Rinzai Zen: An Introduction to Practice From a Soto-Rinzai

Dialogue with Daigaku Rumme & Jeff Shore, held at the

Hartford Street Zendo of the San Francisco Zen Center,
January 13, 2007.

Below is a revised version of the Rinzai part of the

discussion. It is hoped that eventually the Soto part
of the discussion will also be published. Introduction
by Judy Hoyem: I’d like to introduce Jeff Shore. Jeff
lives in Kyoto, Japan where he has practiced for over
25 years at Tōfukuji Rinzai Zen monastery as a
layman under the master and head abbot Keidō
Fukushima. Jeff is also Professor of International
Zen at Hanazono University in Kyoto. He is just
coming to the end of a one-year sabbatical from his
university, during which he has traveled throughout
Europe, South America and the United States giving
lectures and retreats. The second speaker, Daigaku
Rumme, is a disciple of master Sekkei Harada of
Hosshinji Soto Zen monastery in Obama, Japan,
where Daigaku has lived over 27 years as a monk.
He currently resides at the San Francisco Zen Center
and works as a staff member of the Soto Zen Mission
of North America. Each will give a short talk
describing the practice of their respective traditions.
It is hoped that this dialogue will reveal not only the
differences between the two traditions, but the
common essence. Introduction by Daigaku Rumme:
Good afternoon. It’s great to see so many people
here. I’d like to say thank you to Jeff for taking time
out of his very busy schedule to be with us this
afternoon, as well as to Judy Hoyem who was very
instrumental in bringing us together today, and to
Myo Lahey of the Hartford Street Zendo for
generously providing the space. I think this is a
unique opportunity to speak about Soto and Rinzai
Zen. I was just talking on the phone the other day
with a mutual friend of ours, Victor Sōgen Hori who
lives in Montreal. One of the distinguished Rinzai
priests here in North America. He said, “I wish I
could be in San Francisco.” We’re going to speak
about 30 minutes each, then there will be plenty of
time for questions, comments and so on. I hope
everyone enjoys it, thank you. We’ll begin by sitting
together in zazen... Jeff Shore: It’s a great pleasure
and an honor to be here. It is out of mutual respect
for our traditions – I myself am here partly out of a
desire to better understand the other tradition. I look
forward to learning much from Daigaku today, and
also from all of you. What is koan practice in Rinzai
Zen? One good way to clarify this in a brief talk like
today is to look into where the koan comes from,
where did it originate? For example, though it’s not
usually spoken of in this way, what was Gotama
Buddha’s koan? What was his genjōkōan – the koan
manifest there and then? Many of you are familiar
with the basic meaning of the Chinese characters for
the word koan. It’s often described as a public
document, a legal term. But very simply, in the
present context let us consider it as a religious
problem in the form of an ultimate challenge. To put
it bluntly, what was Gotama’s problem? What drove
him to leave home, to leave everything, finally to sit
under the Bodhi Tree? What was Dogen’s
genjōkōan, what drove him to China? What was
Rinzai’s genjōkōan? (I will use the Japanese
pronunciation of the Chinese masters since it is more
familiar to you. No disrespect whatsoever is meant
to the great Chinese tradition.) What about the
Japanese Zen masters Bankei, or Hakuin – what was
their genjōkōan, what drove them? There is little
time to go into detail today. But if you can at least
get a taste of what a living koan really is, the rest can
follow naturally. In other words, once you get a
sense of what a koan truly is, then you can begin to
see how, and why, it gradually developed into its
present state – and the problems associated with it.
If we cannot see what a koan is for us here and now,
is it any wonder that the koan systems appear
bizarre? Let me begin with an example from the
early Pali canon of Indian Buddhism, the story of the
young man Yasa, son of a wealthy merchant in what
is now Benares. One night, after being entertained
by his entourage, he happened to fall asleep at his
seat. His entourage of servants, musicians and the
like were no longer needed, so they also fell asleep
in their places, some with musical instruments still
in hand. For whatever reason, in the middle of the
night, Yasa all of a sudden wakes up. He looks
around and is shocked at what he sees. Living the
good life with whatever he desired right at hand, he
now finds himself waking up in what seems like a
cemetery. You can see why, can’t you? Here are the
same people he had just been enjoying himself with
a few short hours ago. But now one of the young
women, sound asleep, has her legs sprawled out in
front of him in a most inelegant manner. Another is
drooling in her sleep, another snoring loudly. The
veneer of his comfortable, pleasurable existence has
been suddenly stripped away and something
underneath or beyond it has been revealed.
Confronted with this other side of life, the
impressionable young Yasa is shocked and
disgusted. He says to himself at this point, “What
distress indeed, what affliction indeed!” Rather old-
fashioned English, perhaps in keeping with the
ancient Pali. He had a glimpse into the first noble
truth of Buddhism, that all conditioned existence is
subject to “suffering,” as it is often poorly rendered
in English. I prefer “dis-ease.” In other words, self
cannot come fully to rest in being – whether we are
prince or pauper. Yasa then gets up and leaves his
mansion, intent never to return. He happens to come
upon Gotama Buddha sitting in meditation.
Remember, this is not a Zen story; however,
according to the Pali canon, Yasa walks right up to
Gotama, no introductions, no beating around the
bush, and simply and directly states what could be
called his genjōkōan: What distress indeed, what
affliction indeed! In the vernacular of my Philly
youth, “What a drag! Major bummer. This sucks.”
How does Gotama, at that time and place, for that
young man Yasa, respond? How do we respond?
Gotama responded, “This here is not distress. This
here is not affliction.” Hearing this, Yasa could take
encouragement. Yasa removed his goldgilded
slippers and sat down to be instructed by Gotama.
Naturally, Gotama did not use the direct and
immediate method of Zen. Rather he taught a
gradual teaching. But in a short time Yasa, still a
layman, became an arhat, an awakened one. A
precious story for us here today. Do you see? There,
in that brief exchange between Yasa and Gotama, is
Buddhism in a nutshell – and, if you have the eye,
Zen Buddhism, as well as the genjōkōan. To make it
unmistakably clear: Where is Yasa when he says
what he says? And where is Gotama when he says
what he says? Making this crystal clear under our
own feet is what genuine zazen is all about. Now let
me introduce a traditional koan. It is a crucial one.
For it presents the beginning of the Zen tradition
before there was any Rinzai or Soto Zen. It is the
legend of Bodhidharma, the 6th century Indian
Buddhist monk considered the founder of the
Chinese Zen tradition. Very simply, he was sitting in
a mountain cave in China facing the wall – which
seems to be why, to this day, Soto monks sit facing
the wall rather than each other. A Chinese monk
approaches and pleads, “I am not at peace. Master,
please give me peace.” How does Bodhidharma
respond to this living genjōkōan? Here and now,
how do you respond? Bodhidharma was himself
sitting in zazen at the time. He did not, however,
suggest doing the same. Nor did he ask the Chinese
monk how his zazen was going. Nor did he ask, as
has become common in certain circles these days,
have you had a kenshō-experience yet? He did not
say to work hard and have a breakthrough either.
How did Bodhidharma respond? “Bring forth the
self that is not at peace, then it will be!” Here is the
beginning of the Chinese Zen tradition. The Zen
texts do not go into detail, but that Chinese monk, in
response to Bodhidharma’s challenge, must have
looked deeply and carefully into the matter: What,
where exactly is this self, this source of my dis-ease?
Is it inside of me? Outside of me? In the in between?
Finally he realizes it, returns to Bodhidharma and
responds, “I have searched for it thoroughly, and it
is, finally, unattainable.” At which point
Bodhidharma naturally replies, “Now it is truly at
peace!” As many of you know, this monk went on to
become the second patriarch of Chinese Zen. I won’t
take the time now, but it can all be unpacked right
here as well. Instead, let me turn to an exchange
between another monk and the early Chinese Zen
master Sekitō, held in high regard by Soto Zen.
Sekitō stated that mind itself is Buddha. This was
when the statement was still fresh, before it became
a catchphrase. It is usually rendered in English as
something like “Mind itself is Buddha.” But what is
Sekitō really saying? Mind or self, the same Chinese
character used in the previous exchange with
Bodhidharma, is used here as well. Sekitō is
declaring that that mind, what we call self, is actually
Buddha, which is the awakened mind. To put it
bluntly, “Mind itself is Buddha” is really challenging
you to realize nothing less than “You are awake!”
You can well imagine, can’t you, the great doubt that
arose in the minds of the monks listening to Sekitō?
One monk responded to Sekitō: But what about
salvation, Nirvana, the sacred practices and goals of
Buddhism? This monk probably left his home and
family, had his head shaved, made the arduous
journey to Sekitō’s monastery, studied the sutras,
practiced meditation and so forth. Perhaps he
thought he was about ninety percent of the way
there. But now Sekitō, with one statement, has pulled
the rug out from under him and all his precious
practices and goals. How does Sekitō respond, at that
time and place, to that monk’s genjōkōan? What
about liberation? Sekitō responds, “Who binds you!”
He answers a question with a question: a question
that can put an end to all questions. Is this so
different from Bodhidharma’s challenge – or, for
that matter, Gotama’s response to Yasa? I’ll leave it
there for now. The most famous koan may be the
“Mu” of master Jōshū. Very simply, a monk asks
whether or not this dog has Buddha nature. In other
words, is it awake, free of all dis-ease? A good
question, at that time and place. And it is asked in a
natural way for a Chinese monk, in terms of the
concrete things around them rather than abstractions.
The monk is not just asking a theoretical question
about the essential nature of animals. He is probing,
just as we must do, what is my real nature? Do I
really have this pure, peerless awakened nature? –
Sure doesn’t seem that way to me! Commentaries
make clear that the monk already knew, just as the
master certainly did, the technical answer to that
question: “Yes.” Mahayana Sutras make clear that
all beings have – or, as Dogen puts it, are – Buddha
nature. However, at that time and place, for that
monk, Jōshū responded, “Mu.” I render it as “Nope!”
The point is, to what exactly is Jōshū saying
“Nope”? Perhaps I should briefly introduce the story
of Rinzai, the father of Rinzai Zen, to show what
happens when a genjōkōan is brought to life and then
brought to its conclusion. Very simply, the monk
Rinzai is sitting in a samadhi or concentrated
oneness so deep that he can’t even formulate a
question. (Suggestive, isn’t it? We have all kinds of
questions, don’t we?) So, he doesn’t go to meet the
master, Ōbaku. The head monk is astute, so he asks
Rinzai how long he’s been here at the monastery.
Three years, replies Rinzai. Have you gone to see the
master? Not once. Why not? I don’t even know what
to ask. So the head monk suggests he go and ask
about the ultimate point of the Buddha Dharma — a
standard question similar to What is the ultimate
truth? What is Zen? Who is Buddha? and so on.
Rinzai obediently does as he’s told, but before he can
finish asking the question, the master Ōbaku strikes
him! Rinzai does this several times, and each time
the master hits him before he’s done. Why? Finally
Rinzai despairs, feeling there must be some karmic
obstruction. To make a long story short, Rinzai ends
up visiting a master known as Daigu. Rinzai explains
that he had asked his master Ōbaku several times
about the Buddha Dharma, but the master would just
hit him. Rinzai concludes, “I don’t know where my
fault lies.” Daigu responds: “Why, Ōbaku was
exhausting himself with grandmotherly kindness,
yet you have the nerve to come here and ask where
your fault lies!” With that, Rinzai falls through. How
does he express it? Rinzai’s statement upon
awakening is usually translated accurately enough as
something like, “Oh, there’s not much to Ōbaku’s
Buddha Dharma!” Another rendering, “Is that all
there is to Ōbaku’s Buddha Dharma?!” Rinzai had
been desperately seeking this superb, peerless
Dharma of his master. And what does he finally
find? This is how I put it: “Ah, there’s nothing to it!”
That’s what he awakened to. At which point Daigu
declares, “Why you bedwetting little devil! You just
came here saying you don’t know where you were at
fault. Now you say there’s nothing to it. What
exactly have you seen? Speak, speak!” Without
hesitation Rinzai gives Daigu a couple of good pokes
in the rib. Rinzai is not the man he was just a moment
ago. Daigu concludes by shoving Rinzai away with
the words: “Your business is with Ōbaku. I have
nothing to do with it.” “There’s nothing to it!” – That
is the awakening of Rinzai, the father of Rinzai Zen.
Now to bring it all home as simply and clearly as I
can: The koan – to be real – must be our own burning
and immediate question, our own living problem.
The one that must be asked, and must be resolved, at
that time and place. That is how I see the genuine
genjōkōan. If we are pouring ourselves fully into the
practice, eventually we can’t get away from it.
That’s why it is so important to have the koan with
you constantly, whether sitting, working, or resting.
As the practice matures, you can’t escape it – it’s
there like it or not, whether you think about it or not.
Pursued properly, the koan comes to contain all. It’s
no longer simply my problem. From outside, koans
can appear abstract and bizarre. But from inside
there is nothing more immediate, direct, and
concrete. Nor is it merely a problem of the intellect,
although it is often mistakenly presented that way.
Not only the intellect, but emotion and will are
corrupted by ego-self. It is not a problem of some
part or aspect of self; as Gotama, Dogen and others
have made clear, it is the problem of the total body-
mind complex, in other words, self in its totality.
Thus, koan Zen has a reputation for being very
severe, very uncompromising. Frankly speaking,
however, when you give your self fully to the
practice, I don’t see how you can avoid where it
leads. It is, finally, not only “unattainable” but also
unavoidable. It’s just a matter of our sincerity and
devotion to practice. What actually happens in the
real koan practice of Rinzai Zen? When self exhausts
itself in this search or struggle, self in its totality
freezes. In other words, it can no longer submerge or
immerse itself in seeing, hearing, tasting, touching,
thinking, feeling, and so on. In contemporary
parlance: already been there, done that. The
activities of self in their totality are recognized as no
more than a symptom of the dis-ease. If you meet
with a genuine Zen master, he serves as an
impenetrable wall, rejecting anything and everything
that smacks of self, whether intellect, emotion, or
will. In a sense it’s an artificially created situation
for what in earlier times had occurred naturally. It
forces you to clearly, concretely recognize that there
is nowhere to go. Eventually self, body-mind in its
totality, freezes: you can still walk, talk, and perform
daily functions. But there is no more any “outflow,”
as the Buddhist term puts it. How to describe it? All
is gathered into one, and frozen. No longer any
inside or outside. When this resolves – dissolves –
practice truly is realization, as Dogen is fond of
saying. Recall Rinzai: “There’s nothing to it!” And
the Chinese monk who became the second patriarch:
“I have searched for it thoroughly and it is, finally,
unattainable.” Rinzai Zen has come to stress the need
to actually [striking floor] attain that unattainable:
decisive and conclusive. Not merely a matter of will
or resolve, but of something much more basic.
Otherwise it’s a matter of endlessly going in and
coming out of states of mind and so on – an obvious
symptom of the dis-ease itself. What happens when
the koan is realized? We really don’t attain anything.
There is nothing to attain. We don’t gain a thing. I
would say, on the contrary, we lose one thing: the
separation: the separation from the world, from
others, and from who we really are. That is all. We
separate from the separation. Or better yet, the
separation itself falls away of its own accord. Then
for the first time we really know what this thing is
[pointing at his feet]. Ego-self mistakenly thinks that
since it gets involved in duality, if it can somehow
be without duality then it will be free of dis-ease.
Nonsense. When we actually see all the way
through, it is obvious: Self doesn’t have this duality
or separation; self is this separation. What Dogen
and others call “body-mind” is this self-asseparation.
Now I ask all of you, what then is Dogen’s “body-
mind fallen off”? Once again, self is that delusion of
separateness. Thus, self can’t have or generate what
is called the great doubt of Zen; it can only be it.
Finally self comes to be that great doubt. When self
is fully consumed in that doubt, it cannot help but
dissolve. And when it dissolves, there can be no
doubt. Let me quickly add that this does not solve all
the particular problems of the individual, nor does it
make you perfect. We must be careful here. The first
koan is to come to this – decisively. Why, then, are
there so many other koans? They are in a sense
secondary, not necessary. The other koans in the
present systems are to make sure that it is worked out
in every aspect of life. But if the first koan is not
decisive, then we end up learning how to surf the
waves so to speak: We learn how to “answer” or
“pass” the koan – like passing gas – without getting
to the bottom of ourselves once and for all. This is a
problem and a danger wherever koan Zen is not used
properly. It is a pervasive problem in Western Zen
centers, but it is not absent in Japan and elsewhere. I
trust you now can see that, taken all the way, almost
anything can become a koan. On the other hand, any
formal koan, if it is not taken as your own immediate
problem, is not a living koan. If there were more time
I would speak on the details of koan practice and the
koan systems. But if you have gotten at least the gist
of what a koan really is, the rest can follow naturally.
And if you have questions, we can go into more
detail during the discussion. Thank you for listening
so intently. Discussion Jeff Shore: We are here to
understand better the common ground of Soto and
Rinzai and, indeed, of Buddhism and humanity. But
that does not at all mean mixing things up. On the
contrary it means being completely clear about the
legitimate differences and distinctions. We’re not
trying to lump everything together and say its all the
same: that’s worthless. It’s less than worthless.
That’s what in Buddhism is called “false sameness.”
By going to the depth of our respective traditions, we
really can come in contact with the other tradition.
Questioner: How does sitting meditation in Rinzai
Zen differ from the practice of Soto? Is it sitting with
a focus on the koan, is it not entertaining any
discursive thought? Jeff Shore: I’ve already touched
on the development in terms of a natural koan
emerging and taking over. So maybe it would be
helpful to respond by looking at how koan Zen
developed and what it became. It’s a simplification,
but basically koans developed because people were
no longer coming with their own living problem. For
example, according to the legend, the second
patriarch came and stated: I am not at peace – master,
please give me peace! He didn’t need a whole lot
explained to him. But eventually Chan, that is,
Chinese Zen Buddhism, became more or less the
state religion, so all kinds of people were coming to
practice this religion for all kinds of reasons. They
were rarely coming anymore with that burning
question. So what did the masters do? They could
have just thrown them out – on occasion they did!
But the standard Rinzai explanation is that when
someone came without a real problem-question or
doubt, out of “grandmotherly kindness” the master
had them take up a traditional koan to help them
plumb the depths. So a master might guide the
disciple by saying that when asked whether or not a
dog had Buddha nature, Jōshū responded “Mu!”
Now be that! Zazen, “sitting Zen,” is very important
here. In the rōhatsu, the most intense week-long
retreat of the year, in Rinzai monasteries in Japan we
sit about eighteen hours a day for seven days,
without lying down. This retreat is usually held the
first week of December, in commemoration of
Gotama Buddha’s sitting under the Bodhi tree and
awakening. Zazen is very important in Rinzai Zen.
The point is to sit with, as, the koan. But if it is a
given koan assigned from the outside, we must first
cement ourselves to it, be one with it. Bring Jōshū’s
“Mu!” to life. Make it our own. Here is where
meeting with the master in dokusan or sanzen can be
so valuable in Rinzai Zen. This is a significant
difference with Soto Zen. In Rinzai Zen there is no
discussion with the master in this formal meeting.
There is only the koan. The master is there as a kind
of a great wall, an impenetrable barrier. At the same
time he is completely open, in a sense expecting. But
he will accept nothing but utter selflessness. Out of
great compassion he remains a wall that self cannot
possibly scale, a gateless barrier. Why? To help the
koan burn through you, exhaust you. That is what
goes on in genuine zazen. The popular criticism that
in Rinzai Zen one sits and thinks about a koan misses
the point. Face it: If you’re thinking about a koan,
then you’re not doing Rinzai practice. Thinking
about a koan, feeling, emoting, having insights about
it has nothing to do with it and will naturally be
rejected by any master worth his salt. The first
necessity is to actually be (striking floor) the koan.
But in the beginning you are still struggling to be one
with it. You are still separate from it. If one
continues on without interruption, eventually that
separation is gone. There can be no separation. Then
the koan starts to come to life. It sounds strange, but
when you’re eating, the koan eats; the koan lays
down to rest. That state of no-separation, however,
is not yet awakening. In a sense we can say that at
this point the practice has become effortless. But it
is far from complete. Thus, even then, the master
remains an immovable wall. Why? So that even this
oneness can fall away. Although I have stressed the
importance of zazen, it is worth noting that no one
has ever awakened simply by sitting. Why? Dogen
was awakened when the master hurled abuse and
struck the monk sitting nearby for falling asleep.
Even Gotama himself, according to the Zen
tradition, awakened upon looking up at the morning
star. There must be a discrete event in which, how to
put it, no-self realizes itself. Practice then truly is
realization, authentication, as your tradition puts it.
Not just the master’s, but the single eye of the senior
monks is constantly on you as well, so that you don’t
lose focus even for a moment. This is also probably
different from Soto monastic practice. There’s a kind
of macho-rigor, at least in contemporary Rinzai Zen.
And it can be abused. But the point is to help the
beginner maintain a constant grip on the koan. Not
lose it for a moment. Then, eventually it becomes
constant. A constant samadhi in which all has been
gathered into one. Then it can all fall away.
Otherwise some focus and solidifying occurs, but
then it melts away. Then builds up again. Then melts
away again, and so on. This is not practice but
inconclusive, indecisive, endless mental
masturbation. Does that help? Questioner: Thank
you. You have answered a larger, more important
question than the one I asked. Jeff: My apologies.
(General laughter) Questioner: Without
discrimination, is there awareness of any kind? And
without awareness, is there discrimination of any
kind? Jeff: In a sense it’s a good question, since it
gets to the crux of the matter: As long as there is that
kind of awareness, the problem still exists. The
solution is not, of course, to be simply unconscious.
Awakened persons don’t walk into walls. How are
they aware? What are they aware of? Perhaps that’s
a way of rephrasing your question. Obviously in a
sense they are aware. But not quite in the same way
that ordinary self-consciousness works. I described
the preliminary state in terms of there being no
separation – not no awareness, but no separation.
What does the term “Buddha” mean? An awakened
one. (Not the awakened one, because we’re all
Buddhas.) Awakened from what? It’s a metaphor.
Awakened from the dream, or nightmare, of
samsara, which includes our ordinary daily life, our
reflective self-conscious existence in its totality:
thinking, feeling and willing. It’s a good metaphor:
To wake up doesn’t mean to become someone else;
I don’t cease being Jeff and instead become a
Buddha. Nor does all awareness simply cease. On
the contrary, we wake up to what we truly are and
have always been. But we can’t reflect on that! It is
not only unattainable, as already mentioned. It is also
“unreflectable.” And that is what every koan
presents us with. Every koan is unreflectable. It
cannot be grasped, let alone resolved, by reflection
or selfconsciousness. Struggling with a koan in
Rinzai Zen is not a matter of getting rid of
consciousness per se. Initially it is a matter of, how
to put, realizing a samadhi or seamless focus in
which there is no separation, no division, between
the-one-who-is-conscious and that-of-which-it-is-
conscious. It’s amazing, but that is not a matter of
things merging together. No, the full beauty and
dignity of each and every thing only starts to become
really clear in this selfless awareness. Questioner:
It’s clear: in Soto Zen, shikantaza or “just sitting” is
non-attainment. Got that. Jeff, in koan practice is
there attainment? Jeff: You say you’ve got
shikantaza non-attainment. Do you? Questioner: I’m
glowing, aren’t I? Jeff: That alone will not do.
Questioner: A simplistic explanation that I’ve heard,
and even repeat myself, about the difference
between Soto and Rinzai deals with attainment. Is
that accurate? Jeff: No. That’s why I stressed what
Rinzai realized: There’s nothing to it! That’s also
why I stressed the beginning of the Zen tradition
with Bodhidharma; what did the second patriarch
come to?: I have searched for it thoroughly, and it is,
finally, what? What is it, finally? Unattainable!
Questioner: Rather than attainment, let me use the
word striving. Jeff: In beginning practice, striving is
most helpful. But finally that won’t do either.
Questioner: We heard that in Rinzai Zen you
actually strive. Is that accurate? Jeff: Striving alone
will not do. However, not striving, not doing
anything, will not do either. Correct? There’s the real
barrier – and the real entrance. Questioner: Strive to
reach the point of non-striving? Jeff: That won’t do
either. Do you see? When you really get up close,
neither one will do. There’s the entrance. Right there
is the entrance to the real koan. Simply sitting with
your self, will not do. But sitting trying to attain
some kind of enlightenment will not do either. Any
Rinzai master worth his salt will never put up with
that. Why? I ask you why? There’s the real koan.
And it has nothing to do with Soto or Rinzai, does
it? Questioner: I think I’ll stop trying to explain the
difference and instead go and find a Rinzai teacher!
Thank you very much. Questioner: The difference I
heard was that Soto is for peasants and Rinzai is for
soldiers. Questioner: I heard that the Rinzai people
are jumping for the fruit and the Soto people are just
sitting under the branch until it falls on them. Jeff: I
believe here today we’ve already gone beyond that.
Questioner: So we should stop telling that story too?
Jeff: Thank you. Questioner: What you say brings up
for me the question of effort without desire. In Soto
Zen, shikantaza requires effort, but without
conscious expectation. Is that in line with what you
are saying? Jeff: In terms of a simple process, in the
beginning of Rinzai practice one is trying very hard,
working at sitting properly, and so on. Making that
samadhi, that oneness, constant. Otherwise the
practice will never reach its natural conclusion. Not
only in zazen, but maintaining that mind in the
activities of ordinary life. As a process it takes a
great deal of will and determination; for some people
it’s more of a struggle than for others. But certainly
without that we can’t begin to practice and actually
discover what is what. In the beginning there is
inevitably still an element of self. The self is trying
to become one. As a process it needs, in a sense, to
do this. Actually that’s because it’s already two.
When all has been totally gathered into one, where
there’s no inside or outside, then finally that oneness
can fall away. Here’s the problem: People then think
they’ve awakened. They haven’t awakened, they’ve
simply entered true oneness. Here’s where Rinzai
Zen warns us that we must practice even harder.
Why? Get there and see! It is effortless at that point.
But that doesn’t mean you don’t practice. What
eloquent Zen master spoke of it as blood, sweat, and
tears? – Oh, sorry, that was Winston Churchill.
(General laughter) Here is where it’s helpful to have
someone with a clear eye. If not a teacher, then real
Dharma brothers and sisters to work it through.
Questioner: What is the importance of a specific
teacher for a specific individual? Jeff: One’s zazen
must be the ultimate teacher, one’s life must be the
ultimate teacher. However, relatively speaking, at a
certain point in our practice, it can be very valuable
– almost necessary – to encounter someone living
Dharma. If that person is worth their salt, there will
also be a point when they refuse to let you turn them
into “the teacher.” You can often learn a lot about a
teacher by seeing what they let you turn them into –
and what they won’t. Over 25 years I’ve practiced
with a Rinzai master. And yet, I cannot stress
enough, he never taught me a thing in dokusan, the
private interview. As it must be. Who, after all, was
Gotama Buddha’s teacher? Who was the teacher of
his awakening? That is true awakening – and that is
available to us all. Summary & Conclusion Jeff: I
deeply appreciate this precious opportunity. I trust
it’s clear that I’m not interested in converting people
to Rinzai Zen. That’s not my point. I am a
fundamentalist in the sense that I urge people to get
to the bottom of what they call themselves. I have no
doubt you can do that in Soto Zen through genuine,
thoroughgoing shikantaza. I know for a fact you can
do it in Rinzai Zen. There are many other ways as
well. Rather than push some particular school or
sect, I beg you, if you are serious about the great
matter of birth and death, to once get to the very
bottom of what you call yourself. Then work from
there. Judy: Let’s end with a period of zazen.