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There is a solitary brightness without fixed shape or form.
It knows how to listen to what is true,
it knows how to understand what is true,
it knows how to teach what is true.
That solitary brightness is you.

—Linji

Last week, each host of the early morning meditation brought this koan from Linji about solitary brightness. I found myself remembering the words of Harada Daiun Sogaku, one of our ancestors from the early twentieth century, who said that without dokusan—the conversation with a teacher about your experience with a koan—there is no Zen practice. Times change and practices change, and now it is not just with teachers that people are having conversations about their experience with koans—we are encouraging everybody to speak with each other about their experience with koans, in koan salons and cohort groups and on Wednesday evenings when I host a gathering. So I bring this koan so we may have conversations about our experience with it and in doing so “practice Zen.”

As we share our field notes about our experience with the koan, sometimes we recognize part of our own experience in what others say. Sometimes we appreciate what others report as being different, a different window in on the koan from mine, which increases my feeling of intimacy with it and with the other person who is sharing their experience. Either way, we can appreciate that we are not alone. In that way, the “solitary” part of the brightness is not due to being separate or isolated, but rather recognizing our unity with everything and everyone—and in that place there is only one. It is reminiscent of the words of the baby Buddha upon birth declaring, “I alone, the world honored one.”

Solitary brightness is the brightness of the moon, not the sun. It softly penetrates even rocks and stones and illuminates them long after the moon has set.

—David Weinstein

Join us for a koan, meditation, dharma talk, & conversation.
All are welcome. Register to participate.