DharmaDig.com : Stories kicked by sal18

A Smile in His Lifetime

Wed, 17 Dec 2008 21:46:06 GMT

Mokugen was never known to smile until his last day on earth. When his time came to pass away he said to his faithful ones: "You have studied under me for more than ten years. Show me your real interpretation of Zen. Whoever expresses this most clearly shall by my successor and receive my robe and bowl." Everyone watched Mokugen's severe face, but no one answered. Encho, a disciple who had been with his teacher for a long time, moved near the bedside. He pushed forward the medicine cup a few inches. This was his answer to the command. The teacher's face became even more severe. "Is that all you understand?" he asked. Encho reached out and moved the cup back again.

A Mother's Advice

Tue, 09 Dec 2008 23:40:27 GMT

Jiun, a Shingon master, was a well-known Sanskrit scholar of the Tokugawa era. When he was young he used to deliver lectures to his brother students. His mother heard about this and wrote him a letter: "Son, I do not think you became a devotee of the Buddha because you desire to turn into a walking dictionary for others. There is no end to information and commentation, glory and honour. I wish you would stop this lecture business. Shut yourself up in a little temple in a remote part of the mountain. Devote your time to meditation and in this way attain true realization."

A foot of jade is worth an inch of time

Tue, 09 Dec 2008 23:39:34 GMT

A great official came to the master Takuan asking for help in passing his days more eventfully. All day long, he explained, he sat receiving supplications and reports, and he found it all very dull. Takuan took brush and paper, and wrote eight Chinese characters. Translated, they said: No day comes back again: One inch of time is worth A foot of jade.

A Buddha

Tue, 09 Dec 2008 23:38:40 GMT

In Tokyo in the Meiji era there lived two prominent teachers of opposite characteristics. One, Unsho, an instructor in Shingon, kept Buddha's precepts scrupulously. He never drank intoxicants, nor did he eat after eleven o'clock in the morning. The other teacher, Tanzan, a professor of philosophy at the Imperial University, never observed the precepts. When he felt like eating, he ate, and when he felt like sleeping in the daytime, he slept. One day Unsho visited Tanzan, who was drinking wine at the time, not even a drop of which is supposed to touch the tongue of a Buddhist. "Hello, brother," Tanzan greeted him. "Won't you have a drink?" "I never drink!" exclaimed Unsho solemnly. "One who does not drink is not even human," said Tanzan. "Do you mean to call me inhuman just because I do not indulge in intoxicating liquids!" exclaimed Unsho in anger. "Then if I am not human, what am I?" "A Buddha," answered Tanzan.

Buddha's Zen

Wed, 03 Dec 2008 13:50:13 GMT

Buddha said: "I consider the positions of kings and rulers as that of dust motes. I observe treasures of gold and gems as so many bricks and pebbles. I look upon the finest silken robes as tattered rags. I see myriad worlds of the universe as small seeds of fruit, and the greatest lake in India as a drop of oil on my foot. I perceive the teachings of the world to be the illusion of magicians. I discern the highest conception of emancipation as a golden brocade in a dream, and view the holy path of the illuminated ones as flowers appearing in one's eyes. I see meditation as a pillar of a mountain, Nirvana as a nightmare of daytime. I look upon the judgment of right and wrong as the serpentine dance of a dragon, and the rise and fall of beliefs as but traces left by the four seasons."

The Silent Temple

Wed, 03 Dec 2008 13:49:41 GMT

Shoichi was a one-eyed teacher of Zen, sparkling with enlightenment. He taught his disciples in Tofuku temple. Day and night the whole temple stood in silence. There was no sound at all. Even the reciting of sutras was abolished by the teacher. His pupils had nothing to do but meditate. When the master passed away, an old neighbor heard the ringing of bells and the recitation of sutras. Then she knew Shoichi had gone.

Tosui's Vinegar

Wed, 03 Dec 2008 13:49:06 GMT

Tosui was the Zen master who left the formalism of temples to live under a bridge with beggars. When he was getting very old, a friend helped him to earn his living without begging. He showed Tosui how to collect rice and manufacture vinegar from it, and Tosui did this until he passed away. While Tosui was making vinegar, one of the beggars gave him a picture of the Buddha. Tosui hung it on the wall of his hut and put a sign beside it. The sign read: "Mr. Amida Buddha: This little room is quite narrow. I can let you remain as a transient. But don't think I am asking you to be reborn in your paradise."

Teaching the Ultimate

Tue, 02 Dec 2008 15:03:24 GMT

In early times in Japan, bamboo-and-paper lanterns were used with candles inside. A blind man, visiting a friend one night, was offered a lantern to carry home with him. "I do not need a lantern," he said. "Darkness or light is all the same to me." "I know you do not need a lantern to find your way," his friend replied, "but if you don't have one, someone else may run into you. So you must take it." The blind man started off with the lantern and before he had walked very far someone ran squarely into him. "Look out where you are going!" he exclaimed to the stranger. "Can't you see this lantern?" "Your candle has burned out, brother," replied the stranger.

A Drop of Water

Tue, 02 Dec 2008 15:02:47 GMT

A Zen master named Gisan asked a young student to bring him a pail of water to cool his bath. The student brought the water and, after cooling the bath, threw on to the ground the little that was left over. "You dunce!" the master scolded him. "Why didn't you give the rest of the water to the plants? What right have you to waste even one drop of water in this temple?" The young student attained Zen in that instant. He changed his name to Tekisui, which means a drop of water.

A Letter to a Dying Man

Tue, 02 Dec 2008 15:02:11 GMT

Bassui wrote the following letter to one of his disciples who was about to die: "The essence of your mind is not born, so it will never die. It is not an existance, which is perishable. It is not an emptiness, which is a mere void. It has neither color nor form. It enjoys no pleasures and suffers no pains. "I know you are very ill. Like a good Zen student, you are facing that sickness squarely. You may not know exactly who is suffering, but question yourself: What is the essence of this mind? Think only of this. You will need no more. Covet nothing. Your end which is endless is as a snowflake dissolving in the pure air."

Midnight Excursion

Mon, 01 Dec 2008 13:51:03 GMT

Many pupils were studying meditation under the Zen master Sengai. One of them used to arise at night, climb over the temple wall, and go to town on a pleasure jaunt. Sengai, inspecting the dormitory quarters, found this pupil missing one night and also discovered the high stool he had used to scale the wall. Sengai removed the stool and stood there in its place. When the wanderer returned, not knowing that Sengai was the stool, he put his feet on the master's head and jumped down into the grounds. Discovering what he had done, he was aghast. Sengai said: "It is very chilly in the early morning. Do be careful not to catch cold yourself." The pupil never went out at night again.

Storyteller's Zen

Mon, 01 Dec 2008 13:50:26 GMT

Encho was a famous storyteller. His tales of love stirred the hearts of his listeners. When he narrated a story of war, it was as if the listeners themselves were in the field of battle. One day Encho met Yamaoka Tesshu, a layman who had almost embraced masterhood of Zen. "I understand," said Yamaoka, "you ar the best storyteller in out land and that you make people cry or laugh at will. Tell me my favorite story of the Peach Boy. When I was a little tot I used to sleep beside my mother, and she often related this legend. In the middle of the story I would fall asleep. Tell it to me just as my mother did." Encho dared not attempt this. He requested time to study. Several months later he went to Yamaoka and said: "Please give me the opportunity to tell you the story." "Some other day," answered Yamaoka.

Fire-Poker Zen

Mon, 01 Dec 2008 13:49:44 GMT

Hakuin used to tell his pupils about an old woman who had a teashop, praising her understanding of Zen. The pupils refused to believe what he told them and would go to the teashop to find out for themselves. Whenever the woman saw them coming she could tell at once whether they had come for tea or to look into her grasp of Zen. In the former case, she would serve them graciously. In the latter, she would beckon the pupils to come behind her screen. The instant they obeyed, she would strike them with a fire-poker. Nine out of ten of them could not escape her beating.

The Taste of Banzo's Sword

Mon, 01 Dec 2008 13:49:03 GMT

Matajuro Yagyu was the son of a famous swordsman. His father, believing that his son's work was too mediocre to anticipate mastership, disowned him. So Matajuro went to Mount Futara and there found the famous swordsman Banzo. But Banzo confirmed the father's judgment. "You wish to learn swordsmanship under my guidance?" asked Banzo. "You cannot fulfill the requirements." "But if I work hard, how many years will it take to become a master?" persisted the youth. "The rest of your life," replied Banzo. "I cannot wait that long," explained Matajuro. "I am willing to pass through any hardship if only you will teach me. If I become your devoted servant, how long might it be?"

Zen Dialogue

Fri, 28 Nov 2008 14:33:43 GMT

Zen teachers train their young pupils to express themselves. Two Zen temples each had a child protégé. One child, going to obtain vegetables each morning, would meet the other on the way. "Where are you going?" asked the one. "I am going wherever my feet go," the other responded. This reply puzzled the first child who went to his teacher for help. "Tomorrow morning," the teacher told him, "when you meet that little fellow, ask him the same question. He will give you the same answer, and then you ask him: 'Suppose you have no feet, then where are you going?' That will fix him."

How to Write a Chinese Poem

Fri, 28 Nov 2008 14:33:06 GMT

A well-known Japanese poet was asked how to compose a Chinese poem. "The usual Chinese poem is four lines," he explains. "The first line contains the initial phase; the second line, the continuation of that phase; the third line turns from this subject and begins a new one; and the fourth line brings the first three lines together. A popular Japanese song illustrates this: "Two daughters of a silk merchant live in Kyoto. The elder is twenty, the younger, eighteen. A soldier may kill with his sword. But these girls slay men with their eyes."

Three Kinds of Disciples

Fri, 28 Nov 2008 14:32:33 GMT

A Zen master named Gettan lived in the latter part of the Tokugawa era. He used to say: "There are three kinds of disciples: those who impart Zen to others, those who maintain the temples and shrines, and then there are the rice bags and the clothes-hangers." Gasan expressed the same idea. When he was studying under Tekisui, his teacher was very severe. Sometimes he even beat him. Other pupils would not stand this kind of teaching and quit. Gasan remained, saying: "A poor disciple utilizes a teacher's influence. A fair disciple admires a teacher's kindness. A good disciple grows strong under a teacher's discipline."

The Living Buddha and the Tubmaker

Thu, 27 Nov 2008 14:21:37 GMT

Zen masters give personal guidance in a secluded room. No one enters while teacher and pupil are together. Mokurai, the Zen master of Kennin temple in Kyoto, used to enjoy talking with merchants and newspapermen as well as with his pupils. A certain tubmaker was almost illiterate. He would ask foolish questions of Mokurai, have tea, and then go away. One day while the tubmaker was there Mokurai wished to give personal guidance to a disciple, so he asked the tubmaker to wait in another room. "I understand you are a living Buddha," the man protested. "Even the stone Buddhas in the temple never refuse the numerous persons who come together before them. Why then should I be excluded?" Mokurai had to go outside to see his disciple.

Time to Die

Thu, 27 Nov 2008 14:18:57 GMT

Ikkyu, the Zen master, was very clever even as a boy. His teacher had a precious teacup, a rare antique. Ikkyu happened to break this cup and was greatly perplexed. Hearing the footsteps of his teacher, he held the pieces of the cup behind him. When the master appeared, Ikkyu asked: "Why do people have to die?" "This is natural," explained the older man. "Everything has to die and has just so long to live." Ikkyu, producing the shattered cup, added: "It was time for your cup to die."

True Friends

Thu, 27 Nov 2008 14:18:26 GMT

A long time ago in China there were two friends, one who played the harp skilfully and one who listen skillfully. When the one played or sang about a mountain, the other would say: "I can see the mountain before us." When the one played about water, the listener would exclaim: "Here is the running stream!" But the listener fell sick and died. The first friend cut the strings of his harp and never played again. Since that time the cutting of harp strings has always been a sign of intimate friendship.

No Work, No Food

Thu, 27 Nov 2008 14:17:58 GMT

Hyakujo, the Chinese Zen master, used to labor with his pupils even at the age of eighty, trimming the gardens, cleaning the grounds, and pruning the trees. The pupils felt sorry to see the old teacher working so hard, but they knew he would not listen to their advice to stop, so they hid away his tools. That day the master did not eat. The next day he did not eat, nor the next. "He may be angry because we have hidden his tools," the pupils surmised. "We had better put them back." The day they did, the teacher worked and ate the same as before. In the evening he instructed them: "No work, no food."

Nothing Exists

Wed, 26 Nov 2008 14:38:00 GMT

Yamaoka Tesshu, as a young student of Zen, visited one master after another. He called upon Dokuon of Shokoku. Desiring to show his attainment, he said: "The mind, Buddha, and sentient beings, after all, do not exist. The true nature of phenomena is emptiness. There is no realization, no delusion, no sage, no mediocrity. There is no giving and nothing to be received." Dokuon, who was smoking quietly, said nothing. Suddenly he whacked Yamaoka with his bamboo pipe. This made the youth quite angry. "If nothing exists," inquired Dokuon, "where did this anger come from?"

Just Go to Sleep

Wed, 26 Nov 2008 14:36:59 GMT

Gasan was sitting at the bedside of Tekisui three days before his teacher's passing. Tekisui had already chosen him as his successor. A temple recently had burned and Gasan was busy rebuilding the structure. Tekisui asked him: "What are you going to do when you get the temple rebuilt?" "When your sickness is over we want you to speak there," said Gasan. "Suppose I do not live until then?" "Then we will get someone else," replied Gasan. "Suppose you cannot find anyone?" continued Tekisui. Gasan answered loudly: "Don't ask such foolish questions. Just go to sleep."

The Real Miracle

Wed, 26 Nov 2008 14:36:06 GMT

When Bankei was preaching at Ryumon temple, a Shinshu priest, who believed in salvation through repetition of the name of the Buddha of Love, was jealous of his large audience and wanted to debate with him. Bankei was in the midst of a talk when the priest appeared, but the fellow made such a disturbance that Bankei stopped his discourse and asked about the noise. "The founder of our sect," boasted the priest, "had such miraculous powers that he held a brush in his hand on one bank of the river, his attendant held up a paper on the other bank, and the teacher wrote the holy name of Amida through the air. Can you do such a wonderful thing?"

Incense Burner

Wed, 26 Nov 2008 14:35:32 GMT

A woman of Nagasaki named Kame was one of the few makers of incense burners in Japan. Such a burner is a work of art to be used only in a tearoom of before a family shrine. Kame, whose father before her had been such an artist, was fond of drinking. She also smoked and associated with men most of the time. Whenever she made a little money she gave a feast inviting artists, poets, carpenters, workers, men of many vocations and avocations. In their association she evolved her designs. Kame was exceedingly slow in creating, but when her work was finished it was always a masterpiece. Her burners were treasured in homes whose womanfolk never drank, smoked, or associated freely with men.