Iron Grindstone [Liu] went to [Guishan]. [Guishan] said, “Old cow, you’ve come!”
She said, “Tomorrow there’s a great communal feast on Mount Tai —are you going?”
[Guishan]lay down. Iron Grindstone Liu then left.Secrets of the Blue Cliff Record, Case 24, p 74.
There is an elegance to the concise koans of our tradition like this one. It may sound enigmatic or mysterious, but that’s not what’s intended. In commentary for this case, Hakuin wrote this:
This is a meeting of adepts, in which there are no more views of Buddha or opinions of Dharma. Are you going? They travel together; here there are no tracks. [Guishan] lay down—as might be expected, the slow collapse of a great general.
Ibid.
In Tenkei’s commentary, he added this:
…Tomorrow—Are you going to the open feast on Five Peaks Mountain? This is simply a meeting of adepts; it is not Zen, it is not Tao. It is unobstructed action, moving when poked, rolling when pressed. When he lay down, then she left. What realm is this? It is where “cats and cows know.”
Ibid.
Notice the words from the case that are amplified by Hakuin and Tenkei. Both highlighted, “Are you going?” and that both Guishan and Iron Grindstone Liu are “adepts. ”Tenkei also highlighted, “Tomorrow,” and, “When he lay down, then she left.”
Unlike many stories in which we have a travelling student of Zen encountering a master for the first time, this story has the flavor of familiarity between the two people interacting. Reading it, I have the sense they both know what the conversation is about, and I’d like to think both are enjoying it. Since it’s short, let me read it again so you have another chance to take it in.
Iron Grindstone [Liu] went to [Guishan]. [Guishan] said, “Old cow, you’ve come!”
She said, “Tomorrow there’s a great communal feast on Mount Tai —are you going?”
[Guishan] lay down. Iron Grindstone [Liu] then left.Ibid.
The first line is clear – there is no denying that Liu went to Guishan, she’s sitting before him. Guishan’s saying, “…you’ve come!” could be welcoming. In our cultural associations we may take Guishan’s reference to Liu as “old cow” as an insult. But Guishan likened himself to a water buffalo, saying that he would be reborn as one. His reference to Liu as old cow would then have expressed affinity – old cow meets old water buffalo. In “Hidden Lamp,” a book of koans about women with commentary by woman teachers, Pat O’Hara saw this story as, “a perfect pas de deux…satisfyingly complete and heartbreakingly intimate.” (Melissa Myozen Blacker, Lion’s Roar, “A Woman of Zen.”
So far, there is nothing to disturb us as readers. But even so, Guishan is not solely welcoming.
Liu’s reply invokes the future and invites Guishan to go to something. He lays down. Is his laying down rude, or something else? She leaves. Is she offended, or again, conveying something else?
Guishan and Liu seemed to have a good time in this exchange, but that alone doesn’t mean anyone would care enough to write it down, translate it to another language, and read it today. The substance of the exchange speaks eloquently in words and gestures. For whatever seems obvious about her coming, Liu sidesteps affirming or denying that she’s come. In her response she invites Guishan to go to Mt. Tai tomorrow, six hundred miles away – a distance that may have well been infinite and impossible for travel in a 24-hour period at the time. What is it she is asking? Guishan’s response is neither to affirm or deny, but to lay down. What do you think – did he make the trip or not? Liu leaves. Or did she?
Outside of concepts of coming and going, Liu arrives. Outside of concepts of today and tomorrow, staying or going, Guishan lies down. And outside of concepts of coming and going, Liu leaves. How easy it is for me and you to hear these words, “outside of concepts,” and yet form concepts about them anyway. We can say we understand, and we may; Guishan and Liu have spoken and acted naturally.
Guishan is speaking to you, “So, you’ve come!” . . . What is your response now?
Returning to this comment by Hakuin:
This is a meeting of adepts, in which there are no more views of Buddha or opinions of Dharma. Are you going? They travel together; here there are no tracks. [Guishan] lay down—as might be expected, the slow collapse of a great general.
Ibid.
In the talk I gave asking why Bodhidharma came from the west, I included a saying of Linji that sounds remarkably similar to Hakuin’s comment. Here again are Linji’s words:
I say to you there is no buddha, no dharma, nothing to practice, nothing to enlighten to. Just what are you seeking in the highways and byways? Blind [people]! You’re putting a head on top of the one you already have. What do you yourselves lack?
Kirchner, Thomas Yuho; Sasaki, Ruth Fuller. The Record of Linji (Nanzan Library of Asian Religion and Culture) (p. 76). University of Hawaii Press. Kindle Edition.
Lacking nothing, we respond to our morning alarms, get on highways and byways, and come sit. These actions are all entirely natural given the longing that we have. Know that the longing does not confirm there is one who longs. The longing that brings us to sit bows to Buddha, dharma, and sangha, and sits, without anything to practice. Within our tradition from long-ago China, the words of Guishan, Linji, and others adamantly assert there is no buddha, no teaching, and nothing to practice. How can we today intimately recognize their words as yours and mine?
No need to worry about understanding or not understanding. Adding understanding is adding a head to the one we already have.
Bringing the koan of Guishan and Liu to Seattle: Liu is speaking to you, “Tonight is my birthday. Would you like to come to a party at the south rim of the Grand Canyon?” . . . What is your response now?
There is a story from Dogen’s three-hundred koans that I’ll bring in for shading to the one of Guishan and Liu:
Case Four
[Liang], the Zasu (temple master) on Mount Sei in the Ko district, one day became a disciple of Master [Mazu].
Master [Mazu] said: Which sutra do you lecture on?
[Liang] said: The Heart Sutra.
Master [Mazu] said: How do you lecture on it?
[Liang] said: I lecture on it with my mind.
Master [Mazu] said: Mind is the leading actor, will is a supporting player, and the six senses are the followers, so how can you lecture on the Sutra?
[Liang] said: If it is impossible for mind to lecture on the Sutra, then do you say that just empty space can lecture on it?
Master [Mazu] said: Even space can lecture on it. [Liang] started to leave, swinging his wide sleeves as he went. Master [Mazu] called out to him.
Master [Mazu] called: Kansu!
[Liang] turned his head. Master [Mazu] said: From birth to death it is just this!Master [Liang] realized the truth and concealed himself on Mount Mount Sei. Nobody knows what happened to him after that.
Nishijima, Gudo. Master Dogen’s Shinji Shobogenzo: 301 Koan Stories (p. 20). Windbell Publications. Kindle Edition. (Japanese versions of the Chinese names were replaced with the Chinese names.)
This story is also a perfect pas de deux, though including awkwardness, disconnection, and confusion. There is much here to play with. If you are drawn to do so, do dokusan with it, giving your own response to Mazu line by line. Separate from this story, there is record of another encounter in which Mazu said, “Mind is Buddha.” I didn’t research the time lines, but wonder if Liang may have heard of Mazu’s linking Mind and Buddha, and thought he was on safe ground when saying he lectures on the Heart Sutra with his mind.
I couldn’t confirm this historically, but the language of the story implies to me that Liang’s apparent temple role was to work with residents on one or more sutras. It would be natural then for Mazu to ask about how he worked with the sutras. In the Leighton translation, the same two lines are shown as, “Mazu said, “How do you teach it?” Liang said, “I teach it with the mind.” We could quibble with phrasings of “lecturing with my mind,” “teaching with the mind,” or even “Mind,” with a capitol “M.” No matter the details of language ancient and current, Mazu was not satisfied.
In the Nishijima translation I used first and after saying mind is an actor, Mazu asks how can you lecture on the sutra?” In the Leighton translation at the same point Mazu asks how can the sutra be taught?” The translations are different – one implies there is one who lectures, the other asks how mind, will, and senses can teach. Either way, Mazu is looking for something else.
After a couple of more exchanges, Liang leaves, swinging his sleeves, until Mazu calls to his back “Hey!” Liang, pauses, turns, and according to both translations Mazu says, “From birth to death it is just this!” We are then told that Master Liang realized the truth…”
From birth to death it is just this!
Drink deeply from this phrase. Just this. Just this when walking to the kitchen at kinhin doesn’t leave space for coming from or going to. Pouring a glass of water is independent of empty or full glass. Where can we find a before and after drinking water, when just turning back to the dojo.
Don’t be confused by the true distance covered step by step. These old worthies are slapping hands to floor so we can look no further than this one step. Just as a painting of still life can evoke the experience of a moment like no other without need of explanation, let these old stories evoke something for you that words like Buddha and mind are unable to describe. Trust that you hear the story.
I’ll finish with a story taken from Dogen’s Extensive Record called “A Plum’s Ripening (#8, Dharma Hall Discourse, p. 75).
Mazu said, “This mind itself is Buddha.” Damei ([whose name means] “Great Plum”) studied this more than thirty years, dwelling on his mountaintop, hiding his traces in the sounds of the valley and the colors of the mountain.
The ancestor Mazu finally sent a monk to visit and say to Damei, “Mazu’s Buddha Dharma is different these days.”
Damei responded, “How is it different?”
The monk said, “No mind, no Buddha.”
Damei said, “Even if he says ‘No mind, no Buddha,’ I just follow ‘This mind itself is Buddha.’”
The monk returned and told the ancestor.
Mazu said, “That plum is ripe.”