Not Zen 16: Self-Discipline

A student was trying to cure her bad habit of biting fingernails. She was an excellent practitioner of sitting meditation and quickly surpassed her roshi in all but the comprehension of apparent contradictions. Her roshi, an old, fat woman, advised her on the issue of nail-biting to simply have more self-discipline.

The student looked at her fat roshi.

"The self-discipline I've got should be enough," she said.

"Everyone has some self-discipline.  It is like breathing." The roshi nodded to herself. "That lets you know how important it is. Everyone breathes well enough when doing things to which they have become accustomed. For instance, I'll bet you breathe quite well even after a long run."

"Of course," said the student.

"That wouldn't be true for me," said the roshi. "I'm not used to running. But I am accustomed to self-denial and self-discipline. I wonder if you're as good as you think. Are you thirsty?"

"Not really. A little." The student shrugged.

"We have an hour lesson." The instructor set her bottle of water in front of her student. "Sit next to this water for an hour.  But don't drink any."

Before the hour was finished, the student grabbed the bottle, uncapped it, and took a drink.

"The time is not yet," chided the roshi.

"Isn't it?" The student looked at the nearby clock. Her shoulders slumped.  "I thought it was. Anyway, that was kind of hard, having the water sit here in front of me. It made me thirsty right away."

"You're really out of shape," said the roshi.

Not Zen 15: Failure

A reporter went to interview a man who was widely known to be successful in multiple disciplines - as a banker, as a philosophy teacher, and as a painter.

"Were you talented in school?" the reporter asked him.

"No.  I showed no talent."

The reporter crossed our her next prepared question. After resting a moment with her pencil against her chin, she skipped halfway down her list.

"If you weren't talented ..." she asked, "... how did you get into college?"

"I was rejected every time. I couldn't get admitted in the usual way, so I took a menial job at a university. As part of the job, they offered me free classes. I took them and learned what I could."

"Did you get your degree in art? Or in finance?"

"I got a degree in philosophy."

"That's pretty widely regarded as useless. How did you become successful at banking?"

"At first, I was a terrible failure. You're right that I wasn't prepared. I didn't understand banks. But from my failures, I learned. Soon, I was a good assistant manager. And because I was young, I thought I could start my own bank."

"And you did!"

"Yes. Now I've applied the same lessons to painting, which is apparently why you are here. As I said, I showed no talent as an artist. I made many bad paintings at first."

"If that's true, why did you keep on painting?"

"Art is easier than banking. You can make mistakes and still produce a worthwhile picture. I took pleasure in being allowed to do things the wrong way. I had fun with mistakes. That's why I became a better artist."

"What about this one?" The reporter turned to the wall of the studio. She pointed to a ink drawing of an apple. "It's perfect. No mistakes. All the lines are exactly right."

"That one started out as a picture of an orange." The philosopher shook his head. "Only when I realized that it had gone wrong did I add some reflections and a stem."

"Are you serious?"

"The only real mistakes we make, I now believe, are in not profiting from our earlier mistakes."

Not Zen 14: Slave Status

The stoic master Seneca became famous for his talks on spiritual harmony with nature. Students came from afar to hear his speeches, which he gave in his courtyard and in his orchard. Wealthy followers gave him money for the lectures.

"You are held in more esteem than any other in the city," one follower told him.

"Such is life," said the stoic. He knew there were others as worthy as he but they did not speak as well.

Late one summer, the city was overrun by a barbarian army. Thousands of citizens were killed. Many thousands more were captured and taken as slaves. They were forced to work in fields and huddle together for shelter.

"You are the lowest of the low," said their captors.

"Such is life," said Seneca. He reported for work early every morning and assisted with the harvests as ordered.

A month later, the invaders divided their forces. Soon a Roman army re-captured the fields. They unshackled the slaves, including Seneca.

"You are free!" shouted the soldiers.

The former slaves cheered, except for Seneca. Unlike the others, Seneca saw no reason to celebrate his freedom. He had never felt the weight of slavery or the fear of death.

"Thank you," he said. He calmly shook the hands of several soldiers. "What now?"

"Now we must all work in the orchards to bring in the rest of the harvest," they ordered. "It is the will of the new emperor!"

"Such is life," said the master.

Not Zen 13: Lightness

A roshi and his apprentices took a job picking fruit.  Early in the day, one of the apprentices hiked through the orchard to approach the roshi.

"I feel a wholeness for which there are no words," he said.  "I want to tell everyone.  But how are we supposed to teach things that are not verbal?"

The roshi handed his heavy basket to the apprentice.

"How can we express such complete joy as I feel?" continued the student.  He seemed oblivious to the basket.

The roshi held an apple in his hand.  He bit into it.

"Or lead others to this sublime feeling?"

The master turned the apple in his hand.  He put it to the mouth of his apprentice and nodded to encourage the young man.  The apprentice bit down.  Juice dribbled onto his chin.  He chewed and, without knowing the reason, laughed.

Not Zen 12: Everything Sacred, Nothing Sacred

A group of athletes played basketball together every day at the same time.  They invited a new player, a student of religion, and he quickly learned the game. His interest in religion became a matter of discussion after the games, off the court.

"It all sounds crazy to me," said a big man after he wiped his face with a towel.  "What is sacred to you?"

The student of looked around.  After a moment, he noticed what he was holding in his hands.

"This basketball is sacred," he answered.

"How?"  The big man laughed and reached for his drink.

"It is connected to everything."  He spun the basketball in his hands.  "It is part of the flow of the universe.  We can't exist without it.  All parts of the universe are necessary.  Everything is as it should be."

"Then is everything sacred?" the big man asked sourly.  "Is the basketball as sacred as the chalice at my church?  As my minister?  As my wife or my kids?  As your teachers?"

"Nothing is sacred," answered the student.

Not Zen 11: Focus

Two monkeys walked out of the forest.  They scrambled up the side of a cliff in search of insects, worms, and other food.  Halfway up the north face of the cliff, they noticed an overhang above.  As they squinted at it, they could make out part of a small kanju tree that had grown in a soil deposit on the rocky slope.

"We can't reach the tree," said the larger monkey.

His smaller friend shook his head.  He hadn't even imagined trying.

As they dug for worms in the patches of moss, a gust shook the high tree above.  An kanju fruit fell past them.  It landed near, bounced, rolled, and when it reach a spot fifty feet below them, fell over the sheerest part of the cliff.  It tumbled in the air for a hundred feet and burst open on the forest floor.

"That kanju mush could have been ours if we'd stayed in the forest," said the smaller monkey.

"But don't you see?" screamed the larger one.  "If the wind blows again, we can catch those kanjus!"

"The wind is rising," said the smaller monkey.  "I think we will get the chance."

"There will be a storm.  And when it shakes the tree, oh, the fruit I will catch!  I'll grab a kanju with each hand.  I'll grab one with my mouth!"

"I don't think I can do that," said the smaller one.  "Maybe I could catch one if it came my way."

"You pitiful fool!" screeched his companion.  "I will catch many fruits, not just one.  I will catch them with my tail, too.  I'll make a stack of them.  I'll get them all."

"Oh!  Here comes the wind!"

A storm cloud blew over the top of the cliff.  The entire north face of the mountain shuddered under the gale.  The tree above them shook.  A dozen ripe kanjus fell.

The older monkey screeched and flailed.  He scrambled for all that he could but, instead of catching one, he missed them all.  He even missed a kanju that hit him on the side of the head.  As a result, he lost his footing on the ledge.  He tumbled down the side of the cliff, rolling over and over until he caught himself just before he would have fallen through the air down to the forest floor.  If he had not stopped, he would have been split open like one of the kanju fruits.

"Are you okay?" asked the smaller monkey after a while.

"I missed," said his friend after he caught his breath.

"Not a single kanju?"

"Not a single one."

The larger monkey lay in silence for a while, bruised and defeated.  After a while, he noticed a crunching noise above.

"What are you eating up there?" he asked.

"My kanju," said the smaller monkey.

Not Zen 10: Senseless Death

Two days after a tragedy, the young man arrived at his temple.  His mother had been one of many people murdered in the marketplace.  The act had been committed, so far as anyone could tell, out of a misplaced sense of revenge.  Victims had not died because they had wronged the murderers but because they happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and were vulnerable.

The young man cried tears and raged for a while about the injustice of it.  Then he sat.

"You're a good man," he told the priest.  "But your parables say nothing about terrors or senseless death."

The priest knew that all of Zen, all of Stoicism, and all of the Way dealt with the senselessness of death and, in fact, of living, too.  No tragedy was ignored.  But he remained silent.

"My mother was killed by brutes.  And for what?  For nothing.  Because she looked like someone a killer didn't like.  Her last moments were suffering and fear.  That's what I dream about now.  Her last moments."

"You and I will die that way, too," said the priest.  "I don't mean in the marketplace.  But we will suffer in our bodies and maybe in our souls.  Don't fool yourself.  Even if we pass away in our sleep, our bodies will suffer.  We will feel agony."

"Is that what life is about, then?  Ending in agony?  Is there no hope?"

"Hope is a worldly thing.  It is not part of the way.  You know that."

"What do you have to offer, then?"  The young man began to cry again.

"Compassion.  Compassion is always part of the way."

"And compassion leads to hope?"

"It shouldn't."  He put his hand over the young man's trembling hand.  "It should lead to more compassion."

Not Zen 9: Determination

A young lion, driven out of the pride by his father, wandered far in search of game.  He found that the calves in the territory of a wealthy, ranching family were easy kills.  But when the ranch owner noticed his two youngest calves had gone missing, he walked the bounds of his land and located the predator in the grassy hills.

He pointed at the beast and, since his oldest grandsons were with him, he ordered them to go out and slay it.

"Take my armor, spears and knives.  You are strong enough and fast enough."

But the grandsons feared the lion and the lion could sense their cowardice.

As the young men dressed for battle, the lion crept onto a rock overlooking them and said, "One of those spears looks like it's about to break.  I could bite it in two.  Which of you will get the good spear and which the bad, I wonder?"

The two young men, eager for an excuse to avoid danger, fell to petty arguing.  They never hunted for the lion that day.  When their grandfather found out, he was angry and blamed their father.

"It's your duty now, son.  You must gather your brother and your cousins and explain what has happened.  Ask them to bring their weapons, too.  Then do the job yourselves."

A day later, the middle aged men gathered.  Many of them were leaders of the village.  They were proud.  As they dressed to slay the young lion, the lion watched from the other side of the creek.

"That armor doesn't fit well, does it?" said the lion.  "It was meant for smaller men, I think.  It doesn't cover your necks.  Yes, I think I can get at your necks easily enough.  And are those shields wicker? Ho, ho.  You might as well use a fan.  I would enjoy a cool breeze as I run amongst you."

One of the men agreed that the armor did not fit him properly.  He announced that he was going back to his home to find better protection.  Soon, another man decided the same.  In a short time, the ranch owner's son was left alone.  He eyed the lion from across the stream and decided he didn't want to cross the water in his armor.

"Are you all imbeciles or cowards?" shouted the grandfather when his family told him the news.  "The beast is not even fully grown."

"I'm sorry, father," said the son, ashamed.

"I have to do everything myself."  The old rancher grabbed a spear from the wall and stomped out of his house.  Although he was white haired, he was still a strong fellow and he knew his lands well. From the lay of the grass, he could tell that the young lion had crept up the nearest hill overlooking the cattle herd.  The rancher marched directly at the predator.

"Now this man is in earnest," the lion said to himself.  It worried him, especially since he'd been trying to hide and the rancher had spotted him immediately.  His opponent seemed smart and determined.  So the lion attempted to intimidate the rancher in the same manner he'd used with his grandsons and sons.

"Don't you want to fetch your armor?" he called.

"That's only for men who haven't killed lions before," replied the rancher.

In the face of the steady advance, the lion turned and fled.

Not Zen 8: Pain

A young man drove his father to the doctor's office. There, his father was diagnosed with cancer of the pancreas. The doctor explained that it was one of the most painful diseases known. The father nodded, accepted his prescriptions, and left.

In the car, his son sat stunned. He rested his hands on the wheel but didn't move.

"Doesn't it hurt in that region of your stomach?" he asked his father after a minute of thought.

"Yes. In fact, it's hurt for years."

"And your back? Has that hurt, too?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you say anything, dad?"

"What would we have done about it? I had to work. It didn't matter what my problem was. I had to provide for you and your mother."

"That's crazy." The young man shook his head.

"No. It's what parents do. Your mother does the same thing. You'll do it, too, when you're older. Wait and see. Living with pain is nothing special."

"I don't think I can do it. Not like you."

"You say that now. But you won't get far without doing it. Sometimes all you can give other people is your patience, love, and toleration for the aches and pains of life. Anyway, didn't you sprain your wrist yesterday? You've got a brace on."

“Are you seriously comparing that?" The young man lifted his arm to look at it for a moment. “This is nothing.”

"Well, thanks for getting me here," his father said.

Not Zen 7: Fake Success

A town held contests for many talents in their theatre, among them singing, dancing, and playing music. A local actor won them all. It became a matter of gossip in the town. When the contest judges heard that the actor was studying towards enlightenment once a week on Mondays at a local temple, they decided that a wisdom contest was in order.

The contest board invited many of the local religious leaders to compete against one another. All refused. But the actor, wishing to lend some of his fame to his master, begged him to join in the competition so that an audience could see the difference between fake wisdom and the real thing.

On the night of the performance, the actor, pretending to be wise, gave the audience a stirring speech. To his secret glee, he had copied the speech word for word from his instructor. The crowd applauded wildly. Now they will see the real thing, thought the actor.

When it was the master's turn to come on stage, the small man stood in silence for a moment. He closed his eyes and held still. A little girl in the front row began to cry. After a second or two, the master knelt to the girl and handed over his prayer wheel. She began twirling it. She stopped fussing and her parents nodded in gratitude.

Satisfied by this lesson, the master left the stage. But the audience was angered by his abrupt departure. They voted unanimously for the performance of the actor instead. In back of the stage, as he witnessed the voting, the actor turned to his master in tears.

"Why are they applauding me?" he wondered, aghast. "I'm a fake. And they know I'm a fake."

The master embraced him for a moment.

"See you on Monday," he said.