Soldiers and The Sufi

The soldiers surrounded the Sufi and his disciple, and they said they are in search of Sufis, all Sufis have to be imprisoned, because the king has commanded so, saying that they say things which are not welcome and they create such thought patterns which are not good for the tranquillity of the populace.

And the Sufi said, “And so you should….”  — And the Sufi said to the soldiers, “And so you should” —

“… for you must do your duty.”

“But are you not Sufis?” said the soldiers.

“Test us.” said the Sufi.

The officer took out a Sufi book. “What is this?” he said.

The Sufi looked at the title page and said, “Something which I will burn in front of you since you have not already done so.” He set light to the book, and the soldiers rode away satisfied.

The Sufi’s companion asked, “What was the purpose of that action?”

“To make us invisible,” said the Sufi. “for to the man of the world, visibility means that you are looking like something or someone he expects you to resemble. If you look different, your true nature becomes invisible to him.”

The Enlightenment of Chikanzenji

One day Chikanzenji was mowing down the weeds around a ruined temple. When he threw away a bit of broken tile it clattered against a bamboo tree. All of a sudden he was enlightened. Whereat he sang:

Upon the clatter of a broken tile 
All I had learned was at once forgotten. 
Amending my nature is needless. 
Pursuing the task of everyday life 
I walk along the ancient path. 
I am not disheartened in the mindless void. 
Wheresoever I go I leave no footprint 
For I am not within color or sound. 
Enlightened ones everywhere have said: 
“Such as this is the attainment.”

This poor monk, Chikanzenji, had been working for at least thirty years. He was a hard seeker; he was a very, very honest and sincere and serious seeker. He practiced all that was told to him, he visited many masters, he lived in many monasteries. He did all that was humanly possible. He practiced yoga, he practiced zazen, he did this and that — but all to no avail. Nothing was happening; in fact, his frustration was growing more and more. The more the methods failed, the more and more frustrated he became.

He had read all the Buddhist scriptures — there are thousands of them. It is said about this Chikanzenji that he had all these scriptures in his room, and he was constantly reading, day and night. And his memory was so perfect he could recite whole scriptures — but still nothing happened.

Then one day he burned his whole library. Seeing those scriptures in the fire he laughed. He left the monastery, he left his guru, and he went to live in a ruined temple. He forgot all about meditation, he forgot all about yoga, he forgot all about practicing this and that. He forgot all about virtue, sheela; he forgot all about discipline, and he never went inside the temple to worship the Buddha.

But he was living in that ruined temple when it happened. He was mowing down the weeds around the temple — not a very religious thing to do. Not anything specific, not anything special, just taking the weeds out. When he threw away a bit of broken tile, it clattered against a bamboo tree — in that moment, chittakshana, the moment of awareness, happened. In that very clattering of the tile against the bamboo, a shock, a jerk happened and his mind stopped for a moment. In that very moment he became enlightened.

How can one become enlightened in one single moment? One can, because one is enlightened — one just has to recognize the fact. It is not something that happens from the outside, it is something that arises from the inside. It has always been there but you were clouded, you were full of thoughts.

Chikanzenji burned all the scriptures. That was symbolic. Now he no longer remembered anything. Now he had forgotten all search. Now he no longer cared. Unconcerned, he lived a very ordinary life — he was no longer even a monk. He had no pretensions anymore, he had no ego goals any more. Remember, there are two kinds of ego goals: the worldly and the otherworldly. Some people are searching for money; some people are searching for power, prestige, pull. Some people are searching for God, moksha, nirvana, enlightenment — but the search continues. And who is searching? The same ego.

The moment you drop the search, you drop the ego also. The moment there is no seeking, the seeker cannot exist.

Just visualize this poor monk — who was no longer a monk — living in a ruined temple. He had nowhere else to go, he was just clearing the ground — maybe to put some seeds there for vegetables or something. He came across a tile, threw it away, and was taken unawares. The tile clattered against the bamboo tree and with the sudden clattering, the sudden sound, he becomes enlightened.

And he said: Upon the clatter of a broken tile / All I had learned was at once forgotten.

Enlightenment is a process of unlearning. It is utter ignorance. But that ignorance is very luminous and your knowledge is very dull. That ignorance is very alive and luminous, and your knowledge is very dark and dead.

He says, All I had learned was at once forgotten. In that moment he knew nothing. In that moment there was no knower, in that moment there was no observer — just the sound. And one is awakened from a long sleep.

And he says, Amending my nature is needless. That day he felt that he was just struggling unnecessarily. Amending my nature is needless. You need not amend yourself, you need not improve yourself — that is all just tommyrot! Beware of all those who go on telling you to improve yourself, to become this or to become that, to become virtuous. Who go on telling you that this is wrong, don’t do it; that this is good, do it; that this will lead you to heaven and this will lead you to hell. Those who go on telling you to amend your nature and improve upon yourself are very dangerous people. They are one of the basic causes for your not being enlightened.

Nature cannot be amended; it has to be accepted. There is no way to be otherwise. Whosoever you are, whatsoever you are, that’s how you are — that’s what you are. It is a great acceptance. Buddha calls it tathata, a great acceptance.

Nothing is there to be changed — how can you change it, and who is going to change it? It is your nature and you will try to change it? It would be just like a dog chasing its own tail. The dog would go crazy. But dogs are not as foolish as man. Man goes on chasing his own tail, and the more difficult he finds it the more he jumps and the more he tries and the more and more bizarre he becomes.

Nothing has to be changed, because all is beautiful — that is enlightenment. All is as it should be, everything is perfect. This is the most perfect world, this moment lacks nothing — the experience of this is what enlightenment is.

Herrigel The Archer

One German professor of philosophy, Herrigel, became interested in Zen just by reading in the libraries. And he became so enchanted with it that he took three years’ leave from the university and went to Japan to find a master. He had many acquaintances among professors in the universities, so he enquired and they all told him about one man, a very famous master archer. “Right now there is no one else of that quality. If that man can accept you as his disciple, it will be a great blessing.”

He went. Humbly he said that he has come from Germany and he wants to be his disciple. “And I have come to learn Zen.”

The master laughed. He said, “We don’t know anything about Zen. I am an archer. I can teach you archery, and by the side, if Zen happens you are fortunate. It happens if you follow exactly what I say.”

And he was saying, “Looking at the target, stretching your bow, let the arrow go by itself: you be relaxed.”

This was absolutely absurd. How can the arrow go by itself if one is relaxed? One has to be very tense, one has to concentrate, and the man is saying nothing about concentration; he is talking about relaxation. Herrigel was a very good hunter, so it was not a difficult problem for him: one hundred percent of the time he was hitting the target.

But the master would always say, “No, the thing is missing. You don’t listen to me. You are too concerned with hitting the target, you are too tense, afraid that you may miss the target. That target is not the real target; that is just a device. Stretch the bow, be relaxed, and let the arrow go by itself.”

Three years of constant frustration… Every day it would begin, and every day the master would say, “It seems impossible… you cannot succeed. As far as being an archer, you are — you can compete with any archer — but you had come to know Zen. And I told you I don’t know anything about Zen because I did not want you to be concerned about Zen, because even a concern about it becomes a tension.

“Now I want to say to you: if you can manage to let the arrow go by itself, and you remain relaxed and unconcerned, perhaps by the side you will have a taste of Zen.”

After three years of constant failure Herrigel went to the master and said, “Tomorrow I have to leave. You have been kind and compassionate, but I cannot do this; both together seems to be illogical to me. So tomorrow sometime I will be leaving. If I have time, then I will come just to see you for the last time.”

And he came for the last time. The master was teaching another disciple, and Herrigel was sitting on the bank just looking, because now he was finished. He had decided, “It is not for me.” He could not even understand the language of how it could be possible.

The master was teaching the disciple, and to show him how it should be, he took the bow and arrow in his hands; he stretched the bow. And Herrigel saw, with surprised eyes, that the master was absolutely relaxed, and the arrow reached to the target. And he could see that the arrow was going by itself. It did not have the tension of the master; the master was absolutely relaxed standing there. He was not even worried whether it reached to the target or not.

Herrigel said, “My God! For three years he has been showing me: how could I manage not to see it? It is so apparent that he manages it. Logical or illogical, he is managing it!”

Spontaneously he stood up, went to the master, and took the bow and arrow from his hands. He had not come to try again, but just on the spur of the moment… He had seen for the first time, because for the first time he was unattached, for the first time he was unconcerned — he was leaving, he was finished. His eyes were clear, there was no desire.

He took the bow and arrow, stretched the bow, became relaxed and let the bow be released on its own. It hit the target. The master said, “You have done it! I knew one day you would be able to do it, but I never knew that it would be the last day. And today you had not come to do it. That’s what I have been telling you — that it is a doing which is totally different from ordinary doing. It is action through inaction, doing through non-doing.”

Herrigel said, “Now there is no problem: I have understood it; I have tasted what I had come for. I have tasted that relaxed moment. So that is Zen.”

Have a Cup of Tea

JOSHU, THE ZEN MASTER, ASKED A NEW MONK IN THE MONASTERY, “HAVE I SEEN YOU BEFORE?”
THE NEW MONK REPLIED, “NO SIR.”
JOSHU SAID, “THEN HAVE A CUP OF TEA.”

JOSHU THEN TURNED TO ANOTHER MONK, “HAVE I SEEN YOU HERE BEFORE?
THE SECOND MONK SAID, “YES SIR, OF COURSE YOU HAVE.”
JOSHU SAID, “THEN HAVE A CUP OF TEA.”

LATER THE MANAGING MONK OF THE MONASTERY ASKED JOSHU, “HOW IS IT YOU MAKE THE SAME OFFER OF TEA TO ANY REPLY?”

AT THIS JOSHU SHOUTED, “MANAGER, ARE YOU STILL HERE?”
THE MANAGER REPLIED, “OF COURSE, MASTER.”
JOSHU SAID, “THEN HAVE A CUP OF TEA”.