Not Zen 43: Contempt Needed

Before dawn, an elderly man hiked up the hill to a grand temple. He arrived when the front doors were closed. As the eastern sky glowed red, he was joined by a younger man. They waited until the priest noticed them and opened the temple.

They were the earliest visitors of the day and it was their first time inside. Tall, stone statues lined the front hall. Carpets with woven mandalas stretched out along the marble floor. Under the arch at the center of the temple, artists had painted a fresco of bright colors and intricate details. The younger man lifted his gaze as he followed his companion. He saw candle holders of brass, gold, and silver. He gaped at altars piled high with jade figurines, carved with love. Next to them and among them were icons made from citrine and aquamarine.

The older fellow stepped up to the raised platform at the center, where the prayer mats waited. He brushed aside the incense burners, books, and carvings that lay in his path. His companion gasped.

"Do you have something to say?" he asked.

"No, sir," the younger one said.

"Of course not. You are very respectful."

"Yes." said the pupil.

"Everything I say, you hear."

"Oh yes."

"You are so reverent, so serious ..."  The old man paused. He rubbed his balding head. "I cannot see how you will ever succeed."

"But … what do you mean?"

"You see me as above you. You see enlightenment as beyond you." He threw out his arms to either side and indicated their surroundings. "You see all this crap in the temple as worthy of reverence. It's not. Enlightenment is mundane. I'm an ordinary person. Have some contempt, damn it."

"Yes, sir."

"Sheesh. Listen to you." He pounded the floor. "If the holiest person alive was here on the mat next to me, I would tell you to doubt the words coming out of his mouth."

"Yes, sir."

"Damn it!"

Not Zen 42: The Power of Natural

There was a semi-professional fighter and religious disciple who earned money by demonstrating his physical strength. Sometimes he found other promising fighters, strong men, or students of the Way to refer to instructors.

In one town, the fighter came across a farmer's truck stuck in a ditch. To show off his strength, he volunteered to lift the truck but, try as he might, he couldn't gain purchase on the muddy ground.

"I'm hauling bricks," said the farmer. "It might be too heavy."

"You're right." The warrior sighed and gave up. "I'm one of the strongest men in the world and I can't lift it in this mud. But I can walk a block to the trucking station and get someone to tow you out."

When the strong man returned, he was surprised to find the small truck already out of the ditch.

"How did you do it?" he asked the farmer in astonishment.

"Oh, Billy Joe lifted me out." The farmer hopped into his truck and started the engine. "Mighty Billy, we call him here. But you just missed him."

"I want to meet that man."

He followed in the direction Billy had gone. Only a block away, he met a woman who told him that Mighty Billy was in the garage. At the garage he asked a young man and was told, "Mighty Billy's in the shed."

Out at the shed, there was only a small man, nearly bald and gray with age. The warrior told the man that he was looking for Mighty Billy.

"Why do you want Mighty Billy?" the man asked.

"Because I know he lifted that truck. I want to learn how he did it."

"I'm Billy," admitted the man.

"You?" The warrior could hardly believe it. The man in front of him seemed strong but he was also smaller and thinner than most ordinary men. He could never be a prize fighter.

"I know what you're thinking," said Billy. "But when I raised that truck out of the ditch, it's because I knew how to use my strength. I wasn't showing off. I was just listening to my body and doing things in a natural way."

Not Zen 41: Better Than Finding

A man wanted his car repaired. He went to a dealership but the mechanics there said it was impossible for them to perform the correct procedure.

"Why?" he cried.

"They aren't making the flanges you need. We can't get them."

He took his car to a local garage, which told him the same thing. He went to a car hobbyist, who agreed that those parts hadn't been manufactured for years. However, the hobbyist said that he shouldn't give up hope. There was a junkyard owner not far away who might be able to locate the correct parts.

"That's not an antique, you know," said the junkyard owner when they met. He puffed his cigar and nodded in the direction of the well-used vehicle.

"I've had my car a long time," he replied. "I trust it and I want to fix it."

"Is this the parts list?" A greasy finger trailed down the page printed out from the dealer.

"Yes, it is."

"Okay. Come back in the morning. I'll have them for you."

He shook the owner's hand and vowed to pay anything. Later, as he stayed over night in a hotel, he regretted his enthusiasm. He worried that he would face a huge charge for such rare parts.

In the morning, however, he was surprised to find the bag of parts ready and a small bill attached. The price was less than a tenth of what he'd expected.

"This is wonderful!" he exclaimed. "But how did you find them so quickly? And why couldn't anybody else find the parts? I had all sorts of specialists looking for me. Some charged more money than you did and without giving me any results. What are you doing right?"

"I made the parts," the junkyard owner explained. He wiped the grease from his hands. "I had to charge for my time but otherwise, they're not worth much."

Not Zen 40: Excuses

The mice held court. In their grand hollow between two great oak trees, they thronged to hear accusations against two members of their clan. A pair of defendants had been caught with willow bark in their burrows. Chewing too much of the bark made mice light-headed and unreliable so it had been outlawed. Now the elders gathered to determine the facts and, if the defendants were found guilty, decide whether they should be torn apart or merely banished.

The guard mice who had discovered the caches of willow bark testified first. There seemed to be no doubts. Both of the accused had been caught with willow not only in their nesting chambers but in their mouths. Indeed, when the initial testimony was finished one of the defendants crept forward to beg for his life.

"I'm not like the other fellow," he pleaded. "I'm sorry for what I've done. I agree with the rule against willow. I'll never even look at it again."

"You let your children go hungry," said one of the elders. "You put a great burden on your mate and on your neighbors."

The defendant trembled. "I didn't notice. My ears were ringing. I'm very sorry."

The most senior, powerful mice conferred for a moment. They agreed that ringing in the ears was a symptom of too much willow bark.

"You step back," they said. "Bring the other one forward."

The second defendant had fought his arrest. His forelimbs and snout bore wounds from the struggle. The guards around him bore bloody wounds, too.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" asked one of the oldest mice in the burrow.

"I have a toothache," said the defendant. "So I'll eat willow bark if I want. It's up to me, not you elders. I didn't let any children go hungry. I kept my side of the stores full. I went on my patrols. I brought back better food than anybody. All I did was eat willow bark. Who cares how much? That's up to me."

His words caused a roar in the cavern as mice gossiped to one another. How could this solitary mouse dare to oppose the will of the majority? A few of the audience tried to shout him down toward the end of his speech.

Angrily, the head judge called a conference of the elders. He wanted to decide on sentences for the defendants right away. The other judges wanted to call character witnesses first. The head judge prevailed, however, shouting down the others. They took a poll among them. It did not produce a unanimous result. Some of the elders voted for clemency, mostly for the apologetic mouse. They polled themselves again and again, sniffing and talking and trying to reach consensus.

By the fourth vote, only one of the judges voted against the sentence levied by the others. However, she was one of the eldest and deemed the wisest despite her frail body. The difficult part for the head judge to understand was that the elder had voted to pardon the rude mouse and execute the contrite one.

"Did you make a mistake, venerable one?" he asked. "I can't help noticing that you may have gotten their names reversed. Did you mean to vote the other way?"

"I'm not so old that I'm confused," she said. "The rest of you should be ashamed for not understanding."

"But you're letting off the unrepentant fellow!"

"Be calm. Think," she replied. "Some of us here remember when willow bark was first made legal. Then it was made illegal again. Our ways change. Our laws change. All that defiant mouse needs is a change in our laws for him to be an upstanding citizen. But the other mouse, the one you like so much, he made excuses. I've heard him before. He did many things wrong and he excused himself from our rules many times and he says he is sorry. Well, I've dealt with his kind of mouse before. He would be a criminal under any laws, in any circumstances."

The other judges looked to one another. They sniffed. They talked. They voted again. All of them changed their verdict except for the one who had gotten it right in the first place. And so the defiant mouse was spared.

Not Zen 39: No Consequence

On a cold night on a windy hillside, a young ewe circled her flock. The guard dog gazed down from the top of the hill. The rest of the sheep huddled together. Most protected themselves from the wind but one ewe kept moving, looking for her child.

Even after she found her lamb a third of the way into the crowd where he had fallen asleep with his playmate, she continued to wander. The guard dog huffed. He got to his feet and trotted down to the ewe.

"There are no predators," he told her. "You can rest now."

"Do you know me?"

"Of course I know you. You are the one who worries a lot."

"Is that how you think of me?" The ewe shuffled.

The dog tilted his head. He waited.

"I keep telling myself to be calm but it doesn't work," said the ewe. "I have to deal with problems all the time. I'm always tense and upset."

"Those problems," said the dog, "must be similar to those of the other sheep. To be calm inside, you should remind yourself of that."

The young ewe shook her head. She contemplated her troublesome lamb, the rams who kept fighting over her and the other ewes, her relatives, seemingly always in trouble. She recalled the wolf who had stalked the herd in the previous year and all of the things that were constantly going wrong in her life. She remembered the things that had gone wrong and she anticipated all of the things likely to go wrong in the future, as well, which seemed to her to be nearly everything.

"I'm not like my sisters, you know," she proclaimed. "My oldest sister is so irresponsible. She mates and bears children without a care. She eats anything, entertains her friends and pleases herself. I'm not like that."

"Is your sister calm?"

"Hah. If you can all it that."

"Close your eyes for a moment. Pretend you are your sister."

"Yes?" The ewe squinted for a moment. She started to peek. Then she saw the dog watching and tried to keep her eyes closed tighter.

"Now imagine your problems as you always do. This time, regard them as if you were your sister."

The young ewe imagined that she was her sister viewing the world. She eyed the rams with contempt. The grasses were hers. Other sheep rumbled about the hillsides without clear goals but they did not affect her. She lived in the moment, without worries. If the wind disturbed her she sidled up inside the flock. If her lamb's bleating annoyed her, she trotted away until she felt better.

"Those problems are of no consequence!" she exclaimed in nearly her sister's voice.

"Yes, I thought that might be the case."

Not Zen 38: The Giving Limit

A doctor in a large city decided to take some cases for no money. At the end of each day, she set two hours aside for her charity work. Many poor people came to take advantage of her gift. Many people who were not poor came as well.

Since the doctor had no way of knowing who lived in poverty and who did not, she was forced to serve everyone. Soon she had more free cases than she could treat in her allotted time. She began to turn customers away, taking patients in order of physical need but leaving many untreated.

One of the customers was a vagrant man who had once been a monk. Although he had a deep sore on his arm, he let others go before him lest they be turned away. For two days, he arrived early but let others go in ahead and was not seen by the doctor. At the end of the third day, he became feverish and found himself unable to leave. The doctor was forced to treat him as her last appointment.

"Why didn't you show me this before?" she asked as she cut the dead flesh from his arm.

"You should know, since you give charity," the vagrant replied.

"Then why come to see me now?"

"Why do you go home?" he said.

Not Zen 37: Living Gifts

A minister, single and childless in his young adulthood, traveled to visit his relations during the holidays. He usually enjoyed bringing his faith to the occasions. One year, he was obligated to visit his older sister, who had converted to Buddhism.  Upon arriving at her house, he noticed the figure of a fat, Buddhist monk at the top of his sister's Christmas tree. The monk was dressed in a red robe. He carried a sack that seemed to overflow with presents.

"That's not Santa Claus," he remarked as he took off his coat.

"No, it's Budai," said his sister. She greeted her brother and hung his coat. Then she offered him a plate of treats. "He embodies the spirit of the season."

"The spirit of the season is joy at celebrating the holy gift of a son. That is, the holy birth and the holy presents given to a special child. What has the spirit of Budai got to do with that?"

His sister offered him a candy cane from the plate. He waved it away.

"Budai gives gifts," she explained. "Sometimes they are ordinary things like toys for children or sweets or medicines. Sometimes the gifts are special. They can even be living things, like children."

She picked up a tray of cookies and offered him one. He shook his head.

"You can't make a gift of an actual, living child," he said. He scowled at Budai and his sack.

"Oh." She set down the plate of cookies. "I thought you would feel differently."

Not Zen 36: Nature of the Job

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Nature of the Job

An elephant was born in the wet season, the first calf of the year. He ate and played within the herd weeks before any other child was born. He grew large. Within a month, he was picking on the younger, newborn calves. Their mothers reproached him but he paid no attention to their trumpeting or swats with their trunks.

When other elephant calves grew big enough, the first born one began to lead them into mischief. He persuaded them to hide in tall grass until their mothers cried out in fear. Then the youngsters emerged, laughing. Later, he led them in charges on their aunts and uncles. The calves butted their heads against the knees of older elephants and hurt them.

His mother was the lead female. She felt embarrassed but she was unable to catch her son when he was misbehaving. He was fast. She tried to enlist her mate to chastise the child. But the old bull would not listen to her.

During the dry season, the mischief culminated when a few young males on the edge of the herd found a trove of succulent palm grasses. The lead male and a group of females took it over. They were happily trumpeting and celebrating their meal when the misbehaving calf stole a swathe of it. They chased him but he carried it off, laughing. His father returned to the group meal. The calf ate his ill-gotten gains away from everyone else.

Only a short while later, the child returned. This time, as the adults prepared to drive him off, he snorted a cloud of dry, noxious dust all over the food. He had gone down to a clay pit and stored dust in his trunk so as to spoil the meal for his elders.

His father chased the miscreant down and swatted his behind with a switch. The calf ran off crying. The bull returned to the females, puzzled and frustrated.

"What are we going to do about that boy?" grouched the bull.

"I've been saying that you need to guide him," the matriarch replied.

"Guidance? Advice? That means nothing. He has turned against the herd."

"You underestimate yourself. It will mean something when the advice comes from you." She gestured with her trunk in the direction of their son, who could still be seen trying to hide at the edge of the veldt. "Guide him every day. In time, you can turn him in our direction."

"That doesn't solve the problem right now." The bull stomped on his spoiled meal in frustration. "He needs to be fixed today. Those pranks have got to stop!"

"Guidance will do it if you're patient," the female replied.

"I'm not feeling patient." He opened his mouth and took a shuddering, calming breath. He snorted at the dusty air. "How much time will it take?"

"Until he's grown, I suppose."

"That's a dozen years, maybe more!" The bull shook his head. "When did correcting him become my job?"

"When you became the parent of an elephant," said the female.

Not Zen 35: Why We're Here

Why We're Here

A winter wind blew across the clearing. The night was cold. The poorest men of the area, drunks and travelers, gathered around a trash fire. The vagrant who had started the fire welcomed the others with gestures and nods. He sat next to a stack of broken planks, which he used as fuel.

A few of the fellows pulled up rags and blankets close to them. They leaned against rocks, tree stumps, and their bundles of cloth. Soon they fell asleep.

Two men with bottles of wine in their hands remained awake. Occasionally they muttered to each other about the wine. Across from them, a young traveler took off his backpack, pulled out a metal container with water in it.  He set it in the coals of the fire to make tea.

"We're scum," grumbled one of the drinkers. No one argued with him.

"I lost all of my friends," said the other after a swig of wine. "That's what did it. That's why I ended up here. I lost track of some. Others died. Then there was just the drinking."

The tea-maker snorted.

"Life is an illusion," he said. "Friendship is an illusion, too. I know that I'm hardly here at all. Same for you. We don't count. I don't have friends. I don't worry about it."

The three were quiet for a while. The man who was tending the fire threw another piece of wood onto it.

"Why are you here, fella?" one of the drunks asked.

"I'm here as a friend," he replied. He tossed on another broken plank.

Not Zen 34: Proper Coordination

"You seem impatient," said the secretary to her executive vice-president.

"Of course I am!" he wailed. "All day at these meetings, we talk and talk. We plan endlessly. And for what? We hardly do anything. I wish I was like that day laborer out there."

He looked out his window to where a man was hauling bricks in a wheelbarrow.

"That's a simpler, better life," he said. "You can see the progress you make."

"We only accomplished one major task today," the secretary acknowledged. "But we did it well. If we try to do more without cooperation from the rest of our business, we'll do harm."

"But we need to accomplish more!"

"There is always more to do," she said. "But it's a mistake to assume that anything more needs done."

"That doesn't make sense."

"Think about how to do things the right way. That man down there who you're envying doesn't try to do more than he should. He wants to build a brick wall. So he's patient. If he's too slow, the mortar will dry. If he's too fast, the wall will tumble. Everything has to be done at the right speed. You say you want to be like him? Then do things when they need to be done."