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A monk asked Zhaozhou, “The ten thousand things return to one. Where does the one return to?” Zhou said, “When I was in Blue Province, I made a cloth shirt. It weighed seven pounds.”

—The Blue Cliff Record, Case 45

Why do we so often wish to be somewhere else, be somebody else? Why is awakening always over there, just around that foreign, mysterious corner? Our restlessly seeking mind, even in midst of that search, is already naturally at rest.

A dream visited me during a retreat a few weeks ago:

I was in a large old house, with rich and dark wooden paneling, standing in a hallway crowded with people. There was a kind of reception going on. I went up to one of our Pacific Zen teachers, and told him, “I want to go to Poland.” He said, “Come with me,” and took me down a hallway, through some double doors into a large library. The library was also beautifully paneled and had a wide desk in it. Sitting behind the desk was an elderly man, flanked by two attendants. I knew him to be a Polish poet, but could not remember his name: was it Bukowsky, Orlowsky?

I sat down, and knew I had to get permission from him if I were to get to Poland. So, still not recalling his name, I started to bullshit him, saying, “I loved your last two collections of poetry.” It was obvious he was having none of it. He said nothing, and after some minutes gave a doubtful grunt, got up and left.

I then stood up, and turned left to some windows and a French door. I opened the door and looked outside. It was a beautiful Spring day, and in my view was a parkland with large deciduous trees and people picnicking here and there on the cut green grass. I said to myself, “Oh, this is Poland. This is what it is.” Later, I recognized the man at the desk as the famous Polish poet Czeslaw Milosz.

I think in my dream Poland represented awakening. I wanted to go to the land of enlightenment.  That land was foreign and far away, and I thought I had to work the system, to bullshit the master, to get there. But it didn’t work. The teacher clearly saw through me. After he left, I had no more plan. Only then, in going to the window and opening the doors, did I realize I was already in the place I was seeking.

Where does the one return to? Is there a place to return to other than this one? This very place is the Lotus Land, says Hakuin Ekaku. It is only here that we can know the weight of a seven-pound shirt, the taste of honey in tea, the sound of a lawn mower, the light reflected on tree leaves.

The two monks Yantou and Xuefeng were traveling together and got snowed in on Tortoise Mountain. Yantou slept all the time while Xuefeng stayed up meditating. Yantou rolled over, turned to his friend and said, “Haven’t you heard that what comes in through the front gate isn’t the family treasure? You must let it flow out from your own breast to cover heaven and earth.” With that, Xuefeng understood where the one returns to.

—Jon Joseph

LATE RIPENESS

Not soon, as late as the approach of my ninetieth year,
I felt a door opening in me and I entered
the clarity of early morning.

One after another my former lives were departing,
like ships, together with their sorrow.

And the countries, cities, gardens, the bays of seas
assigned to my brush came closer,
ready now to be described better than they were before.

I was not separated from people,
grief and pity joined us.
We forget – I kept saying – that we are all children of the King.

For where we come from there is no division
into Yes and No, into is, was, and will be.

We were miserable, we used no more than a hundredth part
of the gift we received for our long journey.

Moments from yesterday and from centuries ago –
a sword blow, the painting of eyelashes before a mirror
of polished metal, a lethal musket shot, a caravel
staving its hull against a reef – they dwell in us,
waiting for a fulfillment.

I knew, always, that I would be a worker in the vineyard,
as are all men and women living at the same time,
whether they are aware of it or not.

—Czeslaw Milosz

COME JOIN US on Mondays for koan meditation, dharma talk and conversation. Register to participate. All are welcome.

Jon Joseph Roshi, Director of San Mateo Zen Community