This is one of the most beautiful and most inspiring stories
I’ve ever read. This story was taken from a Zen centre in LA, Calif
USA. The person who contributed this story
prefers to remain anonymous. Thanks friend!
THE RECORD OF THE LIFE AND TEACHINGS OF
WU-MING
Compiled by Master Tung-Wang
Abbott of Han-hsin monastery in the
Thirteenth year of the Earth Dragon period (89
My dear friend, the most reverend master Tung-Wang,
Old and ill, I lay here knowing that writing this note will be
my last act upon this earth and that by the time you read it I will
be gone from this life.
Though we have not seen each other in the many years since we
studied together under our most venerable Master, I have often
thought of you, his most worthy successor. Monks from throughout
China say that you are a true lion of the Buddha Dharma; one whose
eye is a shooting star, whose hands snatch lightning, and whose
voice booms like thunder. It is said that your every action shakes
heaven and earth and causes the elephants and dragons of delusion
to scatter helplessly. I am told that your monastery is unrivaled
in severity, and that under your exacting guidance hundreds of
monks pursue their training with utmost zeal and vigor. I’ve also
heard that in the enlightened successor department your luck has
not been so good. Which brings me to the point of this letter.
I ask that you now draw your attention to the young man to whom
this note is attached. As he stands before you, no doubt smiling
stupidly as he stuffs himself with pickled cucumbers, you may be
wondering if he is as complete a fool as he appears, and if so,
what prompted me to send him to you. In answer to the first
question, I assure you that Wu-Ming’s foolishness is far more
complete than mere appearance would lead you to believe. As for the
second question, I can only say that despite so benumbed a
condition, or perhaps because of it, still more likely, despite of
and because of it, Wu-Ming seems to unwittingly and accidentally
serve the function of a great Bodhisattva. Perhaps he can be of
service to you.
Allow him sixteen hours of sleep daily and provide him with lots
of pickled cucumbers and Wu-Ming will always be happy. Expect
nothing of him and you will be happy.
Respectfully, Chin-Mang
After Chin-mang’s funeral, the supporters of his temple arranged
for Wu-Ming’s journey to Han-hsin monastery, where I resided, then,
as now, as Abbott. A monk found Wu-ming at the monastery gate and
seeing a note bearing my name pinned to his robe, led him to my
quarters.
Customarily, when first presenting himself to the Abbott, a
newly arrived monk will prostrate himself three times and ask
respectfully to be accepted as a student. And so I was taken
somewhat by surprise when Wu-ming walked into the room, took a
pickled cucumber from the jar under his arm, stuffed it whole into
his mouth, and happily munching away, broke into the toothless
imbecilic grin that would one day become legendary. Taking a casual
glance around the room, he smacked his lips loudly and said,
“What’s for lunch?”
After reading dear old Chin Mang’s note, I called in the head
monk and asked that he show my new student to the monk’s quarters.
When they had gone I reflected on chin-mang’s words. Han-hsin was
indeed a most severe place of training: winters were bitterly cold
and in summer the sun blazed. The monks slept no more than three
hours each night and ate one simple meal each day. For the
remainder of the day they worked hard around the monastery and
practiced hard in the meditation hall. But, alas, Chin-mang had
heard correctly, Among all my disciples there was none whom I felt
confident to be a worthy vessel to receive the untransmittable
transmitted Dharma. I was beginning to despair that I would one
day, bereft of even one successor, fail to fulfill my obligation of
seeing my teacher’s Dharma-linage continued.
The monks could hardly be faulted for complacency or indolence.
Their sincere aspiration and disciplined effort were admirable
indeed, and many had attained great clarity of wisdom. But they
were preoccupied with their capacity for harsh discipline and proud
of their insight. They squabbled with one another for positions of
prestige and power and vied amongst themselves for recognition.
Jealousy, rivalry and ambition seemed to hang like a dark cloud
over Han-shin monastery, sucking even the most wise and sincere
into its obscuring haze. Holding Chin-mang’s note before me, I
hoped and prayed that this Wu-ming, this “accidental Bodhisattva”
might be the yeast my recipe seemed so much in need of.
To my astonished pleasure, Wu-ming took to life at Han-shin like
a duck to water. At my request, he was assigned a job in the
kitchen pickling vegetables. This he pursued tirelessly, and with a
cheerful earnestness he gathered and mixed ingredients, lifted
heavy barrels, drew and carried water, and, of course, freely
sampled his workmanship. He was delighted!
When the monks assembled in the meditation hall, they would
invariably find Wu-ming seated in utter stillness, apparently in
deep and profound samadhi. No one even guessed that the only thing
profound about Wu-ming’s meditation was the profound unlikelihood
that he might find the meditation posture, legs folded into the
lotus position, back erect and centered, to be so wonderfully
conducive to the long hours of sleep he so enjoyed.
Day after day and month after month, as the monks struggled to
meet the physical and spiritual demands of monastery life, Wu-ming,
with a grin and a whistle, sailed through it all effortlessly. Even
though, if the truth be told, Wu-ming’s Zen practice was without
the slightest merit, by way of outward appearance he was judged by
all to be a monk of great accomplishment and perfect discipline. Of
course . I could have dispelled this misconception easily enough,
but I sensed that Wu-ming’s unique brand of magic was taking effect
and I was not about to throw away this most absurdly skillful of
means.
By turns the monks were jealous, perplexed, hostile, humbled and
inspired by what they presumed to be Wu-ming’s great attainment. Of
course it never occurred to Wu-ming that his or anyone else’s
behavior required such judgments, for they are the workings of a
far more sophisticated nature than his own mind was capable.
Indeed, everything about him was so obvious and simple that others
thought him unfathomably subtle.
Wu-ming’s inscrutable presence had a tremendously unsettling
effect on the lives of the monks, and undercut the web of
rationalizations that so often accompanies such upset. His utter
obviousness rendered him unintelligible and immune to the social
pretensions of others. Attempts of flattery and invectives alike
were met with the same uncomprehending grin, a grin the monks felt
to be the very cutting edge of the sword of Perfect Wisdom. Finding
no relief or diversion in such interchange, they were forced to
seek out the source and resolution of their anguish each within his
own mind. More importantly, and absurdly, Wu-ming caused to arise
in the monks the unconquerable determination to fully penetrate the
teaching “The Great Way is without difficulty” which they felt he
embodied.
Though in the course of my lifetime I have encountered many of
the most venerable progenitors of the Tathagata’s teaching, never
have I met one so skilled at awakening others to their intrinsic
Buddhahood as this wonderful fool Wu-ming. His spiritual
non-sequiturs were as sparks, lighting the flame of illuminating
wisdom in the minds of many who engaged him in dialogue.
Once a monk approached Wu-ming and asked in all earnestness, “In
the whole universe, what is it that is most wonderful?” Without
hesitation Wu-ming stuck a cucumber before the monks face and
exclaimed, “There is nothing more wonderful than this!” At that the
monk crashed through the dualism of subject and object, “The whole
universe is pickled cucumber; a pickled cucumber is the whole
universe!” Wu-ming simply chuckled and said, “Stop talking
nonsense. A cucumber is a cucumber; the whole universe is the whole
universe. What could be more obvious?” The monk, penetrating the
perfect phenomenal manifestation of Absolute Truth, clapped his
hands and laughed, saying, “Throughout infinite space, everything
is deliciously sour!”
On another occasion a monk asked Wu-ming, “The Third Patriarch
said, “The Great Way is without difficulty, just cease having
preferences.” How can you then delight in eating cucumbers, yet
refuse to even take one bit of a carrot?” Wu-ming said, “I love
cucumbers; I hate carrots!” The monk lurched back as though struck
by a thunderbolt. Then laughing and sobbing and dancing about he
exclaimed, “Liking cucumbers and hating carrots is without
difficulty, just cease preferring the Great Way!”
Within three years of his arrival, the stories of the “Great
Bodhisattva of Han-hsin monastery” had made their way throughout
the provinces of China. Knowing of Wu-ming’s fame I was not
entirely surprised when a messenger from the Emperor appeared
summoning Wu-ming to the Imperial Palace immediately.
From throughout the Empire exponents of the Three Teachings of
Buddhism, Confucianism and Taoism were being called to the Capitol,
there the Emperor would proclaim one to be the true religion to be
practiced and preached in all lands under his rule. The idea of
such competition for Imperial favor is not to my approval and the
likelihood that a religious persecution might follow troubled me
greatly. But an order from the Emperor is not to be ignored, so
Wu-ming and I set out the next day.
Inside the Great Hall were gathered the more than one hundred
priests and scholars who were to debate one another. They were
surrounded by the most powerful lords in all China, along with
innumerable advisors, of the Son of Heaven. All at once trumpets
blared, cymbals crashed, and clouds of incense billowed up
everywhere. The Emperor, borne on by a retinue of guards, was
carried to the throne. After due formalities were observed the
Emperor signaled for the debate to begin.
Several hours passed as one after another priests and scholars
came forward presenting their doctrines and responding to
questions. Through it all Wu-ming sat obliviously content as he
stuffed himself with his favorite food. When his supply was
finished, he happily crossed his legs, straightened his back and
closed his eyes. But the noise and commotion were too great and,
unable to sleep, he grew more restless and irritable by the minute.
As I clasped him firmly by the back of the neck in an effort to
restrain him, the Emperor gestured to Wu-ming to approach the
Throne.
When Wu-ming had come before him, the Emperor said, “Throughout
the land you are praised as a Bodhisattva whose mind is like the
Great Void itself, yet you have not had a word to offer this
assembly. Therefore I say to you now, teach me the True Way that
all under heaven must follow.” Wu-ming said nothing. After a few
moments the Emperor, with a note of impatience, spoke again,
“Perhaps you do not hear well so I shall repeat myself! Teach me
the True Way that all under heaven must follow!” Still Wu-ming said
nothing, and silence rippled through the crowd as all strained
forward to witness this monk who dared behave so bold a fashion in
the Emperor’s presence.
Wu-ming heard nothing the Emperor said, nor did he notice the
tension that vibrated through the hall. All that concerned him was
his wish to find a nice quiet place where he could sleep
undisturbed. The Emperor spoke again, his voice shaking with fury,
his face flushed with anger: “You have been summoned to this
council to speak on behalf of the Buddhist teaching. Your
disrespect will not be tolerated much longer. I shall ask one more
time, and should you fail to answer, I assure you the consequence
shall be most grave. Teach me the True Way that all under heaven
must follow!” Without a word Wu-ming turned and, as all looked on
in dumbfounded silence, he made his way down the aisle and out the
door. There was a hush of stunned disbelief before the crowd
erupted into an uproar of confusion. Some were applauding Wu-ming’s
brilliant demonstration of religious insight, while others rushed
about in an indignant rage, hurling threats and abuses at the
doorway he had just passed through. Not knowing whether to praise
Wu-ming or to have him beheaded, the Emperor turned to his
advisors, but they were none the wiser. Finally, looking out at the
frantic anarchy to which his grand debate had been reduced, the
Emperor must surely have realized that no matter what Wu-ming’s
intentions might have been, there was now only one way to avoid the
debate becoming a most serious embarrassment.
“The great sage of Han-hsin monastery has skillfully
demonstrated that the great Tao cannot be confined by doctrines,
but is best expounded through harmonious action. Let us profit by
the wisdom he has so compassionately shared, and each endeavor to
make our every step one that unites heaven and earth in accord with
the profound and subtle Tao.”
Having thus spoken the Son of Heaven concluded the Great
Debate.
I immediately ran out to find Wu-ming, but he had disappeared in
the crowded streets of the capitol.
Ten years have since passed, and I have seen nothing of him.
However, on occasion a wandering monk will stop at Han-hsin with
some bit of news. I am told that Wu-ming has been wandering about
the countryside this past decade, trying unsuccessfully to find his
way home. Because of his fame he is greeted and cared for in all
quarters with generous kindness; however, those wishing to help him
on his journey usually find that they have been helped on their
own.
One young monk told of an encounter in which Wu-ming asked him,
“Can you tell me where my home is?” Confused as to the spirit of
the question. The monk replied, “Is the home you speak of to be
found in the relative world of time and place, or do you mean the
Original Home of all pervading Buddha nature?”
After pausing a moment to consider the question, Wu-ming looked
up and, grinning as only he is capable, said, “Yes.”
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