Art by Mark Morse
Gateless Gate, Case 5
Kyogen said, “Its like a man up in a tree, hanging from a branch with his mouth; his hands can’t grasp a bough, his feet won’t reach one. Under the tree there is another man, who asks him the meaning of Bodhidharma’s coming from the west. If he doesn’t answer, he evades his duty. If he answers, he will lose his life. What should he do?
What does it mean to be up the tree like the person Kyogen is speaking about? If we respond to the question we will fall and probably die. However, if we do not speak, we ignore the questioner and fail in our responsibility to the Dharma. Does this seem like an absurd dilemma the Master has created for us? Perhaps, and yet it can be understood in such a way that it’s remarkably relevant to our lives today. Continue reading
It is a cold morning in late January. Since wood is the only source of heat I use at this time of year I need to grab my hat and coat and head out to the woodpile in order to warm my home. As I feel the cool air I pause momentarily, realizing my relationship to the cold, the warmth of the fire and the wood. It is a relationship as old as the first humans who gathered by a fire to keep safe and ward off the chill of the night. Now, as then, if I don’t go out and return with my sling of wood, it will be a long cold day. In this simple relationship, my actions have a direct and immediate consequence.
This weekend I met our new neighbors. I recently purchased 10 acres of mature forest land on the slopes of a small mountain in northeastern Vermont. The property is fairly remote, being off grid and on a road that is not plowed in winter. There are only a few buildings along the three miles of the road that is drivable during the summer and fall and most of those are seasonal camps. Only two households reside here year-round.
I wanted share something with a seasonal theme, given that spring is almost here. I realize that the spring equinox passed several weeks ago; a day on which the season undoubtedly arrived somewhere, perhaps in Maryland or New Jersey. However those of us who have endured the last few weeks punctuated with spells of cool, damp, weather, giving us frequent downpours of frigid rain and flooding the rivers, know that here in Maine spring has not arrived; we are mired in “mud season.” So, I thought that it would be a good time to look at a koan with a pleasant taste of nature to lift our spirits.
When the Master was about to die, the head monk asked him, “Your Reverence, a hundred years from now where will you be?” “I shall be a water buffalo at the foot of the hill,” said the Master. “Will it be alright for me to follow you?” asked the head monk. “If you follow me, you must hold a stalk of grass in your mouth,” was Puyuan’s reply.
Oh the zazen of the Mahayana!