Prescription

We can compare the practice to a bottle of medicine a doctor leaves for his patient. On the bottle are written detailed instructions on how to take the medicine. No matter how many times the patient may read the directions, he is bound to die if that is all he does. He will gain no benefit from the medicine. And before he dies, he may complain bitterly that the doctor wasn’t any good, that the medicine didn’t cure him. He will think that the doctor was a fake or that the medicine was worthless, yet he had only spent his time examining the bottle and reading the instructions. He hadn’t followed the advice of the doctor and taken the medicine. However, if the patient had actually followed the doctor’s advice and taken the medicine regularly as prescribed, he would have recovered. The teachings of the Buddha are prescribed to cure diseases of the mind and to bring it back to its natural healthy state. So the Buddha can be considered as a doctor who prescribes cures for the illnesses of the mind which are found in each one of us without exception.

-Based on "A Tree in the Forest" by Ajahn Chah

Realization

Once Buddha was asked, "What did you learn after being enlightened?"

Buddha replied, "I learnt nothing new. I just came to realize about something that has always been with me."

The Golden Leaves

Once a Zen master was teaching the art of gardening to the king of Japan. After years of teaching, he said, “Now I am leaving. I will come any day and see your garden. That will be the examination of what you have learnt so far.” And he added, “Whatever you have learnt, go on practising in your palace garden.”

For three years, the king had used nearly one thousand gardeners to implement everything in the minutest detail. The garden was cleaned, everything was put exactly right, as it should be, no error, no mistake…

One day, the master came. The king was very happy because whatever the master had said, had been absolutely fulfilled; it was impossible to find any fault. But the master looked at the garden and became very serious, which was not natural to the master. He was a man of laughter. He became sad.

As they moved into the garden he became more and more serious and the king started feeling a little trembling inside. Was he going to fail? What had gone wrong? The silence of the master was too heavy. Finally, the king asked, “What is the matter? I have never seen you so serious. I was thinking you would be immensely happy that your disciple had worked hard.”

The master said, “Everything is right but where are the golden leaves? I don’t see any dead leaves, yellow leaves fluttering in the wind. The garden looks dead without that. There is no song, no dance. The garden looks very artificial."

The king had removed all the dead leaves, not only from the ground but even from the plants and trees. He had never thought of it, that death is also part of life, that it is not its opposite but its complementary, that without it there would be no life. And certainly, the master was right. Yes, the garden was beautiful, but it looked as if it were a merely a painting, not alive.

The Unwanted Apprentice

‘We have no doors in our monastery,’ Shanti said to the visitor, who had come in search of knowledge.

‘And what about troublesome people who come to disturb your peace?’

‘We ignore them, and they go away,’ said Shanti.

‘I am a learned man who has come in search of knowledge,’ insisted the foreigner. ‘But what do you do about stupid people? Do you just ignore them as well until they go away? Does that work?’

Shanti did not reply. The visitor repeated his question a few times, but seeing that he got no response, he decided to go and find a teacher who was more focused on what he was doing.

‘You see how well it works?’ said Shanti to himself, smiling.

Cat in Meditation

A great Zen Buddhist master, who was in charge of the Mayu Kagi monastery, had a cat which was his true passion in life. So, during meditation classes, he kept the cat by his side in order to make the most of his company.

One morning, the master, who was already quite old, passed away. His best disciple took his place.

"What shall we do with the cat?" asked the other monks.

As a tribute to the memory of their old instructor, the new master decided to allow the cat to continue attending the Zen Buddhist classes.

Some disciples from the neighbouring monasteries, travelling through those parts, discovered that, in one of the region’s most renowned temples, a cat took part in the meditation sessions. The story began to spread.

Many years passed. The cat died, but as the students at the monastery were so used to its presence, they soon found another cat. Meanwhile, the other temples began introducing cats in their meditation sessions. They believed the cat was truly responsible for the fame and excellence of Mayu Kagi’s teaching.

A generation passed, and technical treatises began to appear about the importance of the cat in Zen meditation. A university professor developed a thesis, which was accepted by the academic community that felines have the ability to increase human concentration, and eliminate negative energy.

And so, for a whole century, the cat was considered an essential part of Zen Buddhist studies in that region. Until a master appeared who was allergic to animal hair, and decided to remove the cat from his daily exercises with the students.

There was a fierce negative reaction, but the master insisted. Since he was an excellent instructor, the students continued to make the same progress, in spite of the absence of the cat.

Little by little, the monasteries, always in search of new ideas, and already tired of having to feed so many cats, began eliminating the animals from the classes. In twenty years new revolutionary theories began to appear, with very convincing titles such as “The Importance of Meditating without a Cat”, or “Balancing the Zen Universe by Will Power Alone, Without the Help of Animals”.

Another century passed, and the cat was withdrawn completely from the meditation rituals in that region. But two hundred years were necessary for everything to return to normal – because during all this time, no one asked why the cat was there.

-Paulo Coelho

Own Destiny

A Samurai who was known for his nobility and honesty, went to visit a Zen monk to ask advice. "Why do I feel so inferior?" he asked, "I have faced death many times, have defended those who are weak, Nevertheless, upon seeing you meditating, I felt that my life have absolutely no importance whatsoever."

"Wait. Once I have attended to all those who come to see me today, I shall answer you." said the monk.

The samurai spent the whole day sitting in the temple gardens, watching the people go in and out in search of advice. He saw how the monk received them all with the same patience and the same illuminated smile on his face.

At nightfall, when everyone had gone, he demanded, "Now can you teach me?"

The master invited him in and led him to his room. The full moon shone in the sky, and the atmosphere was one of profound tranquillity.

"Do you see the moon, how beautiful it is? It will cross the entire firmament, and tomorrow the sun will shine once again. But sunlight is much brighter, and can show the details of the landscape around us: trees, mountains, clouds. I have contemplated the two for years, and have never heard the moon say: why do I not shine like the sun? Is it because the moon is inferior?"

"Of course not", answered the samurai, "The moon and the sun are different things, each has its own beauty. You cannot compare the two."

"So you know the answer. We are two different people, each fighting in his own way for that which he believes, and making it possible to make the world a better place; the rest are mere appearances."

Making the Field Fertile

A Zen master entrusted a disciple with looking after the rice patch.

 

In the first year the disciple took care that the necessary water was never lacking. The rice grew strong and it was a good harvest.

 

In the second year he had the idea of adding a little fertilizer. The rice grew fast and the harvest was bigger.

 

In the third year he used more fertilizer. The harvest was even bigger, but the rice came up small and had no shine to it.

 

“If you go on increasing the amount of fertilizer, you will have nothing of any value next year,” said the master. “You give someone strength when you give a little help. But you weaken him if you help too much.”

-By Paulo Coelho

The Real Miracle

When Bankei was preaching at Ryumon temple, a Shinshu priest, who believed in salvation through repetition of the name of the Buddha of Love, was jealous of his large audience and wanted to debate with him.

Bankei was in the midst of a talk when the priest appeared, but the fellow made such a disturbance that Bankei stopped his discourse and asked about the noise.

“The founder of our sect,” boasted the priest, “had such miraculous powers that he held a brush in his hand on one bank of the river, his attendant held up a paper on the other bank, and the teacher wrote the holy name of Amida through the air. Can you do such a wonderful thing?”

Bankei replied lightly: “Perhaps your master can perform that trick, but that is not the manner of Zen. My miracle is that when I feel hungry I eat, and when I feel thirsty I drink.”

Temple of Silence

Shoichi was a one-eyed teacher of Zen, sparkling with enlightenment. He taught his disciples in Tofuku temple.

Day and night the whole temple stood in silence. There was no sound at all. Even the reciting of sutras was abolished by the teacher. His pupils had nothing to do but meditate.

When the master passed away, an old neighbor heard the ringing of bells and the recitation of sutras. Then she knew Shoichi had gone.

Empty Your Cup

Nan-in, a Japanese monk during the Meiji era (1868-1912), received a university professor who came in search of knowledge about Zen Buddhism.

While Nan-in served tea, the professor commented exercises, analyzed writings, interpreted stories and traditions, and deliberated on the ancient processes of meditation. He did everything to impress his host, in the hopes that he might be accepted as a disciple.

As he spoke, the monk continued to fill his cup, until it overflowed, and tea began to flow across the whole table.

“What are you doing? Can’t you see the cup is full, and that nothing more will fit in it?” asked the professor.

“Your soul is like this cup” replied the master, “How can I teach you the true art of Zen Buddhism, if it is already filled with theories?”