So the action of the student entering the dokusan room includes the ringing of the bell. But the ringing of the bell also includes the action of the student going into the room. That is what we mean when we say that cause and effect are one. Every action is complete in each moment as both cause and effect, for each action is both the cause of other things and the effect of other things.
In a way, right here and right now, space and time, are all abstractions. What makes space and time real? You, your very being as you are gives space and time significance. It is easy for us to understand that without space and time we cannot survive. The reverse is also true. Without our very being, no space, no time, no history, and no world exist. In other words, our very life itself is the process of the creation of the world, of everything.
This is what I mean when I tell you all the time to take good care of yourself, according to the position you have and the work that needs to be done. In doing so, you extend your practice into your daily life, unifying everything as is. If this is not happening, then make this your practice. Nothing is binding you. If you feel that something is binding you, what is it? How do you take care of it?
Please have deep conviction and trust in yourself to be truly Yourself. There is no other way. By doing so, you will have a very deep confidence and respect for yourself. Going one step further, since the life of each of us contains everything, taking care of yourself is taking care of everything else, do you see?
SEE THE SHADOW OF THE WHIP
THERE IS A FASCICLE in Dogen Zenji’s Shobogenzo entitled “Shobogenzo Shime [Four Horses].” He begins this fascicle with the famous case 32 from the Gateless Gate, The Non-Buddhist Questions the Buddha:
One day a nonbeliever visiting Shakyamuni Buddha said, “Question with or without words?” And Buddha remained silent. Then after some time the nonbeliever prostrated before the Buddha and said, “Because of your great compassionate teaching, I am relieved of all illusion and see the Buddhist Way clearly before me.” He again prostrated before Shakyamuni and left. After this departure, Honorable Ananda questioned the Buddha, “What did the nonbeliever find that caused him to perceive the Way?” And Venerable Shakyamuni replied, “A good horse is one that runs merely on seeing the shadow of a whip.”1
What is being expressed here with and without words? As you know, our life itself is expressed. In a way all of you know what life is, and yet at the same time you have an uncertain feeling about it, don’t you?
The non-Buddhist, not sitting even one period of zazen, goes to Shakyamuni Buddha and asks, “With words, without words?” What is the non-Buddhist asking? And what did the Buddha do? Shakyamuni Buddha sat there, not saying anything. The non-Buddhist appreciated the Buddha, said thanks, and left. Who is the non-Buddhist? Many of you are Judeo-Christian. Even those who have received the Buddhist precepts are Jewish or Christian to some degree. So what did this non-Buddhist realize?
Although the Buddha was silent to the non-Buddhist, he spoke to Ananda. What is the Buddha telling Ananda about the non-Buddhist and the horse? When you are sensitive enough, you can feel the whip of Shakyamuni Buddha. Who is he whipping? Is it Ananda? Or you?
The teaching of this koan has to do with the importance of awakening. The non-Buddhist is asking, “What kind of way is with words, without words?” Dogen Zenji clearly states it is the unsurpassable, the very best Way. He quotes from the Agama Sutra:
The Buddha said to the assembled people: “There are four kinds of horses. The first is a horse that out of fear will obey his rider’s will at the mere sight of the whip’s shadow. The second will act accordingly when the whip touches its hair. The third, when the whip has struck its flesh. And the fourth will yield only when the whip has reached its very bones. The first horse is like a man who realizes impermanence when he learns of a death in the neighboring village. The second horse is like a man who realizes this when death occurs in his own village. The third is like a man who does not awaken this mind until death occurs among his own family. And the fourth horse is like a man who awakens this mind only when his own death is imminent.”2
In this analogy, the fact of death is first experienced as the death of someone distant from us, then the death of a close friend or family member, and finally by the fact of our own death. But just how closely do we relate to birth and death? Even at this moment, one of our monks is in the hospital and the doctor says there is no hope for recovery. All of us are experiencing it as something happening not to someone in a place far away but to someone closely related to us. What can we do about it? What can I really do with his life? With his sickness? And with his death?
We can look at our lives from the perspectives of these four kinds of horses. This whip has really hit me. And being whipped, I reflect upon myself and ask what is the best that I can do for our dying monk at this moment. How can we appreciate this life of birth, old age, sickness, and death? It is not just a matter of being in the hospital. What is the difference between right here now and there in the hospital? In a way, it is different. But if we see the wholeness of this life, then it is the same.
Dogen Zenji quotes from the Mahaparinirvana Sutra:
The Buddha once said, there are four ways to control a horse. The first is to strike the horse’s hair; the second, its skin; the third, its flesh; and the fourth, its bones. A rider’s intentions are revealed to the horse by the location of the strike. Similarly, the Buddha used four ways to lead sentient beings to the Way. The first is to expound the law of birth. This is similar to a horse that finds the correct path as a result of having his hair struck by his rider. The second is to also expound the law of old age. This is like a horse that does the same after being struck on the skin. The third is to further expound the law of sickness. This equates with striking the horse’s flesh. And the fourth is to include death in the explanation. This is like striking the horse’s bones. A rider, however, is not always successful in leading a horse onto the right path. Shakyamuni, on the other hand, never fails to lead sentients to the Way. Thus he is known as the Great Controller of Man.3
Controller of Man, or the “person who has a good command of herself or himself,” is one of the Buddha’s ten nicknames. And what is the horse? The horse could be seen as the person who is trained to have good command of the self. What did the non-Buddhist see? What do we see? The horses run according to their sensitivity to the whip. How sensitive are we to illness, old age, and death as the very fact of reality?
We are living this life of impermanence, all experiencing it this very moment. How sharply are we sensing it? And if we do not feel it deep within our own bones, we are not the horse who runs at the shadow of the whip. Impermanence is the reality of change, the reality that is birth and death, rise and fall, creation and extinction. How are we truly appreciating this very moment, which may be the only moment we are living? If we do not see this, we do not understand impermanence.
Let me read the last part:
The receptive person realizes the Way merely on hearing the teaching on the law of birth. Others do not do so until old age has also been explained, and still others not until sickness and death have consecutively been added to the teaching. In a similar way, the three latter methods of controlling a horse occur only after the first has transpired. The latter three teachings of Shakyamuni—old age, sickness, and death—exist only as a result of the occurrence of the former on birth. It was Shakyamuni himself who initially proclaimed the law of birth, old age, sickness, and death. He did so not to break man’s unity with these, nor to establish them as a standard of the Way. Rather, he used them as a means to lead sentient beings to the Way, a task in which he never fails.4
Dogen Zenji is saying that by talking about this life as old age, sickness, and death, we allow sentient beings to obtain the dharma of the unsurpassable Way. Shakyamuni Buddha talks about birth, sickness, old age, and death “to lead sentient beings to the Way, a task in which he never fails.” Who is the person who never fails? Is it Shakyamuni Budd
ha or is it someone else who leads all sentient beings to the unsurpassable Way? How do you obtain this supreme wisdom?
Impermanence is always the plain, simple reality of our life, which is no other than the supreme Way itself. Those who see life in such a way run upon seeing the shadow of the whip. And when we see that the supreme Way is no other than our daily life, we must take good care of it. The best way to take care of it is to simply live the life of no division between birth or death, between this or that.
So what is life? What is sickness? Who is getting old? Who is dying? What are these different perspectives teaching us? It is not a matter of four kinds or two kinds of perspectives as such. Each one of us has a different life and yet the same life—the life of birth, illness, old age, and death. How do we best live this life of the supreme Way?
1. Kosen Nishiyama, trans., Shobogenzo, vol. 3 (Tokyo: Nakayama Shobo, 1983), 112.
2. Ibid., p. 113.
3. Ibid., p. 113–14.
4. Ibid., p. 114–115.
THE SEVEN WISE SISTERS
THE SEVEN WISE SISTERS is a rather unusual koan from Dogen Zenji’s Eihei Koroku, his collection of 301 cases.
In India there was a very wealthy family of seven sisters who gathered together for a party every weekend. During a gathering, one of the sisters suggested, “Instead of having a party, let’s go to the crematorium. I feel that if we go there, something good will happen.” So they went to the crematorium and found corpses. Seeing the dead people, one of the sisters cried out, “All these corpses, where did the persons go?” Upon hearing this, all seven sisters simultaneously attained enlightenment.
The Hindu god Indra witnessed this. Impressed, he descended to talk to the sisters. “This is marvelous,” he said, “I want to give you all a reward and will give anything you ask for.” The sisters discussed what they wanted. “Do we want jewelry? No! We already have too many jewels. Money? We don’t particularly care about it. Clothes? We have enough.” Finally, they came up with three wishes and said to Indra, “We appreciate your offer, and have decided upon three things. First, we would like a rootless tree; second, a piece of land where there is no yin and yang; and third, a valley in which there is no echo.” Indra said, “These are difficult things to give. Shakyamuni Buddha lives in your country. He will be able to grant your three wishes.”
What are these three wishes? First, the sisters wish for a rootless tree. What is the rootless tree? Dogen Zenji says that the rootless tree is the “oak tree in the garden.” That is a line from the famous Case 37 in the Gateless Gate. The monk asks Master Joshu, “What is the meaning of Bodhidharma’s coming from the West?” In other words, what is the most important teaching of the Buddha? Master Joshu replies, “The oak tree in the garden.” Dogen Zenji points to that oak tree in the garden as the rootless tree. The very state of enlightened life itself is now expressed as this rootless tree. How is this rootless tree your life?
The enlightened life is not fixed but free, unattached to any one thing. And yet, each of us is fixed or conditioned in certain ways. For instance, we have the condition of being human, of being a man or a woman, of having a family or being alone. We have certain knowledge giving rise to all sorts of ideas. All kinds of conditions and conditioning are like roots by which we survive. Is there anything wrong with this? Is there anything wrong with being attached to it? Our lives definitely have certain conditions. How is this so-called conditioned life the life of the rootless tree, the enlightened life?
Impermanence is among the Buddha’s most fundamental teachings. How is impermanence generally understood? Instead of seeing how everything is constantly changing, we often think that there is something that does not change. Of course, we recognize certain change when it is noticeable, such as when a woman gives birth, when you move to a new home, or when someone leaves you. But are we aware of constant change or true impermanence? No, and consequently we live in a self-centered way. This self-centeredness is not necessarily derogatory of others. We are using self-centeredness here to mean that we create distinctions or certain boundaries where there are none. In one way or another, we are all self-centered. It is obvious that because of this conditioning, we invite problems. It happens because of me.
Who is me? In a way, all of us know me. And in a way, we do not know. We talk about big Self and small self. Is there truly something that is a big Self or a small self? If there is a big Self, can you show me how big it is? Whatever you understand as the small self, can you show me how small it is? How much difference is there between big Self and small self? I know you cannot show this to me. Why not? Because it is sizeless to begin with. This rootless tree is sizeless, constantly changing and unlimited by conditions. This is our life, do you see?
“The oak tree in the garden.” The tree in the yard that the monk sees as an object is not at all an object for Master Joshu. There is no separation between the tree and himself. In fact, most of the time that is how we live. Even when we are not conscious of driving, when we come to a corner we stop, look, then turn and go on. The driver, car, street, signs, and signals as they are are all very clear, and yet no division comes up into the conscious mind. Amidst all relative conditions, we are freely driving. That is the rootless tree.
We can also look at the rootless tree a little differently. Let us say, for instance, that you do not understand what this rootless tree is. What is a tree with roots? Do you have a solid root by which your life is firmly grounded? We talk about body and mind in all kinds of ways: physical, emotional, psychological, mental, spiritual. What is the root of all these? Where is it? Is this body and mind solid and firm, stable and well functioning, sucking up enough nutrition from whatever ground on which it grows? On the other hand, if you do not see the solid ground, where could the root be? As a metaphor for your life, does this tree have a root or not? If you say yes, how and where does it grow? If no, why not? If your life has no root, how can you survive? Is having a root real or is not having a root real? Is your life real or is your life unreal? That is a silly question, isn’t it? But, in fact, it is a truly fascinating question.
Regarding this rootless tree, Dogen Zenji says further, “If they don’t understand the oak tree in the garden, I will hold up my staff and say, ‘This staff is it!’ ” This is his second comment on the rootless tree. The oak tree in the garden and this staff in his hand. How do you appreciate it? “If you don’t understand,” he says, “this staff is it!” What does the staff stand for? The life of each of us is nothing but this staff, the oak tree, the rootless tree.
The seven sisters’ second wish is a “piece of land where there is no yin and yang.” Of course, yin and yang refers to opposites, duality. Dogen Zenji says, “This crematorium itself is that land where there is no yin and yang.” In this instance, the crematorium is where the story occurs. The sisters ask, “The corpse is here, but where did the person go?” Anywhere, everywhere is nothing but this land where there is no yin and yang. Here, now! When there is death, there is nothing but death. When there is life, there is nothing but life. Dogen Zenji says further, “If they don’t understand, I’ll tell them that it is the ‘Dharmadhatu in all the ten directions.’ ”
The land where there is no yin and yang is the land upon which we stand right here, now. Even when our life seems fine, we have a problem when we see everything as opposites, as good or bad, right or wrong. What is good, what is bad? For instance, each tree is different. Some trees are big, some are small; some are crooked, some straight. Is there anything wrong with this? Being crooked, it is just crooked. Being straight, it is just straight. Some of us may think crooked is better than straight, or that a crooked tree should be straight. According to how we think about these opposites, problems arise.
Who creates these opposites? You might say that we do. But when we search for the answer, it is always I do. You cannot say we. What you may think of as good is not necessarily good to me or to someone else. I might compromise with you; I might understand or not understand.
So when you say something is good, realize that it is what you think of as good. This is always the case. What happens if we do not have this I? As a matter of fact, then everything is okay.
The sisters’ third wish is for the valley that has no echo. Here Dogen Zenji’s comments are more direct. “Regarding this, I would call the seven sisters. If they respond, I will say immediately, ‘I have just given you the valley.’ And if they don’t respond, I will say, ‘Indeed, there is no echo.’ ” Regardless of whether you respond or not, right here you have this valley that has no echo. Fundamentally, our life is this unechoing valley. Our life itself is a synonym for the very best echoless valley. Isn’t it marvelous?
In his Song of Meditation, Hakuin Zenji says, “All sentient beings are intrinsically buddhas.” We are all right to begin with. So when called, just answer. If you cannot answer, that, too, is okay. Regardless of whether you answer or not, you are this fundamentally, originally enlightened ground. We practice on this ground of original enlightenment because that is our life. We do not need to look for anything else because everything is already right here. This life itself, your life itself, is the valley that has no echo. When you look for something else, you are putting another head on top of your own.
How do we appreciate the life that we have? Unfortunately, we often experience this life as if it were a roller coaster, spinning around in the six realms. Sometimes you feel marvelous. The next day, you hit bottom. You go from heaven to hell and all kinds of spheres in between from day to day, maybe even in one day. What are you doing with this life? You ask, “Am I really the same as the buddhas?” Many of you respond, “Hardly.” So what will you do?
Appreciate Your Life Page 11