Tōzan Is Unwell

Banshō's commentary on the case

When people of old approached departure, they played freely within the conditions of aging, illness, and death. Tōzan was particularly remarkable. The record says that he had a slight illness and the assembly attended him. A monk asked, “Venerable, though you are ill, is there someone who is not ill?” His words had resonance and his phrase presented the pivotal working; he too wanted to see whether the sick person possessed an eye. Tōzan said, “There is.” He scratched the itching place and the illness diminished by a full measure. The monk asked, “Does the one who is not ill still see you?” He issued the command in reverse, wanting people to know that it is not like that. Tōzan said, “This old monk has a share in seeing that one.” Judged by ordinary sentiment, the one who is not ill ought to see the sick one. Tōzan instead says that he has a share in seeing that one. How could this be the logic of a conventional inquiry after someone's health? The monk wanted to meet him clear through and asked further, “What is it like after you see that one?” Here, throughout the twelve periods of the day, you must constantly cherish and honor him: sleeping at night, rising early, and asking after his activity and rest. Only then are you a person who knows gratitude and acts with filial care.⁴ Tōzan said, “When this old monk sees, he does not see that there is illness.” This is where the conduct of his whole life became effective at departure.¹ Tōzan also asked a monk, “After leaving this leaking shell, where will you meet me?” The monk had no reply. Tōzan had a verse: Though students are many, not one awakens; the fault lies in seeking a road on another's tongue. If you wish to forget form and extinguish every trace, exert yourself earnestly to step through empty space. After reciting it, he shaved his head, sounded the bell, sat in the hall, bade farewell to the assembly, and announced his cessation. The assembly wailed. Tōzan opened his eyes, held a “Feast for the Foolish,” and remained for seven more days. He again bade the assembly farewell and died seated.² The Dading Continuation of the Lamp Record says that during the Huangtong era, Zen Master Faqing of Dajue Monastery in Xianping Prefecture succeeded Zen Master Bai of Foguo. He had served as recorder, first resided at Puzhao in Sizhou, and later moved to Songshan. When Bianjing fell, he was captured and made to herd cattle in the north until a scripture lecturer recognized him. Later he lived at the eastern capital.⁵ Once, when his attendant read Tōzan's record and reached the Feast for the Foolish, the attendant said, “The ancient was truly remarkable.” Dajue said, “After I transform, you may call me. If I can return, that will be power of the Way.” Later he knew beforehand that the time had arrived and wrote: This year, on the fifth day of the fifth month, the four elements will leave their original master. Let the white bones scatter in the wind, so they occupy none of a donor's land. He gave all his clothing and possessions to the attendant and provided a meal for the monks. At the first sound of the evening bell, he died seated. The attendant said, “Long ago he told me to call him,” and called three times. Dajue answered, “What is it?” The attendant said, “Venerable, why are you leaving naked and barefoot?” Dajue said, “What did I have when I came?” The attendant tried to force clothing onto him. Dajue said, “Stop. Leave it for people who come later.” The attendant asked, “What about precisely at this time?” Dajue said, “It is just like this.” He then wrote another verse: Seventy-three years, like a flash of lightning; at departure, for you I open a single thread. The iron ox leaps and bounds beyond Silla, smashing empty space into seven or eight pieces. He then died in dignified posture, aged seventy-three, on the fifth day of the fifth month in the third year of Huangtong.² Tōzan recognized the one who is not ill; Dajue recognized the one who does not die. Therefore these two elders came and went freely. Tendō picked this up and said, “Able to go and able to come; able to come and able to go. I have a share in seeing that one; that one's seeing of me is otherwise. At precisely such a time, how do you understand it?” After a long pause he said: Last night's mist is still deep—the summit cannot be seen; spring wind is always present in the branch that does not sprout. Tendō's comment displayed the whole working of the underlying matter, as already explained. His verse shows the ancients' concentrated strength. Master Sekitō said, “If you wish to know the undying person in the hermitage, how could that one be apart from this present skin-bag?” Tendō instead says to cast off this skin-bag. Tōzan and Tendō are both descendants of Sekitō. Since they contradict each other this way, how will you reconcile them? Rinzai also said, “On the lump of red flesh is a true person without rank.” Tendō instead teaches you to turn away the red flesh-lump. Now say: where does the true person without rank establish body and life?⁶ The venerable Fori said, “Before this mountain monk came, the people of Yanjing had crooked noses. I came especially to straighten them.” Banshō says: Fori's nostrils have fallen into the hands of the people of Yanjing. A monk asked Kyōgen, “What is the Way?” Kyōgen said, “A dragon chanting inside dead wood.” The monk said, “I do not understand.” Kyōgen said, “An eyeball inside a skull.” Later a monk asked Shishuang, “What is a dragon chanting inside dead wood?” Shishuang said, “It still carries joy.” The monk asked, “What is an eyeball inside a skull?” Shishuang said, “It still carries consciousness.” Another monk asked Sōzan, who showed him this verse: A dragon chants in dead wood—truly seeing the Way; consciousness exhausted in the skull, the eye first shines. When joy and consciousness end, information too is ended; how could that person distinguish clear within the turbid? The monk asked again, “What is a dragon chanting inside dead wood?” Sōzan said, “The bloodline is not cut off.” The monk asked, “What is an eyeball inside a skull?” Sōzan said, “It is not completely dried out.” The Zuting shiyuan reads, “It is completely dried out.” Judged by Tendō's verse and preface—“The red flesh-lump exposes true constancy alone; the skull's eye drains dry leaking consciousness”—“completely dried out” is also a good reading.⁷ A common saying has it, “An old physician, a young diviner”: a physician becomes discerning only with age, while a diviner is numinous when young. Thus old Tōzan makes “does not see that there is illness.” “The young child looks toward it; drawing near is difficult” means that intending intimacy makes it distant and intending approach makes it deviate. A cold pine's diseased branch becomes more extraordinary through disease. Vimalakirti was thin but not depleted; through illness, the Way diminished day by day.⁸ Zen Master Shen of Fengsheng in the western capital wrote after illness: Breath exhausted, emotional thought ends; raise an intention—there is no road for intention. Even blinking the eyes has no strength; for long years I do not leave the door. The venerable Fuyō Kai said, “This one verse naturally succeeds this old monk.” This is the wild water thinning as the flood recedes, the cloud breaking, and the mountain growing cold. You must cut it off completely; do not be muddle-headed. To cure illness, remove its root; the physician must reach no-medicine. Turn through no-merit, and that one assumes the position, standing alone and not sharing your tray. Do you know? A single grain of gold from the Lishui cannot be mixed with the flowing sand.