Editor’s Note: This is part of a series of articles on The Ten Ox-Herding Pictures. View all the available articles of the series here.

Artist: Jim Crump

By way of preparation for this third picture, let me give a summary of what has been covered before. The first picture depicted the launching of the search in an individual’s spiritual journey.  It marks that time in life when you begin to suspect that there should be something more to life that what you deal with on a day to day basis. This can be when something that jolts you comes into your horizon, shaking your foundations. It could be the death of a loved one. It could be the own confrontation with your own mortality, more concretely, the realization that I am going to die, conveyed to you through an illness or an accident or uncanny premonition. It could be something out of the blue, that makes you realize that there is something more than meets the eye in our day to day life. So you begin ask the big questions, and seek out books and articles on spirituality and religion, or start talking to close friends and confidants about such matters. Going one step further, you be led to join a group engaged in some form of meditative or contemplative practice.

The second picture describes the stage when one begins to receive inklings of a deeper reality than this humdrum existence. I recall the poem by Wordsworth entitled “Ode to Intimations of Immortality,” which describes a time

“…when meadow, grove, and stream,
the earth, and every common sight,
to me did seem
apparell’d in celestial light…”

Needless to say, this is not yet the decisive and transformative experience that the Zen tradition calls “seeing into one’s true nature” (kenshō), but can be regarded precisely as “intimations” of that Infinite realm that we will be referring to later. This can come to one engaged in a sustained practice of sitting in Zen, who now begins to taste the fruits of this practice: being more centered in one’s daily life, being more aware of the wondrous little things that come into view from day to day, being more able to “smell the flowers along the way,” so to speak. At this stage you may be experiencing consoling thoughts, receiving significant insights about being connected to all, finding a deeper sense of harmony with one’s surroundings and with one’s fellow beings, and so on. All this confirms that you are on the right path, and are inspired to go more deeply into it.

In this connection someone who comes to mind is Satomi Myōdō, a Japanese woman who was married, had two children, and in midlife received the Zen guidance of Yasutani Rōshi, becoming a Buddhist nun. Her story is found in a book in English under the title Passionate Journey, translated from the Japanese by Sallie King.  She recounts an experience as a young woman, pregnant and unmarried, having returned from Tokyo to be with her parents in their farm. As she was with her father working in a field, her father beckoned her to stop and look at a tiny winged ant making its way up a single weed. She describes what she saw at that moment in this way:

“I saw the grass and trees, the hills, river, fields and stones, the hoe and sickle, the birds and dogs, the roofs and windows—all shining brightly under the same sun. For me it was a wonderful breath of fresh air. Both the animate and the inanimate were vividly alive, familiarly addressing me and waving their hands. Struck by the unearthly exquisiteness of this world, I broke into tears and lifted up my face, weeping, in ecstasy. (p.9)

I cite Satomi Myōdō’s account of this experience to make the note that many of us may have experiences of a similar nature, whether we have already formally in the practice of Zen or not at all. Such “uncanny” experiences may have visited us as a child growing up, beholding the wonder of the world of nature, or perhaps in our youth or adult years, as we are thrown off our usual routine of things and are given a “close brush with the Infinite” in the midst of something very ordinary, like stopping on a hike to catch our breath, or leisurely looking at a starry sky at night, or patting our dog gently. But we must not confuse these experiences with what is called kenshō in Zen. They may be a prelude to it, or as indicators that we are not far from it at all. But these “close brushes” need to be distinguished from the transformative experience that actually seeing our true nature is all about.

This is the experience depicted in the third picture in the series, referred to as the sighting of the ox. This time, you know that the ox is really there because now you see it for yourself.  It’s no longer just a matter of believing that “the ox is somewhere there” and that you need to seek for the ox because others have told that they have seen it, or because others whom you trust have told you that there is an ox. Now that darn ox appears right there before your very eyes.

Going back to Satomi Myōdō, it was to take her many more years after that initial intimation of the Infinite, having gotten married, giving birth to two daughters, having been abandoned by her husband and losing one daughter, experiencing a nervous breakdown, and then recovering, and then at midlife entering into the formal practice of Zen under an authentic teacher, to be able to arrive at the decisive experience that turned the her world upside down. Describing this experience that gave her immense joy and freedom, she composed the following verse:

Dew drops, even dust—
Nothing is unclean.
The own-nature is pure. The own-nature is pure.
Kami and Buddha,
I’ve searched for you everywhere.
But you are here, you are here! (p.76)

Reading accounts of individuals who have traversed this path of practice and have arrived at that much-heralded point of “seeing into one’s true nature” (“own-nature” in the translation above) may encourage us and convey to us that we too are not far from it. The Three Pillars of Zen, edited by Philip Kapleau through the cooperation of Yamada Koun Rōshi, includes a section of such accounts of individuals who came under the guidance of Yasutani Rōshi. However, reading such things can also have the opposite effect of discouraging us, saying, “Oh, no, this can never happen in my case.” If this is how you are feeling at this point, my recommendation is for you to just forget about such stories and get back to your breath, and just be there in the present moment, where you are right now. And let me tell you, plainly and simply: it’s right there!

If these words manage to hit the target and trigger an experience, stop reading this, call your Zen teacher and make an appointment for dokusan, and take it from there.

If not, then you may go on reading. But please take note that this third picture is referring only the sighting of the ox.  You now know from your own experience that the ox is there, but the ox may still run away and disappear from your sight. This is because that initial sighting can recede into a simple memory or even “degenerate” into a mere idea or concept or philosophical notion, of “nonduality of absolute and relative” or “emptiness of all form” and or what have you. Or it can remain clouded with some doubt in your own mind, and you ask yourself, “Was that really the ox I was looking for, or was it something else? Or was it only a dream of an ox that I now remember vaguely?” And so it can regress to that level of a concept or memory or can be clouded in uncertainty, if we do not continue to polish the mirror of our mind, or if we do not continue to be alert and pay attention to that ox that is always there before our very eyes.

To express this in Christian terms, we may have been touched by the Infinite and Loving God in unmediated encounter at some point in our life, in a way that is clear and unmistakable to us at that moment when it did happen.  But in the aftermath, our insecure ego keeps trying to recapture that experience, wanting to frame it in our own terms. Having had the experience even make us feel “special” and “set apart” from others because of that precious gift we may have received, an “epiphany of the divine.” But precisely in doing so, the experience has now been downgraded into a mere memory of it, in a way that can bloat our insecure ego even more. We think we have an idea or notion about what God must be like, and so on, that we try to put it in conceptual language in the best way we can. And as we do so, the ox has now vanished from our immediate sight again, replaced only by a mental picture of it.

The initial sighting can be experienced by  many persons in various kinds of circumstances, but it one needs to continually polish one’s mind’s eye if it is not to regress into a mere idea or memory or a hazy image that can be coupled with a lot of delusions or connected with misleading notions. And so, sustained Zen practice what enables one to be always alert and able to keep that ox clearly in sight.

The fourth and the succeeding pictures describe stages of our journey whereby we become more familiar and intimate with the ox, bringing it home, making it part of our own household, and so on.  The main point I wanted to convey in describing this initial experience of seeing the ox is that it is not the be-all and end-all of Zen practice, as some literature may have us believe. It needs to be continually nurtured, through ongoing assiduous practice of sitting in stillness and coming back to the awareness of the here and now in paying attention to the breath. Now, if we maintain this stance of being alert and being totally present in our day to day life, the ox will be there in clearer view, and will not recede into such a mere concept or memory. Instead, it will continue to shed light on everything we think, say and do, and will continue to be an integral feature of who we are.

This initial experience of sighting the ox then can be a veritable turning point in one’s life.  As I noted earlier, in The Three Pillars of Zen, there is a section devoted to accounts of individuals who have seen the ox, in what context and life circumstance they were when they saw it. The account of Yamada Rōshi himself is included, in the section marked as “Japanese executive, age 47.” You may take a look at those accounts to give yourself a mental picture of what kinds of things happen in “seeing the ox.” At another time I would like to share a little more of my own experience.

It need not come only to those engaged in formal Zen practice. Many people might have had something like this early on, in childhood, or other stages of life, and some have recounted such experiences to me. It may come to one even without an explicit intent of looking for it, but just out of the blue. In a teishō I recall given at San-un Zendo in Kamakura, Yamada Rōshi related the story of Japanese woman in her 60s who was in a hospital bed, in terrible pain, and unable to sleep, she could just heard the sound of the clock, tick tock tick tock, all through the night. As she recounted it, she just disappeared in the “ticktock, ticktock,” and that experience was later confirmed by a Zen master as genuine kenshō.

This experience is not something that any one religious group can claim to have a monopoly on. Another example that comes to mind is Fr. Hugo Enomiya LaSalle, who had received guidance in Zen from Harada Daiun (Sogaku) Roshi as early as 1930s. He had continued practice on his own for many years, and then was inspired to come to Yamaha Roshi in the 1960s, and was confirmed in his own kensho experience in the early 70s. In a talk soon after confirming Fr. LaSalle’s experience, Yamada Roshi noted that this was not the first time Fr. Lassalle had “seen the ox” but had had such “sightings” many years back in his life as a Jesuit. Fr. Lasalle himself then responded by recalling his own experience as a young man, seeking God in one’s life, and wishing to do only what God willed for him in his life. This attitude is what predisposed him to the experience of God’s presence in his life. Those who knew him and worked with him through the years can confirm that he was a godly man indeed, marked by deep humility and openness, and you could tell that this was a person whose center of life was not himself, but God.  It was only in the last dozen or so years of his life, through Yamada Rōshi’s astute guiding hand, that his earlier experiences were formally recognized from a Zen perspective.

In the Miscellaneous Kōans given in our Sanbō Kyōdan lineage for those who have been confirmed as having had “sighting of the ox,” a glimpse of that world that the Heart Sutra refers to in saying “Form is no other than Emptiness, Emptiness no other than Form,” the following reminder is given: “Attaining the Way, Realizing the Mind, is just putting your head through the gate.” Now you are invited to open the gate further, come in, and reclaim the vast and infinite territory that opens out before you.

Editor’s Note: This is part of a series of articles on The Ten Ox-Herding Pictures. Oxherding pictures by Jim Crump. View all the available articles of the series here.

“The Ten Oxherding Pictures” is a set of ten calligraphic works that portray the different stages in the journey to the realization of the truth, or the realization of the true self. I will first give a general introduction, summarizing each of the ten so that we have a broad picture.

We look at the ten oxherding pictures as a mirror that can tell us where we are in our practice. As we gaze at one or other of the ten pictures, there may come a sense of recognition- “That’s it! That’s me!” And with this, we are enabled to go on deeper and therefore to understand that next step we need to take, precisely based on our realization of where we are.

One other preliminary point in looking at these ten oxherding pictures is to note that they are not to be taken necessarily as involving a linear and chronological progression, that is, in the sense that the earlier stages are somehow less important than or are only stepping stones to the latter ones. We look at each of them as offering an invitation to enter into a full circle in which our entire being is contained and immersed in right from the start. So looking at these pictures may help us to see where we are in the cosmic circle that includes the entire universe. But this should not lead us to think, “Ah, I’m better than so-and-so because I am in number six and she is just in number three!” We are not meant to see it in a way that bolsters our deluded ego. Conversely, we need not demean ourselves and say, “Oh, I’m only in number two, and others may be in number six or number seven.” And so on. We are invited to see it as a full circle, or perhaps better as a spiral path, where we are in a journey together, and companions along the way, as we each move closer to and closer to the center where we are all connected, and have been so right from the start.

So with the above in mind I would like to first of all make a comment about the circle that is common to all of the ten oxherding pictures. The circle, as we may know from our understanding of the Zen tradition, is a representation of our true self. And it is written in Chinese or Japanese calligraphy in a way that is not exactly mathematically perfect, that is, in a way that every point is equidistant from the center. Instead, it is written given all the contours and angles marked by the human hand that sketched it. That “imperfect circle” with all its particular contours is the manifestation of “things just as they are,” and not the mathematically correct figure where every point in the circle is equidistant from the center, which is only an idealized concept. In short, the circle is drawn by a human hand, with a brush, with all of the contours and angles, in its imperfection, is “perfect” just as it is. One other feature of this circle that you will note if you really look at genuine Zen work closely is that it is not a closed circle. There is always a slight opening somewhere and that indicates that it is not something that is contained in itself, but opens out to unlimited space, to an infinite horizon.

We now look at the circle, keeping in mind the question “Who am I?” and “How can I discover that true self as represented by a circle in me in a way that I can see myself also as open in that dimension that is unlimited?” If you take the cue from the circle it also represents…nothing. Precisely because there is nothing in it, it is also perfect and complete, just as it is. So these two elements–fully empty and yet totally replete–just as it is—tell us about our true self.

The first picture in the classic versions depicts a little child who is supposed to be perplexed, or is searching for something. An inscription in Chinese characters goes, “In the beginning, suddenly emerged from confusion.” Another description found in other versions of this same first picture of a child just beginning to open its eyes and wonder about things is “the awakening of the fact.” Our version, sketched by an artist friend of the Maria Kannon Zen Center, is of a cowgirl, looking about and apparently searching for something. This is the first stage in the awakening process asking the question: “What’s this all about?”

This is already a very significant step. In this first stage there is already a kind of awakening, namely, to a mind that asks fundamental questions. This is called “arrival at the Bodhi-mind,” or the mind of awakening. One is unsettled, asking “Who am I?” “How can I live my life in a way that is truly meaningful?” or “What is the meaning of all this?” Before arriving at this stage, perhaps we had been “asleep” many years, taking things in life for granted. We were once a child, then a teenager, and then we move on to adulthood, just following the “normal” stages and routines of human life. We may have gotten married and have started a family, and our children are on their way to leaving the nest, or have done so, so on. Then suddenly, at some point, the big questions start popping up in ways we cannot ignore. They may come when we are thirty or forty or fifty years of age. Or, it may come for some of us at an earlier age. The child in the picture represents that stage that now begins to awaken and ask, “What is this all about?” So the asking of the question leads us to seek ways that will enable us to pursue those questions more assiduously. This is the point where we seek a form of spiritual practice that will launch us in this direction.

The second stage is described as “finding the ox’s traces.” Now one gets a sense of where one may go in pursuing that question and is inspired to go on further. The ox here is a symbol of the true self in the same way that the circle also is the true self. And so now one sees traces, like hoof prints, or perhaps some droppings, that makes one suspect that the ox must be somewhere nearby. It may be in the form of some renewed confidence, that “there must be something that makes this life worth living, so let me delve deeper and find out what it is.” It may be an insight of one’s connectedness with all beings, conveyed to one in some unguarded moment. Spurred by these close brushes with the ox, one begins asking more questions and may begin reading some books, going to talks on spirituality, and so on. Or one may go to a religious center, or join a group to pursue some kind of practice that will deepen our sense of awareness and goad us on to go more deeply in our search.

The third stage is the sighting of the ox. Perhaps we may not yet see the whole ox, but we may have a glimpse its tail, or some part of the ox, that makes us sure that the ox is certainly there. But in a good many cases, this is just a slight glimpse, perhaps in a forest amid much foliage, or in the mist in semi-darkness, so we are not able to see it to its full extent. And yet, the glimpse we are given is enough to convey the fact that the ox is indeed right there! We may have seen it at close range, though it still seems somewhat elusive, as we still need to brush aside much that gets in the way of a full view. The glimpse just whets our appetite for more, and leads us to go further. In the Zen tradition, this third stage is known as the initial opening, or kenshō experience. This is the initial experience of awakening to the true self. We may have only a brief glimpse-but at least we know that it is there. Now we know, not just from hearsay or from others who have seen it, or not just from deducing it from the tracks we may have seen or the ox manure we may have smelled along the way. But having directly seen it, we know that it is there and so we are given a new impetus to follow it more closely and become more intimate with it. And so for those of us who may have had a new experience like this, so suddenly, coming to us like this, we may be tempted to say, “Now I’ve got it! Now, I’ve had kenshō and so I’m enlightened!”

Well, I’ve got news for you: you’ve only just begun what promises to be a lifetime journey. The sighting of the ox may still relapse into a memory or may become a beautiful concept that stays in our head, and in this case, it becomes just another ego trip, and more dangerous, as it is of a spiritual kind. (“Now that I’ve seen it.”), you may think you can claim yourself as an enlightened person and that will mitigate against the journey itself. So, that’s why in our center we do not make such a big fuss about that initial experience. It is like an initial sighting that should simply draw us on to look further.

The fourth stage is now the catching of the ox. After having sighted it we go closer to it and are maybe even able to lasso it and as the picture in one version shows, the little child holds a rope around the ox’s neck. Now, we have the ox closer at hand. But still the ox is unwieldy and it can still run away from us. It is still not under control. We have a rope that can enable us to keep it in tow. But still we have to continue to exert effort to enable it to stay there and not to run away from us.

.

The fifth stage, then, is one in which the ox has been tamed somewhat, and we are able to live in peace with it. It even follows us, and we are leading the ox along the path. We are now a little more accustomed to practice, and are now beginning to experience a sense of peace, a sense of joy. An inner satisfaction begins to make itself felt in our daily life, manifesting itself in our way of being more compassionate and being more thoughtful of others, and so on. And we begin to receive the fruits of the practice with less and less effort on our part.

The sixth stage is riding the ox home. We are now able to feel that we are on our way home. We can ride the ox and it doesn’t try to jump and throw us away like a bucking bronco anymore. It is now fully one with us, and we are comfortable riding the ox. But still, there is more to come.

.

.

.

The seventh stage is about forgetting the ox, leaving the child to simply sit there and be relaxed. Now, even the ox is gone. At this stage one is no longer thinking about oneself, no longer having to pursue words like “dharma” or “enlightenment” “true self,” and so on. We are home with ourselves, at home in the universe, and we don’t need to think about looking for something else. We are at peace where we are.

.

At the eighth stage, both the boy and the ox are forgotten. There is an empty circle represented here. There is no longer any ox, that is, no longer any sense of conceptualizing “truth” or “dharma” or “true self” or whatever. There is also no subject (I, me, mine) attempting to conceptualize or verbalize those terms. Both the subject and object are gone. In the seventh stage, the concept of truth, God, holiness, dharma and so on have disappeared, and you’re simply living life in its pure simplicity. The eighth is a stage where even thoughts about yourself are no longer an issue. In some versions, of the oxherding pictures, this eighth stage is given as the last stage. The ten stage version, however, has an important message that we are also invited to consider, and experience for ourselves.

The ninth stage is described as a return to the source. Now, after having forgotten both my “self” and the “world” (that is, what is thought to be “outside of myself,” what emerges? There’s a bamboo shoot. There is a plum blossom. There is a rock beside a gently flowing stream. Beyond that we don’t see anything. This is just the realization of the way things are, as they are, in their naturalness. It is simply realizing that plum blossoms are there, and they are just what they are. All the things in life accepted, taken just for what they are.

The tenth stage is the fullness and completion of the full ten stages. And what does this depict? Here we see the child again, in playful mirth. In India the statues of the Buddha are usually emaciated, giving a sense of asceticism and world-renunciation, of transcendence. In China, however, the pictures of the Buddha are always associated with mirth and laughter and gaiety. So he is depicted as a very roly-poly person, always laughing and happy. And so the Chinese deity of happiness and mirth came to be identified with the figure of the Buddha. Our version depicts the cowgirl meeting a jolly person on the road, and they join in play. This tenth stage is experiencing that sense of joy and mirth and playfulness in one’s daily life, no matter what. Another depiction of this stage is the return to the market place. We are back in the concrete struggles of our daily life. And yet, we are now able to live them, live right in the midst of them, with a sense of playfulness and inner freedom. We transcend life’s struggles and challenges, not by escaping them, but by plunging ourselves right into them with a new sense of freedom and equanimity, with a sense of humor and a sense of acceptance. This is the stage wherein the powers of compassion gush forth in our lives and enable us to live no longer seeking anything for ourselves, but in service to others, toward the alleviation of suffering and the promotion of the well-being of all.

I have here tried to offer a summary of the ten oxherding pictures in a way that may help us realize that there are different stages along the way, but that we need not get stuck on any particular stage and becoming smug with ourselves. In seeing these steps one by one, we can truly say, “It is good to be, every step along the way.” We keep coming back full circle: it is always the child in us that is the one who draws us to all this. So what we are invited to do is to keep returning to that child in us, that is truly the one who can partake of the gifts of our being human. And as we can see from the title of the book written by the Japanese Zen teacher Shunryu Suzuki, Zen Mind Beginner’s Mind, that is the place that we are always invited to return, that is, come back full circle to where we have been all along. Suzuki Roshi also famously said to his students, “You are perfect just as you are.” And in the same breath, he would say, “There is still much room for improvement.” There is no sense putting on airs, thinking to ourselves, “Now I’ve advanced along the path.” Yet again, we need not downplay our practice, thinking, “Woe is me, I still have a long way to go.” We can realize both aspects, but yet we also realize that it is a circle that we are invited to simply plunge ourselves into and open our eyes to. As we do so, we know that at every step along the path, there is a fullness that we can experience. It is a fullness that doesn’t let us stop there, but motivates us to take the next step, from fullness to fullness-through a never-ending process of emptying, and finding peace with every step.

Let us now look at each of these pictures in detail, as a way of appreciating the various features that emerge before us on in our path of awakening.

Editor’s Note: This is part of a series of articles on The Ten Ox-Herding Pictures. View all the available articles of the series here.

Artist: Jim Crump

We have started a series addressing The Ten Oxherding Pictures which come from the Zen tradition as an expression of the path to self-realization. Each of the ten Oxherding pictures represents a stage along the path of awakening to true self.

The first picture in the series of ten is one where we see a little child beginning to search for something. So, it depicts the beginning of the search for the true self. There is a commentary entitled Riding the Ox Home, by Willard Johnson, which presents an interpretative title for this picture: “In the beginning, struggling to emerge from confusion.”

Before going into greater detail, let me just recall one important point in the general overview offered last time. What we have here to consider is not necessarily a linear progression whereby the first is the lowest and the tenth is the highest. Instead, we are invited to see it as a spiral movement moving ever closer to the center, where we are all connected.

* * *

Wherever we are, whatever stage we may be in in, is an integral part of the circle, and that constitutes a particular and distinctive manifestation of our true self. Each stage has its own place in the full circle that is our true self. In short, each step on the way in that spiral movement toward the center of the circle is itself full and complete. And yet, that fact, that each step already is full and complete does not mean we just stop there and not take the next step. Each step is taken in its own due time, leading naturally to the next. And still, with each step is a fullness to it, so that we are not left thinking, “well, I am not complete yet, because there’s a next step to be taken.”

We are invited to experience each step as full and complete, just as it is. So when we are in a certain stage, we are invited to simply let ourselves be there, and let that stage take care of itself, and let that situation be truly a mark of that spiral journey where each step manifests a fullness and yet which leads to the next, and on and on toward the center.

To present this in terms that would also resonate with a theme in the Christian tradition, we say that the Reign of God is already there, right there in our midst, but also, at the same time, it is not yet. Now, from a conceptual point of view these two descriptions seem to cancel each other out: already there, and not yet. But seen from within, namely from an experiential standpoint of that reality that is called the Reign of God, the Infinite Realm within which our finite lives are always immersed, we are invited to realize that we are truly already there. “The Reign of God is in your midst,” Jesus proclaims to his followers. (Luke 17:21). The reverse can also be said: “You are in the midst of the Reign of God.” In fact, we have been there right from the start. There was never a time when we were not, if we can talk along those terms of  linear time. One other way of putting this is thus: God’s Infinity covers all time and all space, and therefore there is no place conceivable wherein God is not, just by the very nature of what God is by definition. And yet, in that very realization we experience also the invitation to continue to manifest it more fully, leading us more and more toward a greater fullness of its manifestation within the confines of our finite mode of being. There is this paradox of our human existence that we are incomplete and imperfect historical beings, moving toward completion and perfection in the fullness of time. God is there every step, and yet, the following step must be taken toward greater fullness. This reminds us of Gregory of Nyssa, who described the journey of the Christian toward the Infinite God as a path “from Glory to Glory.”

* * *

So the first step then, involves an awakening that urges us to begin this journey toward our true self. What goes before that?  Chronologically speaking, we can say that we were in a stage of just being in slumber, that is, a stage before awakening.

Now, rather than going into too much conceptual detail, let me offer some illustrations of actual persons who have manifested this stage in their own path. The first person whom we are invited to look at is Shakyamuni himself. He was born in the 5th century or so, BCE. There are differences in scholars’ opinions about the actual birth dates. But in any case, around the 5th century there was a man born of a royal family, whose clan owned a big domain in Northern India at that time, which now is under the territory of Nepal. This young man was named Siddhartha, which by the way means, one called to complete one’s being. “Artha” is “goal” or “meaning” or “purpose” and several other related meanings, and “Siddha” means to complete. So Siddhartha is a name that already indicates the actual destiny that this person was called to realize in his earthly life.

He was born of this kingly clan, and was already destined at birth to inherit his father’s realm. And so, given the appropriate time, he was destined to become a ruler of that domain. In a sense, he had nothing more to worry about in life: everything was taken care of. From his birth, all the stars were in his favor. He had everything anyone could have wished for in this earthly life. And yet, somehow, the puzzle is, why would such a person at 29, set all that aside, really literally divest himself of everything, and begin a journey seeking “something more.”

So, again we are told in many of those traditional accounts about his life that up to that stage his father had tried to ensure that he would not be exposed to any experience of want or of suffering. So he was brought up within the palace; given everything that he would want and so on. His father sought to assure him that he would be granted all the material and other needs that one could imagine. And yet, for some reason or other, he was not satisfied with that. Now, for some reason or other, is precisely our paradoxical way of saying it. And so, what we can learn in looking at Gautama’s life, is that even given all the material satisfaction that a human being can ever want, that just is not enough. This reminds us of a song that was popular in the ‘60s or ‘70s, of Peggy Lee who sang “Is That All There Is?” Now, we may be at a point where everything goes our way, and yet some twinge of conscience makes us ask, “Is that all there is?”

* * *

Somehow the human spirit is called to something greater than whatever material satisfactions can ever fulfill. So this twinge from our inner voice trying to rouse us from slumber, seems to be what has propelled many of the great individuals who have contributed to human culture.

In the Christian tradition, so many of the saints began their journey with that big question, “is that all there is?” They began a quest for “something more.” In the Jesuit tradition, its founder, Ignatius of Loyola, was already in his early thirties when he began his search. Up to that time he had been spending all his time and energy trying to gain honors and prestige at the court of Spain. He was just engaged with all his energy upon winning the attention of royal personages, especially the noble ladies, so that he would win their favors and therefore rise in the ranks. At one point, he was wounded in a battle, and that left him hospitalized for about 6 months. But during those 6 months of recuperation, he was able to take stock of his life, and he felt a big twinge of emptiness and a longing grew in him which propelled him to understand a sense of a gap in his existence. He also noticed the sense of fullness he would experience whenever he would read lives of saints.

Here were individuals who lived not so much to fulfill the material wants, or drives for power and money and self glory and so on, but lived fully dedicated in the service of God and of others. So somehow he felt that, looking at his future, he too was called to a search on the spiritual level. This gave him a very, very deep and inexorable sense of peace and fulfillment that enabled him to see through all his worldly and vain pursuits that had occupied him before, and he simply realized that that was no longer the way he wanted to live the rest of his life. We will not into the details here, but to make a long story short, from that time on he undertook a spiritual search that eventually led him to become the founder of a religious order of men fully dedicated in service to others for the glory of God. He compiled a notebook of his own experiences which he used to guide others in spiritual practice, also as a way of training others as guides in the inner journey, which came to be known as The Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius of Loyola, of which I will say more at the appropriate occasion.

Let us go back to the life of Gautama. He had all the material things that anyone could ever imagine that a human would ever want: all the material wealth that he needed to maintain his physical life; all the emotional support from a family; he had a child at that age of 29 when he began his search. He also had the realization that he could have a lot of worldly benefits—all the things that human beings look for: power, authority, wealth, prestige and so on. And yet, the question for him was, is this all that I am called to live for? And so, again, to make a long story short, it is said that he saw his fellow human beings in different states of suffering. He saw human beings in states of sickness, states of growing old and therefore losing their capacities to function as a healthy human being, and he also saw death in the face and realized this is also something that will happen to me.
.
Faced with these realities, the big question came: what is this life all about? And how can I really discover that true peace that will enable me to live content with myself and at peace with the world? So that was the beginning of his search. And as I have already noted, he left everything: his social position, all his material wealth, and so on, to devote himself fully to his search for answers to the big questions. His search took him six years, until the noted experience of Great Awakening.

* * *

We will talk about the experience of awakening from different angles in our continuing teishos dealing with the Ten Oxherding Pictures. At this point, what I would like to invite everyone, is to ask yourselves: What were the circumstances that precipitated the search in my case? Where, in my own life did I begin this search? Maybe if we can come back to that original point or that point in our own historical journey where the questioning began, perhaps we can again recover some of that zeal, some of that enthusiasm, some of that freshness that was ours when we began the search. This is so, especially along the way, if we are in this search for some time now and we’re beginning to get bogged down in some kind of routine. It is refreshing to come back to that point where we ask ourselves: “Is that all there is?” What is there in life that is calling me to something greater? There is a well known book by a Zen Master who came to the United States, Shunryu Suzuki, entitled, “Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind.” This is an invitation to always come back to that initial question: what is this all about? This is beginner’s mind.

Another person who is of reference to us in understanding this first picture of the Ten Oxherding Pictures is the Second Patriarch in China, Hui-k’o, pronounced Eka in Japanese. “Wisdom Fruit” is the literal meaning of his name. The Second Patriarch went to visit Bodhidharma, the monk who was reputed to be a sage from the Western Regions. There was this person from the Western parts (India), a foreigner, a stranger in China. He had settled in some place near a forest and he had been sitting there and had been living his life as a hermit; just living and spending most of his time sitting, meditating, facing the wall of his cave.

His reputation grew around the neighboring villages, and so this young man–young, maybe in his early forties at that time–went to this sage and asked him. “Please tell me, what can I do with my life? My mind is not at ease; I am anxious about my life. My mind is not at rest, please set it at rest.” So there is something that made him very anxious or that somehow made him look for something more than what he was already doing at that time. It was a turning point in his life.

And so, Bodhidharma, as the story goes, asked him, “If your mind is not at rest, bring that mind to me and I’ll set it at rest.” And that was Bodhidharma’s way of inviting him to take hold of that mind that was causing that anxiety or that was in that state of anxiety, by following the way that we are now taught to sit in the Zen tradition: to sit still in a straight posture, breath in and breath out in a regular and rhythmical way, both deeply and naturally, and let our minds simply be at rest. Or let our mind be there so that we can present it to Bodhidharma. And so, that’s what the Second Patriarch tried to do. The punch line of the koan goes: “I have tried all my best and I have looked for that mind and I have realized that it is unreachable.”

* * *

And so, the answer of Bodhidharma as the koan goes is, “There, I have given rest to your mind.” This interchange is an invitation to those who are practicing to actually see what was the experience of Eka or Hui-K’o, the Second Patriarch,when he was finally able to realize “the unreachable.” That’s the invitation for us. “I have realized that it is unreachable.”

That is not a statement of despair or giving up the search, but precisely a realization of something that points beyond oneself. To point out, or rather exclaim from the bottom of one’s being that “it is unreachable” is to simply admit that, what I’m looking for is not within the realm of the finite. That which we grasp not within the material domain but precisely something that goes way beyond that. It is that which we can call unreachable. Hui K’o states: “Now I have realized that; now I am at peace.” That is the implication of Hui-K’o’s answer–the experiential dimension of his discovery. It is not just a denial of the need to go on further, saying, “it’s unreachable so I won’t go on from here.” But it is precisely a statement that its unreachability is what I have realized, and so that gives me peace.

This again brings us back to the first picture: what is that which we are looking for in life? We are invited to look at that particular point, and as I asked each of you who come to dokusan for the first time (or, for some individuals maybe I need to keep asking it), what is it that you seek in this practice? And that is a question that invites each one to come back to that point that leads us to seek the path that will open our eyes to who we are.
.
So this is the invitation of the first picture: to again search our minds and look for that precise point, so that we can appreciate what propels us along the path. What is it that I am seeking? Is it inner peace? Is it the solution to the question of life and death? These will be cast in different ways depending on our own personalities, or depending on our own way of seeing ourselves in the spectrum of different psychological characteristics and so on.

Well, it can be phrased in many ways, but the main thing that we can say to describe it, is that it is something that invites us to go beyond where we are right now. It is something that arouses us from our slumber, always inviting us to reach for the unreachable. And reach for an unreachable is not as this song, “Impossible Dream” says, an impossible dream. But it is precisely an invitation to take the next step from there.

* * *

So I’d like to just round off by saying that this first picture is the picture that describes the beginning of our search. It is a renewed invitation for all of us who are here to take the next step. And what is the next step? Simply to be here, in this present moment. We are invited to take Bodhidharma’s advice to the Second Patriarch: “Bring me that mind that is anxious and not at rest, and I will set it at rest for you.” So let us continue letting ourselves be propelled by that anxious mind that wants to seek peace. And this will enable us to take the next step, that we may realize the unrealizable; that we may reach the unreachable.

In Spanish there is a word to describe the starting-point of the search: the word, “inquietud.” It is not what we would translate in English as “inquietude.” But in Spanish, “inquietud” refers to “something in me that leads me to go on further.” It is not a negative term by any means. If there is an “inquietud” in me, there is something in me that is being aroused from its slumber, and leads me to go on. So let us take that as an invitation. Whatever stage we are, we are invited to just listen to that “inquietud,” that dynamic power which invites us to take the next step. A recollection of the beginning of our path draws us out of our slumber and stupor; giving us a new sense of freshness along the way.

Artist: Jim Crump

Editor’s Note: This is part of a series of articles on The Ten Ox-Herding Pictures. View all the available articles of the series here.

I present these pointers on the second of the ten oxherding pictures nurturing a hunch, that in fact many of you here who have been in zen practice for some time are already familiar with it by now. Having sat in zen meditation on a regular basis a few months, or a few years for some of you, you may already be at a place where you have seen signs or traces of the ox. Here I offer some perspectives that might clarify some things that are already happening in you.

Some of you may also be thinking that you’ve gone beyond this stage of the path. “I’m already at a more advanced stage with the ox,” you may be saying to yourself. But I’d like to come back to a prefatory remark that I had made at an earlier talk on these ten oxherding pictures.  It is not to be taken strictly as a linear, progressive path that leads to a summit, and then you can say, “I’m there.” Rather, it is better to describe it is a spiral path that continues to lead us deeper and deeper into the center of the Mystery of who we truly are. And at each step along the way, there is a fullness that we are invited to fathom and relish.

So, whatever stage we may be in our journey of life, we are called simply to BE THERE, and not just keep looking ahead to the next steps in a way that we miss living the fullness of where we are. If you are a teenager, you may sometimes think, “ah, wouldn’t it be good to be a grown-up so I can do things on my own, and not be hampered by these rules,” and so on. You may be looking forward to the time when you are already beyond the control of your parents, with your own job, your own apartment, so you can do whatever we want and not have to ask permission from adults all the time. But if you go on living with that kind of wishful expectation about what is yet to come when you turn 21, then you miss the fun of being a teenager. Or if you are in our twenties, a time when you may be at the height of your physical abilities, and full of possibilities about what you can do with your life, and at the same time with its uncertainties, you may sometimes tend to wish you were already in your 30s so you could be a little more stable and see things more clearly. In short, if we keep on taking wherever we are at only a stage to the next one, then we are missing the fullness of what that particular stage has to offer.

At this point I will focus on the 2nd stage, where we see traces of the ox all over the place. Or it may be perhaps even just one or two places.  And yet, we see that that trace, that hunch, that aroma, is enough to give us the confidence that we are in the right place, and the ox itself may appear to us any moment as we stay right there.

With that in the background, let me offer a few other preliminary comments to launch us into tasting of this second of the Zen oxherding pictures.

The 1st picture depicts the beginning of the search. This is the first stage of awakening from a life in the world of phenomena whereby we are simply driven along by our natural instincts. Here we live our life impelled by basic drives for pleasure and for power. We may also live life in the fulfillment of duty. These, incidentally, are the first of the three human wants as described in the Hindu tradition: pleasure (kāma), power (artha), and duty (dharma).

In the midst of this, we come to a point where we realize that there must be something more to life, and thus begin to ask fundamental questions about the way we live our own life, about ourselves, about the world.  Such questions may lead us to seek a spiritual path, and inspire us to set aside certain things that we realize are not that important for us in order to devote more of ourselves to that spiritual search. Such questioning calls for an internal shift in our priorities in life. That is the first stage when we awaken to the fact that there must be something more to life than what meets the eye.

Now, as we begin to take steps along that path, we begin to see indications that confirm us in this direction we have taken. The second picture already presupposes that we have embarked on a spiritual path. You are already convinced that there is something more to life than just material pursuits or pursuit of power, or even the pursuit of duty. You have already experienced the seeds of awakening, called bodhicitta, the heart or the mind that impels us to go further, “to Infinity and beyond,” quoting from Buzz Lightyear of Toy Story. So, with that, we are clear that there is something we need to do to go on seeking. For some of us, it may mean joining a community of spiritual practice, so you look in the yellow pages or on the internet for centers that offer spiritual retreats or guidance in meditative or contemplative practice. Taking our very community here at Maria Kannon Zen Center as an example, you may be with us now sitting together for a few months or maybe a few years, so you are now somehow committed to pursuing in this path with the support of the practice community. And so what this 2nd stage tells us is that we are able to receive certain indications, or intimations, that we are on the right path. This is not just because somebody told us, but from our very own experience, somehow something tells us, this is it, this is where I want to be and this is how I want to proceed with my life, that is, in continuing this spiritual practice. We get certain glimpses that confirm us in our practice, and draw us on to go deeper into it.

How can we describe those inner glimpses of confirmation? It could happen during an ordinary sit with the community. You are just sitting there, trying to calm your mind and as you breathe in and as you breathe out, then continuing with the normal struggles of trying to put your mind in place “Oh, there it goes again,” and then you go back to your breath. Right then and there, and it could be in a matter of even just a second or two, you are just there, breathing, and somehow, you experience a moment of total stillness. In that brief moment, your whole perspective shifts. You now know that that stillness is possible, because you have touched it and experienced it, or perhaps better, it has touched you.

I remember an occasion in Japan, where a Catholic nun from the Sacred Heart High School invited me to guide a retreat for the graduating class, she said, as her “graduation gift” to them. (This Catholic nun, by the way, was herself a Zen practitioner at that time, and is now an authorized Zen teacher in our Sanbo Kyodan lineage.) What a graduation gift indeed. Oh, poor students, I thought then, and could not help but smile with some tinge of irony.  It was this resourceful nun’s way of giving her teenaged students a form of training toward disciplining themselves, which could be useful for them as they prepare to go to college and as they find their way to their young adulthood. In Japan, that is not a big deal because the society itself is built on a lot of structures that help in that kind of discipline. Maybe, it is disintegrating now but there is a sense of respect for tradition and a sense of treading a beaten path wherein one simply needs to follow where others have gone. So there were about 40 or 50 high school students who gathered together in a big zendo in Japan that we were allowed to use for the weekend.  They were kind of in awe at being able to make a Zen retreat. They were not forced into it, since they were given other options, like a more “traditional” kind of preached retreat, but they chose to make the weekend Zen retreat.

During that retreat, I gave introductory talks explaining the basics of posture, breathing, and stilling the mind, trying to encourage them and soothe their struggles with aching legs and aching back, with the mind wandering all over the place, thinking, “how many more minutes until that darn bell rings?” and so on. In my talks I emphasized keeping their attention on the here and now, and especially while sitting, counting the breath with each exhalation. At the end of the retreat, at the final session on Sunday afternoon, we were now seated together around the zen hall taking tea, sharing impressions and reflections, before we were to depart for home. We went around the circle one by one, and each one described how the retreat was for them. One of the retreatants who related that she really took the instructions to heart as she was told, that is, just count with your outbreath from one to ten, so One with the outbreath, slowly and then breathing in again, breathing out Two, slowly and so forth. Although she reported having the same struggles that everybody was having, aching legs and back, wandering mind, and so on, at some point, she related, just counting with each breath, “I suddenly was just one with number Three! Of all the things that happened during the retreat, the one moment that stands out right now for me is that at that moment, I became one with number Three!”  That is how she described it.  Just that: one with number Three. She just “tasted” being number Three. By number four perhaps, she was lost again in new distractions, but yet that moment of being one with the number three stood out for her in a way that gave her a sense of what this practice is all about.

The refreshing news of that is that she continued to communicate with me every now and then even after graduation, even after she got married and had children, telling me of how her life went on to unfold further since that graduation retreat. So somehow, it seems that that single moment, of becoming “one with number Three,” made an impact in her life, and from that point on she wanted to really let herself live from that perspective of that little moment that she saw, from the perspective of that stillness she experienced at the retreat. And so, she continued on a spiritual path, having tasted what it can be in that single moment.

Many of us may be here because of some similar intimation in our early life. We may have been children when something struck us and from that moment on, we knew that there was something more to life than just these phenomenal things that many of our contemporaries are enchant by.  And so, with that then, that kind of touch, that kind encounter even with just a trace of the ox, will not leave us for the rest of our life, and can empower us to continue firmly along the way.

Of course, we can always be swayed by other distractions and by other thorns and thickets, and therefore get exasperated and set this practice aside.  But it remains within us continuing to tug us from within. From a Christian perspective, there is this poem called The Hound of Heaven, where the “hound of heaven” is an analogy for that which pursues us wherever we are, drawing us back to come home, enticing us back to where our hearts will really find peace and joy.  We, in our own immaturity or in own folly, seek different kinds of consolation, seek distraction, and seek all kinds of titillations and so forth, but somehow, when we come back to our right senses, there is something that draws us back saying, “Look, there is something in you bigger than that measly crumb you are holding on to.”  “There is something more to your life than just those paltry pursuits. Listen well!”

With this, I am reminded of a very entertaining as well as enlightening film that I’d like to recommend, called Enlightenment Guaranteed.  This is a film by the well known German director, Doris Dorre, about two brothers who experienced struggles in their life in Germany, one is in the corporate world, the other an artist, I recall. Seeking “something completely different” than their despondent ways of living life in their own country, they are drawn to come to Japan to do Zen. This film is about their experiences as they make this journey, and much of it is really so hilarious, but also deals with a serious theme. We may be able to identify with some of the things that happen from your own experience of Zen practice.  The message that comes out of seeing this film is that for many people, what the practice of zen meditation leads to is not so much a distinctive moment when one can say, “Wow, now I’m enlightened.”  It is not that kind of thing that you can put on your lapel and say, “now I have it,” as opposed to “not having it.” The second part of the title, “guaranteed,” is the point of emphasis here. Now that you have found yourself on the path, you are now guaranteed to be precisely on the path to enlightenment. Traces of the ox will be seen along your way, in different forms, if you are paying attention. I guarantee it, as the TV commercial for men’s clothing goes.

I have a couple of other suggestions to offer. Once we have received those “intimations of infinity” in our lives that I have described earlier, it will never let us go, and it will continue to draw us back. So it is now up to us to see to it that we give ourselves the proper conditions so that this can be cultivated and given ample room to grow, and deepen. If we are fully attentive and pursue the path with care, at some point, we may be able to see not just a trace, but the ox itself. And what does sighting the ox involve for us?  That is the topic of Picture Number Three, but not something that is irrelevant to number two. It is simply a realization that there is really nothing “out there” to look for. It is the realization that we are already in the midst of that which we are looking for.  So, to put it in terms of seeing the traces, there are traces everywhere such that the ox itself is already smiling at us. “Look, it’s right here! I’m here!”

We are seeing those as traces but in fact, if the veils of our eyes were uncovered, we will see that those traces are the ox itself, smiling at us. So, where are those traces to be found? The only thing I can say here is this: Open your heart, open your eyes, open your ears! Clap! How about the color of that wall, or what about that sound that you are hearing, or how about the train that comes every now and then as we sit here shaking the entire building? These are very very obvious traces of the ox for those with true eyes to see and ears to hear. Those traces themselves already are trying to show us that the ox is smiling at us, right here, but we are blocked from seeing, with the delusive thought that there is something in here called the “true self” wanting to realize itself, or that there is something “out there” that I have yet to realize.

A condition for us to be able to let that ox be manifest in its fullness is to let go of this notion of the “I, me, mine,” here trying to get enlightened, or trying to find that ox. So, let us just immerse ourselves in to whatever we are doing or whatever we are stationed, namely as we sit breathing in and breathing out, just lose yourself in breathing in and breathing out.  Just be that, and if I may use words to point to something very important, that is all!  Just be there where you are, breathing in and breathing out. And by “all” I mean, not a self-contained entity that I refer to as “all,” but to utter some more verbiage that may risk just confusing you more, really, it is “all that there is, that is most intimate to me right here, right now.”  The trace is showing us the reality of what is.

But before I reveal too much, I would like to just mention another very important thing that can happen, for us to see traces.  Sometimes, we may experience what psychologists call a “peak experience” that can occur in a variety of ways. That experience can then become a highlight in our entire life, a landmark that we can keep returning to and be grateful for. As we cherish such experiences, there is also tendency for us to hold on to them, saying to ourselves, “This particular place is where I had such a precious experience, so I want to stay here, and set up an altar to commemorate it.” We may experience something holy and profound when we are out somewhere in the natural world, in the woods, in the mountains, somewhere near a lake—an experience that moves us, so now we want to enshrine the place and build a landmark there in cement. We want to light incense before that shrine we have built at that particular location, setting it apart as a special place, different from other places. We tend to want to put our little experiences of the holy into some kind of frame that we can mount on our wall and show it proudly to others. We have a tendency to want to frame precious pictures, or cling to memories of good things, putting them on an altar in our mind, and we always want to come back to them or recapture them, saying, “Oh, I wish I could have it again.”

Our Zen practice tells us that those experiences that come along the way, those “droppings from the ox” are not to be clung to or held up and framed on our wall. They are to be regarded merely as pointers to that elusive reality of the ox, inviting us to keep our eyes and ears open so that we may see the ox itself, rather than be left with the droppings. These traces of the ox that we find need to be cleaned out, and we need to continue polishing the mirror of our mind so it can be more transparent, and be more able to reflect what truly is there before us. We are enjoined not to keep holding on to those little experiences that come our way, lest our mind be too preoccupied with them and thereby miss the ox right in front of us.

I conclude this set of comments on the second of the oxherding pictures by noting that the expectation of the sighting itself maybe what maybe throwing us off.  We may be thinking, “Why don’t I get it yet?”  There are these traces all over the place, and we experience these moments of stillness and consolation, and so forth. So we get excited, thinking, “I’m almost there, I’m almost there.” But it is that thought itself that may be deflecting us from realizing the fact that we are already there.

So, the only thing I can offer by way of recommendation here is this: Just recall three components of Zen practice, and take them to heart. From the orientation talks we offer to those beginning this practice, we note that there are three basic elements that we need to keep in place as we sit in Zen: Great Trust, Great Doubt, and Great Resolve. What I would like to emphasize at this point is, that first, namely, the Great Trust that you have everything you could ever want or need right there where you are. Your Buddha nature, and for those of you who are Christian, what you may call your Christ nature, that capacity within you and in all sentient beings to realize the Infinite, is already there to the fullest in everything you are and in everything you do, and there is nothing more that you need to look for.  But yet at the same time, we can’t help it but be confronted with that Great Doubt. “But why can’t I experience it yet?” This Great Doubt thus generates that Great Resolve, that is, to give everything we have to get to the bottom of it.

So let those three components be activated, but most of all, cultivate that Great Trust. There is nothing more to realize than just this. With that, we are freed of that sense of separateness that is caused by that yearning for “something else” that we think we don’t yet have. Just take each thing as it comes, each breath, each step and be there fully. Let go of that self that is trying so hard to be enlightened. Let go of that self that is trying to “get something” out of all this effort and this assiduous practice. Just taste the exquisiteness of each moment as it comes, whether you are sitting, standing, walking, eating, and so on. As you take each moment for what it is, just as it is, you may be surprised by what is right there.