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COOMBS.ANU.EDU.AU The document's ftp filename and the full directory path are given in the coombspapers top level INDEX file. date of the document's last update/modification {18/09/93} This file is the work of Stan Rosenthal. It has been placed here, with his kind permission, by Bill Fear. The author has asked that no hard copies, ie. paper copies, are made. Stan Rosenthal may be contacted at 44 High street, St. Davids, Pembrokeshire, Dyfed, Wales, UK. Bill Fear may be contacted at 29 Blackweir Terrace, Cathays, Cardiff, South Glamorgan, Wales, UK. email fear@thor.cf.ac.uk. Please use email as first method of contact, if possible. Messages can be sent to Stan Rosenthal via the above email address - they will be forwarded on in person by myself. ..............................Beginning of file................................. 5 of 10 The mind should not be filled with desires. The sage, being at one with the Tao, is aware of the distinction between that which is needed as a sufficiency, and that which is merely wanted, rather than needed. Even the finest blade will lose its sharpness if tempered beyond its mettle. Even the most finely honed sword is of no avail against water, and will shatter if struck against a rock. A tangled cord is of little use after it has been untangled by cutting it. Just as a fine sword should be used only by an experienced swordsman, intellect should be tempered with experience. By this means, tangled cord may be untangled, and seemingly insoluble problems resolved; colours and hues may be harmonized to create fine paintings, and people enabled to exist in unity with each other because they no longer feel that they exist only in the shadow of the brilliance of others. Even from these few lines, it is obvious we are being advised that we should distinguish when necessary. We are not being told that 'everything is the same', but that there are some instances in which we should make distinctions, and other instances when we should not. We are also told that we should learn to distinguish between the occasions when we should distinguish, and those occasions when we should not. This is what is meant by the phrase, 'necessary distinction'. In this context, the word 'necessary' can be read as 'fitting' to the total situation. This is why there are many koan describing the teacher seeming to act in opposite ways in response to the same situation; no two situations are the same. The Zen master would agree with the pre-Socratic philospher Heraclitus, who said, "You cannot step into the same river twice." This of course relates to the Zen concept of 'change', but it also relates that concept to the natural qualities of things, and to the value judgements which we place upon them, as mentioned by Lao Tzu. In a lecture on these particular topics, paraphrasing the writing of Lao Tzu, Shih-Tien said, All physical things consist of, or possess, certain elementary, natural qualities, such as size, shape and colour. Since the universal principle

(the Tao) encompasses all things, so it must encompass their natural qualities. Natural qualities are general to all things, but in order to relate to a quality, we think of it as it exists relative to a particular thing, and to ourselves. We therefore think of a specific quality according to how it is manifested through one particular thing when compared with another. Thus, we judge one thing to be 'big', compared with another thing which we think of as 'small', one sound 'noisy', and another 'quiet'. Equally, we judge and compare by thinking of the aesthetic quality of a thing in terms of its manifestations, 'beautiful' or 'ugly'; morality in terms of 'good' or 'bad'; possession in terms of 'having' or 'not having'; ability in terms of 'ease'or 'difficulty'; length in terms of 'long' or 'short'; height in terms of 'high' or 'low'; sound in terms of 'noisy' or 'quiet'; light in terms of 'brightness' or 'darkness'. Although many of the manifestations which we compare are judged by us to be opposites, one to the other, they are not in opposition, but are complementary, for even extremes are nothing other than aspects or specific examples of the quality which encompasses them. Both 'big' and 'small' are manifestations or examples of size, 'young' and 'old'are examples of age, 'noise' and 'quietness' are degrees of sound, and 'brightness' and 'darkness' are extremes of light. As Lao Tzu told us in the Tao Te Ching, it is the nature of the ordinary man to compare and judge the manifestations of the natural qualities inherent in things and in situations. It is not wrong to do this, but we should not delude ourselves by allowing the belief that we thereby describe a quality of that thing or situation, rather than a particular manifestation of that quality. Whilst all judgements are comparative, a judgement is frequently, if not always, relative to the individual who makes that judgement, and also to the time at which it is made. To the young child, the father may be old, but when the son reaches that age, it is unlikely that he will consider himself old. To the child, the garden fence is high, but when the child grows bigger, the same fence is low. The adult in his physical prime knows that to run ten miles, which is easy at that time, will become more difficult as he becomes older, but that the patience required to walk will become easier. The sage knows that judgements such as 'old' and 'young', 'big' and 'small', 'difficult' and 'easy', or 'leading' and 'following' relate as much to the person making that judgement, as they relate to the thing or action described. The teacher Kotan used a koan on 'making judgements', thus providing an exercise for his students, by means of which they could expand their awareness, and also experience something of the dangers of making judgements from only limited information..... Consider a sage and an ordinary man sitting on the side of a hill in the late evening. They are watching the sun setting, and looking down on the road below. They remain on the hillside, even when darkness has fallen, and they both see the light of two lanterns approaching, one yellow, the other red, bobbing gently as their bearers pass by. From the relative positions of the two lights, the ordinary man knows that the bearer of the yellow lantern leads the bearer of the red. As he watches, he sees the red lantern draw level with the yellow, and as they pass beneath him, the red lantern preceding the yellow. He wonders why the two lantern bearers do

not walk side by side. The sage, who has seen what his companion has seen, thinks it right that the two travellers should do as they have done, to walk side by side through the night, neither of them leading or following. Obviously each of the observers was looking at the same situation, and each of them saw the same thing happening. The difference was not in what they saw, but how they construed (put together in their minds) the elements of what they saw. The sage realised that there was more to the situation than could actually be seen. To an observer sitting on the opposite side of the road, it would have seemed that the red lantern at first led the yellow. The two lantern bearers of course knew that they walked side by side. It is worth noting that if the sage wished to correct his companion in a 'Zen manner' he would have done so in daylight, when it would have been possible to see the bearers of the lanterns as well as the lanterns. His friend would then have seen how the optical illusion occured. Without seeing the physical surroundings he would have found it either difficult or impossible. Seeing the totality of a situation is frequently difficult, and in many instances this is due to our own inexperience. When a Zen teacher realises that a student is too inexperienced to appreciate the reality of a situation, he might 'provide the experience' (as illustrated in the story of the student and the rock) or he might simply say nothing at that time..... The student Kaku asked his old teacher Tokusan, "Even the sages of long ago must have gone somewhere. Where did they go?" Tokusan replied that he did not know, and Kaku, hoping to 'sting' his teacher into making a more positive reply, responded rudely, "When you were younger you would have replied as quickly as a running horse, but now you answer like a turtle." Tokusan sat quietly, and said nothing. However, the next day, when Kaku was making him a cup of tea, Tokusan asked him kindly, "How is that koan you spoke of yesterday, have you managed to resolve it yet?" Kaku, pleased that his teacher had remembered his question, smiled and said, "You are more like my old Tokusan today." Tokusan did not answer. Of course, Tokusan knew that what had prompted Kaku's question was his own old age, and that the student was concerned for him. However, since the student failed to say this directly, the teacher did not respond when the matter was put to him indirectly. The next day he opened up the topic again, but Kaku was still unable to express his concern as he felt it, only his relief. The teacher therefore said no more, since there was no more for him to say which his student could have understood or 'dealt with' at that time. The story of Tokusan and Kaku is sometimes used as a koan. Responding to it in that light, Tekisui wrote the teisho,

"So it is that the sage is aware that he who seems to lead does not always lead, and that he who seems to follow does not always follow." Suiteki also wrote a teisho on the same koan, expressing his admiration for Tokusan, writing the verse, "The blossoms that above the leaves do grow might come to summer fullness first. But if we care to look beneath the leaf, a flower of even greater beauty may be found. When looking for a master or a guide, look to the spirit of the man, and not to the clothes his spirit wears." The teacher Ishida, responding to the same koan, changed the theme only slightly when he provided his own teisho, "Just like the rock which remains unmoved by storm and tempest, so the wise man remains unmoved by words of praise or blame." Considering the history of Zen, and its acceptance by the samurai warriors of the Kamakura period in Japan, it seems outwardly strange that Zen teaches us to be humble and respectful, but possibly even more strange is the fact that it teaches us to seek, 'Love, peace, and the freedom to grow.' The reality of Zen, especially with regard to the samurai, is that it told them the Zen practitioner should avoid bloodshed, but be prepared to defend his own honour, and that of his teachers. However, there is a paradox even here, for we are also taught that we should not defend ourselves with a sword if attacked with a paper streamer. This is illustrated in a story told by the student Getsuro, Like all true roshi, when it is necessary for our teacher to be hard, he is hard. But with those who are prepared to make the effort he is compassionate. However, there is one aspect of his behaviour which I could not understand for some time. This is his refusal to defend himself, or allow his students to defend any attack on his integrity. On more than one occasion he has raised his finger to ask that we stop when we have attempted to defend or explain his actions. When I asked him why he allowed such attacks to replied, go undefended, he

"When you learn more of the Tao, then you will know the answer to that question. Meanwhile, simply accept that if one is attacked with a blunt sword, there is no need to defend oneself as though the fight were meaningful." His reply puzzled me at the time, but I knew he had used my question to give me a koan, and that to question him further would be to deny myself the opportunity of resolving that koan.

As usually happens in these situations, the answer came when I was least expecting it. Some time later I was reading a book by Basho, the great Zen poet, when I found a saying which showed me the reason why a roshi does not defend himself against those who have no knowledge or experience of the Tao. It is that the roshi knows that what makes him as he is has been handed down to him through countless generations of teaching, and that there is no way to the understanding of it other than by learning through one's own experience. I went to my teacher and told him that I had found a solution to my koan in the words of Basho. He asked me which particular words did I mean, and I told him, "Where there is the master, there is truth. Respect for the master is respect for the truth." He bowed, and as he raised his head, he smiled. And as he smiled, so his face lit up, as it always does when one of his students passes through another gate." Getsuro's teacher was believed to have been Suiteki. If so, it may seem strange that this same teacher is said by some to have threatened to kill an ex-student who insulted his own teacher. There are a number of accounts of this incident. One of them, told by Bokutaku (who knew Suiteki) reads, It seems that Suiteki allowed into his school, a student who was an imposter; somebody who should never be allowed into a Zen group. When the teacher discovered that the student had no honour he discharged him from the school. But the damage was already done, and Suiteki had to withdraw from teaching for some time. He disbanded his group of students until he could resolve his own koan. Whilst the teacher was doing kensho (inner battle) with his koan during the next few months, the dishonourable ex-student at first described him as a liar, and then as a fool. He then began to insult Suiteki's teacher, saying that he must have been a fool for giving Suiteki his inka (seal of approval, or qualification) as roshi. It was at this stage, I believe, that Suiteki would have become angry. Not only had he felt obliged to withdraw from his teaching, but he felt he had lost the respect of his students. As it was to transpire, he had not lost their respect, but he did not know it at the time. It is known that the teacher and ex-student did meet again, and that they fought, but in unarmed combat. It seems that the ex-student got the worst of it. Although Suiteki did not come out of it unscathed, it is not surprising that he was able to look after himself in such a combat, for like many roshi, Suiteki had entered Zen as a young man through Budo (the martial arts). In his youth he had been adept at self-defence and unarmed combat, which he pursued as a sport and had been at one time champion of his province. The ex-student had come to Suiteki's home, and a fight ensued. To protect himself from too great an injury, it seems that the teacher had used a neck-lock, but that the ex-student would not stop even when the teacher applied some pressure to his neck. Rather than increase the pressure, and thus risk killing his opponent, it is likely that the teacher would have struck him, or applied pressure to his eyes or genitals. This is considered appropriate in such a situation, and although it is not to be condoned, it is preferable to risking serious or permanent injury. A little later, when Suiteki heard that the ex- student was trying to trap him and to have him convicted of assault, the teacher is said to have remarked, half

jokingly, that perhaps he should have continued to have squeezed his neck. Zen roshi (and advanced Zen students also, for that matter) know that they owe a tremendous debt to their teachers, and to their teachers' teachers, back to the Bodhidharma, the twenty-eighth Buddhist patriarch, who founded the Zen movement. Even so, it seems strange that a teacher who acted in the peace-loving manner described by Getsuro could behave also in a manner such as that described by Bokutaku. The description of a roshi by an unknown student might help to explain the paradox..... "It is no secret that the Zen roshi is often depicted as either a dragon or tiger. Look at a picture of the sages of old; it is by no means uncommon for the sage to be shown with a massive tiger, which, although usually curled up, still looks out of the corner of its eye in a manner sharp enough to keep us on our toes. Beside the beast is the lohan (sage) or roshi. In such pictures, the human being quite often looks almost benign at first glance. But if we look again, we realise that whilst Chuang-Tzu may have been a butterfly, the teacher is quite often a tiger." After seeing his own teacher literally kick a novice out of the school (following months of rudeness by the novice) another student wrote, "The tiger is not dead, but merely sleeps. Tread warily lest he wakes. "Just because he purrs, do not be deceived and pull his tail, or you will learn how speedily he moves when woken from his purring sleep. "If you would play with tigers, and tweak their tails, do not choose this toothless one, for his gums are very hard. Go choose a tiger cub and play with him, for those who play with tigers, live dangerously, and might regret their play." When asked about the seemingly contradictory behaviour of roshi towards their students, Tekisui is said to have replied, "It is quite simple. Above all, the roshi is just. Not only to the student, but also to the situation. He responds to the situation, and so responds justly to the student, to himself, and to whoever or whatever forms the environment they are in. Just as a painter will respond to a peaceful scene by painting a peaceful picture, and to a stormy scene by painting a stormy picture, so the teacher responds to peacefulness with peacefulness, and to discourtesy with the courtesy of a discourteous reply. In this way the student learns to respond to the totality of the environment, and ceases to separate himself from it. This is known as 'doing justice to the environment'." In Zen terms then, it seems that 'acting with justice' is both 'repaying like

with like', and 'being in harmony with the environment'. The second of these should not be taken too literally though, since avoiding 'unnecessary hurt and needless harm' (which of course is part of compassion) is also an important Zen precept. In real life terms, reconciling the precepts on justice and compassion is frequently a koan which leads to kensho and its attendant effects of soul searching, and even personal crisis. Those who criticise Zen, sometimes base their criticisms on the claim that Zen creates these dilemmas. Of course, this is not the case, for real life abounds in such dilemmas, and all thinking people are aware of them.... Whilst Zen increases our awareness of the anomalies and paradoxes with which life presents us, it also helps us develop the ability to deal with them. In some instances this is through action, and in others by acceptance of and reconciliation with 'the human condition', which we all inherit. To criticise Zen on the basis that it creates these problems is therefore to criticise it because it takes a realistic view of life. In many instances, where such problems never seem to arise for the individual, the 'peace of mind' which such an individual seems to enjoy is due to to the fact that he or she prefers to close their eyes to reality. This is an attitude which Zen quite strongly and openly criticizes in its own followers. BEING AND BECOMING Give thanks to those from whom you learn, or who have otherwise helped you. Know that there is no shame in questioning. Be diligent in your practice, and on hearing the music of the absolute, do not be so foolish as to try to sing its song; simply be content with the wild strawberry's taste. Seek neither brilliance nor the void; just think deeply, and work hard. To retain good health, remember to renew the source. When still, be as the mountain; when in movement be as the dragon riding the wind. Know that this instant is your eternity. Be aware at all times, like the tiger which only seems to sleep, and at all times let the mind be like running water. Know that material things and worldly wealth are of little worth, compared with love and peace, and the freedom to grow. Seek the courage to be with your whole being, so that your life may become a time of blossoming. Whilst the details of Zen training differ between the various sects or forms of Zen, one element which is common to all is 'zazen', or seated meditation. As has been previously stated, one purpose of meditation is to 'let go of the ego', but another outcome is that it reduces the unhealthy effects of stress by

promoting relaxation. For this reason, zazen is referred to in the precepts as, 'renewing the source, in order to retain good health.' Although some people consider meditation to be somewhat mystical, it functions at a very basic anatomical and physiological level. The key to its success probably lies in the 'diaphragmatic breathing' which is employed. This involves using the diaphragm to clear stale air from the lower lobes of the lungs. This in turn enables the breathing rate to be reduced without causing oxygen deprivation. The effect of the slower breathing rate is that the metabolic rate decreases, aiding the relaxation response. As physical relaxation progresses, so the conscious mind 'relaxes' or at least becomes less active. The result of diaphragmatic breathing when used in conjunction with 'right posture' is physical and psychological 'stillness', and to help us achieve this we are advised, 'When still, be as the mountain'. We are taught that the entire body must be stable so as not to distract from the psychological aspects of our meditation. Although there seems to be no argument with regard to the posture recommended for the upper part of the body, different 'schools' teach different leg positions. Some schools insist on the 'full lotus' position, with both legs crossed so that each foot is turned, sole uppermost, resting on the opposite thigh. Other schools are content that zazen is practiced in the 'semi-lotus' or 'easy posture' (so- called!), with one foot on the mat, and the other placed either on the mat or on the opposite calf. There has been much debate in Zen about the meditative postures, and this always seem to hinge on the necessity of using the full lotus position..... It came to pass that there was a meeting of Bodhisattvas in Nirvana, and the conversation turned into 'Dharma combat', each participant playfully outdoing the others in their understanding and wisdom. One master insisted that both legs must be crossed for zazen, arguing that the full lotus position must be used, as employed by the Buddha himself. The sage argued that this is essential to gaining enlightenment. However, another master was heard to mutter, "What a pity! What a pity!" On being asked what was his point, he replied, "What a pity, for it means that the one-legged man can never become enlightened." Considering the expected outcome of meditation, the reference to 'deep thought and hard work' might seem somewhat paradoxical. In this instance though, 'deep thought' means concentrating on what is being undertaken, and 'hard work' refers to the fact that although zazen appears to be both simple and easy, it is fact neither, particularly since most of us tend to 'strive' for a perfection which we later learn is impossible to achieve. Thus, in telling us that we should 'seek neither brilliance nor the void', the precepts are saying that it is impossible to meditate if we are consciously thinking of or striving to achieve a particular state, whether it is 'enlightenment' (brilliance) or 'emptiness' (the void). The same advice holds good for the whole of Zen training for there should be no 'expectations'. The Zen student is always advised to undertake the training with much the same attitude as should be used in undertaking anything involving the development of skills and abilities, this being quite simply to work at it, and to 'enjoy' it. To the outsider, it may not seem enjoyable, but those who have undertaken training in athletics, or any activity involving physical movement, such as acting, playing a musical instrument or dancing, will

appreciate that the word 'enjoyment' has many shades of meaning. When the term 'movement' is used in the precepts it can refer to 'movement of thought', movement of the entire body ('ambulant movement') or to that of the abdomen rising and falling in regular and rhythmic waves, without disruption, as in zazen. The first of these can be equated with 'the mind like running water' (discussed below), and the other two, to meditation, both in stillness and action. When the practitioner of zazen has become proficient, although the meditation produces stillness, it is not without its own unique form of energy. Furthermore, when diaphragmatic breathing has become natural, the physical action is smooth and continuous, and has its own definite aesthetic quality. It was therefore likened (somewhat poetically, or perhaps 'earthily') by the early Taoists to, 'the dragon riding the wind'. Having learnt to practice meditation in zazen (which literally means 'seated meditation') the process is extended so that it becomes possible to achieve what is termed 'meditation in movement'. This is the 'secret' of success in the martial arts, for meditation in movement is the root of 'chi' ('ki' in Japanese), which is employed in Kendo, Aikido and Pa-Qua etc., at the instant when a sudden burst of energy is involved. In Kendo and Karate, for example, it results in the 'kiai', the sometimes terrifying shout which accompanies the exhalation at the instant of maximum exertion. A similar action occurs in Zen (although rarely) when it is necessary for the roshi to emphasize a point more than usual. The 'shout' used is usually 'Datz!' or 'Kwatz', neither of which have any literal translation, but both of which have immense power and authority which are used on such occasions in order to increase the awareness of the students. 'Awareness' is of primary importance in all aspects of Zen training. This is why we are advised in the precepts to 'be aware at all times, like the tiger which only seems to sleep, and at all times let the mind be like running water.' If we observe an animal such as the tiger when it is asleep, it is perfectly relaxed, but at the slightest sign (sound or smell) of danger, the response of the animal is immediate; it is as though the instinctive preparedness of the animal does not in any way disrupt its natural sleep pattern. Zen argues that the high level of sensory awareness achieved by such animals as the tiger is a natural state in humankind also, but one which fades with disuse. Some aspects of the training help to improve both sensory awareness and speed of response. ..................................End of file.................................. 5 of 10