Good afternoon, everyone. I start to talk on the next poem by Ryokan on the Zen. This poem appeared in the book Grateful, page 149, if you have the book. Let me read the poem. Looking back over these 70 years and more, the human world of good and bad completely dissolved before my gaze. A late night snowfall roars. blows the footsteps of the passers-by. I light a stick of incense and sit and meditate beside my old window."

[01:11]

So when he wrote this particular poem, he was more than 70 years old. He looked back his entire life until he was very old, more than 70 years old. And the next line is, the human world of good and bad completely dissolved before my gaze. I have a question about this translation. This is not Japanese. This is a Chinese poem Ryokan wrote in Chinese. And this Chinese sentence can be read two ways.

[02:21]

Can read or interpret. And one possible interpretation is I have, I have completely seen through good and bad of the human world. Not the world dissolved, but he sees through. That means he completely see through this human world of good and bad. It's like, you know, in this world where we live, you know, whatever we do, some people say that is good, some people say that is bad. and yet there's no fixed standard to judge whether this is good or bad.

[03:24]

It's really up to the situation or condition and also the yardstick we measure whether this is good or bad. And yet, within this world, people have a fixed idea that fat is good and fat is bad. And if some other people behave against this person's yardstick, we think that person is not good. And sometimes, in extreme conditions, we think that person is an enemy. And so justice is to eliminate that person. That is often happening in this world. Ryokan has been seeing that kind of condition for more than 70 years.

[04:30]

That is one meaning. After 70 years of his life, he found that that is just a moving around of things within the reality of impermanence. Sometimes someone's idea becomes a kind of ideology of the society. But next age, the standard might be completely different. So it's coming and going. For example, before World War II, in Japanese society, there was a certain fixed way of thinking and evaluating things. But after World War II, that had completely changed. It became almost opposite.

[05:37]

especially my parents' age. When World War II ended, my father was about 25 or so. And in his 20s, the you know, the way the standard of good and bad has completely changed. So my parents' age, people in my parents' age kind of lost how to evaluate things. And the only thing they could rely on was material success. Because of the war, Japan lost everything. People were starving. So what they did was really working hard to restore the prosperity.

[06:45]

And working hard and making money became the only standard to you know, of their system of value. So Japanese people really worked hard, but they didn't know how or what they worked hard. They worked or they make money for the sake of making money. So, because they, those, my parents, age didn't have that kind of confidence about how they lived. That means when they raised us, they couldn't transmit the certain standard of valuing things. That was a problem of my age.

[07:48]

So we had to, how can I say, examine everything, check out everything, and trying to find our own way. So we are always rebellious, criticizing elders, and trying to find our own way. So people in my age, or many of us, are kind of troublemakers. And I was one of them. When I was a high school student, I didn't like the way my parents and the older generation in Japan, I really didn't like what they expected from me. To me, you know, maybe I said the same thing last year.

[08:49]

To me, when I was a high school student, the entire Japanese society is like one huge money-making machine. And what they expected from me is to become a useful part of that machine. And I felt, you know, the high school, the school is a factory to produce that machine, that part of the machine. And if we work hard and learn a good skill or knowledge, then I can be a good part of that machine. And we can, you know, make much money and spend a luxurious life. But if we became useless, that means when we are aged, we're just being replaced by something new or more useful part. And I couldn't find any meaning to live in that way.

[09:52]

So, not only me, but many people in my generation, that was early, you know, 70s. So, that was main reason I kind of dropped out from that way of life and became my teacher's disciple. Even though I wanted to drop out, I couldn't find any other alternative way of life. But when I read my teacher's book, I found there is at least one way to live in a positive and healthy way, even though I have to drop out from that machine. Well, what I'm talking about... Oh, this human world of good and bad.

[10:57]

So the yardstick or measurement of good and bad is changing. So nothing is really reliable. I think that is what Ryokan saw through. That is one possible way of reading this sentence. Another possibility is this word, akiru, can mean to get tired of. I get tired of seeing, you know, seeing through good and bad. So he stopped. He quit to see good and bad of the things happening in the world. That is another possible meaning. So I am not sure this translation, the human world of good and bad, completely dissolved before my gaze, convey the same meaning.

[12:13]

Do you think so? It's different. The world dissolved. But he doesn't, you know, talk about the world, but he talks about his attitude towards the world. So I think it's kind of different. Anyway, either way, he... whether because he completely sees through the nature of the world of good and bad, or because he became tired of watching things and making judgment. Anyway, he cast aside that activity of judging things in the world. This is one of the kind of nature or quality of his zazen.

[13:21]

So he stopped making discrimination or making judgment. And in the third line, he described the condition in which he sit, that is, A late night snowfall blurs the footsteps of the passers-by. The region he lived in had really a lot of snow. It was called a snow country. He lived in the northern part of Honshu, one of the largest island in Japan, northern part, and it's facing the Japan Sea. That means, you know, in the winter, the cold wind from Siberia came and hit the mountain and became the snow and fall.

[14:30]

So all the wet air, humidity, the wind bring from the sea became the snow. And sometimes they had 10 feet of snow. Complete town is really covered with snow. So every winter they had really a lot of snow. So when they had snow, you know, no one could walk in the snow. And this is in the late in the night. So of course no one is walking. So the footprint of people, you know, there's no footprint of people. really covered with the snow.

[15:34]

Everything is covered with snow. And this snow is a symbol of Dharma without discrimination. You know, snow is only one color, white, and there's no other color. This entire world becomes one color. You know, this one colour is one of the words which modifies dharma. So, each and everything is different. But when it is covered with snow or covered with dharma, beyond discrimination, everything becomes dharma. That is... Dogen Zenji meant, when he says, when all dharmas or all beings are buddhadharma, you know, each and every particular or different things are covered with snow and become one color.

[16:40]

So this is not simply the scenery of a side of his heart, but this shows his Dazen. All different kinds of good and bad things are covered with Dharma within his Dazen. Please. It's a little hard. You've made me suspicious of the translation, and I wonder But now, I'm not exactly sure that those words are there. How is that translation? Translation of the third line? The first two sentences, two words, are all lies.

[17:43]

All lies are going and coming. word is trace, so trace of coming and going. You, fat is you. Fat, English word brewer literally means. So in other words, there is still some trace of coming and going in your literal translation. There's still some bit of discrimination, right? Yes, this word, you, he used the word you, what is you in English? You in Yurei, Yurei is like a ghost. But you, you means to be not clear. It's there, but we cannot see. because it's covered with the snow in late night.

[18:54]

Okay? And he, in the fourth line, he writes, I light a stick of incense and sit and meditate. There's no sit and meditate in this line. He just said, what is chu? Chu is the way we count the period of the Zen. We count one chu, two chu, three chus. And chu means the length of time to burn one stick of incense takes. So usually one stick of incense lasts about one hour. So one chu means about one hour, 40, 50 minutes.

[19:59]

That's how we count the period of Zazen. So he only said one chu, means one period of Senko. Senko is a stick incense, and in front of old window. So one stick, So he didn't say about his sitting, but he only says one stick of incense burning in front of the window. So person is not there, actually, within this poem. It's kind of interesting. So ryokan is not there, but incense is burning. I think it's really beautiful. Wouldn't ryokan be the old window?

[21:05]

I mean, 70 years is kind of old. Yes, maybe so. So he didn't see things, but he became the window, maybe. the ambiguity of the translation, is that because Chinese is a more ambiguous language, or would there be somebody who could translate this exactly? Well, especially Chinese poems, Japanese poems are the same, but it's very vague. It could mean many things, but in English, One word should imply one thing. Everything should be clearly discriminated. That is a problem when I translate Chinese or Japanese into English.

[22:10]

In the English sentence, we need subject, object, and some relationship between subject and object. But often, In Chinese or Japanese poems, there's no subject. So the subject is not pointed. So we have to image the scenery. And within that scenery, there is a so-called subject, but this is not really a subject. But this is part of the scenery. It's like a Chinese Sumi-e painting. People, human beings are really small, and the mountains and rivers are huge, and we only see human beings really like an ant. That's the kind of image of Chinese painting and Chinese poem.

[23:13]

So, you know, in many of Chinese poems, they don't really express their thinking or their feeling or their way of doing things or judging things. But human beings are really a tiny part of this ten-direction world. I'm not sure it's good or bad, but that is the nature of the culture. Please. Okay. This is a compound, kanpa is one word as a compound. Kan is to see and ha is to, ha literally means to break or destroy. But this kampa is see-through.

[24:19]

That means on the surface, it looks like one way, but if we see deeper, we can see something different. I think that is what see-through means. And this kampa is that word, see-through. That means see-through, you know, through reality of all beings. Through reality, through each and different all beings, all different forms, we see the true reality that is seeing-through. And this is one of the Zen words. see through the two realities. Is that what makes him so much tired? Yeah, he's tired. Now he's too old to continue to live in that way.

[25:23]

Please. Moving from the third line to the fourth line, you know, the late night snowfall blurs the footsteps of the last trespasser, and later, as I stated, Yeah, it's a paper wall, paper window. So you cannot see outside. Right. So that shifts it also. I'm not quite sure how to get my mind around it, but it's not like... When I read this just from a Western perspective, I have this very warm, homey scene, and there's nothing else going on here. Yeah, I think his hat is not so warm. So he's really part of that, you know, entire universe covered with snow.

[26:34]

Even his hat is covered with snow. So he is a part of that snow and mountains. But there's one stick incense burning. Probably that stick incense is Ryokan. Right, and that's the sort of, that's the abiding source of warmth. Yeah, and that is the Zen. Okay, any questions? Let me go to the next poem, page two. In great full book this is this poem appear in page 150. The poem is as follows.

[27:35]

Walking along, I followed the drifting stream to its source. But reaching the headwaters left me stunned. That when I realized that the true source isn't a particular place you can reach. So now, I think this is forever, forever my stuff sets down, I just pray in the current eddies and swolls. This is about the Zen. But in this poem, he's walking with a stiff to find the, what do you call, head of the river, the source of the river.

[28:37]

And of course, this head of the origin of the river is, for example, in Sando-kai, the spiritual source. that Zen practitioners are trying to find. So he tried to walk deeper into the mountains and try to find the origin of this stream, branching stream. So this is about Sandokai, or about our life as a Zen practitioner. So he was walking along, I followed the drifting stream, this is, you know, branching stream, tried to find the source, to its source, but reaching the headwaters left me stunned, and he found, in this case, fortunately, he found the source of the river, and

[29:51]

he was stunned. Actually, that was not the source. That water, maybe that is something like a spring. I've never been there, but I heard that the origin of Mississippi River is really a small, tiny spring. and people can jump over the stream. But when it comes down, it's a really huge river. And some part in Minnesota, it's really like a lake. And it's really called a lake. Lake Pippin or something. But the origin is a tiny spring. And I think what Ryokan found was that spring is not the real origin.

[30:58]

The water came from somewhere much deeper. So that is not really the origin of the river. Actually, the water and the river, water flowing within the river and it goes to the ocean. and water is circulating. So actually, there's no origin. Everything is connected and circulating. But when we see part of it as a river, we think there is a source. And we think if we find that source, we can really understand all these branching streams. I think that is what we usually want to find because things are impermanent and always changing.

[32:06]

That means we can rely on. We cannot rely on anything. So we want to find something we can rely on. I think that is at least one of the main reason or motivation we start to study Dharma or practice this kind of spiritual practice. Try to find something we can rely on that doesn't change even though things are always changing and there's no fixed He had a stick to measure everything, as he said in the previous poem. So we tried to find the source of these branching streams. But when he said he reached the headwaters, he was surprised that

[33:10]

when I realized that the true source isn't a particular place you can reach. That means that is not really the true source. And he found that there's no such true source, true origin or spiritual source beside all different phenomenal beings. which is always changing. So, he said, so now, wherever my staff sits down, that means wherever he is walking around, I just pray in the current abyss and force, that means whatever he encounters, within this branching stream, or this life, is really the true source.

[34:19]

phenomenal beings which we cannot rely on because it's always changing, is only reality. There's no such fixed source of this reality, you know, in Western philosophy it's called a new manner. There's no such thing, but everything is all things we can see, we can experience, and we can work together is phenomenal things. That is the only thing we can work, that is the only reality. That is what Dogen found. So his zazen is not a practice to find this original source, which doesn't change, and therefore he could rely on, but he found everything

[35:22]

in this world which cannot really rely on. We cannot rely on anything. And yet these phenomenal beings we cannot rely on. It's only things, only reality we can live and work together. So wherever he went, with his stick, he said, I just play in the current eddies and swallows. So that means wherever he goes, he just plays and enjoys playing with. So even when he was walking with takahatsu or begging, he sometimes stopped begging and started to play with children. When I did takahatsu, you know, my begging is to support my practice and my translation work, so I didn't have time to play with kids.

[36:32]

And actually, kids were not there on the street because kids are at school. So, I didn't meet so many kids. But at the time of Ryokan, they didn't have school. So, kids are playing around on the field or street. And Ryokan started to play with those kids and had a good time. If he thinks that begging or takuhatsu is his practice and he has a certain fixed idea that he should do takuhatsu in this way, he couldn't stop takuhatsu and playing with children and having a good time. And also, this is not simply having a good time. You know, those children need... So Ryokan was like a babysitter. By playing with them, he teach, I think, those children.

[37:39]

So it's not simply having fun, but it's his practice. or expression of his compassion to those children. Anyway, so if we think the truth or reality or original source is something behind or beyond this world, you know, we have to go that way, but he found there's no such things. So he's playing with children or having a good time with people. And sometimes, you know, of course, he sat by himself. Those are all dharma. And that is the only thing we can rely on. That is the reality of impermanence. Things are always changing. Therefore, we cannot expect this good time to last forever.

[38:45]

And yet, having a good time right now, right here, is enough. We cannot enjoy this good time forever. Everything has an end and we do something else. This is the only possible way of our life. Beside this reality, in our phenomenal world, there is no such spiritual source. So spiritual source and branching stream is really one thing. I think that is what he is saying in this poem, and that is the nature of his zazen also. His zazen is not a method or practice to find that truth or reality beyond this phenomenal world.

[39:47]

But our Zazen is just being right now, right here. And our mind is always changing. Our physical condition is always changing. So we almost always deviate from our Zazen. And we try to return to Zazen. This process of returning is the most important point of our Zazen. Our Zazen is not trying to be fixed like a rock, but our both body and mind are always moving and changing, and yet that reality in which we are always changing, always deviates from right now, right here. So, you know, our mind Even in our Zazen, our mind is sometimes in the past. I'm thinking about, you know, I did such a great thing, or I did such a terrible mistake, therefore I'm not good, or therefore I'm a great person.

[41:00]

Or we are thinking about the future, even sitting facing the wall. But whatever way, if we deviate from right now, right here, and this sitting, we return to this moment. That is all we do. So within our zazen, really nothing is fixed. We try to keep this immovable sitting. but often we found our body is bent this way or that way. Not only our mind. Our body is also, even we don't try to, but somehow, bent this way or bent or twisted this way or that way, we often find our posture is not upright. So whenever we find or we are aware of

[42:03]

you know, our posture is twisted, then we try to return to the upright posture. So, with our both body and mind, we return to right now, right here. This moment, with this body and mind. That's the only thing we do in our Zazen. So our Zazen is not a method to reach that original source. The original source is right now, right here. I think that is what he's saying about his dazen practice in this poem. Please. What you're saying is the main point, of course, and that's wonderful, but I have this little side thing that he says that he came to this realization He reached.

[43:07]

What does that mean? He reached the point there's no such headwater. But reaching the headwaters, it's done. Sounds like, well even, maybe that's the bad translation, but it sounds like he got someplace special. I think he did. I think to find that there's nothing special is a special place. Really, because usually we are looking for something. But when we find that there's nothing to... nowhere to find something special I think this is a kind of a special place. Does it make sense? That reminds me, Rev said recently in the practice period of Tathagatagarbha he said there is a difference between not finding something

[44:09]

and realizing that it cannot be found. So he realizes it cannot be found. I think so. And that is a kind of a special point, a special place. We often don't reach that place. Please? Say more about the word stunned. Stunned. How that is meaningful. The word is bōnen, bōnen or mōnen. That means, it's like he couldn't believe it. You know, he was, you know, walking and practicing for a long time and when he reached When he read that place, he found there's no such thing. So he cannot say anything.

[45:12]

He couldn't believe this. Disappointed, confused, disillusioned. Right. Not like whacking the head. Right. I think Ryokan is writing in this poem is the same as the poem Dogen Zenji quote in Tenzo Kyokun. Do you remember the Secho's poem, Dogen quote in the Tenzo Kyokun? Yes. Yeah, all different things. And the person tried to find something the person could rely on. That is a Buddha nature or a dragon's pearl is a symbol of Buddha nature.

[46:16]

And the third line of the poem is, in the midnight, the moon set down on the horizon of the ocean. then he found there are numerous black dragon pearls in each and every wave. So there's no fixed black dragon's pearl, so-called buddha nature. But each and every wave is not a symbol, refer to each and every impermanent things, phenomenal things. And when each and every waves are reflected or illuminated by the moonlight, everything becomes the pearl. So, whatever we do, in the case of Tendo Kyokun, you know, Tendo works in the kitchen.

[47:24]

It's not especially interesting work, usually. We tend to do almost the same thing every day, three times a day. And yet, each and every time, each and every thing Tendo works is the only thing we can practice and work together. But Uchiyama Roshi used the expression, everything we encounter is, everything I encounter is my life. So my life is this dragon's pearl. So Dragon's Pearl is not something special. We can only find it on the bottom of the ocean. But each and every wave we can see is Dragon's Pearl.

[48:26]

I think that poem and this poem of Ryokan show the same thing. Any questions or comments? Please. How old was the nuns' temple at the time of its twilight? The nuns' temple that you moved into, how old was that? The temple itself? I'm not sure. The building itself was very old. Maybe 200 years old or so. A very special place. Well, in Japan, not really special. There are many, many nun temples in Japan. Especially in Kyoto. In Kyoto there are 8,000 temples. Not 80,000 temples in Kyoto. Not special.

[49:29]

Not really special. It's a small temple. Of course, it was a special temple to me. Okay, let me go to the next poem. This poem appears on page 151 in the Grateful Book. Through the still night, in my tumbledown heart, I practice meditation draped in my robe, navel and nostrils in a line, ears directly over the shoulders. My window brightens, the moon appears. The rain has stopped, yet water keeps dripping everywhere.

[50:35]

This precious moment, permeated by silence, something known to me alone. So he's, again, he's sitting by himself in this small hut in a very quiet, quiet night. It was raining, so it's not in the winter, In Japan, we had a lot of rain around June. We had a rainy season. Day after day, for more than one month, we had rain. This poem doesn't tell which season it was. But anyway, he had, it's raining, when he sit in his hut.

[51:42]

He said, in my tumbledown hut. I practice meditation. In fact, he wrote it as Ta-Za. Ta-Za in Shikan Ta-Za. Ta-Za is sitting. So practice meditation is not a mistake. Za-Zen is sitting meditation. Sitting is done by our body and I think meditation is done by our mind. But more often, Dogen Zenji calls his practice sitting instead of Zen or meditation. And actually, our sitting practice, I think, is not meditation. We don't meditate, right?

[52:47]

In order to meditate, we need something there, something we meditate. But there's no such thing, object to meditate. we really just sit. So I don't like this practice of meditation. This is a common way of saying, and even I say, I practice meditation. And it's OK as a common language. But when we really talk about the nature of our zazen, I think better not to use the word meditation. Sojin said that all the time. It's okay. But anyway, ryokan used the word taza, sitting.

[53:51]

I'm sorry if I made a problem. Conflict. Draped in my robe, it's okay, but some Another poem, this translation says, my black robe. If it's a black robe, it's a mistake. Because the word noe means patched robe. That means okesa, not a black robe. So he's wearing okesa. But it's not clear in this translation, draped in my robe. And navel and nostril in a line, ears directly over the shoulders.

[55:12]

I'm pretty sure you are familiar with this expression. This is from Dogen Zenji's Fukanza Zengi. So it's clear his ryokan's sitting is following based on Dogen Zenji's instruction about zazen. and my window brightens, the moon appears, that means the rain stops, it stops raining, and the moon appears from the clouds. So it's very quiet, you know, and it becomes a little bright because of the moon. my window brightens, the moon appears. The rain has stopped, yet water keeps dripping everywhere, means from the roof, the, what do you call it?

[56:24]

Yeah, raindrop, not raindrop, but yes, Water is dripping from the roof. So Ryokan still hears the sound of dripping water. And of course, this sound of dripping water is from the famous Koan story. Maybe you know. No. The Zen master asked the student, when it was raining, when it was raining, the master asked, what is the sound? And the monk said, utekisei, fatte utekisei, sound of raindrop. And the master said, People are losing themselves by chasing after things.

[57:34]

And the monk asked, what about you? And he said, I was almost, almost what? Deceived or almost not deceived, not being fooled, yeah. That is the source of this expression. So, Ryokan is sitting, when the rain stops, it stops raining, and the moon appears, and yet the sound of a raindrop is still around him. He describes this situation. And to me, this is also a description of our Zazen itself. When we sit, usually we have rain inside ourselves. And when we sit, the rain stops and the moon appears and still

[58:44]

within our mind, all different kinds of sounds from our karmic consciousness. And yet, rain is already stopped. And moon is there. And also, we have to say, even though the moon is already there and it's bright, still we hear the sound of karmic consciousness. And yet, that is what is really happening in our zazen. I'm missing a word you're saying. It sounds like karmic consciousness. Karmic, karmic consciousness, our consciousness. Thought is coming from our karmic consciousness even when we sit. That is the sound of raindrop even though rain already, it's already stop raining and moon is there.

[59:53]

But our mind is still, yeah, noisy. That is the condition of our zazen, actually. Yes? But it seems like sitting by the bright window is more like opening to... I think so. I think so. But there's some expression that... not expression, but... what is the word?

[60:59]

You know, in ancient times, when students were poor, they don't have candlelight, so they read books by the wind with the moonlight. That might be the way it's used. I think it's very difficult to read a book with moonlight. But when I lived in Western Massachusetts, when we have a full moon, it's really bright. We cannot see that bright moonlight when we live in the city. But when there's no light, no mermaid light at all, We barely see the moon, especially when it's a full moon. It's really bright. We can see, you know, far away.

[62:06]

Well, here we are. So the rain has stopped, yet water keeps dropping everywhere. This precious moment permeates by silence. something known to me alone. That means there's no way to share with this, I mean, ourselves. Of course, when we sit together in the zendo, we do the same thing, and we experience the same thing, I believe. But there's no way to exchange, no way to make sure we are having the same experience, because we are sitting alone, sitting facing ourselves. We cannot really share information while we are actually sitting.

[63:12]

So I don't think this means I cannot talk about Zazen with other people after this is how he tried to communicate with us. But the reality of Zazen itself can't be really shared. My Zazen is only for me. There's no way to share with others. I think that is what he's writing here. Any questions, please? I'm wondering how that worked in his life.

[64:23]

Well, at Antaiji, where I practiced with my teacher, we had a five-day session each month except February and August. because it's too cold in February and too hot in August in Kyoto. And as a kind of a... During our session, we keep a complete silence, so there's no communication using words at all. We really sit, and we have nothing else. And underneath the dozen schedules, there's a few points we have to keep in our mind.

[65:27]

And one of them, if my memory is correct, is we should sit alone, practice yourself. together with others. Does it make sense? until yesterday we started to study Shobo Genzo Shoho Jisso and basically this chapter of Shobo Genzo Shoho Jisso is Dogen's comments about the expression from the Lota Sutra that said only a Buddha together with a Buddha can in the Sutra can penetrate true reality of all beings. Only Buddha together with Buddha is yuibutsu, yobutsu in Japanese.

[66:30]

And the meaning is only a Buddha together with a Buddha, together with other Buddha. But Nogen Zenji read this only Buddha and together Buddha as two sides of one Buddha. That means we are one. But we cannot be alone. We have to be always together with all other beings. So only Buddha is one side of our being, and together Buddha is another side of our being, our life. So he doesn't read this sentence from the Lotus Sutra as one Buddha, together with other Buddha, can penetrate the true reality. That means only Buddha can penetrate that true reality, no human beings. That is, of course, a common reading of this sentence.

[67:32]

As a sentence in the Sutra, that is right. There is no other possible way to read this sentence. but Dogen Zenji is very kind of a unique person. He kind of deconstructs the sentence into each and every character, and each character has its own meaning. And he tried to find another statement from this sentence, and he read yui, butsu, yo, butsu as only Buddha, and another, together Buddha. So these are two kinds of Buddhas, and these two are two sides of our being. So he said yui, butsu is all beings, and yo, butsu is also all beings. So each and every being is a Buddha.

[68:37]

And from one side, that is only Buddha. And from another side, together with Buddha. So only and together. I think that is our practice. We have to live our own life. No one can live my life for me. This five skandhas is the only thing I can use. to live as a shohak. And you can use only your five skandhas, your body and mind, but there's no such body and mind or five skandhas without relation with others. So only Buddha and together with Buddha is, you know, kind of contradicted, but that is how we really are. Does it make sense? And I think Sangha is a place where we try to study the way to live these five skandhas, this body and mind, with our own responsibility.

[69:47]

And we learn how to live together with others. Does it make sense? Please. But in reading Great Full, not but, in reading Great Full, Although Ryokan spent a lot of time alone, he also spent a lot of time circulating throughout the community. And people loved him. They were always inviting him in and were always asking him for calligraphy. And he was always, many times, giving them calligraphy. So in a way, he's constantly sharing his understanding and his self with other people. So that is, from one side Ryokan was only Buddha, but from another side, He's together with Buddha. And even after he died, he's together with us. We can really appreciate his way of life. Well, it's already three o'clock.

[70:54]

Let me read one more poem. In page three, the poem, second poem on page three. Let me read this poem. Delusion and enlightenment, two sides of a coin. Universal and particular, just part of one whole. All day, I read the wordless scriptures. All night, I practice no-practice meditation. On the riverbank, a bush warbler sings in the weeping willow.

[72:02]

In the sleeping village, a dog bathes at the moon. Nothing travels the free flow of my feeling. But how can this mind be passed on? This is also about his zazen. In the first two lines, he mentioned about kind of a Zen philosophy. Delusion and enlightenment are one. And universal and particular is a translation of the D and G. D is sometimes translated as ultimate truth, and G is concrete or phenomena. ultimate or universal truth.

[73:06]

And so same as a spiritual source and branching streams. Just part of one whole, so these two is a kind of a principle of Zen philosophy, Zen teaching. So our practice is not escaping from delusion to attain enlightenment. But we just go, just be right now, right here, whether it's confusion. Often we are sitting with confusion. And without this sitting with confusion, or problem, or troubles, or pain, or busy mind, there's no reality. beside this sitting with delusion.

[74:08]

There is no enlightenment beside this sitting with delusion. That's what Dogen said. Buddhas are greatly enlightened with delusion or something like that. Within delusion. we are living beings are greatly deluded within enlightenment or realization. So we are in the same place, but we are deluded within realization, but Buddhas are enlightened or enlightened within delusion. So we are the same. I mean, Buddhas and living beings are living in the same situation. But somehow we are deceived by this condition. But Buddha sees through the nature of this condition.

[75:13]

And he said his practice is All day I read the wordless scriptures. Scriptures is sutras. And wordless is Mu Ji. Ji is a character and Mu is no. So he is chanting the sutra without any words, any characters. That means this reality in which he is living is one sutra. actually in Shōhōji so he said everything belongs to this sutra and this is a quote from the Lotus Sutra but Dōgen Zenji used this expression this sutra not as the Lotus Sutra as a

[76:19]

written sutra, but he called this reality, reality of all beings, as this sutra. So actually we are being born, living and dying within this sutra. So we are actually, you know, words written in the sutra. So just living out this body, this life with this body and mind together with all beings is the way we read or chant this sutra. And all night I practice, no practice meditation. Here Dogen Zen use, no I'm sorry, Ryokan use the word Zen. meditation.

[77:22]

So, all night, he doesn't say, I practice. He just said, all night, no practice Zen. No practice Zen. So, for him, this sitting is not a practice. Same as Sutra without words. This sitting is just sitting, this is not a practice. That means when we think about practice, practice is a method or a means to get something, some kind of a good result. But for Ryokan, this Dazen is not a method of something, but this Dazen itself is kind of a goal. Please.

[78:24]

Returning? Well, within this study, we always return to that now, right here. And he said this is sitting without practice. This is not, for him, this is not a means or method to get something. He's just returning. So that wouldn't be considered a practice. And yet, you know, drop of rain is still making sound. So we are already there. So moon and the sound or noise of raindrop are both there. I think that is the reality of our life, of our zazen. And I think this is than a practice without practice. Does it make sense?

[79:30]

Okay, thank you. Please? I don't think returning is action. When we found, you know, we do something else but sitting. We stop it and we are already there. It's not, there's no distance to return. Right when we are aware that we are thinking something else. That moment we are already here. So it's not an action. Okay, so it's not an action, but it's awareness. Yeah. Awareness. Yeah. Wouldn't you say, though, that awareness is more likely for most people in still sitting than it would be, for instance, in shopping. Wouldn't you say that that awareness, that resuming, maybe you'd call it resuming that awareness, is more likely in still sitting than in something like going shopping?

[80:38]

For most people. I'm sorry, I don't understand the point of your question. Awareness. There's a phenomenon of awareness that in some sense, if you're returning, it means you've drifted, wouldn't you say? Yeah, when we just sit, you know, sort of coming and going, but I don't think. But sometimes, even when I sit in this posture, I'm really caught up in thinking. And this is not Zazen at all. We do something else. But when we are aware, this awareness is returning to Zazen. Returning from what? I don't know.

[81:40]

From something that is not Zazen. easier to do in still sitting than in some activity that has many distractions. I think so. Is this a question? Or you are just saying? Why couldn't we call that, because we recognize that it's easier or more likely in a certain activity, which is still sitting, why couldn't you call that a practice? You can call it practice.

[82:43]

I call it practice. So he's saying I'm practicing Zen without practice. So, this is a kind of paradox. But it's not just not practice. We love that word, practice. That's okay. So, this is... I think this means that we practice without attachment to that practice. So, just practice. And on the riverbank, a bush wobbler sings in the weeping willow. This is a scenery of spring, I think.

[83:45]

So it's not in the winter. It's not cold. And in the sleeping village, a dog bathes at the moon. So in the beauty of the spring, you know, birds are singing and dogs are barking. That's what we do in our garden. A dog is still barking. But it... Birds don't usually sing in the moonlight. That is true. I don't know. Yes, some birds do. Like, yeah. Anyway, this is another description of Awazazan.

[84:56]

In a quietness, there's some sound. It's maybe... Pardon? Weeping willow. So birds singing might be something pleasant, and dog barking is something unpleasant. And that's what we experience in other things. Usually we have more dogs than birds. And nothing troubles the free flow of my feeling. I'm not sure this feeling. This... nothing travels the word again.

[86:01]

Ryokan uses ho or dharma, no dharma. In this case, this dharma is a being, thing. So, no thing hit my feeling or emotion, joy is emotion so that means there is no dichotomy between sense organs and object of the sense organs that is what it means so I hope this translation saying the same thing nothing travels the free flow of mind there is no such thing called free flow poem. So nothing hit my feeling or emotion. That means there's no dichotomy between sense organs and objects of sense organs. That is what it means.

[87:04]

Even though there are birds singing and dogs barking within our zazen, there is no separation as a person sitting and hearing those sounds. But those sounds are sounds from me. So there is no subject-object separation. That is what this means. I don't like this free flow of feeling. And the next line, but how can this mind be passed on? I don't agree with this translation. This, I think, Fat Doge, I'm sorry, Ryokan, saying is, how is there such mind that can be transmitted? Why is there such mind that can be transmitted?

[88:09]

That means there is no such mind we can transmit to others. Even though we say in our Zen practice we transmit mind to mind. heart-to-heart transmission. But what Ryokan is saying here is there is no way to transmit this heart. That means my heart is only mine and your heart is only yours. So this is same as, you know, only Buddha and together Buddha. So he is pointing the side of only Buddha. So this is whatever is happening in my zazen. This is only my zazen. There's no way to share with other people. That is aside. Please. Well, do you want to finish what you were saying?

[89:11]

Well, I'm done. The last two lines, nothing troubles the people. I'm picturing, you know, if he's talking about his zazen, then maybe he's talking about, you know, the birds are singing, the dogs are barking, he's having all kinds of emotions coming up about those broken dogs. So, it's up and down. And it just, you can't control it, it's just going. That's what I imagine that he's saying. But how can this mind or this heart be passed on? I wonder if, I wonder, it seems to me that a lot of his poems are kind of, the subject is kind of about loneliness, and it's not always that loneliness is

[90:12]

I think so. And within his loneliness, all beings are there together with him. And that's why he's lonely. And he's alone. We are alone with all beings. Does it make sense? Please. I read it as a question with a great deal of longing. Pardon? I read it as a question that contains a great deal of longing. Longing. Maybe so. Maybe so. Yeah, I think we can read that.

[91:18]

longing to transmit, but because he sits alone, he practices alone, he had no temple, he had no sangha, so he couldn't. And yet he wished to really share this practice with someone. That might be one thing we can read from this line. Thank you. Please. I just wanted to ask this before we close. It's not about the one we were talking about, but on the first page... First page. Could you tell us the English words for the last time of the Chinese characters? They're not on this... You fit your poem? The very last time, on the second column, on the first page, you put the English words characters for every line except the last one.

[92:32]

I'm wondering if you could tell us what the words are. Last line. It is one stick or one chew, as I said, is the length of time to burn one stick incense. So one chew of a stick incense and old window and last word is in front so in front of old window okay After all, I'm a Buddhist monk, and I can't just let the years go by.

[93:41]

I think that means, because we are impermanent, there's no time to waste. And this is a way, just sitting, is a way not to waste our time. Okay? So Zen is the Buddhist monk activity? Yeah. at least in Zen Buddhism. Please? We have been talking about in terms of not being able to share our experience that makes a lot of sense Well, in a sense, writing these poems is the way he shares his experience.

[94:54]

Through reading these poems, I think we really share the same experience with Ryokan. I mean, at least when I read these poems, I find the same experience, same feeling, same reality I think Ryokan experienced. But still this is my thinking and there's no way to make it really sure that what he experienced and wrote and what I read through these poems are really one thing. But somehow I really feel what he wrote and what I experienced and the fact that I read through these poems and the fact that I experienced in my dozen one thing. So this is the way he share his practice with us.

[95:56]

So he's saying, I cannot share. To say that I cannot share is a way to share, I think. Please? Would you maybe try to entertain the idea that that when he says, but how can this mind be passed on? Maybe he's saying, but how can the big mind be passed on? How can the universal be passed on? There's no such passing on because it's hers. Yeah, we share, we're already living in that mind. So the whole poem about universal in particular, Over flip-flop, flip-flop, flip-flop. Yes, yes. So we can read the same line from two sides. There's no such mind that we can share or transmit. Maybe because we are already, all of us are already there. Same side of the coin, two sides of the same coin. Yeah. Okay, thank you.

[96:59]

Please. Second. In the last line, in the English translation, it's something known to be alone. But under the kanji, it's lonely. And the feeling in English of the word alone and lonely are very different. Alone is a neutral word, not positive or negative. Let's see, this alone in English translation is the third character is just, and the fourth character is self, just me, and that is

[98:04]

alone, referred to. Alone is a translation of just me, no. So actually in this translation, the first two characters are not translated. Lonely is not here. So... But this, you know, lonely, I think this kind of a feeling of loneliness, because only I can experience this, I think, is part of our feeling also. Yes? Isn't it true that the word alone is both singular and all-inclusive meaning? So, alone means all by myself, but it also means at one. Yes, because me and all beings are one, so I'm alone.

[99:14]

There's no separation between self and other. That is one meaning of alone. Please. Isn't there also a kind of idiom of sentimentalism in Japanese and Chinese poetry, where the feeling of loneliness is not entirely negative. It's bittersweet. It represents this vibe. When Dharma fills your body and mind, you realize something is missing. Yeah, and also, you know, loneliness is a source of our aspiration to live together with all beings.

[100:20]

More questions? Okay, oops. Now it's 3.35. Time flies. Thank you very much for sharing this time with me. I hope I can come again and talk about ryokan. Thank you.

[100:58]

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