Imperfect minds grasp,
Winds scatter cherry blossoms—
Truth fades with the bloom.
The Master and the Cup
A student spent forty years reading every scroll in the empire. He climbed the highest peak to see Master Ryokan.
“I have studied all my life,” the student said. “Now, I wish to map the infinite cosmos before my short time on Earth ends.”
Ryokan said nothing. He handed the student a hollow bamboo straw.Then, he led the student down to the shore of the vast, roaring ocean.
“Before you begin your map,” Ryokan instructed, “use this straw to empty the sea into this tiny teacup.”
“That is impossible!” the student cried. “The ocean is endless, the cup is small, and my life is far too short!”
Ryokan smiled. “The ocean is reality. The cup is your mind. Why do you spend your fleeting breath trying to fit the boundless sea into a ceramic dish?”
At that moment, the student understood, dropped the straw, and simply listened to the waves.
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The moment we are born we are dying.
Master Kazan stood with his disciple, Jōshin, in the monastery orchard. A single autumn leaf, dry and curled like an old man’s hand, detached from its branch and drifted to the soil.
Jōshin looked down at his own hands, then at the weathered, wrinkled skin of his master.
“Master,” Jōshin asked, "my bones ache in the winter, and my hair turns the color of ash. Why must the body betray us by breaking down?
"Kazan pointed to the fallen leaf. “Is the leaf betraying the tree by turning brown?”
“No,” Jōshin replied, “it is just the season.”
“Your aching bones and silver hair are not a betrayal,” Kazan said. “They are the dharma drum striking the hour. The mind imagines a body that stands still, but the flesh is a river. Aging is not the loss of life, but life moving forward.”
Jōshin frowned. “But it brings pain, weakness, and decay. How can we find peace in a vessel that is constantly falling apart?”
Kazan gripped Jōshin’s shoulder with his frail, trembling hand. “When you look at a mirror, what do you see?”
“I see an aging monk, turning into dust.”
Kazan struck Jōshin’s chest with his fist. “Who is the one who knows the dust is turning?”
Jōshin went silent. Kazan smiled, his deep wrinkles framing his eyes like ripples on a pond. “The temple walls crumble so the sky can be seen. Do not cling to the wall. Become the sky.”
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Only certain types understand the assignment..
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