Tokusan Carries His Travel Bundle

Engo's commentary on the case

Kassan sets down the word “mark” three times. Do you understand?⁶ At times, use a blade of grass as a sixteen-foot golden body. At times, use the sixteen-foot golden body as a blade of grass. Tokusan was originally a lecturing monk. In western Sichuan he expounded the Diamond Sūtra. Drawing on the doctrinal teachings, he said: In the diamond-like concentration and subsequently acquired wisdom, one studies a buddha's deportment for a thousand kalpas and a buddha's subtle conduct for ten thousand. Only then does one become Buddha. “Those southern demon-spawn,” he said, “claim that this very mind is Buddha!” He became indignant, shouldered his commentaries, and set out on foot. He headed straight south to destroy the demon-spawn. Look at the fury with which he set out: he was a fierce, sharp fellow. When he first reached Lizhou, he saw an old woman selling fried cakes beside the road. He set down his commentaries and went to buy a snack. The old woman asked, “What are you carrying?” “Commentaries on the Diamond Sūtra.” “I have one question. If you can answer it, I will give you fried cakes for a snack. If you cannot, go buy them somewhere else.” “Just ask.” The old woman said, “The Diamond Sūtra says, ‘Past mind cannot be grasped; present mind cannot be grasped; future mind cannot be grasped.’ Which mind does Your Reverence intend to refresh?”⁷ Tokusan had no words. The old woman directed him to visit Ryūtan. The moment he crossed the gate, Tokusan asked, “I have long heard of Dragon Pond. Now that I have arrived, I see no pond, and no dragon appears.” From behind a screen, the Reverend Ryūtan leaned out and said, “You have personally arrived at Dragon Pond.”⁸ Tokusan bowed and withdrew. That night he entered Ryūtan's room and stood in attendance until late. Ryūtan said, “Why don't you go down?” Tokusan took his leave, raised the blind, and went out. Seeing that it was dark outside, he came back and said, “It is dark beyond the gate.” Ryūtan lit a paper candle and handed it to him. As Tokusan reached for it, Ryūtan blew it out. Tokusan suddenly greatly awakened. He bowed. Ryūtan asked, “What did you see that makes you bow?” Tokusan said, “From now on, I will never again doubt the tongues of the old reverends beneath heaven.” The next day Ryūtan addressed the assembly: Here among you is a fellow with teeth like a forest of swords and a mouth like a basin of blood. One blow cannot make him turn his head. One day he will establish my way on top of a solitary peak. Tokusan took his commentaries before the Dharma hall, raised a torch, and said: Exhaust all abstruse debate—it is like a hair placed in vast space. Drain the world's pivotal ingenuity—it is like a drop thrown into an immense ravine.⁹ Then he burned them. Later Tokusan heard that Isan's teaching was flourishing. He went straight to Isan and met him as expert to expert. Without even untying his bundle, he entered the Dharma hall, crossed east to west and west to east, looked around, said, “Nothing. Nothing,” and left. Tell me: what was his intent? Was he deranged? Many people misunderstand and take this as an act of establishment. That has nothing to do with it. Look at him acting this way: he was unquestionably extraordinary. Thus it is said: To stand out from the crowd, one must be a keen, heroic fellow. To overcome the strong, entrust it to a lion cub. If selecting buddhas is done without such an eye, what use would even a thousand years be? Here only an expert open in every direction can see. Why? Buddha-dharma does not have so many affairs. Where could you put emotional interpretations? In his workings, where is there room for so much fuss? Thus Gensha said: It is exactly like the moon's reflection in an autumn pool, a bell in the silent night. It follows the striking without diminishment; it touches the waves without dispersing. Even this is an affair at the shore of birth and death.¹⁰ When you arrive here, there is no gain or loss, right or wrong. Nor is there anything extraordinary, mysterious, or subtle. Since nothing is extraordinary, mysterious, or subtle, how will you understand Tokusan crossing east to west and west to east? Tell me: what was his intent? Old Isan paid him no attention. If it had been anyone but Isan, Tokusan would have frustrated him. Look at Isan meeting him as an old expert: he simply sat and watched success and failure. Unless he could deeply distinguish the wind as it came, how could he have acted this way? Setchō remarked, “Seen through!” It stands like an iron stake. The assembly calls this an inserted remark. Though it is on both sides, it dwells on neither. How do you understand “Seen through”? Where is the seeing-through? Tell me: did he see through Tokusan, or did he see through Isan? Tokusan went out and reached the gate. Then he wanted to uproot the basis. He said to himself, “Still, I cannot be so careless.” He meant to tear open his five organs and heart with Isan in a round of Dharma combat. He arranged his deportment and returned. Isan was seated. Tokusan raised his sitting cloth and called, “Reverend!” Isan was about to take up the whisk. Tokusan shouted, swept his sleeves, and left. Exceedingly extraordinary! Many in the assemblies say, “Isan was afraid of him.” What does that have to do with it? Isan was not hurried. Thus it is said: Surpass a bird in intelligence and you can catch the bird. Surpass a beast in intelligence and you can catch the beast. Surpass a person in intelligence and you can catch the person. If you investigate this kind of Zen through, all the dense array of things across the earth—heaven and hell, grass and refuse, people and animals—shout at once. You do not care if the Zen seat is overturned or the assembly scattered by the shout. You pay it no regard, as high as heaven and as thick as earth. If Isan had lacked the hands to sit and cut off every tongue beneath heaven, testing Tokusan at that moment would have been extremely difficult. If he had not been the teacher of fifteen hundred people, he could not have handled the matter here. Isan was calculating within the command tent and deciding victory a thousand miles away. Tokusan turned his back on the Dharma hall, put on his straw sandals, and left. Tell me: what was his intent? Was Tokusan victorious or defeated? Was Isan victorious or defeated? Setchō remarked, “Seen through!” Only because he had done the work and seen through the gnarled ultimate point in the ancients could he speak this way. It is unquestionably extraordinary. Natang said, “Setchō's two ‘Seen through!’ remarks make a judgment in three sections. Only then does this case become clear. It is like a bystander deciding between two people.”¹¹ Later, old Isan waited until evening before slowly asking the head monk, “Where is the new arrival from earlier?” The head monk said, “He turned his back on the Dharma hall, put on his straw sandals, and left.” Isan said, “One day this fellow will bind together a grass hut on top of a solitary peak and go on reviling buddhas and cursing patriarchs.” Tell me: what was his intent? Old Isan was not being kind. Later Tokusan reviled buddhas, cursed patriarchs, and struck wind and rain, yet he still did not escape Isan's nest and cave. The old fellow had seen through the devices of his entire life. Can you call this Isan giving him a prediction? Can you call it “a broad marsh hides a mountain; principle can tame a leopard”? If you do, happily, it has nothing to do with it.¹² Setchō knew where this case came down. He dared to decide it for them and said, “Snow piled on frost.” Then he picked it up again to make people see. If you see, I permit you to study alongside Isan, Tokusan, and Setchō. If you do not, never recklessly generate emotional interpretations. Setchō versified one hundred cases. For each case, he burned incense and raised it. That is why his work circulated widely in the world. He also knew how to write, had penetrated the cases, and had dwelled in them until fully seasoned. Only then could he put brush to paper. Why was this so? Dragons and snakes are easy to distinguish; a patch-robed monk is hard to deceive. Setchō penetrated this case. At its gnarled joints he placed three phrases, gathered them up, and brought them out in verse: Snow piled on frost— he almost took a dangerous fall. What was Tokusan like? He was like Li Guang, a natural archer. The emperor, Engo says, appointed him Flying Cavalry General. He penetrated deep into the enemy court and was captured alive by the Chanyu.¹⁴ Li Guang was wounded and ill. They placed him between two horses, enclosed in a net and lying down. He feigned death. Looking to the side, he saw a foreign youth riding a good horse. Li Guang vaulted onto the horse, pushed the youth off, and seized his bow and arrows. He whipped the horse and raced south, drawing the bow to shoot back the pursuing cavalry. In this way he escaped. That fellow had such methods: he came alive within death. Setchō draws him into the verse to compare him with Tokusan entering for the second meeting and still managing to leap free. Look at the ancients: they saw all the way, spoke all the way, acted all the way, and functioned all the way. They were unquestionably keen and heroic. Only one with hands that kill without blinking can become Buddha on the spot. A person who becomes Buddha on the spot naturally kills without blinking. Only then is there a share of freedom.¹⁵ Some people today, when first questioned, seem to possess a patch-robed monk's bearing. Press them lightly, and the waist breaks into sections, the thighs into pieces—seven limbs, eight fragments. There is not the slightest continuity anywhere. Thus an ancient said, “Continuity is also extremely difficult.” Look at Tokusan and Isan acting as they did. How could theirs be a feeble, fidgeting kind of understanding? How many manage to come back whole? Hurry—run past! Tokusan shouted and left. It was like Li Guang devising a plan after his capture, shooting down a foreign commander with one arrow, and escaping the enemy court. Setchō shows considerable work in versifying to this point. Tokusan turned his back on the Dharma hall, put on his straw sandals, and left. It looked as though he had gained the advantage. He did not realize that the old fellow still would not let him raise his head. Setchō says, “Do not let him pass.” That evening Isan asked the head monk, “Where is the new arrival from earlier?” The head monk said, “He turned his back on the Dharma hall, put on his straw sandals, and left.” Isan said, “One day this fellow will bind together a grass hut on top of a solitary peak and go on reviling buddhas and cursing patriarchs.” How could this ever have been letting him pass? It is unquestionably extraordinary. At this point, why does Setchō say, “On the solitary peak, he sits in the weeds”? Then he gives another shout. Tell me: where does it come down? Investigate for another thirty years.