from both Bizen and Bitchū36 assembled in large numbers on the days when the Master would appear to lecture. At Niwase37 in Bitchū was a large temple of the Lotus sect,38 whose eminent abbot was a scholar of great learning much revered by the parishioners. At that time, the Master’s teaching was sweeping the area, and the abbot’s parishioners all went to hear him. The abbot, seething with indignation, told his congregation: “From what I hear, this Bankei is an uneducated fellow. If I go and put a difficult question to him, I can stymie him with just one word.”
So saying, he went off one day to see the Master. He stood at the back of the assembly and in the middle of the Master’s talk shouted in a booming voice: “Everyone here accepts your sermon and believes it. [But] someone like myself doesn’t accept the essentials of your teaching. If a person doesn’t accept them, how are you going to save him?”
The Master raised his fan and said: “Come forward.”
The abbot stepped before him.
The Master said: “Now come a little closer.”
The abbot moved forward again.
The Master said: “How well you accept what I say!”
The abbot, completely flustered, left without another word.
(zenshū, p. 142.)
When I first began to search
Once the Master said: “When I first began to search for enlightenment, I wasn’t able to find a good teacher and, as a result, did all sorts of painful practices, pouring out my heart’s blood. Sometimes I’d forsake the company of men and go into seclusion; at other times I’d fashion a paper mosquito net and, sitting inside it, practice meditation; or else I’d shutter all the windows and meditate in my darkened room. Without permitting myself to lie down, I’d sit cross-legged until my thighs became inflamed with sores, the marks of which remained with me even afterward. At the same time, if I happened to hear a good teacher was to be found in some place or other, I’d set off at once to meet him. In this way I spent several years, and I think I may say there were few places in Japan that I didn’t leave my footprints. And all because I wasn’t able to meet an accomplished teacher! Once I’d hit on enlightenment, I realized for the first time that I’d been struggling uselessly all those years, and was able to achieve tranquility. I tell you all that, without any struggle, you can attain complete realization now right where you are, but you won’t believe me because you’re not truly serious about the Dharma.”
(zenshū, p. 143.)
All the difference of heaven and earth
On another occasion, the Master said: “When it comes to the truth I uncovered when I was twenty-six39 and living in retreat at the village of Nonaka40 in Akō in Harima—the truth for which I went to see Dōsha and obtained his confirmation—so far as the truth is concerned, between that time and this, from beginning to end, there hasn’t been a shred of difference. However, so far as penetrating the great truth of Buddhism with the perfect clarity of the Dharma Eye41 and realizing absolute freedom, between the time I met Dōsha and today, there’s all the difference of heaven and earth! All of you must have faith that this sort of thing can happen, and live in expectation of the day when you’ll completely realize the Dharma Eye.”
[Someone] asked: “Will the perfect clarity of the Dharma Eye be realized completely with time? Does one just attain it all at once?”
The Master replied: “There’s no question of there being a particular [amount of] time. When the Eye of the Way is clear, without a single flaw, you’ll have realized it completely. And your realizing it will be due to your earnest and single-minded cultivation.”
(zenshū y pp. 143–144.)
Watch where you’re going
When I42 first met the Master, I received his teaching, but failing to gain a penetrating understanding, I said: “What your Reverence teaches is from the realm of the master. But for a fellow like me who’s never experienced great enlightenment, I’m afraid that reaching the master’s realm is going to be hard.”
The Master told me: “If you want the Truth, you should do as I say. Students of the Way must first of all take care to watch where they’re going. For example, if someone is going to Edo and learns he should travel east, after going one mile, he’s one mile closer, and so on for five and then ten miles, until finally he’s sure to arrive there. [But] if he mistakenly sets off to the west, even if it’s just a single step [at first], the more he exerts himself, the further from Edo he’ll be.”
(zenshū, p. 144.)
The proof
Once I asked the Master: “Is it helpful in studying the Way to read through the Buddhist sutras and the records of the old masters?”
The Master said: “It all depends. If you rely on the principles contained in the sutras and records, when you read them, you’ll be blinding your own eyes. On the other hand, when the time comes that you can dismiss principles, if you read [such things], you’ll find the proof of your own realization.”
(zenshū, p. 144.)
True acceptance
Once I asked the Master: “I’ve always been plagued by bad habits. Can I stop my bad habits by guarding against them at all times?”
The Master said: “If you realize that originally there are no bad habits, what is there to stop?”
I replied: “I accept that originally there are no bad habits and haven’t any doubts on that score. All the same, my bad habits manifest themselves from time to time, and when I guard against them, this doesn’t happen. So, even if I thoroughly accept the fact that originally bad habits don’t exist, when it comes to my daily life practice, isn’t it still best to guard against them?”
The Master said: “This is not true acceptance.”
Now, ever since I have taken to heart the Master’s kind words, I have conclusively realized the actual manifestation of the truth.
(zenshū, p. 145.)
My old illness
On another occasion, I asked: “Since birth I’ve suffered from terrible spasms of pain in my stomach. When they occur, I have to stop eating entirely for several days, experience dreadful headaches and feel so miserable I can’t even put my hand out to straighten the pillow. Ordinarily when I’m feeling fine I forge dauntlessly ahead, ready to sacrifice life and limb for the sake of the Dharma, but, at times like this, just a touch of my old illness renders me helpless. When the pain is at its height, I’m weaker than ever. It’s as if my usual vigorous spirit were at the mercy of the wind. When I come up against my old illness, I feel completely devastated. I’m terribly distressed about this.”
The Master said: “How is it once your health returns?”
I replied: “When I’m well again, everything is back to normal.”
The Master said: “Then that’s fine.”
Thereafter, at all times, I’ve remained just as I a
m, beyond discrimination, free and easy and without constraint.
[zenshū, pp. 145–146.)
Seven out of ten
Once I questioned the Master: “For some time I have followed your Reverence, and for several years have been fortunate enough to serve at your side as attendant. When it comes to the essentials of your teaching, I have no doubts at all. However, what I find remarkable in observing your Reverence at close hand is that ‘The deeper I penetrate, the more solid you become; the more I look up, the higher you soar,’ so that I ceaselessly ‘sigh in admiration.’43 Your freedom in responding to the needs of students is so limitless that it seems as if one could never match it however many days and months passed. How can we [too] achieve perfection?”
The Master said: “Zen students as a rule may grasp seven or eight things in ten, but are unable to get past [the remaining] two or three.”
I said: “What is the way to get past?”
The Master replied: “There is no way to get past.”
I asked: “Seeing as there’s no way to get past and one is unable to do so, where can the fault be?”
The Master remained silent for a time, and then replied: “When you come right down to it, it’s because the desire [to realize] the great truth of Buddhism is weak.”
(zenshū, p. 146.)
The monk Zeshin
The monk Zeshin44 lived in religious retreat on Mt. Yoshino45 for many years, devoting himself solely to med itation [till] one day he suddenly awoke and forgot everything he knew. At a neighboring temple lived a venerable monk of the Sōtō school, and [Zeshin] went and presented his understanding, seeking the monk’s confirmation of his attainment.
The monk said: “At the present time, the Zen Master Bankei is a clear-eyed teacher. Go study with him.”
[Zeshin] then went immediately to the Kyoto Jizōji in Higashiyama. At that time, the Master was practicing in retreat, so that there was no one to receive [Zeshin] and present his request. Nevertheless, every day he would come and sit in meditation outside the temple gate, returning to Kyoto in the evening. When he had continued like this for thirteen days, the landlord at the inn questioned him about it. Zeshin told him everything, and the innkeeper directed him to visit the Zen Teacher Dokushō46 in Saga. Zeshin then went to meet Dokushō and presented his understanding.
Dokushō said: “Preserve it with care!”
That very day, [Zeshin] left [Kyoto] and returned to Yoshino. Several months had passed when he decided to set off [again] for the Jizōji. On his way, he learned that, just then, the Master was in Edo, so he went straightaway to the Kōrinji. The Master received him immediately, and Zeshin presented his understanding.
The Master demanded: “The Ultimate!”
Zeshin, at a loss, made a low bow. When this had been repeated three times, Zeshin said: “Is there an Ultimate?”
The Master replied: “You don’t know how to use it.”
Zeshin, once again at a loss, bowed deeply. After this had been repeated three times, Zeshin asked: “What is the way to use it?”
Just at that moment, an uguisu47 sang in the garden. The Master said: “When the uguisu sings, you hear it.”
Zeshin, overcome with joy, prostrated himself three times.
The Master told him: “From here on, never open your mouth needlessly.”
At the end of the summer training period, the Master returned to the Ryōmonji, and Zeshin followed him to the temple. Several days later, at a reception for newly arrived monks, Zeshin came forward and presented himself before the Master, but [the Master] ignored him. For three days [the Master] came out like this and for three days too Zeshin continued to present himself, but without a word from the Master.
[One day,] when everyone had gone, the Master turned to Zeshin and said: “You’re a lucky fellow. If you hadn’t met me, you’d have surely become a boastful goblin!”
Zeshin then begged to be admitted to the temple, and, at his request, received the name Ryōko. Afterwards, at the urging of the assembly, he took the name Daien.
(zenshū, pp. 147–148.)
FROM THE GYŌGŌ RYAKKI
Suspicion
During the [Great Training Period at the Ryōmonji], there was an incident in which some money was lost in the Fudō Hall.1 One day, when the Master ascended the lecture seat, a monk came forward and said: “I am such-and-such a person of . . . province and a student at the . . . temple. This winter I have been practicing in the Fudō Hall. A monk in the place next to mine lost his traveling money, and because I was in the seat beside his, suspected me of taking it. The rumor has spread through the entire hall, and I beg your Reverence to conduct an inquiry.”
The Master asked: “Did you steal anything?”
The monk replied: “At a unique religious gathering like this, such a shameless act would never even cross my mind!”
The Master told him: “Then everything is all right.”
The monk said: “Yes, but at this meeting, monks are gathered from all over Japan, and I’m worried that if there is no inquiry, I’ll be given a bad name throughout the country. I beseech your Reverence’s kind understanding.”
The Master said: “If there’s an inquiry, the guilty one will have to come out—is that all right too?”
The monk then declared: “It’s I who have shown the very worst kind of shamefulness, being self-centered and arrogant in a case like this after I’d listened to your wonderful teaching every day!” And, shedding tears of gratitude, he withdrew.
(zenshū, pp. 396–397.)
Handling delinquents
When the Master was in retreat at the Jizōji, Sekimon Oshō2 of the Ryōmonji sent [the monk] Tenkyū3 to call on him and inquire after his health.4 When he met the Master at the temple gate, Tenkyū delivered a message from Sekimon, saying: “At the Ryōmonji are a number of novices who are remiss in their duties and rude in their behavior, upsetting the decorum of the temple. It was thought that if they were to go someplace else—the Nyohōji, perhaps, or the Kōrinji—they might change their ways, and I wished to ask your Reverence’s opinion.”
When Tenkyū had spoken, the Master summoned Shūin, Sōkaku and myself,5 and, repeating for us the gist of the message Sekimon had sent with Tenkyū, said: “What’s known as a Zen temple is established precisely to bring together wicked fellows such as these, winning them over through personal contact and making them into good men. But, without any such attitude, completely lacking in compassion, you want to dispose of wrongdoers elsewhere, to have them go and create disturbance someplace else! Is a person like that fit to be abbot of a Zen temple? When one whose heart is without generosity or compassion becomes abbot of [my] temple, it is the beginning of the end for my teaching!”
After this severe upbraiding, everyone, whether it was the abbot, the temple officers or the Master’s personal attendants, was afraid to complain to the Master about the behavior of the monks.
(zenshū, p. 396.)
The missing paper
When the Master was in Shinyashiki6 in Aboshi, he was unable to find a memorandum he needed. His attendants searched about everywhere, but they too failed to turn it up. Later, they discovered it at last. At that time, the Master scolded them, saying: “If you had all, right from the beginning, determined to find it, even if you tore the house down, it would have quickly turned up. But since you went about it half-heartedly, you were unable to locate it. While this memo is nothing of great importance, my having you search for it was to cultivate in you the sort of resolute attitude that you will carry with you through life. With a half-hearted frame of mind, you won’t become even half a man!”
Afterwards, when the Master was staying at the Ōshiken,7 he was [preparing to] inscribe a Buddhist name8 and found the brush to be missing. Although his attendants searched about in every possible way, they failed to turn it up, and this time, once again, he scolded them as he had before.
(zenshū, p. 398.)
POEMS
Chinese poems
&
nbsp; Instructing the Assembly
Chasing after words, pursuing phrases, when will you
ever be done?
You run yourself ragged amassing knowledge,
becoming widely informed
Self-nature is empty and illuminating, so let things
take care of themselves
There’s nothing else I have to pass on
(zenshū, p. 496.)
Impromptu Poem
Not angry when abused, not happy when praised
A great blockhead of the universe!
Going along as circumstances carry me—north, south,
east, west
Without hiding my ugliness and clumsiness between
heaven and earth
(zenshū, p. 499.)
Instructing a Confucian of Bizen
It ranges over past and present, pervades the entire
universe
Look and it’s not to be seen, [but] call and it responds
A stringless lute, a silent melody
This has nothing to do with being a monk or a layman
(zenshū, p. 497.)
New Years
What does it matter, the new year, the old year?
I stretch out my legs and all alone have a quiet sleep
Don’t tell me the monks aren’t getting their instruction
Here and there the nightingale is singing: the highest
Zen!1
(zenshū, p. 498.)
Instructions to a Confucian