Genjōkōan

When all dharmas are the buddha-dharma, there is delusion and awakening, practice, birth, death, buddhas, sentient beings.

When the ten thousand dharmas are without self, there is neither delusion nor awakening, neither buddhas nor sentient beings, neither birth nor extinction.

The Way of the Buddha fundamentally consists in knowing oneself. To know oneself is to forget oneself. To forget oneself is to be actualized by the ten thousand dharmas. To be actualized by the ten thousand dharmas is to let fall the body and mind of oneself and others. No trace of awakening remains, and this tracelessness continues without end.

When a man first seeks the buddha-dharma, he moves away from it. When the buddha-dharma is correctly transmitted to oneself, one is at once an ordinary man.

When you sail in a boat and look at the shore, you may think the shore is moving. But when you look closely at the boat, you see that it is the boat that moves forward. In the same way, when you examine the ten thousand dharmas with a confused body and mind, you may suppose that your mind and nature are permanent. When you practice intimately and return to the place where you are, it becomes clear that the ten thousand dharmas have no self.

Wood becomes ash, and ash does not become wood again. Yet do not suppose that ash is future and wood is past. You must understand that wood, in the dharma position of wood, completely possesses before and after, and yet before and after are cut off. Ash, in the dharma position of ash, completely possesses before and after. Just as wood does not become wood again after becoming ash, a man does not return to life after death. However, let it not be said that life transforms into death — this is an established dharma position in Buddhism. For this reason, death is called the decline of that which is not born, and life is called the appearance of that which does not die.

When one speaks of water, ice does not come from outside; when one speaks of ice, water is not separate. Spring and autumn, summer and winter are dharma positions.

A man attains awakening as the moon is reflected in water. The moon does not get wet, the water is not broken. Although its light is vast and great, it is reflected in a little water. The whole moon and the whole sky are reflected in a drop of dew on the grass, in a single drop of water. Awakening does not destroy the man, just as the moon does not pierce the water. The man does not hinder awakening, just as a drop of dew does not hinder the moon in the sky. The depth [of the reflection] is proportional to the height [of the moon]. [As for the duration, examine whether] the moon is long or short in large and small waters.

When the dharma has not yet filled your whole body and mind, you think it is already sufficient. When the dharma fills your body and mind, you think something is lacking.

For example, when you sail on the open sea beyond all mountains and look in the four directions, it is only round, and there is no other kind of view. Yet this great sea is not round, and it is not square — the other qualities of the sea are endless. [For a fish, it is a palace. For a dragon, it is a necklace of precious stones.] Only to our eyes, at this moment, it is round. The ten thousand dharmas are thus. In the dust of the world and beyond the dust of the world, there are many aspects, but we see and understand only what the eye of our practice is able to reach.

To hear the family of all dharmas, we must know that in addition to spherical and square appearances, the other qualities of oceans and mountains are still numerous — there are worlds in the four directions. It is not only thus around you, but also directly beneath your feet, and in a single drop of water.

When a fish swims in water, there is no end to the water, however much it swims. When a bird flies in the sky, there is no end to the sky, however much it flies. Yet fish and bird have never been separated from water or sky from the beginning. Only, when the need is great, the use is great, and when the demand is small, the use is small. In this way, each uses the totality [of its environment] without anyone reaching the limit [of its domain]. But if a bird were to leave the sky, it would die at once, and if a fish were to leave the water, it would die at once. We must understand that [for the fish], water is life, [and for the bird], the sky is life. A bird is life. A fish is life. Life may be the bird, and life may be the fish. We may go further than this. Let there be practice and confirmation of awakening, and let life last long — this is the principle.

Yet if a bird or a fish were to try to cross the limit of water or sky before exploring its own domain, it would find no path in the water or in the sky. When you find this place, this action is actualized as the manifest kōan (genjōkōan). When you find this path, this action is the manifest kōan. This path and this place are neither large nor small, neither self nor other; they have not existed before and do not appear now — such as they are.

Thus, when a man practices and confirms all dharmas with himself as reference, when he masters his self and clarifies the ten thousand dharmas, it is an error for him to take his own body and mind as reference and to see all things beyond himself. To study the dharma of the buddha is to study oneself. To study oneself is to forget oneself. To forget oneself is to be confirmed by the ten thousand dharmas. To be confirmed by the ten thousand dharmas is to let fall the body and mind of oneself and others. All trace of awakening falls away, and one lives continuously from this tracelessness of awakening.

A monk asked Zen master Hōtetsu of Mount Mayoku whether he used a fan. The master said: "I use a fan." The monk said: "The nature of wind is permanent and there is nowhere it is absent. Why then do you use a fan?" The master said: "You know only that the nature of wind is permanent, but you do not yet understand what it means that nothing is absent." The monk said: "What does it mean, that nothing is absent?" At that moment, the master simply waved the fan. The monk bowed reverently.

The confirmation of the experience of the dharma of the buddha, and the living way of correct transmission, are thus. To say that because wind is permanent we have no need of a fan, and that one can cool oneself even without a fan, knows neither permanence nor the nature of wind. It is because wind is permanent that the wind of the buddha's house makes the earth of the buddhas manifest as gold and actualizes the sweet fragrance of the river of milking cows.