Good morning. This big bundle looks like I've been on a big shopping trip, which is sort of true. Shopping for Matsu's mind. And when I woke up this morning and looked up at the sky and could see the stars, the thought that arose was, oh, good, it will be a clear day. And a little while ago, when I walked outside for a moment, the thought arose, oh, it's a beautiful day. You mean that yesterday and the day before weren't beautiful because they were foggy? There's a great poem by Dickens where he says, there is no such thing as bad weather, only

[01:05]

different kinds of good weather. Anyway, I think this way of thinking about things is part of what is being looked at, pointed to in this koan that we're considering together. In reading more about Matsu, one of the descriptions which I read this morning, which I actually remember now, hearing Suzuki Roshi describe Matsu, in terms of his very big tongue, which covered his nose, I thought it was pretty good to be able to touch the end of my nose, but a tongue so big you could cover your nose with your own tongue, or I could cover your nose with my tongue and you could cover my nose. Somewhere around this point in Seshin, I have the experience that all the screws which keep

[02:10]

the whole thing screwed down start to loosen up, and with it comes the most extraordinary experiences, voices, et cetera. So you have to bear with me, I'm entering into this place, which my daughter tells me the great acting teacher Grotowski cultivates by getting his actors to exercise vigorously for three or four hours before they begin a rehearsal. She said, isn't that what Seshin is like, isn't that what you're doing? Getting so tired that you drop a certain kind of mind, certain kind of, it's just too much work to keep controlling everything, we just have to exhale. So in one of the many books I've been looking at in considering this koan, there's this

[03:19]

quote from Matsu's teacher that goes, the ground of the mind contains many seeds, which will all sprout when heavenly showers come. The flower of samadhi is beyond color and form. How can there be any more immutability? So in one of the commentaries, the description of these old Zen folk talking to each other, it suggests that from one point of view, it sounds a little bit like a lunatic talking to a lunatic, that in the realm of the rational, everyday, ordinary way of talking to each other,

[04:20]

it doesn't make so much sense. So when Matsu twists the nose of his student so that it really hurts, it hurts for three days, and later he says to his student, well, how are you, and he says, yesterday I felt pain, today I feel no pain. Maybe from some so-called logical point of view, it doesn't make sense, but from some deeper point of view, it makes sense completely. It makes sense from that point of view where we begin to understand that the person that I was when I went to sleep last night is not the same person who woke up this morning. And, of course, from this way of understanding, I can stay completely in touch with the fact

[05:31]

that everything changes, that I can be surprised, even by the habits of a lifetime. One of the commentaries, the author says, the basic nature is hard to change, it's easier to move mountains and rivers, and I would say from direct experience that that must be an accurate description. So it's even more important that I notice that in spite of the difficulty, it is possible to change the basic habits, what we think of as our nature, if we're willing to loosen the grip a little bit. At the end of every meal, when we drink our dishwater, I remember that some years ago,

[06:39]

the students at Tassajara were given the ecological award by the Whole Earth Catalog because we drink our dishwater. And I thought this morning, now if we were going to invite guests over for dinner, would we ask them to drink the dishwater? But I enjoy drinking the dishwater. It tastes wonderful. It seems like such a sensible thing to do. Life here in the Zendo is so pared down. None of those endless stacks of dishes. Why didn't they wash their dishes after breakfast? Blah, blah, blah. Here we are, taking care of ourselves, probably taking care of ourselves better than we usually do. Getting the dishes washed right after eating.

[07:41]

That hint of lemon that some kind person puts in the water before it comes. Can you imagine serving gruel to your guest for dinner? It doesn't make sense, but what a great way to deal with the leftovers. What's for dinner? Whatever we have the rest of the day. My big eating bowl is black lacquer. And the first morning after the end of breakfast when I held the bowl up to drink, no, the middle bowl, which is also black lacquer, held the bowl up to drink my dishwater, and there looking me in the eye is my reflection. This will undoubtedly date me, but some combination of Senior Wentz's voice

[08:51]

and my stepson imitating Peter Sellers, you know, in his movies he says, this is not my dog. His voice comes up, this is not my face. But I remember some Zen story about mirrors and reflections where the reflection is me and I'm not it. What does it mean, this is not my face? There's this crazy voice. So every meal I see my eye looking back at me and I think, this is not my face. You probably all think I'm becoming certifiably mad. But underneath this chuckling and moaning over my aching legs comes some deeper mind, some deeper understanding of things.

[09:54]

Chewing on this koan, asking myself about it, letting this phrase of Matsu's help bring my mind back to the moment, over and over again saying, sun-faced Buddha, moon-faced Buddha. Letting the phrase itself rope my wandering mind back to sitting, breathing, right this moment. Why do you ignore the treasure of your own house and wander so far away from home? There's a verse by Moomin where he says, the blue sky and bright day, no more searching around.

[11:00]

What is the Buddha, you ask? With loot in your pocket, you declare yourself innocent. Loot in your pocket, isn't that great? Treasures. You forgot to even look in your own pocket for the treasures that are right there. And in Suzuki Roshi's commentary on this case, he says, although you are looking forward to the bliss of teaching, you do not know that you are not looking forward to the bliss of teaching. You do not know that you are always in the midst of teaching. So your practice does not accord with your teacher's. But what I really want to sit with is this line, although you are looking forward to the bliss of teaching, you do not know that you are always in the midst of teaching.

[12:05]

Harry Roberts, whom some of you knew when he lived and hung out with us here at Green Gulch in the last years of his life, used to talk about his teacher, Robert Spot, who was a great Yurok Indian medicine man, a wise man in that tradition. And Harry would describe how Robert would test a potential student who would come to him and say, I want to be your student. And Robert would say, bring me three wildflowers. And if the student moved one foot, he failed the test. All he had to do was look down at the ground around his feet, and they were there. And Harry would laugh. He'd say, I wouldn't have any of you guys hanging around with me.

[13:13]

He laughed some more. What is the use in seeking in the exterior world, outside of ourselves, outside of each moment? There is a kind of understanding that cannot be covered with reasonable, logical thinking, and which is so hard to touch, to allow up to the surface. It begins to come when we're a little bit tired, when we've been sitting for a few days. And we can then hint at certain insights, a certain understanding, especially when we have been sitting together like this, where we have some shared condition, circumstance,

[14:19]

way of passing the time. We can hint at something as we talk to each other. But we have to be careful not to get caught with trying to have it all be too tidy and logical. I have, as some of you know, recently begun making a figure out of porcelain. I'm making a nine-year-old boy. Who is on the eve of being ready for initiation. And it is for me an exercise completely in being a blind person in a dark room. I knew at some level that I wanted to make a figure, a masculine figure,

[15:25]

but I didn't know much more than that. And I knew that I was very interested in looking more deeply into what is this business of initiation? What does it mean to go through a door, a doorway, into a wisdom tradition, for example? What is it to have this kind of rite of passage? So I've been making this boy's feet for quite a while now, a couple of months. And I am amazed at how much a kind of deep intuition is beginning to flower as I let my hands work in the clay. Not at all that I am making something, but that I am discovering what is in the clay already, what is there completely in front of me.

[16:26]

How can I do that in my own life? Setsho, who gathered together all of these stories in the Blue Cliff Records, has... All I have to do is find it. He has this appreciatory word. This is in Shaw's translation. He says, Sun-Faced Buddhas, Moon-Faced Buddhas, The Five Sovereigns, The Three Emperors.

[17:29]

What are these? For twenty years I have had bitter experiences. Often on account of these old fellows, I have descended into the Green Dragon's Cave. I cannot tell the depth of it. You enlightened robed monks. I think Cleary translates it as, You patch-robed monks. Do not be careless about this. Setsho is, in these appreciatory words, referring to an old legend that says that there are many colored precious jewels or treasures. And one version says that the treasures or jewels are in the throat of a dragon. Or some versions of the legend say

[18:31]

that these jewels are in the dragon's cave. So he's referencing this old legend. So I've been puzzling about what is this Green Dragon business? What does it mean? What's he pointing to? What's he describing? When he talks about going down into the Green Dragon's Cave for these treasures, there are some interpretations that say, well, what he's talking about is the difficulty of Zen practice. That if you want the treasures of Zen, you have to put up with the difficulty, the bitterness, the hardship. That makes some sense to me.

[19:31]

What are those difficulties that come up that we must be willing to be present with or face? Fear, strong negative emotion, habits that lead us to troublesome states of mind and troublesome behavior, old memories. If we are going to snatch those treasures from the dragon's throat, or maybe even those treasures that are in our own pockets, it seems that we must be willing to sit quietly, to sit still, to be present with whatever arises.

[20:42]

It's the picking and choosing and saying, yes, I'll take this long life, but I don't want a short life. I'd like a sunny day, but not a foggy day. I'd like joy, but not sadness. That gets us into trouble. I'm struck by the paradox of liberation, of a kind of real freedom that comes from the restriction that we enjoy sitting here in the Zen Dojo, agreeing to sit down and follow this schedule, to not move when we feel like it. To not go out for a walk, but to just sit down and be still for five days. I remember when Suzuki Roshi was still alive in the 60s,

[21:49]

when there were lots of us being hippies, being dressed in exuberant clothing, looking like American Indians or escapees from an Elizabethan era, or some combination of all of the above. And Suzuki Roshi would say, you know, when you come to the Zen Dojo all dressed in your different clothes, I can't tell one of you from the other. You all look alike to me. But when you all have on your robes and you're all dressed exactly the same, then I can see your uniqueness one from the other. And I'm struck by that whenever I walk around in the Zen Dojo and I see everyone's back, especially when we're all dressed in quiet colors and simply.

[22:49]

How much our particularity shows up. No earrings, no feathers, no capes. No favorite colors, by and large, although they sometimes sneak through in our underwear or the lining of our robe. I remember a man who lived and practiced here who started making robes, and he would make the linings out of the person who was going to wear the robe's favorite color. Flashing, crimson lining that no one would ever see except the wearer, theoretically. I'll show you my lining if you'll let me see yours. We keep wriggling, afraid we won't be seen. And yet here we are, sitting in exactly the same posture,

[23:56]

dressed in some subdued and quiet way, more visible than usual. I want to tell you a little bit about my experience with picking up studying koans in hopes that my journey up to now may be of some use to you. About a year ago, I realized that I was at long last feeling ready to study koans, the great literature of this end tradition, that I had for some reason shied away from. Not so interesting or pertinent, I think. So I said to myself,

[25:00]

my intention is that over the next five years, understanding that it may ooze into 10 or 15 or 20, but clearly for the next five years, my intention is to pick up, with as much wholeheartedness as I can, the study of this great literature. And of course, immediately, the question that came up for me was, well, how am I going to do that? So I asked Katagiri Roshi for some help, and he said, well, just start reading them. Read them like stories. Read lots of them. Read them over and over again, so that you become slowly familiar with the language. And don't worry about what you don't understand. Just slowly let yourself become familiar with them.

[26:03]

So I started doing that, and found myself feeling baffled, surprised when I would read one of the koans that Suzuki Roshi used to talk about, surprised to realize that over the years, more of them were familiar than I had imagined. I asked Maureen Stewart the same question, since she comes from the Rinzai tradition, and I knew that koan practice was a central part of her own training and practice. She said, let's just read a koan and talk to each other about what we think is going on. No big deal, but let's just talk to each other once in a while. Pick one. And then when it arose

[27:12]

that Blanche and I might lead this session together, Blanche said, what shall we use for a theme? And she suggested that we pick one of these koans from Suzuki Roshi's lectures. And as I said to her yesterday, I would not have dared to do this, looking into a koan in the format of lecturing on the koans. I wouldn't have dared. It seemed premature by a number of years. But what I appreciate is the push, the push to pick up sun-faced Buddhas, moon-faced Buddhas, and really chew on every sentence, every period of zazen, to read through the case just before I go to sleep,

[28:16]

to keep asking myself, what does it mean that the colored treasures are in the green dragon's cave? What do I understand about what's up if I imagine going into a cave where a dragon lives? Can I begin to understand how this is a way of talking about my actual experience, not something that's going to happen in the future, but right now? Understanding slowly in doing this that what constitutes the green dragon's roar or smoke or what is dangerous about the dragon for me may not be the same as what is dangerous for you. But then again, there may be some similarities.

[29:19]

What a great way to talk about this process of turning towards what is difficult, impenetrable, seemingly. So we start somewhere. We start with this story about Baso, about Matsu, where the superintendent of the monastery, of the temple, goes and says, and how is your venerable health? And the teacher's response is, sun-faced Buddhas, moon-faced Buddhas. So here we are in the old hay barn, chewing on the cud of this koan, asking ourselves, what does he mean?

[30:26]

Although you are looking forward to the bliss of teaching, you do not know that you are always in the midst of teaching. So your practice does not accord with your teacher's. Once you realize Buddha nature within and without, there is no special way to follow for a student or any specific suggestion to give for a teacher. When there is a problem, there is the way to go. Actually, you continuously go over and over the great path of the Buddha with your teacher, who is always with you. Negative and positive methods, or the first principle and the second principle, are nothing but the great activities of such a character.

[31:44]

The Buddha nature is quite personal to you, and essential to all existence. The Buddha nature is quite personal to you, and essential to all existence. I'm continually struck by how much this path of Zen, the Buddha way, requires perseverance, energy, attentiveness, rousing ourselves moment by moment. When we begin to get sleepy or find ourselves resistant to something

[32:48]

that's arising that we don't want to look at, how much we have to keep turning back into the eye of the dragon, patiently and kindly, attentively. We have this expression in English about picking ourselves up by the bootstraps, but I have been thinking about picking ourselves up by this hair, for those of us who have it, and pulling ourselves up when we begin to slump in our posture. When we get tired, finding that energy that comes with fatigue, that isn't forcing, but is real energy. Continually, every time the mind wanders off, bringing it back to the object of meditation. Attending to the detail of what arises

[33:53]

in this posture of the Buddha mind. Looking into, being willing to look into whatever arises in each moment. And how sweet and helpful it is for us to be able to do this together. I was amused when I walked into the Gaitan a little while ago, and I heard a voice say, I heard the cordwood saw going, and I thought, hmm, that'll give us a little trouble. And of course, what if you said,

[34:56]

do we have to have the cordwood saw sawing? Why not? And I thought, what's the trouble with the cordwood saw going? It's trouble because we have some idea that Green Gulch should be quiet. We're all in here following our breath, making this great effort. What are they doing out there? Cutting saw wood. We will be very happy for that wood come the winter when it's cold. But today it's a warm, sunny day, and we think that it should be quiet. We have all these ideas. Even naming the sound distances us from the direct experience

[35:59]

of sitting and breathing with the sound that we hear, just whatever the sound is. Maybe the person who was using the cordwood saw came to lecture, so it's quiet now. What difference does it make? Having a long life of 1,800 years or a life that lasts a day and a night. When I think about the light reflected on a drop of rainwater as it hangs on the edge of a branch, does the fact that it will only last for a few moments until the sun comes and dries up

[37:01]

all those drops, does that spoil the delight that I experience with seeing the light reflected in that drop? Is this precious human life only good enough when it lasts for 100 years? Or is it all right when it lasts for a few days or weeks or months? Picking and choosing. Matsu said, sun-faced Buddhas, moon-faced Buddhas. Please enjoy your sitting. Thank you very much.

[37:55]

@Text_v004
@Score_JJ