Unmon's Two Illnesses

Banshō's commentary on the case

Master Kempō of Kempō was a Dharma heir of Dongshan Wuben. In his extensive travels Unmon met Kempō, Sōzan, and Sozan. Thus this public case had an earlier source. Kempō instructed the assembly: “The Dharma body has three kinds of illness and two kinds of light. Each must be penetrated one by one; beyond this, you must know the one opening above.” Unmon stepped from the assembly and asked, “Why does the person inside the hermitage not know affairs outside it?” Kempō laughed aloud. Unmon said, “This is still where the student doubts.” Kempō said, “What kind of activity is going on in your mind?” Unmon said, “I also want you, Abbot, to understand it thoroughly with me.” Kempō said, “Only when it is directly like this can you sit securely.” Unmon said, “Yes, yes.”⁴ Kempō spoke of three illnesses of the Dharma body; Unmon spoke of two. When Banshō traveled on foot, people everywhere discussed the three as: before arriving, running wild; after arriving, dwelling in attachment; penetrating free, without reliance. In the present twofold account, “before arriving, running wild” is omitted; the latter two illnesses are plainly much the same. Master Foyan said, “Riding a donkey while searching for the donkey is one. Having mounted the donkey but refusing to dismount is also an illness.” These are the first two, with the last omitted. For a particular period teachers prescribe according to the illness, each extending an expedient. Kempō's two kinds of light do not differ from the two illnesses of light that does not penetrate and break free. As for “Nothing is clear anywhere, and something stands before one's face,” Dongshan said: Clearly, face to face, there is no other reality; yet, having lost your head, you still recognize its shadow. Only if one possesses the eye that holds heaven and earth fast, continuously leaking not one filament, does one gain a small measure of correspondence. Unmon also said, “One penetrates that all dharmas are empty, yet dimly it seems as though something remains. This too is the light not penetrating and breaking free.” Isan called this, “No dharma can confront the feelings, yet seeing still remains within its object.” The Surangama Sutra says, “Even if all seeing, hearing, sensing, and knowing are extinguished, inwardly maintaining secluded quietude is still a discriminated shadow-image of Dharma objects.” Nanyuan Yong said, “At that time it was as though I walked within the shadow of a lamp.” Thus it is called the light not penetrating and breaking free.⁵ In the style of the Dongshan school, stillness sinks into dead water, while movement falls into the present moment. These are called the two illnesses. Simply go out without following responses; enter without dwelling in emptiness; outwardly do not seek branches; inwardly do not abide in concentration. Naturally the three illnesses and two lights are penetrated at once. Then put “penetrated” and “not penetrated” to one side. Examine carefully: if there is any breath or trace, that too is an illness. How can one go to rest at ease? Let us ask Tendō for another diagnosis. The Dhammapada says, “The ordered multitude and myriad forms are stamped by one dharma.” One is the myriad; the myriad are one. It is this very thing, no other. Let them stand lofty and open as they will. A barren field does not choose its weeds; pure ground instead confuses people. Even complete penetrating freedom without direction is precisely what obstructs the eyes. The Sutra of Perfect Awakening says, “With regard to every deluded mind, one does not extinguish it either.” Dongshan said, “Numinous shoots and auspicious grasses—the rustic farmer worries about weeding.” Why must one sweep that gate and courtyard, emptying every dharma? When Unmon says, “Nothing is clear anywhere, and something stands before one's face,” he is not teaching you to eliminate illusory objects and destroy the illusory mind, then seek some separate place of penetrating freedom. The Third Ancestor said, “The six sense objects are not bad; they are themselves the same as complete awakening.” The Sutra of Perfect Awakening says, “Knowing illusion, one immediately leaves it, devising no expedient; leaving illusion is awakening, with no gradual stages.” Thus one sees that contrivance, stopping, allowing, and extinguishing are like a diamond guardian rubbing the back of a clay figure: the attempted remedy damages what it touches. “What is hidden in a person's breast forms a disposition of itself” versifies “dimly it seems as though something remains.” This is precisely the subtle illness of the four marks in the Perfect Awakening: preserving a self that awakens to self, covertly continuing like life itself. Thus Pujue said, “The greatly compassionate World-Honored One has freely explained the illnesses of meditation.” “A boat lies across the wild ferry, held in autumn blue” versifies reaching the Dharma body: mooring the boat in a clear source of still water. Sozan called the Dharma body a dead stump. This truly is a donkey-tethering stake. Even when one turns the boat around, one cannot avoid poling into reed flowers shining bright with snow. Reaching this place, pure light dazzles the eyes as though one had lost one's home; turning clearly, one still falls into a position. This versifies: “Even if one penetrates it, simply letting it pass is not acceptable.” Here Unmon has spoken it all and Tendō has versified it through. Yet one must then see Unmon's intention and Tendō's eye. This is the place to calculate benefit and harm. What is Unmon's intention? Have you not heard: “Examine it carefully: if there is any breath or trace, that too is an illness”? Unmon only points out the illness; he does not state a cure. What is Tendō's eye? He sets forth Unmon's prescription: “The old fisherman strings brocade fish and carries them to market. One leaf, drifting free, travels on the crest of the waves.” Unmon's central intention lies in entering the marketplace with hands hanging down, not avoiding wind and waves. One may say that, having cured his own illness, he again pities the illnesses of others: the mind of Vimalakirti. Do you know? Much illness makes one versed in the nature of medicines; once they prove effective, one dares transmit the prescription.