Good evening. Welcome. I've been speaking for a while off and on about a Japanese Buddhist background to Dogen, the founder of Soto Zen in the 1200s, and Japanese poetry and aesthetic backgrounds. I'm going to continue tonight talking about another Japanese Buddhist poet, but jumping about 500 years to Japanese Soto monk poet, Ryokan, who lived 1758 to 1831. So not quite modern, but close. So Ryokan lived in what's called the Tokugawa period,

[01:00]

which began in 1600 and went to the mid-1800s. And during that time, the government had a lot of control over Buddhism and insisted that all the different schools of Buddhism define themselves very closely, and they had a lot of control. And during that period, Soto school, which came out of Dogen and which we're part of, actually suppressed Dogen's writing. So we know mostly in terms of his wonderful writings, which I talk about a lot. At that time, he was more known just as a founding figure, and very few Soto priests and nobody else in Japan read his writings, but Ryokan did. He was a very well-trained Soto monk and teacher, but he preferred to eventually live a very humble life and follow the tradition that goes back to

[02:12]

the poem we just chanted, the Song of the Grass Hut, which goes back a thousand years before him to a guy named Shito, in Chinese, Sekito, who's actually before the Chinese Soto or Saodong school. But this idea of hermit poets living in little grass huts is part of the Zen tradition, kind of a small part of it in a way, but very noted part of it. So Ryokan eventually went back to his home village and lived in a small hut outside the village and made his living as a begging, as a mendicant monk, a very humbly, very humble guy, and actually is very famous as a fool. One of his Darwin names means great fool.

[03:12]

And he really was. There's all these stories about his foolishness. He was very forgetful. He would forget where he left his begging bowls. He liked to play with the village children. But also he was a very fine calligrapher, and even in his own lifetime his calligraphy became very valuable. He was also a very fine poet, and now we know him as a great poet. So what I want to do tonight is to just read a bunch of his poetry. So I've been reading poetry of various people, various Zen people, Buddhist people, even before Zen developed in Japan. But I'll start with just a few stories about him to show how he, well there are many colorful stories about him,

[04:14]

to show how he earned his name as a great fool. And somewhat at random here. So let's see. Actually, so it was at age 39 that he went back to his home village and lived. His father was a kind of a small village chieftain or head of the village. Let's see, in terms of his playing, well let's see.

[05:22]

Um so one of the things is that even during his lifetime, again his calligraphy is very elegant and very valuable. And people would trick him into doing calligraphy for them because it was very valuable. So there's all kinds of stories like somebody caught him stealing flowers from their yard. So to repay his stealing flowers, they made him do calligraphy. Or people would leave paper and ink around so that he would do calligraphy.

[06:24]

Um another time he was begging on the highway, on the highway station town, and a child with a sheet of paper came to him and said, Reverend Ryokan, please write something on this paper, something that his parents had put him up to. And Ryokan asked, well what are you going to use it for? And the child said, I'm going to make a kite and fly it, so please write some words to call the wind. Of course people wanted, you know, calligraphy with kind of, you know, Zen writing or Zen phrases or wisdom. Like the calligraphy we have on the back wall there, which says, straightforward mind, this is the place of awakening. You know, these elegant Zen phrases. Ryokan wrote on the paper for the child, sky above great wind, and gave the calligraphy to the child.

[07:30]

So this would be helpful for the kite. Um there's, oh there's stories of him playing with children, a more famous one. He was playing hide and go seek with the children. So he would, he would stop from his begging rounds and play ball with the children or just play various games with the children. And one time he was playing hide and seek and he was, he was hiding from the village children. Um and he hid in a, in a haystack. And as dusk came, the children went home to go to eat and leaving Ryokan behind. Early the next morning a farmer pulled some straw out from

[08:33]

the stack and found Ryokan hidden inside. And the farmer said, Reverend Ryokan, what are you doing? And Ryokan said, shh, the children will find me. So, you know, maybe he'd been in samadhi all night. But, you know, again, there's all these stories of his foolishness. So, anyway, he was this very humble guy, but he had these wonderful, um, this wonderful poetry. So I just want to read a bunch of poetry. And then we can talk about it. So, somewhat at random. So he, um, he was on, so he did a lot of pilgrimage wandering around before he settled into this

[09:38]

hermitage. Did I expect this? Tonight again I sleep outdoors, tamping down weeds along the roadside. So just an image of how his life was as he was wandering. So he lived by doing what's called takuhatsu, which is going around with his begging bowls and stopping, stopping in front of each door asking for, there's a formal practice that I did when I was in a monastery in southern Japan where you just ask for, you do a chant and people come and give you whatever they give you. And it's something that there's a tradition for in that lay people in Japan want to give. Anyway, so he did this practice.

[10:38]

Here's a poem about it from Ryokan. The cloud-covered sky is all open, the heart of takuhatsu as it is a gift from heaven. So just to receive whatever, whatever is given was the practice. And this is actually the way that monks are trained in giving is to learn how to receive. Another one. Past has passed away, future has not arrived, present does not remain. Nothing is reliable, everything must change. You hold on to letters and names in vain, facing yourself to believe in them. Stop chasing new knowledge, leave old views behind, study the essential and then see through it. When there is nothing left to see through, then you will know your mistaken views. I'll read that one again. Past has passed away,

[11:47]

future has not arrived, present does not remain. Nothing is reliable, everything must change. You hold on to letters and names in vain, forcing yourself to believe in them. Stop chasing new knowledge, leave old views behind, study the essential and then see through it. When there is nothing left to see through, then you will know your mistaken views. So a wisdom poem. Oh, this is, some of you know the chant that we do when we put on our okesu or raksu, our Buddhist robes. And this starts the same way. Great is the robe of liberation, a formless field of benefaction. Buddhas have authentically transmitted it, ancestors have intimately received it. Beyond wide, beyond narrow, beyond cloth, beyond threads. Maintain it thus, then you are called a keeper of the robe.

[12:53]

So some of you know this, the old Zen saying, do not confuse the finger pointing to the moon with the moon. So based on that saying, you see the moon by pointing your finger, you recognize the finger by the moon. The moon and the finger are not different, not the same. In order to guide a beginner, this analogy is temporarily used. When you have realized this, there is no moon, no finger. I'll read that one again. So the traditional saying is, don't confuse the finger pointing with the moon itself. Ryokan says, you see the moon by pointing your finger, you recognize the finger by the moon. The moon and the finger are not different, not the same. In order to guide a beginner, this analogy is temporarily used.

[14:11]

When you have realized this, there is no moon and no finger. If someone asks about the mind of this monk, say it is no more than a passage of wind in the vast sky. If someone asks about the mind of this monk, say it is no more than a passage of wind in the vast sky. I'm going to read some other ones. This one is about his staff.

[15:21]

Nyoe or koto like this. This is a staff given to symbolize teacher authorization, authorization to teach. So he had passed through his training. He finished his training and then went off wandering and then settled in this grass, modest grass hut. So this is a poem about his staff. It is not a tile or a pebble who takes it as a jewel, rare as black dragon's horn, just like a blue elephant's trunk. Autumn evenings attending Dharma talks, spring afternoons it shares sitting and dozing. Although it is useless for sweeping away dust, yet it does support the mind of the way. Another one.

[16:26]

Without desire everything is sufficient. With seeking myriad things are impoverished. Plain vegetables can soothe hunger. A patched robe is enough to cover this bent old body. Alone I hike with the deer. Cheerfully I sing with village children. The stream under the cliff cleanses my ears. The pine on the mountaintop fits my heart. I'll read that one again. Without desire everything is sufficient. With seeking myriad things are impoverished. So, you know, basic Buddhist teaching is about contentment and about not being caught up in all the desires of the world and all of the, you know, all of the consumer products and so forth. Just to be content. It's not that we get rid of all desires, but to necessarily, but just to be satisfied with what we have. So he says,

[17:33]

without desire everything is sufficient. With seeking myriad things are impoverished. Plain vegetables can soothe hunger. A patched robe is enough to cover this bent old body. So he lived this very humble life living outside his home village in this little patched hut, in this little thatched hut, this grass hut, like we chanted. Alone I hike with the deer. Cheerfully I sing with village children. The stream under the cliff cleanses my ears. The pine on the mountaintop fits my heart. So like the song of the grass hut, this is, you know, I mean, Ro Khan was an historical figure. This is an image of simplicity and the simple life and just enjoying, you know, everyday simple activity. Another one in the same spirit. All my life too lackadaisical to stand up for myself. Buoyantly I leave everything to the harmony of reality. In my sack three scoops of rice.

[18:39]

Beside the fire a bundle of firewood. Who would ask about the traces of delusion and enlightenment? How could you know the dusts of name and gain? Evening rain in my thatched hut, I casually stretch out my legs. So he really expressed the joys of a very simple life. On the other hand, you know, as he got older, he talked about loneliness and here's another one. Old and sick, I woke up and couldn't sleep. Late at night the four walls were somber and heavy. No light in the lamp, no charcoal for fire, only a miserable chill piled up on the bed. Not knowing how to divert my mind, in darkness I walked with a cane at the garden's edge. All the stars spread out, blossoms of a bald tree. The distant valley stream flows,

[19:42]

a lute with no strings. That night with that feeling I had some understanding. Sometime some morning for whom shall I sing? So that one is sort of close to the, in some ways to the poem that we will, it starts off the essay we're going to talk about in the practice period in April and May, which I'll mention later, but I just want to read some more of these poems of Ryukhan. Just to give you a feeling of him. Day by day, day by day, and day by day, quietly in the company of children I live. In my sleeves, tiny embroidered balls, two or three, useless, intoxicated in this peaceful spring. So, you know, he just, he just wandered around on his begging rounds and stopped and played

[20:45]

with children and just, you know, just an old fool. In the evening of a thousand peaks I close my eyes. Among humans myriad thoughts are trivial. Serenely I sit on the mat. In solitude I face an open window. The incense has burned out and the dark night is long. Dew is thick, my robe is thin. Emerging from samadhi I walk in the garden. The moon has risen over the highest peak. So again, he was very well trained, very knowledgeable on the sutras and read, studied Dogen and also, you know, did zazen regularly. Oh, here's a good one. Rags upon rags,

[21:54]

tatter, tatter is my life. I pluck my food on a country path. My hut is buried in a tangle of weeds. Looking at the moon I hum all night. Deluded by blossoms, I forget to return. Since leaving the monastery, what a fool I have become. So, one thousand peaks merge with frozen clouds. Ten thousand paths have no human trace. Day by day just facing the wall. At times I hear the snow drift over the window. I'll read that again. One thousand peaks merge with frozen clouds. Ten thousand paths have no human trace. Day by day just facing the wall. At times I hear snow drift over the window. So, just to read a few more.

[23:02]

So, before listening to the way, do not fail to wash your ears. Otherwise, it will be impossible to listen clearly. What is washing your ears? Do not hold on to your view. If you cling to it even a little bit, you will lose your way. What is similar to you but wrong you regard as right? What is different from you but right you regard as wrong? You begin with ideas of right and wrong, but the way is not so. Seeking answers with closed ears is like trying to touch the ocean bottom with a pole. I'll read it again. Before listening to the way, do not fail to wash your ears. Otherwise, it will be impossible to listen clearly. What is washing your ears? Do not hold on to your view. If you cling to it even a little bit, you will lose your way.

[24:28]

What is similar to you but wrong you regard as right? What is different from you but right you regard as wrong? You begin with ideas of right and wrong, but the way is not so. Seeking answers with closed ears is like trying to touch the ocean bottom with a pole. Just a couple more. On a quiet evening in my thatched-roofed hut, alone I play a lute with no string. Its melody enters wind and cloud, mingles deeply with a flowing stream, fills out the dark valley, blows through the vast forest, then disappears. Other than those who hear emptiness, who will capture this rare sound? On a quiet evening in my thatched-roofed hut, alone I play a lute with no string.

[25:30]

Its melody enters wind and cloud, mingles deeply with a flowing stream, fills out the dark valley, blows through the vast forest, then disappears. Other than those who hear emptiness, who will capture this rare sound? How could we discuss this and that without knowing the whole world is reflected in a single pearl? How could we discuss this and that without knowing the whole world is reflected in a single pearl? So maybe I should mention, you know, just that in his last years, I think starting when he was, I don't know, 68, 69, he had this love affair with a nun, Tashin, who was a blind nun, who

[26:37]

befriended him and they wrote poems to each other. And anyway, there's a whole record of their love poems that they wrote to each other. Kind of sweet. Let me see if I'll find one or two of those. Oh, she once went to see him and he wasn't there and she wrote, you who play in the Buddha way, bouncing a ball endlessly, must be the one. Is it your dharma? And then, and she was a good poet too.

[27:46]

Oh, there's just a lot of these. I'll find one of his. Too long to wait for the autumn bush clover to bloom, you have pushed through the dew-covered summer grass. Oh, here you are. Anyway, his, I don't know if this is exactly a death poem, but one of his last poems was, what legacy shall I leave behind? Flowers in the spring, cuckoos in summer, maple leaves in autumn. So anyway, that's a little bit about Ryokan and his grass hut.

[29:09]

Questions, comments, responses. It sort of adds to the song of the grass hut, doesn't it? I have a question. So, do you read them in the original language as well and are they very different? Oh, well, there's some various translations. These are from, these are translations from class Tanahashi and there are numbers of translations and I don't, actually, I don't have with me any of the, there are some volumes that have the sound, some of them are Chinese and some of them are Japanese. Do they translate well, I guess I'm asking? I think these are decent translations, you know, I think. Yeah, I mean, the Japanese ones particularly have a sound that's nice and I didn't bring any of the, I don't think I have any, you know, I have numbers of other translations. I did some of these translations with Cos, the ones from his book, Sky Above Great Wind. He doesn't have the Japanese, but

[30:19]

I could read more, but, comments, Jamie? I was struck today by the song of the grass hut. The, how much is, how much we don't live in a field with a grass hut? How much we don't live in grass huts? We don't live, you know, we have like our brick huts or something like that, but I guess I was, I was struck by just how, how in contemporary, contemporary moment, it kind of plays into this desire of escapism, like let's escape to the mountains or let's escape to some field and live, you know, in like a simple way. And, and that feeds really into like this escapist desire to really like not deal with a lot of the problems of society, which is like so often it's, you know, living in a city, you can't really avoid, you have to live, there's like a speech to the city,

[31:24]

there's a stimulation, there's like so much of that. And so I guess my, my question to you is like, I agree with this as a, like, in some ways, a teaching text more than a kind of like, let's all go find a grass hut ASAP. And I guess my question for you is just, what is, what is the urban equivalent of this? What is the, what is the urban equivalent of living in a grass hut? And what, what does that mean? What is the teaching that this, so I hear your question is, what is the teaching that this might offer to us? Or like if we were to translate it into a city image or something. Well, yeah, I mean, I've heard that it's hard to be a saint in the city, but, well, you know, maybe it's easier if you go live, you know, I mean, like Walden, except that he brought his, brought his laundry home to, you know, as we know, but,

[32:24]

but still, just this image, I think, I think it, so yes, of course, our practice is not to ignore the suffering of the world. And, you know, these were simpler times, or these were times when there was, when there was not so much of a way to respond to, because, because in Tokugawa, Japan, and in some ways in modern Japan, but, you know, particularly in that, in that society, in that culture, things were very controlled. So, yet there is this image of the possibility of living this way. And I don't know, amongst the unhoused peoples in our big cities, there may be some who choose to live that way. In fact, I know there are some. And that's not, and that's not to say that that's what our practice should be.

[33:31]

But I think there's some value to just seeing that there have been these people in our tradition who have lived simply. And I think for us too, to think, to have, to be aware of living more simply, not as a way of running away from or escaping from the problems of our own life or the problems of the world or ignoring, responding to all of that. But part of what our practice can give us is a sense of just what the song of the grass hut implies is just this kind of simplicity of response. Now, when the problems of the world are dire and complex, and,

[34:38]

you know, as we know, with climate chaos and the chaos of our governmental injustice system and so forth right now, how do we respond? Well, it's not that we should ignore it or just give up or feel overwhelmed, but how do we find a place of simplicity from which to then respond? So, that's just my response to your question. I don't have the answers, obviously. Yeah, I thought I'd chime in. Can I chime in? Please. Yeah, well, and engagement is one of the most extreme forms of distinctivism. It can't be understood as such a point, a finger at the moon, you distinguish the finger from the moon, it's a direct matter of distinctivism. So, a city that's hectic and chaotic, maybe Chicago, the engagement in that is a form of distinct at the same time. Engagement in what? I'm sorry, I don't, I'm not trying, I think engagement in the thing that you have a sense of separation from,

[35:41]

escapes from the sense of you're being in a chaotic or a hectic place. So, it's a matter of perspective in terms of your relationship with the thing that you're sensing your separation with is necessary to even come to terms with the idea of escaping from it. Is that correct? That's obscure. So, I mean, I want to. I'm not, I'm not, I'm not sure I understand what you're saying, but I want to though. Well, I think that, and this is what I heard also in your, in your, in your glorious readings. So, Jamie, you mentioned escapism as a kind of a false narrative, I think. Okay. And then we have to, we have to address the term false and the term, the term itself is scape, you know, we all know the great campaign escape, Wisconsin, for instance. And, you know, how meaningful is that? We felt a void in that and had to do this right away, I think. I mean, I did,

[36:49]

because I didn't see anything to escape you up there, but none of them was the idea of escaping, all these things came up. Escape the loop. So, the notion of escape itself rings a certain bell in our minds. It's not clear to me which bell it's ringing. Yeah. And so how false the narrative is, of course, it's a metaphor, right? As a metaphor, it's a symbol. The word itself, of course, is a symbol. You can only be that. And so then we have to, what's an escape for us? What does that entitle? What does that, is that entitlement, a privilege, navigation, necessity, something that we wish for but cannot obtain? It's, you know what I mean? It's a very playful, whimsical kind of investigation. And I think that this poetry points to that very clearly. Points to escape as being not, the idea of escape not being an escape.

[37:52]

But as the fantasy of a fool. But I would say, I think I get what you're saying, but I don't know that Ryokan is escaping. He's there in his life. He's going out every day, begging for whatever food he's going to eat. Oh, I didn't talk about his drunkenness. I brought that to mind. You know, he, there's, amongst the foolish stories is him, you know, a guest coming and him going to get something for the guest and then, well, one time getting a bottle and then just, you know, and then the guest can't find him and then there he is drinking and he's, you know, he forgot to bring it back. Or another time, he never even got to the wine store. He's just, he just stopped and started looking at the moon and, you know, is transfixed. So, he's totally engrossed in his life. And his life is very simple, but it's very full for him.

[38:59]

So, but you were talking, I think, Jamie, about not responding to the situation of, you know, the city or whatever it is, or the world or social. I mean, it's a real question. Instagram-ish kind of, like, escapism, where you go to the field of flowers, you take a picture. Yeah, like, it's just like a kind of empty value to escapism. Well, that'll do too. And I'm just, I was just thinking about that. Yeah, and but, and.

[40:03]

Yeah, but I think this is not that. This is, and I think in Song of the Grass Hut too, and in Ryokan, who was fully, fully there in his foolish life. So, it's, but, you know, these are good questions to ask of this. Yes, Jen. Maybe not. Oh, dear. I was thinking about, honestly, I was thinking about escapism, and I know a person who is literally escaping to Canada, and to get away from Trump, and to get away from being in the United States during this period. And, and that's one of the things, there's, there's all kinds of issues that

[41:12]

people just escape from by denying their existence. And this is what's happened with climate change. You know, it doesn't exist. For the last 30 years, people have denied that it was real. It's a Chinese hoax, right? Whatever, whatever. It's an escape from having to deal with it. Yeah. And so, my question was, when he said he was emerging from Somalia, did he say escaping? No, he didn't say escaping. No. He said emerging from Somalia. I couldn't figure out what that meant. Well, getting up from, from, you know, very intense settling into sitting facing the wall. No, Samadhi is another way of talking about Zazen.

[42:18]

Samadhi means meditation. Technically, it means concentration. So, or intense concentration. But there, we chant the song of the Jewel Mare, Samadhi is what is a, so it's used in different ways. But basically, it just, it generally is just refers to meditation. Settled meditation. So, he was, he was emerging from his, from his meditation. Well, that's good. Well, we should talk about that. But that's, you know, to use, to use verses like that as a Dharani, or during meditation, it's not necessarily a bad practice.

[43:25]

You know, it's a way you can, it's something, it's a way of doing Zazen. So, I, it's, so I would, we can talk about that individually in terms of refining how you do that. Yes, Alex. I'm, thank you for the talk and for other things. I'm very attracted to the signage of the old fool, perhaps because I'm a young fool. And I wonder if you could say anything about the practice of foolishness? Is there a responsible way to be foolish? Yeah, that's a really wonderful question. I think that's a good question for you to hold, to sit with. For some years. So, yeah, it's, it's, you know, this thing about escape.

[44:31]

I think the point is not, so there's a negative escape would be to run away from yourself. So don't escape, don't try and escape from yourself or escape from reality, whatever that is. But to be wholeheartedly, fully yourself might look really foolish. And that's how, that's how it was with Ryokan. So we're a little past time, but if there's one more urgent comment or question or response, anybody. Jan, you have something you wanted to say. To live such a life, you need a support group that is not, that is not being foolish in the same way you are.

[45:31]

Because if you have a begging bowl, somebody has to have resources to fill your begging bowl. And the people of the generation just after me, really soon, that they went into the woods and wanted to start canoes and they would weave and make beautiful weavings. But then they had to sell them. And somebody out there had to buy them so that they could have resources. And like you said, Walden, a girl, to just lock her home, this really simplified his life, you know. Yeah, so they've been, you know, going back to the transcendentalists and back to, you know, my old hippie days. There were all these experiments in communes and so forth and some worked better than others. And these are worthy experiments.

[46:33]

And Ryokan is part of that tradition too. But, you know, he had a support system. He had these children who he played with. But that was part of the culture. So this is not part of our culture. But in Japan, people, and in Asia, lay people are, it's part of their culture. They get merit blessings for making donations to temples and to, you know, to practitioners. It's just part of their culture. They assume that. So the society supported him to some extent. It's not like panhandlers in the loop, you know, who don't have, who are not given some status. And this is... Yeah.

[47:32]

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