In the early days of the Meiji era there lived a well-known wrestler called O-nami, Great Waves.

O-nami was immensely strong and knew the art of wrestling. In his private bouts he defeated even his teacher, but in public he was so bashful that his own pupils threw him.

O-nami felt he should go to a Zen master for help. Hakuju, a wandering teacher, was stopping in a little temple nearby, so O-nami went to see him and told him of his trouble.

"Great Waves is your name," the teacher advised, "so stay in this temple tonight. Imagine that you are those billows. You are no longer a wrestler who is afraid. You are those huge waves sweeping everything before them, swallowing all in their path. Do this and you will be the greatest wrestler in the land."

The teacher retired. O-nami sat in meditation trying to imagine himself as waves. He thought of many different things. Then gradually he turned more and more to the feeling of the waves. As the night advanced the waves became larger and larger. They swept away the flowers in their vases. Even the Buddha in the shrine was inundated. Before dawn the temple was nothing but the ebb and flow of an immense sea.

In the morning the teacher found O-nami meditating, a faint smile on his face. He patted the wrestler's shoulder. "Now nothing can disturb you," he said. "You are those waves. You will sweep everything before you."

The same day O-nami entered the wrestling contests and won. After that, no one in Japan was able to defeat him.

A young physician in Tokyo named Kusuda met a college friend who had been studying Zen. The young doctor asked him what Zen was.

"I cannot tell you what it is," the friend replied, "but one thing is certain. If you understand Zen, you will not be afraid to die."

"That's fine," said Kusuda. "I will try it. Where can I find a teacher?"

"Go to the master Nan-in," the friend told him.

So Kusuda went to call on Nan-in. He carried a dagger nine and a half inches long to determine whether or not the teacher was afraid to die.

When Nan-in saw Kusuda he exclaimed: "Hello, friend. How are you? We haven't seen each other for a long time!"

This perplexed Kusuda, who replied: "We have never met before."

"That's right," answered Nan-in. "I mistook you for another physician who is receiving instruction here."

With such a begining, Kusuda lost his chance to test the master, so reluctantly he asked if he might receive instruction.

Nan-in said: "Zen is not a difficult task. If you are a physician, treat your patients with kindness. That is Zen."

Kusuda visited Nan-in three times. Each time Nan-in told him the same thing. "A phsisician should not waste time around here. Go home and take care of your patients."

It was not clear to Kusuda how such teaching could remove the fear of death. So on the forth visit he complained: "My friend told me that when one learns Zen one loses his fear of death. Each time I come here you tell me to take care of my patients. I know that much. If that is your so-called Zen, I am not going to visit you anymore."

Nan-in smiled and patted the doctor. "I have been too strict with you. Let me give you a koan." He presented Kusuda with Joshu's Mu to work over, which is the first mind-enlightening problem in the book called The Gateless Gate.

Kusuda pondered this problem of Mu (No-Thing) for two years. At length he thought he had reached certainty of mind. But his teacher commented: "You are not in yet."

Kusuda continued in concentration for another yet and a half. His mind became placid. Problems dissolved. No-Thing became the truth. He served his patients well and, without even knowing it, he was free from concern of life and death.

Then he visited Nan-in, his old teacher just smiled.





As an aside I happen to know that Kasuda went on to become an excelent doctor, performing near miracles under conditions many found impossible to work in (such as removing an appendix in a moving chariot)

Allow me to share one I heard a long time ago from a friend.

An old monk sat by the side of the road. With his eyes closed, his legs crossed and his hands folded in his lap, he sat. In deep meditation, he sat.

Suddenly his zazen was interrupted by the harsh and demanding voice of a samurai warrior. "Old man! Teach me about heaven and hell!"

At first, as though he had not heard, there was no perceptible response from the monk. But gradually he began to open his eyes, the faintest hint of a smile playing around the corners of his mouth as the samurai stood there, waiting impatiently, growing more and more agitated with each passing second.

"You wish to know the secrets of heaven and hell?" replied the monk at last. "You who are so unkempt. You whose hands and feet are covered with dirt. You whose hair is uncombed, whose breath is foul, whose sword is all rusty and neglected. You who are ugly and whose mother dresses you funny. You would ask me of heaven and hell?"

The samurai uttered a vile curse. He drew his sword and raised it high above his head. His face turned to crimson and the veins on his neck stood out in bold relief as he prepared to sever the monk's head from its shoulders.

"That is hell," said the old monk gently, just as the sword began its descent.

In that fraction of a second, the samurai was overcome with amazement, awe, compassion and love for this gentle being who had dared to risk his very life to give him such a teaching. He stopped his sword in mid-flight and his eyes filled with grateful tears.

"And that," said the monk, "is heaven."

I could not have said it better myself - I will ponder your thought on this day.

Just before Ninakawa passed away the Zen master Ikkyu visited him. "Shall I lead you on?" Ikkyu asked.

Ninakawa replied: "I came here alone and I go alone. What help could you be to me?"

Ikkyu answered: "If you think you really come and go, that is your delusion. Let me show you the path on which there is no coming and no going."

With his words, Ikkyu had revealed the path so clearly that Ninakawa smilled and passed away.

Thus spake the master programmer:

"Let the programmers be many and the managers few - then all will be productive."

The Tao of Programming

I will not be posting my thought of the day for a little bit. The thoughts I am having are not fit to be put to writing.

I will resume posting my daily Koan when my thoughts are more worthy.

I do hope that another with experience with Zen will continue for me.

I'm not a Zen teacher, prophet, or anything of the sort...

I have said nothing on this thread because while I understand the messages in the stories, a small but significant part of me has disagreed with what happens in the stories, themselves.

For instance, in the first story... It's all well and good that the husband reformed his drunken ways and learned the ways of Zen, but now he has left his wife and children altogether. Where was his duty to the family he swore to live with, look after, and care for? (Even if such vows are not spoken aloud, that is part of what is being a family is all about.) To me, it would seem that if his eyes were truly opened, he would have repaid his debt to the teacher by being a better husband, not by abandoning his family altogether...

That's just my opinion... I'm not skilled in the ways of zen, but I do have a bit of a parable, if that's allowable, instead.

In that day and age, when a man became a monk, or priest, the temple, or the community took care of the family while he is away, so that the priest or monk could focus on his new duty.

That may be, but that's just one area where Japanese traditional view and I don't mesh too well...

When one became a monk in those days, one had to give up any individual attatchments in order to focus on aiding the people as a whole rather than focusing on just a few. It is a concept that many western people have dificulty with. The people has a whole comes before the family group, which comes before your elders, who come before ones self. To give up ones family is considered throughout the orient as being either the greatest crime, or the greatest sacrifice a person can commit (in several of those cultures it is actually both). A way of showing what the monk is willing to sacrifice in order to attain enlightenment that he may bring it to others.


Never underestimate the strength of a man who walks away from the most important thing in his culture - by comparison his own life means little.

It is indeed not to be underestimated...but to my eyes, the man in the story valued his family very little, else he wouldn't have treated them so.

It greatly lessens the "sacrifice" he made. To my eyes, it was more of an opportunity for him.

This is often told slightly differently as a joke... I prefer to think of it as a modern parable. It is Christian in origin, rather than Zen, but I think it still counts.

...

A flash flood caught a small town completely by surprise. As the flood waters rose quickly, residents rushed to rooftops. Those with boats went out to help get victims to safety. On one rooftop, a priest waited patiently.

By and by, a rowboat came by, and the driver called out to the priest to jump in. The priest responded, "I will not, because there are many who need to be saved. I shall be fine; God will save me." And the rowboat proceeded on to save others.

As the floodwaters continued to rise, a man driving a motorboat came by, and offered to save the priest. "No," responded the priest, "There are still many others who need to be saved. Don't worry about me; God will save me." And the man drove his motorboat to help bring other people to safety.

As the floodwaters rose above the rooftops, the force of the water became too great for boats, and a helicopter was brought in. As it passed over the priest's house, they lowered a rope ladder and called out for him to grab on. Again, the priest declined to be saved, calling up to them, "God will save me!" He pointed to a nearby house, where a family still waited for rescue. The helicopter moved on.

Finally, the waters overtook every last rooftop in town, and the priest was swept away and drowned.

He rose into Heaven, furious, and confronted God.

"Father, have I not been faithful to you for all these years?"

God smiled, already knowing where this was going. "You have."

"Have I not promoted your word and urged the people of my town to love?"

"You have."

"Then why didn't you save me?"

"People with three different vehicles came to rescue you: a rowboat, a motorboat, and a helicopter. These people were risking their lives to save others, and were doing my work, of their own will.

"It was a nice gesture on your part, though; sacrificing yourself to save all those people..."

...

I know; I told it differently. I told it how I like it. It's funny as a joke, but it made me think more than it made me laugh the first time I heard it. And it made me smile.

I hope this is acceptable...

Are you certain you do not practice Zen? That was exactly the kind of thoughts Master Li tried to drive home at the temple. I must not be ready yet, because although thought provoking such words still do not move me.

The fault is the student's not the teacher's. Always has been, always will be.

I no longer meditate; I am prone to fits of rage during the day; I am hard on myself and on others. I couldn't claim to follow Zen any more than I could claim to follow a purple emu with green stripes...who lives on a cloud of fabric softener dryer sheets eating the finest cell phones for breakfast every day.

I am just a man, doing his damnedest to try and follow what he believes. I know I have many shortcomings; I probably don't try hard enough to fix those.

I am no Zen artist.

There have been recent messages suggesting that I retain a hope that someday a cure might be found for my vampirism. This has weighed heavily on my mind, and I have struggled to express my thoughts on the matter. Seemingly, quite by accident, I had an urge to Recall a memory from my youth. It was an old one, a story told before I was born. It has been told and retold, and I was about seven when I heard it retold. I considered posting it on a new thread, but somehow . . . this one seems appropriate. And it goes like this.

Let me tell you a story—a parable.

There once was a man who wanted something very much. It seemed more important than anything else in his life. In order for him to have his desire, he incurred a great debt.

He had been warned about going into that much debt, and particularly about his creditor. But it seemed so important for him to do what he wanted to do and to have what he wanted right now. He was sure he could pay for it later.

So he signed a contract. He would pay it off some time along the way. He didn’t worry too much about it, for the due date seemed such a long time away. He had what he wanted now, and that was what seemed important.

The creditor was always somewhere in the back of his mind, and he made token payments now and again, thinking somehow that the day of reckoning really would never come.

But as it always does, the day came, and the contract fell due. The debt had not been fully paid. His creditor appeared and demanded payment in full.

Only then did he realize that his creditor not only had the power to repossess all that he owned, but the power to cast him into prison as well.

“I cannot pay you, for I have not the power to do so,” he confessed.

“Then,” said the creditor, “we will exercise the contract, take your possessions, and you shall go to prison. You agreed to that. It was your choice. You signed the contract, and now it must be enforced.”

“Can you not extend the time or forgive the debt?” the debtor begged. “Arrange some way for me to keep what I have and not go to prison. Surely you believe in mercy? Will you not show mercy?”

The creditor replied, “Mercy is always so one-sided. It would serve only you. If I show mercy to you, it will leave me unpaid. It is justice I demand. Do you believe in justice?”

“I believed in justice when I signed the contract,” the debtor said. “It was on my side then, for I thought it would protect me. I did not need mercy then, nor think I should need it ever. Justice, I thought, would serve both of us equally as well.”

“It is justice that demands that you pay the contract or suffer the penalty,” the creditor replied. “That is the law. You have agreed to it and that is the way it must be. Mercy cannot rob justice.”

There they were: One meting out justice, the other pleading for mercy. Neither could prevail except at the expense of the other.

“If you do not forgive the debt there will be no mercy,” the debtor pleaded.

“If I do, there will be no justice,” was the reply.

Both laws, it seemed, could not be served. They are two eternal ideals that appear to contradict one another. Is there no way for justice to be fully served, and mercy also?

There is a way! The law of justice can be fully satisfied and mercy can be fully extended—but it takes someone else. And so it happened this time.

The debtor had a friend. He came to help. He knew the debtor well. He knew him to be shortsighted. He thought him foolish to have gotten himself into such a predicament. Nevertheless, he wanted to help because he loved him. He stepped between them, faced the creditor, and made this offer.

“I will pay the debt if you will free the debtor from his contract so that he may keep his possessions and not go to prison.”

As the creditor was pondering the offer, the mediator added, “You demanded justice. Though he cannot pay you, I will do so. You will have been justly dealt with and can ask no more. It would not be just.”

And so the creditor agreed.

The mediator turned then to the debtor. “If I pay your debt, will you accept me as your creditor?”

“Oh yes, yes,” cried the debtor. “You save me from prison and show mercy to me.”

“Then,” said the benefactor, “you will pay the debt to me and I will set the terms. It will not be easy, but it will be possible. I will provide a way. You need not go to prison.”

And so it was that the creditor was paid in full. He had been justly dealt with. No contract had been broken. The debtor, in turn, had been extended mercy. Both laws stood fulfilled. Because there was a mediator, justice had claimed its full share, and mercy was fully satisfied.

Um. I.Dont. Get. It. Hint please!

I've heard this same story before Cee. I won't get into it here. Ill find you later.

Holister wrote:I've heard this same story before Cee. I won't get into it here. Ill find you later.

So how about a clew, my smily homie?

In a word - NO!

In another word:

OKAY!

Dork.

Dorky snob.

OK. It sucks.

This guy is the poster boy for the day after pill I swear it.
I bet your parents are just so proud of you.

Some people are just incapable of deep thought, and DeathBlaster is a prime example of that.

It is not his fault he knows no better. Perhaps instead of being unkind you should offer a means to remedy his situation. That way both laws are upheald, justice done, and mercy shown.

Again deathblaster, if you would like I can help remedy the missing portion of your education. I pray for you , child.

Shang Li wrote:It is not his fault he knows no better. Perhaps instead of being unkind you should offer a means to remedy his situation. That way both laws are upheald, justice done, and mercy shown.

Again deathblaster, if you would like I can help remedy the missing portion of your education. I pray for you , child.

Is thhat all yoy go to say, slanty? BORRING!

Lets talk about Cees sudden fetish with six feet under.

Deathblaster, I've got nothin' to say to you, except this - Refer to my signature phrase. This little tidbit of wisdom is something that all people should know. Once you can perceive the difference between the two, then you can start sounding intelligent, even if you're really not.

Okay.

Speaking id not communiating.

Duh.

And I wasnt speakin to you.

No communication nesissary.