ZEN Story

           Skeletons

 

       Ikkyu  (1394-1481)

                                     

 

These thin lines of India ink reveal all truth.

Students, sit earnestly in zazen, and you will realize that everything born in

this world is ultimately empty, including oneself and the original face of

existence. All things indeed emerge out of emptiness. 

 This original formlessness is “Buddha,” and all other similar terms-Buddha-

nature, Buddhahood, Buddha-mind, Awakened One, Patriarch, God—are

merely different expressions for the same emptiness.  Misunderstand this and

you will end up distracted for eons.

Filled with disgust and longing to liberate myself from the realm of continual

birth and death, I abandoned home and set off on a journey.  One night, I

came to a lonely little temple, looking for a place to rest.  I was far off the

main road, at the base of a mountain, seemingly lost in a vast Plain of

Repose.  The temple was in a field of graves, and suddenly a pitiful-looking

skeleton appeared speaking these words:

 

 

A melancholy autumn wind

 

Blows through the world:

 

The pampas grass waves,

 

As we drift to the moor,

 

Drift to the sea.

 

What can be done

 

With the mind of a man,

 

That should be clear

 

But, dressed up in a monk’s robe,

 

He just lets life pass him by?

 

All things become naught by returning to their origin.  Bodhidharma faced

the wall in meditation, but none of the thoughts that arose in this mind had

any reality. The same held true for Buddha’s fifty years of proclaiming the

Dharma.  The Mind is not bound by such conditioned things.

Such deep musings made me uneasy and I could not sleep.  Toward dawn I

dozed off, and in my dreams I found myself surrounded by a bunch of

skeletons, acting as they did in life.

.

One skeleton came over to me and said:

 

 

Memories

 

Flee and

 

Are no more:

 

All are empty dreams

 

Devoid of meaning.

 

Violate the reality of things

 

And babble about

 

“God” and “Buddha”

 

And you will never find

 

The true Way.

 

Still breathing,

 

You feel animated,

 

So a corpse in a field

 

Seems to be something

 

Apart from you.

 

I got on well with this skeleton—he had renounced the world to seek the

truth and had passed from the shallows to the depths.  He saw things clearly,

just the way they are.  I lay there with the wind in the pines whispering in

my ears and the autumnal moonlight dancing across my face.

 

 

 

What is not a dream?  Who will not end up as a skeleton?  We appear as

skeletons covered with skin, male and female, and lust after each other.

  When the breath expires, though, the skin ruptures, sex disappears, and

there is no more high or low.  Underneath the skin of the person we fondle

and caress right now is nothing more than a bare set of bones. Think about

it—high and low, young and old, male and female, all the same.  Awaken to

this one great matter, and you will immediately comprehend  the meaning of

“unborn and undying.”

If chunks of rock

 

Can serve as a memento

 

To the dead,

 

A better headstone

 

Would be a tea mortar.

 

Humans are indeed frightful beings.

 

A single moon

 

Bright and clear

 

In an unclouded sky:

 

Yet still we stumble

 

In the world’s darkness

 

 

Have a good look—stop the breath, peel off the skin, and everybody ends up

looking the same.  No matter how long you live, the result is not altered. 

 

Cast off the notion the “I exist.”  Entrust yourself to the windblown clouds,

and do not wish to live forever.

Ikkyu (1394-1481)