Ryū Tetsuma Comes to Isan

Engo's commentary on the case

Ryū Tetsuma— —was like fire struck from stone or a flash of lightning. Deliberate and you lose body and life. When Zen reaches the critical point, how could there be so many affairs? When experts meet, seeing horns beyond a wall they know it is an ox; seeing smoke beyond a mountain they know it is fire. Press and they move; push down and they turn. Isan once said, “A hundred years from now, I will become a water buffalo at a donor's house below the mountain. On its left flank five characters will read, ‘Monk Isan, so-and-so.’ At that very time, is it right to call it Monk Isan, or right to call it a water buffalo?”³ Question people today and they certainly cannot sort it out. Ryū Tetsuma had trained for a long time, and her working was sharp and steep. People called her “Liu the Iron Grinder.” She built a hermitage ten li from Isan. One day she visited him. Seeing her, Isan said, “Old cow, you have come!” Liu said, “Tomorrow there is a great communal feast at Taishan. Will you go, Master?” Isan let his body go and lay down. Liu immediately left. Look at them: it resembles ordinary conversation. Yet it is neither Zen nor the Way. Can you understand it as “nothing going on”? Isan and Taishan are separated by several thousand li. Why did Liu invite him to the feast? What was her intent? This old woman understood Isan's speech. Silk comes, thread goes; one releases and one gathers. They answer and sing to one another like two mirrors reflecting, with no image available to view. Working matches working and phrase accords with phrase. People today can be addressed three times without turning their heads. This old woman could not be deceived by even a speck. This is not conventional emotional interpretation. It is like a bright mirror on its stand or a luminous pearl in the palm: a Hu comes and a Hu appears; a Han comes and a Han appears. She knew there is an affair beyond, and therefore acted this way. People now insist on understanding it as nothing going on. Master Sizu Yan said, “Do not take having an affair for no affair. Often affairs arise from no affair.” If you penetrate it, their exchange appears as ordinary as anyone's conversation. Most are obstructed by the words and therefore do not understand. Only one who knows the music understands their ground. Kempō instructed the assembly, “Raise one; you may not raise two. Let one move pass and you fall into the second.” Unmon stepped forward and said, “Yesterday a monk came from Tiantai and is now going to Nanyue.” Kempō said, “The cook is excused from communal labor today.”⁴ Look at the two: when releasing, both release; when gathering, both gather. In the Guiyang house this is called “the presentation of a scene.” The wind raises dust and the grass moves, and every clue is investigated. It is also called “a body-separating phrase”: the intent communicates while the words remain apart. Here one must sweep left and turn right to be an expert. Communities everywhere consider Setchō's verse a model. Among the hundred verses, this one has the clearest line of reasoning, yet within that it is exquisitely subtle. It adheres closely to the body of the case and makes it distinct. “Once she rode an iron horse into the many-walled city” versifies Liu's arrival. “The edict descended; word spread that the six kingdoms were at peace” versifies Isan's question. “Still gripping the golden whip, she questioned the returning traveler” versifies Liu's invitation to Taishan. “Deep in the night, who walks with her on the imperial avenue?” versifies Isan lying down and Liu leaving. Setchō had this kind of talent. At urgent places he versified urgently; at relaxed places he versified slowly. Fuketsu also raised the case with the same intent. Communities everywhere praise this verse. Stand on the loftiest peak: demons and outsiders cannot know. Walk on the deepest sea floor: the Buddha-eye cannot see. Look at them—one lies down and one leaves. Add another circumlocution and all at once no road can be found. The finest intent of Setchō's verse lies in “Once she rode an iron horse into the many-walled city.” Without attaining and verifying alike, how could he write so? What intent did he attain? A monk asked Fuketsu, “Isan said, ‘Old cow, you have come!’ What was his intent?” Fuketsu said, “In the depths of white clouds, a golden dragon leaps.” The monk asked, “Ryū Tetsuma said, ‘Tomorrow there is a great communal feast at Taishan. Will you go, Master?’ What was her intent?” Fuketsu said, “In the heart of blue waves, the jade rabbit starts.” The monk asked, “Isan made a gesture of lying down. What was his intent?” Fuketsu said: Old, worn out, and lax on a day with no affairs, he sleeps idly, reclining high before the green mountains. This intent accords with Setchō's.