Hyakujō Sits Alone on Daxiong Peak

Engo's commentary on the case

At the working, possess the eye and disregard danger or death. Thus: “Without entering the tiger's den, how could you get the cub?” Hyakujō ordinarily resembled a tiger fitted with wings. This monk did not avoid life and death: he dared pluck the tiger's whiskers and ask his question. He too possessed the eye. Hyakujō shouldered it for him: “Sitting alone on Daxiong Peak.” The monk bowed. A patch-robed monk must distinguish the intent before the question was asked. This bow differed from an ordinary bow; one must have the eye to make it. Do not pour out a lifetime's courage before another. Though acquainted, remain as if unacquainted. Release the whole exchange and all are right at once. Gather it and sweep away every track. If the bow was good, why did Hyakujō strike? If it was bad, what was wrong with bowing? Here one must know fortune and disaster, distinguish black and white, and stand atop a thousand peaks. The bow was like plucking a tiger's whiskers; it lacked only a place to turn. Fortunately Hyakujō had an eye in his crown and a talisman behind his elbow. He illuminated the four continents and discerned the arriving wind, so he struck. Another person could have done nothing with the monk. The monk met working with working and dispatched intent with intent; hence his bow. Nansen said, “Mañjuśrī and Samantabhadra raised views of Buddha and Dharma at midnight. Give each twenty blows and banish them beyond the two Iron Ring Mountains.” Jōshū asked, “Who should receive your blows?” Nansen replied, “What fault does old Master Wang have?” Jōshū bowed.² In ordinary moments one does not see where a teacher functions. Once the immediate working is handled, it is naturally alive and leaping. My late teacher Wuzu compared it to wrestling before a horse. Cut off seeing, hearing, sound, and form at once; hold firm and act as master. Only then will you see Hyakujō. What is it when he lets the monk pass? Look at Setchō's verse. Only after seeing through did Setchō compose this verse. A heavenly colt travels a thousand li a day, moving crosswise and upright and galloping as if flying. Setchō depicts Hyakujō ranging within the ancestral realm—east to west, west to east, coming and going, free in every direction without obstruction. Hyakujō inherited Baso's great working and function. A monk asked Baso, “What is the great meaning of the Buddha Dharma?” Baso struck him: “If I did not strike you, everyone would laugh at me.” Another asked, “What is the patriarch's intent in coming from the west?” Baso called him close, then slapped him across the ear: “Six ears do not share a plan.”³ See his freedom. Within the teaching gate, sometimes he rolls up and sometimes extends. Sometimes extension is not where rolling up occurs; sometimes rolling up is not where extension occurs; sometimes neither is present. Thus: “The same route, different tracks.” “In lightning and struck-stone fire, preserving the turn of the working” depicts the monk's speed. Gantō said, “Turning away from things is superior; pursuing things is inferior.” In battle, each must stand at the turning place. Setchō said, “Before the wheel of the working has turned—once it turns, both ends run.” If you cannot turn it, what use is it? A person of resolve must recognize responsive transformation. People today simply supply the other's confession and let their noses be pierced. When will that end? This monk preserved the turn amid lightning and struck-stone fire, and so bowed. Hyakujō was like a tiger; laughable indeed that the monk went to pluck its whiskers.