Ukyū and the Monk Exchange the Staff

Engo's commentary on the case

The monk came from Dingzhou to Ukyū, who too was an adept. If you recognize these two people's exit and entry, a thousand and ten thousand are only one. Acting as host is this way; acting as guest is this way. Ultimately the two form one house. Throughout one episode of testing, with guest-host questions and answers, both remain adepts from beginning to end. Ukyū asks how Dingzhou's way compares; the monk says, “No different.” Were it anyone but Ukyū, handling him would be difficult. Ukyū says, “If no different, return there,” and strikes. The monk, himself an adept, says, “The staff-tip has an eye; do not strike carelessly.” Ukyū carries out the command, says he has struck one, and strikes three more times. The monk leaves. Both roll and turn vividly. To settle this affair one must distinguish robed and plain-clothed, auspicious and ominous. Though the monk went out, the case was not finished. Ukyū wanted to test his actual place. The monk still resembled someone merely propping door and house, so Ukyū had not yet fully seen him. Ukyū says there is someone to eat an unjust blow. The monk turns and breathes out without struggling: “The ladle handle remains in your hand.” Ukyū, an eye-at-the-crown teacher, lays himself across the tiger's mouth: “If you want it, I will return it.” The monk has a tally beneath his elbow. Without deliberating, he seizes the staff and strikes Ukyū three times. Ukyū cries, “Unjust blows!” The monk returns his earlier wording: “There is someone to eat them.” Ukyū says, “I carelessly struck a fellow.” Why does Ukyū repeat “carelessly struck a fellow” after himself receiving the staff? Without the monk's upright sharpness, Ukyū could not have managed him. The monk bows. This bow is most poisonous and not well-intentioned. Anyone but Ukyū would not see through it. Ukyū says, “You go this way after all.” The monk laughs and departs. Ukyū says, “Worthy! Worthy!” See adepts meet: guest and host remain distinct throughout, yet what is cut can continue. In fact it is only the mechanism of interchange, though they do not assert an interchange-point. Free of emotional dust and ideation, neither says there is gain or loss. Though it is one interval of speech, both are vividly alive, with blood-pulse, needle, and thread. See this and throughout the twelve periods it is distinctly clear. The monk's first exit is double release; everything after is double gathering. This is called interchange. Setchō versifies it exactly. “Calling is easy; sending away is hard.” Both alike descend into the weeds; Setchō is excessively compassionate. Ordinarily it is said, “Calling a snake is easy; sending a snake away is hard.” Blow a gourd whistle and calling is easy, but dismissal is difficult. Likewise, giving someone the staff is easy; taking it back and sending him away is hard. One needs the hands and feet of the original share. Ukyū can both call and dismiss. The monk is not asleep either. Ukyū's comparison question calls him; Ukyū's blow dismisses him. The monk's “staff-tip has an eye” turns it to his side and calls Ukyū. Ukyū offers to return control; the monk seizes the staff and strikes three times, dismissing Ukyū. The monk's final laugh and Ukyū's “Worthy!” show he has been dismissed exactly right. Their responsive edges interchange, thread coming and line going, beaten into one piece. Guest and host are distinct throughout: sometimes host becomes guest, sometimes guest becomes host. Setchō cannot praise them enough: “Carefully observe the mechanism of interchange.” “Even the solid eon-stone can be destroyed.” This stone is said to be forty li long and eighty-four thousand yojanas wide and thick. Once every five hundred years a heavenly being descends and brushes it once with the sleeve of a six-zhu garment. When repeated brushing wears the stone away, one eon has passed—the “light garment brushing the stone” eon.² Though the stone can be exhausted, these two people's responsive edges have no end through ancient ages. Even the vast blue sea would dry if they stood within it. At the end Setchō asks how many modes old Ukyū has—capture, release, killing, giving life—and says giving away the ladle handle was unprovoked. The buddhas of the three times, successive patriarchs, and lineage teachers all use this staff to pull nails, extract wedges, free sticking, and remove bonds. How could it be lightly entrusted? Setchō's intent is to use it alone. Fortunately, the monk only spread it level for Ukyū. Suppose thunder suddenly rose from dry ground—see how Ukyū would withstand it. Ukyū passed the ladle handle to another: was that not far too unprovoked?