Last night crossing the bridge at Jaurès, I see the half-moon brilliant over the Canal St. Martin.
As the light floods me in the cool dark, I am fathomless as the ocean, without border or breath. I’m smiling when companions introduce me to someone I’ve never seen before, but I know her already and all the others passing, too, and the cars and bikes and the elevated Métro rattling overhead.
I remember a Zen story in which a diligent student asked the master Gensha how to enter « the path of truth. »
Gensha asked him, « Do you hear the murmuring of the stream? »
« Yes, I do, » the student said.
« There is a way to enter, » Gensha replied.
Oh yes, how we mislead ourselves, expecting the moon or the stream or the broken leg to be a "way to enter." Then we miss the "way to enter. »
There is nothing that is not a "way to enter," because there is nothing that is not the way.
The half moon over the canal and the murmuring of the stream are beautiful.
Nothing wrong with that, but could there be something misleading in it?
Isn’t zen in popular culture associated with tranquil gardens, exotic calligraphy and minimal poetry?
Zen can be seen as a style of design; straight lines, much empty spaces and superior eye for detail.
(and again, there is obviously nothing wrong with any of this).
But the story goes that Yun Men found his “way to enter the truth” when he broke his leg.
Ha! I don’t think he ever expected it to be there.
Maybe if we don’t see the “way to enter” it is because we look for something special? Something more like we expect it to be?
Is it really too obvious?
I will go now and sit on a mat and try not to do anything at all. Maybe not doing anything at all is the best thing I ever do!