Gyōji

The great Way of the buddhas and ancestors invariably possesses the unsurpassed practice-maintenance. The Way circles without interruption; arousing the mind and practicing, bodhi and nirvana—there is not a moment's gap, for practice-maintenance is the circling of the Way. Therefore, it is not a forced action by oneself, nor a forced action by another; it is the practice-maintenance unstained from the very beginning. The merit of this practice-maintenance sustains oneself and sustains others. Its essential meaning is that one's own practice-maintenance receives its merit throughout the ten directions, covering the earth and filling the sky.

Though others may not know it and oneself may not know it, it is precisely so. Therefore, through the practice-maintenance of all buddhas and ancestors, our own practice-maintenance is realized, and our own great Way is penetrated. Through our own practice-maintenance, the practice-maintenance of all buddhas is realized, and the great Way of all buddhas is penetrated. Through our own practice-maintenance, there is this merit of the circling Way.

Because of this, buddha after buddha, ancestor after ancestor, abide as buddha, are not-buddha, are buddha-mind, and become buddha without interruption. Through this practice-maintenance, there are sun, moon, stars, and constellations; through practice-maintenance, there are great earth and empty space; through practice-maintenance, there are environment, body, and mind; through practice-maintenance, there are the four great elements and the five aggregates. Though this practice-maintenance is not a place worldly people cherish, it should be the true refuge for all people. Through the practice-maintenance of all buddhas of past, present, and future, the buddhas of past, present, and future are realized. The merit of that practice-maintenance is never hidden in time; therefore, one arouses the mind and practices. Its merit does not appear in time; therefore, it is not seen, heard, sensed, or known. One should study that though it does not appear, it is never hidden.

Because it is unstained by hiddenness or manifestation, existence or disappearance, the practice-maintenance that realizes oneself—what various dharmas of dependent arising exist in this very moment of hiddenness, such that practice-maintenance occurs, is not understood? This is because the grasping of practice-maintenance is not a new, special realm. Dependent arising is practice-maintenance; one should carefully investigate the effort of study because practice-maintenance is not dependent arising. The practice-maintenance that realizes that practice-maintenance is precisely our present practice-maintenance.

The present of practice-maintenance is not one's own original, fundamental abiding; the present of practice-maintenance does not come or go, enter or exit from oneself. The Way called "present" does not exist prior to practice-maintenance; one calls the realization of practice-maintenance "present." Thus, a single day's practice-maintenance is the seed of all buddhas, the practice-maintenance of all buddhas.

In this practice-maintenance, all buddhas are realized and are practiced; to not practice is to despise all buddhas, to not make offerings to all buddhas, to despise practice-maintenance, to not live and die together with all buddhas, to not study and inquire together. The present blooming of flowers and falling of leaves is the realization of practice-maintenance. Polishing a mirror and breaking a mirror—there is none that is not practice-maintenance. Therefore, to intend to set aside practice-maintenance is, because even setting it aside is itself practice-maintenance, a concealing of the perverse mind that seeks to escape practice-maintenance.

To aspire to proceed toward practice-maintenance, though still resembling an aspiration for practice-maintenance, is like discarding the treasure of one's true father's home and further becoming a destitute child wandering in another land. Even if the wind and water during that wandering do not cause the loss of body and life, one should not discard the treasure of the true father; one still loses the Dharma-treasure of the true father. Therefore, practice-maintenance is the Dharma without a moment of laxity or weariness.

The compassionate father, the great master Shakyamuni Buddha, from the age of nineteen in his Buddha-life, went into the deep mountains to practice. Upon reaching the age of thirty in his Buddha-life, he attained the practice of all sentient beings of the great earth simultaneously realizing the Way. Until he reached the age of eighty in his Buddha-life, he continued to practice in the mountain forests and in pure monasteries. He did not return to the royal palace, nor did he rule over the kingdom's benefits. He maintained the bhikshu's kashaya robe as his garment, and throughout his time in the world, he did not exchange it for another.

He did not exchange his single bowl throughout his life in the world. Not for a single moment or a single day was he alone. He did not refuse the offerings of humans and devas presented during his leisure, and he endured the slander of non-Buddhists. In general, his entire teaching activity was practice. The Buddha's manner of pure robes and begging for food—this, however, is not said to be without practice.

The Eighth Patriarch, the Venerable Mahakasyapa, is the true heir of Shakyamuni Buddha. Even during his lifetime, he diligently practiced the twelve dhuta ascetic practices without negligence. These twelve dhuta practices are: first, not accepting invitations from people, but going on daily alms rounds; also not accepting any money or goods from the bhiksu sangha, even for a single meal. Second, dwelling in the mountains, not lodging in people's houses, towns, or villages. Third, not begging for robes from people, nor accepting robes given by people; only taking discarded cloth from charnel grounds, mending it, and wearing it. Fourth, dwelling under trees in open fields. Fifth, eating only one meal a day; this is also called sankasani. Sixth, not lying down day or night, but only sitting in meditation, sleeping while seated, or practicing walking meditation; this is also called nisadasayoga. Seventh, possessing only three robes, with no extra robes; also not sleeping under covers.

Eighth, residing in charnel grounds, not in Buddhist temples, nor among people; gazing upon the bones of the dead while sitting in meditation and seeking the Way. Ninth, desiring only to dwell alone; not wishing to see people, nor to sleep alongside others. Tenth, first eating fruits and melons, then eating the meal; after eating the meal, not eating fruits or melons again. Eleventh, desiring only to sleep in the open, not under trees or in shelters. Twelfth, not eating meat, nor ghee; not anointing the body with sesame oil. These are called the twelve dhuta practices. The Venerable Mahakasyapa maintained them throughout his life without retreat or regression.

Although he correctly transmitted the Tathagata's True Dharma Eye Treasury, he never abandoned these ascetic practices. Once, the Buddha said, "You are now aged; you should eat the food of the sangha." The Venerable Mahakasyapa replied, "If I had not encountered the Tathagata's appearance in the world, I would have become a pratyekabuddha, dwelling in mountains and forests during my lifetime.

Fortunately, I have met the Tathagata's appearance in the world and have obtained the Dharma's moisture. Nevertheless, I must never eat the sangha's food." The Tathagata praised him. At times, because of his practice of the dhuta austerities, Kasyapa's body became emaciated and worn, and the assembly seemed to treat him lightly. At that time, the Tathagata earnestly summoned Kasyapa and yielded half his seat to him. The Venerable Kasyapa sat upon the Tathagata's seat. Know this: Mahakasyapa is the senior seat in the Buddha's assembly. His lifetime practices cannot be fully recounted.

The Tenth Patriarch, Master Parsva, never once allowed his side to touch a mat throughout his entire life. Although this was the practice of an eighty-year-old elder, he directly transmitted the great dharma at that very time. Because he did not waste a single moment of time, though it was only a three-year effort, he directly transmitted the true eye of sambodhi. The Venerable One was in the womb for sixty years and was born with white hair. He vowed never to lie down, and thus was named the Side-Resting Venerable. Moreover, in the darkness, light emanated from his hand to fetch the sutras. These were extraordinary signs from birth.

The Side-Resting Venerable, at the age of eighty, was on the verge of leaving home and donning the dyed robes. The youths in the city ridiculed him, saying, "You foolish, decrepit old man, how shallow your wisdom! Those who leave home have two tasks: first, to practice meditation, and second, to recite sutras. Now, in your senility, you have nothing to strive for.

You merely intrude upon the pure stream, knowing only how to eat your fill." At that time, the Side-Resting Venerable, hearing these taunts, apologized to the people of the time and made a vow: "Unless I master the principles of the Three Baskets, cut off the desires of the Three Realms, attain the six supernatural powers, and perfect the eight liberations, I will never let my side touch a mat." From then on, feeling there were never enough hours in the day, he practiced walking meditation, sitting meditation, standing, and contemplation. By day he studied the principles and teachings; by night he engaged in serene reflection and concentrated spirit.

Through three continuous years, he mastered the Three Baskets, severed the desires of the Three Realms, and attained the threefold clear knowledge. The people of the time revered him and thus named him the Side-Resting Venerable. Therefore, the Side-Resting Venerable, having been in the womb for sixty years, was only then born. Could there have been no practice within the womb? When he was about to turn eighty after birth, he first sought to leave home and study the Way. From conception, it was one hundred and forty years.

Truly, he was extraordinary, yet his decrepitude was more decrepit than anyone's. He was an elder while in the womb and an elder after birth. Nevertheless, disregarding the scorn of his contemporaries, because his vow and single-minded resolve did not regress, in only three years his practice was accomplished. Who would dare to be lax in seeing a worthy and aspiring to equal them? Do not resent growing old and aged. This life is difficult to fathom—is it life, or is it not life? Is it old age, or is it not old age? The four views are already not the same; the perceptions of all beings are not the same.

One must simply devote one's will and energy to single-minded cultivation and engage in the effort of practice. You should study that seeing life-and-death within practice seems similar; it is not that you practice within life-and-death. People today, even when reaching fifty, sixty, seventy, or eighty years of age, think to neglect practice—this is the utmost folly. However many years you may perceive since birth, this is merely the temporary activity of the human spirit, not the vital matter of studying the Way.

Do not look back upon robust youth or advanced age; you must single-mindedly devote yourself to studying and thoroughly realizing the Way. You should aspire to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the Side-Resting Venerable. Do not stubbornly cling to or regret the heap of dust that is a span of time. Unless you single-mindedly seize the moment, who will pity whom? When the masterless corpse lies uselessly scattered in the wilds, you must observe it rightly, as if making eye contact.

The Sixth Patriarch was a woodcutter from Xinzhou, not one to be called learned. He lost his father in early childhood and was raised by his aged mother until he grew up. He took up the work of a woodcutter to provide for his mother's livelihood. Yet, upon hearing a single line of a sutra at a crossroads, he immediately left his old mother behind to seek the great dharma. This marks him as a vessel of great capacity from an extraordinary age, a practitioner of the Way who stood out from the crowd. Even if severing an arm might be considered easy, this severing of attachment was surely a great difficulty; this abandonment of gratitude could not have been light.

He joined the assembly of Huangmei for eight months, neither sleeping nor resting, pounding rice day and night. At midnight, the robe and bowl were formally transmitted to him. Even after attaining the dharma, he continued to follow the stone mortar, pounding rice for eight more years. When he later appeared in the world to liberate people and expound the teachings, he did not set aside this stone mortar—a practice and maintenance of conduct rare in the world.

Master Mazu of Jiangxi practiced zazen for twenty years. This was how he received the secret seal of Nanyue. When transmitting the dharma and aiding others, he never spoke of the Way while setting aside zazen. From the very beginning of their training, he always caused them to receive the mind-seal in secret. In places of communal labor and work, he was always the first to go. Even in old age, he did not grow weary or negligent. The present-day Linji school is a stream flowing from this Jiangxi tradition.

The Venerable Ungan and Dōgo both studied under Yakusan, taking the same vow and for forty years never leaving his side, devoting themselves single-mindedly to their investigation. He transmitted the dharma to Tōzan, the Great Master Gohon. Tōzan said, "I have wished to forge all into a single piece, and for twenty years now I have practiced zazen and discerned the Way." Now, that Way has been transmitted everywhere.

Master Hongjue of Mount Yunju, when he was dwelling at Sanfeng Hermitage, had celestial provisions delivered to him. Once, the master visited Dongshan to resolve the great Way, then returned to his hermitage. The celestial messenger, delivering provisions once more, came seeking the master but could not find him even after three days. He did not await the celestial kitchen; he took the great Way as his fundamental principle. One can well imagine the strength of his resolute will.

The Great Master Dazhi Chanshi of Mount Baizhang, from the time he served as an attendant to Mazu until the evening of his entering final nirvana, never passed a single day without diligently laboring for the assembly and for others.

The saying that one feels ashamed to leave behind the precedent of "a day of no work, a day of no food" refers to Chan Master Baizhang, who was already advanced in years and senior in monastic standing. Yet, at the site of communal labor and duties, he exerted himself with the same vigor as the young and strong. The assembly pitied him; people felt compassion for him. But the master did not cease. Eventually, on an occasion of work, they hid his work tools and did not give them to the master, so the master did not eat for that entire day. This was the essential meaning of reproaching the assembly for not participating in the labor. This is called Baizhang's precedent of "a day of no work, a day of no food." Now, the profound style of Linji transmitted throughout the Great Song nation, along with the various monastic communities in all directions, largely uphold and practice this profound style of Baizhang.

When Reverend Kyōsei was residing at the temple, the local deity had never been able to see the master's face, and this was because it had no means of access. Zen Master Gichū of Sanpeizan once had heavenly kitchens deliver food. After seeing Datian, the heavenly deities again sought the master, but they could not manage to see him.

Later, the monk Dawei said, "For twenty years I resided on Mount Wei, I ate Mount Wei's rice, I defecated Mount Wei's excrement, yet I did not study the Way of Mount Wei. I only herded one water buffalo, all day long, exposed and wandering." Know this: that one water buffalo was herded from the practice of dwelling on Mount Wei for twenty years. This master once came to study under Baizhang's assembly. Quietly reflect on the details of those twenty years; do not forget them. Even if there are people who study the Way of Mount Wei, the practice of not studying the Way of Mount Wei is rare indeed.

The Venerable Master Zhenji of Zhaozhou Guanyin Monastery, the monk Congshen, first resolved to seek the Way at the age of sixty-one. Taking up his staff and water bottle, he went on pilgrimage, traveling extensively to all quarters. He always said to himself, "Even a seven-year-old child—if they surpass me, I will ask them. Even a hundred-year-old elder—if they do not match me, I will instruct them." In this manner, his effort in learning and attaining the Way of Nanquan took twenty years. When he reached the age of eighty, he first resided at Guanyin Monastery east of Zhaozhou city, guiding humans and celestial beings for forty years thereafter. He never once sent a letter to a patron.

The monks' hall was not large; it had no front privy and no rear privy. Once, a bed leg broke. He tied a piece of burnt, broken wood to it with rope, and for years and months, he practiced through this. When the monastery steward requested to change the bed leg, Zhaozhou would not permit it. One should listen to the house style of an ancient Buddha. Zhaozhou's residing at Zhaozhou was after he was eighty, after the transmission of the Dharma.

The true Dharma was rightly transmitted; people called him an ancient Buddha. Those who have not yet rightly transmitted the true Dharma should be lighter than the master; those who have not yet reached eighty should be more robust than the master. We who are in our prime and act lightly—how can we be the same as one revered in old age? We must vigorously discern the Way and practice. For forty years, he did not accumulate worldly wealth; the monastery had no store of rice or grain. Sometimes he gathered chestnuts and chinquapins for food; sometimes he ate by turning his bowl. This is truly the house style of the ancient dragon-elephants, a conduct worthy of admiration.

Once he showed the assembly, saying, "If you, for a lifetime, do not leave the monastic community, and remain silent for ten or five years, no one will call you a mute. Thereafter, even the Buddhas will have no hold on you." This shows the practice. Know that ten or five years of silence may seem foolish, but through the effort of not leaving the monastic community, though silent, one will not be a mute. The Buddha Way is like this.

In the Buddha Way, not hearing a sound does not mean there is no principle of being silent but not mute. Therefore, the ultimate wonder of practice is not leaving the monastic community. Not leaving the monastic community is the complete expression of casting off. The utterly foolish themselves do not know the not-mute, nor do they make it known. Though no one obstructs it, they do not know it. Not knowing that being not-mute is like this, not realizing it is like this—this is one's own self to be pitied. The practice of not leaving the monastic community should be practiced quietly. Do not be swayed east and west by the winds.

Though one may not know the spring breeze and autumn moon of ten or five years, there is a Way where sound and form are thoroughly transcended. That attainment of the Way is not known by me, not understood by me. One should study, considering each moment of practice as precious. Do not mistakenly think silence is mere emptiness. Entering is one monastic community; exiting is one monastic community. The bird's path is one monastic community; the whole world is one monastic community.

Mount Daimei is located in Qingyuan Prefecture. On this mountain, the temple Hushō-ji was first established, with Zen Master Hōjō as its original founder. The master was from Xiangyang. Once, while attending an assembly of Master Mazu, he asked, "What is Buddha?" Mazu said, "This very mind is Buddha." Upon hearing these words, Hōjō experienced a great awakening. He then ascended to the summit of Mount Daimei, distancing himself from human society, and lived alone in a thatched hut. He ate pine nuts and wore garments of lotus leaves. On that mountain was a small pond with many lotuses. He practiced seated meditation and pursued the Way for over thirty years.

He cut off all human affairs, neither seeing nor hearing them, and paid little heed to the passing of years and months, observing only the mountains turning green and then yellow again. One can imagine the harsh winds and frost he endured. In his meditation, he placed an iron pagoda, eight sun in height, upon his head, as if wearing a precious crown. To prevent this pagoda from falling to the ground, he exerted such effort that he did not sleep. That pagoda still exists at the main temple, stored beneath the treasury.

In this manner, he pursued the Way without slackening until his death. After spending years like this, a monk from the assembly of Master Yanguan came seeking a staff and, having lost his way in the mountain paths, unexpectedly arrived at the master's hermitage. Meeting the master by chance, he asked, "Venerable, how long has it been since you began residing on this mountain?" The master said, "I only see the four mountains green and then yellow." The monk asked further, "Which way leads out of the mountains?" The master replied, "Follow the stream." The monk was perplexed. Returning, he reported this to Yanguan, who said, "In the past, when I was in Jiangxi, I once met a monk.

I have had no news of him since. Could this be that monk?" He then sent the monk to invite the master, but he would not leave the mountain. Instead, he composed a verse in reply: "A shattered, withered tree leans against the cold forest; / How many springs has it met without changing its heart? / Even a woodcutter encountering it pays no heed; / How could a man from Ying toil in pursuit?" In the end, he did not go.

After this, wishing to retreat deeper into the mountains, he composed another verse: "A pond of lotus leaves provides endless clothing; / Several trees of pine blossoms offer ample food. / No sooner had worldly people learned my dwelling place, / Than I moved my thatched hut deeper into seclusion." He subsequently moved his hut deeper into the mountains.

On another occasion, Mazu deliberately sent a monk to ask him, "Venerable, when you formerly visited Mazu, what truth did you attain that you then dwelled on this mountain?" The master said, "Mazu told me, 'This very mind is Buddha.' Therefore, I dwell on this mountain." The monk said, "These days, Mazu's teaching of the Buddha-dharma is different." The master asked, "How is it different?" The monk replied, "Mazu says, 'Not mind, not Buddha.'" The master said, "That old fellow endlessly confuses people.

Let him have his 'not mind, not Buddha'; I simply maintain 'this very mind is Buddha.'" This exchange was reported back to Mazu, who said, "The plum is ripe." This story is widely known among humans and celestial beings. Tianlong was his spiritual heir, and Juzhi was his dharma-grandson.

The Korean master Gaji transmitted and upheld his dharma, becoming the founding patriarch in his own country. The various Korean masters of today are his distant descendants. During his lifetime, a tiger and an elephant regularly attended to him without conflict. After the master's parinirvana, the tiger and elephant carried stones and mud to build his stupa. That stupa still exists today at Hushō-ji. The master's conduct and practice are praised in the same way by past and present teachers of genuine understanding. Those of inferior wisdom do not know how to praise it. To forcefully attempt to practice the Buddha-dharma amidst greed for fame and love of profit is the foolish view of petty-minded people.

The Zen master Fayun of Mount Wuzu said: When my teacher first resided at Yangqi, the old buildings had decayed rafters, and the damage from wind and rain was severe. It was then the end of winter, and all the halls were old and damaged. Among them, the monks' hall was especially dilapidated; snow and sleet filled the platforms, leaving no comfortable place to dwell. The venerable elders with snowy heads still purified themselves, and the respected seniors with thick brows frowned as if bearing a worry. None of the monks could sit in zazen with ease.

When the monks sincerely requested permission to undertake repairs, my teacher refused, saying: Our Buddha has said that in this age of decline, high banks and deep valleys change and are not constant. How could one expect perfect satisfaction and seek self-sufficient contentment? The sages of old often practiced walking meditation beneath trees and in open spaces. These are the noble traces of antiquity, the profound style of treading emptiness. You have left home to study the Way, yet your efforts are not yet settled. You are merely forty or fifty years old; who among you has idle time to devote to luxurious dwellings?

In the end, he did not consent. The next day, he ascended the hall and showed the assembly, saying: At Yangqi, newly dwelling, the walls are sparse; the full platform is strewn with pearls of snow. Drawing in my neck, I sigh in secret, turning instead to recall the ancients dwelling beneath trees. In the end, he did not permit it. However, he made it his wish that the cloud-robed monks and mist-sleeved practitioners from all the lakes and seas might hang their staffs at this assembly. Those devoted to the Way should rejoice in its greatness. This Way should be followed in the heart; these words should be inscribed on the body.

Master Yan once instructed: Action does not exceed thought, and thought does not exceed action. These words should be taken seriously. Think of them day and night, practice them morning and evening; one must not be like something blown about idly by the winds from all directions. Moreover, in this land of Japan, the palaces of kings and ministers are not yet luxurious dwellings but merely humble thatched huts. How could those who have left home to study the Way dwell secluded in luxurious houses?

If one obtains a luxurious house, it is surely not without wrong livelihood and is rarely pure. If one originally has one, that is not the issue, but one should not newly engage in such pursuits. Thatched huts and humble dwellings are where the ancient sages lived and what they cherished. Later learners should follow and study this, not oppose it. Even Huangdi, Yao, and Shun, though laypeople, dwelt in grass huts—a noble practice in the world. The Master Shi says: If you wish to observe the conduct of Huangdi, look to the Hall of Harmony. If you wish to observe the conduct of Yao and Shun, look to the Hall of Completion.

Huangdi's bright hall was thatched with grass and named the Hall of Harmony. Shun's bright hall was thatched with grass and named the Hall of Completion. Know that both the Hall of Harmony and the Hall of Completion were thatched with grass. Even if we were to compare ourselves to Huangdi, Yao, and Shun, it would still be no match between heaven and earth. Yet they still used grass thatch for their bright halls. Even laypeople dwell in grass huts; how could those who have left home presume to take high halls and great mansions as their dwellings?

One should feel shame. The ancients dwelling beneath trees and living in groves—this is a dwelling cherished by both lay and monastic. Huangdi was a disciple of Guangcheng, the Daoist of Mount Kongtong; Guangcheng lived within the cliffs called Kongtong. Now, the kings and ministers of the Great Song dynasty largely transmit this profound style. Since it is thus, even those within worldly toil are like this. How could those who have left home be inferior to people in worldly toil, or be more defiled than them? Among the buddhas and ancestors of the past, many received heavenly offerings.

However, at the time of their attainment of the Way, heavenly vision did not reach them, and spirits had no access. This principle should be clarified. If the heavenly hosts and spirit paths tread the conduct of the buddhas and ancestors, there is a way for them to approach the buddhas and ancestors. For the buddhas and ancestors to universally transcend and realize the heavenly hosts and spirit paths, the heavenly hosts and spirit paths have no means of seeing above from afar and find it difficult to draw near to the side of the buddhas and ancestors.

Nanquan said: This old monk, lacking the power of practice, is spied upon by spirits. Know that being spied upon by spirits who do not practice is due to lacking the power of practice.

At the assembly of Reverend Hongzhi Zhengjue, the Chan master of Taibai Mountain, the guardian deity of the monastery said: "I have heard that Reverend Jue has resided on this mountain for over ten years. Whenever I attempt to approach his sleeping quarters, I am unable to advance; I have not yet been able to meet him. Truly, I have encountered the traces of one who has attained the Way." This Tiantong Mountain was originally a small temple. During Reverend Jue's residence, he cleared away the Taoist temple, nunnery, and teaching halls, establishing the present Jingde Monastery.

After the master passed away, Wang Boxiang, the Left Court Gentleman for Ceremonial Service and Attendant Censor, was to record an account of the master's conduct. Someone suggested he should record how the master seized the Taoist temple, nunnery, and teaching halls to create the present Tiantong Monastery. The Censor said it should not be done, declaring, "This is not permissible; such matters are not the virtue of a monk." Many people at the time praised the Attendant Censor. It should be known that such actions are within the capacity of laypeople, not the virtue of monks.

Generally, from the very outset of entering the Buddha Way, one far transcends the humans and deities of the triple world. One must carefully inquire into not being employed by the triple world and not being perceived by it. One must bring forth body, speech, mind, and the dependent and primary environments to exert effort in investigation. Although the merit of the Buddhas and Patriarchs' practice inherently possesses the great benefit of aiding humans and deities, these humans and deities do not perceive that they are in turn aided by the practice of the Buddhas and Patriarchs.

Now, to practice the great Way of the Buddhas and Patriarchs, one should not debate major or minor reclusion, nor despise sharpness or dullness. One should merely eternally cast aside fame and gain, and not be bound by the myriad conditions. Do not waste time; extinguish the fire on your head. Do not await great awakening; great awakening is the everyday tea and rice. Do not seek non-awakening; non-awakening is the precious jewel in the topknot.

One should simply, if one has a homeland, leave the homeland; if one has affection, leave the affection; if one has fame, escape fame; if one has gain, escape gain; if one has fields and gardens, leave the fields and gardens; if one has relatives, part from the relatives. Even if one lacks fame and gain, one should also part from them. The principle is clear: one parts from what exists and should also part from what does not exist. That is precisely one line of conduct. To cast aside fame and gain in this life and practice one matter is the conduct of the Buddha's immeasurable life. Now, this practice is surely practiced by the practice itself. This body and mind that possesses this practice should be cherished by oneself and revered by oneself.

The Great Compassionate Master Kanzan said, "To speak of ten feet is not as good as practicing one foot. To speak of one foot is not as good as practicing one inch." This seems to admonish those of the present age who neglect the practice and upholding of the Way and forget the thorough penetration of the Buddha's path. However, it is not that speaking of ten feet is incorrect; rather, practicing one foot is a greater achievement than speaking of ten feet. Why should this be limited to the mere measurement of feet and inches? There should also be a discussion of merit regarding the distant Mount Sumeru and a mustard seed. Mount Sumeru has its full measure, and a mustard seed has its full measure. The great principle of practice and upholding is precisely like this. The present speaking of the Way is not Kanzan's own personal way; it is Kanzan's own personal way.

The Great Master Dongshan Wuben said, "Express what cannot be practiced; practice what cannot be expressed." This is the Way of the Patriarchs. Its essential principle is to clarify the path by which practice penetrates expression, and the path by which expression penetrates practice. Therefore, what one realizes all day long is what one practices all day long. Its essential principle is to practice what cannot be practiced and to express what cannot be expressed.

The Great Master Yunju Hongjue, who penetrated this Way in all directions, said: "When expressing, there is no path of practice; when practicing, there is no path of expression." This attainment of the Way is not without expression and practice. When expressing, it is a lifetime never leaving the monastic community. When practicing, it is washing one's head and arriving before Xuefeng. "When expressing, there is no path of practice; when practicing, there is no path of expression"—this must not be set aside; it must not be violated.

The ancient Buddhas and Patriarchs have long taught: "Though a man may live a hundred years, if he does not grasp the vital function of the Buddhas, it is not equal to living a single day wherein he is able to decisively penetrate it." This is not spoken by one or two Buddhas alone; it is the utterance and the practice transmitted by all Buddhas. Within the revolving birth and death of countless kalpas, a single day of genuine practice is like the luminous pearl hidden in the topknot, the ancient mirror of simultaneous birth and death. It is a day worthy of joy, for the power of practice itself rejoices.

When the power of practice is not yet attained and the marrow of the Buddhas and Patriarchs remains un-received, one does not cherish the very body and mind of the Buddhas and Patriarchs, nor does one rejoice in their true countenance. Though the true countenance and marrow of the Buddhas and Patriarchs are described as "not gone," "thus gone," "thus come," and "not come," they are invariably received through a single day's practice. Therefore, a single day should be regarded as weighty.

To idly live out a hundred years is to be lamented as wasted days and months, a sorrowful physical form. Even if a hundred years are spent as slaves chasing after sounds and sights, if within them one enacts the practice of a single day, one not only enacts the hundred years of that lifetime but can also ferry across the other lives of those hundred years. This single day's life is a life to be revered, a physical form to be treasured. Hence, if one lives but a single day and grasps the vital function of the Buddhas, this single day surpasses vast kalpas and many lifetimes. For this reason, before decisive penetration is attained, do not idly waste a single day.

This single day is a precious treasure to be cherished. It cannot be compared to the value of a foot-long jade disc, nor exchanged for the pearl of the black dragon. The ancient sages cherished it more than their own lives. Consider quietly: the dragon pearl may be sought, the jade disc may be obtained, but a single day within a hundred-year life, once lost, can never be regained. What skillful means could ever bring back a day that has passed? This is not recorded in any chronicle.

To not let it pass idly is to contain the sun and moon within your leather bag without letting them leak away. Thus, the ancient sages and worthies cherished the days and months, treasured the light and shadow, more than their own eyeballs, more than the land itself. To idly let them slip by means to be turbidly confused, drifting in the floating world of fame and profit. To not let them slip by idly means to act for the sake of the Way while being within the Way. Even after having attained decisive penetration, one must still not idle away a single day. One should purely enact practice for the sake of the Way and expound for the sake of the Way.

Therefore, know this: one should constantly contemplate the manner in which the Buddhas and Patriarchs of old never idly exhausted a single day's effort. Sit by the bright window and reflect even on the lingering, slow spring day; sit in the humble hut and do not forget even the lonely, rustling rainy night. How does time steal away my effort? It steals not merely a single day but the merit of many kalpas. Time and myself, what enmity is between us? I must lament; it must be due to my own lack of cultivation.

I, who am not intimate with my true self, I am the one lamenting myself. The Buddhas and Patriarchs were not without affection and love, yet they cast them aside. The Buddhas and Patriarchs were not without all manner of conditions, yet they cast them aside. Even if one cherishes them, it is because one should not cling to the causes and conditions of self and other. If I do not cast aside affection and love, affection and love will in turn cast me aside through their actions. If one is to pity affection and love, then pity affection and love. To pity affection and love is to cast them aside.

The monk Huairang, the great wise Chan master of Nanyue, in former times attended Caoxi for fifteen autumns, serving and waiting upon him. In this way, the transmission of the Way and the imparting of teaching was obtained like pouring water from one vessel into another. The conduct and practice of the ancient ones should indeed be revered. The wind and frost of fifteen autumns must have been a great hardship for him. Yet, to investigate purely and single-mindedly—this is the model and mirror for those who come later. Though there is no charcoal in the cold brazier, one lies alone in the empty hall; though there is no candle in the cool night, one sits alone by the bright window.

Even without a single bit of knowledge or partial understanding, this is the absolute learning of non-action. This is what is meant by gyoji, sustained practice. In general, having secretly cast aside greed for fame and love of profit, there is only the daily accumulation of merit through sustained practice. Do not forget this principle. "When you try to say it is something, you miss the mark"—this was eight years of sustained practice.

That which is considered rare throughout past and present, that which both the wise and the foolish alike yearn for, is this sustained practice.

When Zen Master Xiangyan Zhixian was cultivating the Way at Dawei, he attempted to articulate a single phrase but repeatedly failed to express it. Grieving over this, he burned his books and became a wandering monk who served gruel and rice, passing through the years in this manner. Later, he entered Mount Wudang, sought out the ancient traces of great realization, built a thatched hut, and settled into secluded dwelling, letting go of all attachments. One day, while merely sweeping the path clean, a pebble flew off and struck a bamboo, producing a sound. Upon hearing this, he suddenly awakened to the Way. Afterwards, he resided at Xiangyan Temple, never exchanging his single bowl and robe throughout his life. He secluded himself amidst strange cliffs and clear springs, making it his place of reclusive rest for his entire life. Many records of his conduct are transmitted in the main temple. It is said he never left the mountain in all his days.

Master Huizhao of the Linji Monastery was the direct dharma heir of Huangbo. He had been at Huangbo’s assembly for three years. Through pure and single-minded engagement in the practice of the Way, following the instruction of Elder Chen of Muzhou, he asked Huangbo three times about the essential meaning of the Buddha-dharma, and each time he received sixty blows of the staff. Yet he never slackened in his determined resolve. His journey to Dayu and his great awakening were also due to the instruction of these two venerable elders, Huangbo and Muzhou. Among the ancestral seats, the heroes are said to be Linji and Deshan. Yet how could Deshan ever equal Linji?

Truly, one like Linji stands alone, even among the exceptional. The assembly of that time was more outstanding than the outstanding ones of recent times. To speak of his practice as pure in conduct and outstanding in its execution—how many layers, how many kinds of practice does this imply? To try to conceive of it is to fail to grasp it.

When the Master was with Huangbo, and they were planting pines and cedars together, Huangbo asked him, “Deep in the mountains, why plant so many trees?” The Master replied, “First, to provide a landscape for the monastery gate; second, to serve as a signpost for later generations.” Then he struck the ground twice with his shovel. Huangbo raised his staff and said, “Even so, you have already received thirty blows from me.” The Master made a hiss-hiss sound. Huangbo said, “Our school will reach its great flourishing in the world through you.” Therefore, we should understand that even after attaining the Way, he planted pines and cedars, personally wielding the shovel handle himself.

That “our school will reach its great flourishing in the world through you” must be because of this. The ancient traces of the Pine-Planting Daoist are surely the single transmission and direct pointing. Huangbo too planted trees together with Linji. In former times, Huangbo had left the assembly and mingled among the laborers at the Da’an Monastery, undertaking the practice of sweeping and sprinkling the halls. He swept and sprinkled the Buddha Hall; he swept and sprinkled the Dharma Hall.

He did not need practice to sweep and sprinkle the mind; he did not need practice to sweep and sprinkle the light. It was at this time that he met Minister Pei.

Emperor Xuanzong of Tang was the second son of Emperor Xianzong. From a young age, he was intelligent and sharp, and he always loved to sit in the full lotus posture. While in the palace, he constantly practiced zazen. Emperor Muzong was Xuanzong's elder brother. During Muzong's reign, one early morning after the court session was dismissed, Xuanzong playfully climbed onto the dragon throne and mimicked the gesture of greeting his assembled ministers. The high ministers saw this and considered it an ominous sign, so they reported it to Muzong.

Muzong looked at Xuanzong, patted him, and said, "My younger brother is truly the heroic heir of our lineage." At that time, Xuanzong was just thirteen years old. Emperor Muzong passed away in the fourth year of the Changqing era. Muzong had three sons: the first was Emperor Jingzong, the second was Emperor Wenzong, and the third was Emperor Wuzong. Jingzong succeeded his father's position but died after three years. When Wenzong succeeded to the throne, within what is called one year, palace officials plotted and replaced him. When Wuzong ascended the throne, Xuanzong had not yet become emperor and was in a distant land.

Wuzong often called Xuanzong "the foolish uncle." Wuzong was the emperor of the Huichang era, the one who abolished the Buddhist dharma. Once, Wuzong summoned Xuanzong and, punishing him for his past act of climbing onto his father's throne, had him beaten severely and left for dead in the rear garden. When unclean water was poured over him, he revived. Eventually, he left his father's kingdom and secretly joined the assembly of Chan Master Xiangyan, where he shaved his head and became a novice monk, though he had not yet received the full precepts. Traveling with Master Zhixian on a pilgrimage, he reached Mount Lu.

There, Zhixian himself composed a verse on the waterfall, saying: "Piercing cliffs, penetrating rocks, it does not shun the toil; only from afar does one realize the lofty source of its emergence." He used these two lines to test the novice, wishing to see what kind of person he was. The novice continued the verse: "How can mountain streams ever hope to hold it? In the end, it returns to the great sea to become billowing waves." Seeing these two lines, they knew this novice was no ordinary person.

Later, he arrived at the assembly of National Teacher Qi'an of Yanguan in Hangzhou and served as the recording monk. At that time, Chan Master Huangbo served as the head monk of Yanguan, so he shared a seat with Huangbo. Once, when Huangbo went to the Buddha hall to make prostrations to the Buddha, the recording monk approached and asked, "Without clinging, one does not seek the Buddha; without clinging, one does not seek the dharma; without clinging, one does not seek the sangha.

Elder, for what purpose do you use this bowing?" Upon being questioned like this, Huangbo immediately slapped him and said to the novice recording monk, "Without clinging, one does not seek the Buddha; without clinging, one does not seek the dharma; without clinging, one does not seek the sangha. One always makes prostrations to such matters as these." Finishing his statement, he delivered another slap. The recording monk said, "You are too crude." Huangbo said, "What kind of place is this here? Why speak of crude or fine?" And he slapped the recording monk once more. The recording monk then withdrew for the time being.

After Wuzong, the recording monk finally returned to lay life and ascended the throne. Where Wuzong had abolished the Buddhist dharma, Xuanzong restored it. During his reign, Emperor Xuanzong always delighted in zazen. Before ascending the throne, after leaving his father's kingdom and wandering in the distant mountain streams, he practiced the Way with pure, single-minded devotion. After his enthronement, it is said he practiced zazen day and night. Truly, his father had already passed away, his elder brother emperors had also died, and he himself had been beaten nearly to death for his nephew. He was like a pitiful, destitute son. Yet, his unwavering resolve and his diligent effort in practicing the Way are a remarkable, peerless feat, a practice of true naturalness.

The Great Master Xuefeng Zhenjue, the monk Yicun, from the time he first aroused the aspiration for enlightenment onward, traversed distant paths through the groves of monasteries where he hung his traveling staff and received hospitality along his journey. Yet he never discriminated among places, and day and night he never neglected seated meditation. From the initial dew-drenched hall at Xuefeng to the end, he never neglected it, practicing zazen as if dying together with it. In that era of seeking instruction, his nine ascents to Dongshan and three visits to Touzi constituted extraordinary, world-surpassing pursuit of the Way.

In urging the purity and rigor of practice, many people today speak of Xuefeng's lofty conduct. Although Xuefeng's dullness was the same as that of all people, his keenness was beyond what others could reach. This is because his practice was of such a kind. Practitioners today must certainly learn from Xuefeng's cleansing austerity. Quietly reflecting on the strength of sinew and bone with which Xuefeng undertook his studies in all quarters, one sees it must truly be the merit of possessing spiritual bones from past lives.

Now, when looking toward the assemblies of genuine masters of the Way and wishing to seek true participation, the opportunity for it is fundamentally difficult to discern. It is not merely twenty or thirty leather sacks; it is the faces of hundreds and thousands. Each seeks genuine refuge; the day for extending a helping hand grows late, the night awaiting the dawn of spring grows long. Sometimes, when the master delivers a universal discourse, I, lacking ears and eyes, vainly separate myself from seeing and hearing. When ears and eyes are present, the master has already cut off the time.

When the venerable elders, the aged and sharp awls, have already clapped their hands laughing heartily, for a late-coming novice like myself, it is as if the chance to connect with even the tip of a blade of grass is still rarer. Whether one enters the inner hall or not, there are times when one hears the master's decisive words and times when one does not. Time passes swifter than an arrow; this dew-like life is more fragile than the body. There is regret that though the master exists, I cannot meet him; there is sorrow that though I wish to meet him, the master cannot be found.

Matters such as these I have seen and heard directly. Although a great good spiritual friend necessarily possesses the virtue of recognizing people, during the time of cultivating the work of the Way, the good affinity to draw intimately close to the very end is a rare thing. Surely Xuefeng, when he ascended to Dongshan in the past and when he ascended to Touzi, must have endured this very vexation. One should take pity on this disciplined method of practice; it is lamentable not to undertake the study of it.

The Sixteenth Volume of the Treasury of the True Dharma Eye: Practice and Observance, Part One.

Written on the eighteenth day of the first month of the year mizunoto-u of the Ninji era, and proofread on the eighth day of the third month of the same year, by Kaijo.