Kyōzan Says, “You Never Toured the Mountain”

Engo's commentary on the case

At the exact place for testing a person, as soon as the mouth opens one knows the music. An ancient said, “A measureless great person is turned around within the verbal pulse.” With an eye in the crown, one knows where it comes down as soon as it is raised. The question and answer are lucidly distinct. Why, then, does Unmon call them compassionate, weed-entangled talk? The ancients were like a bright mirror on its stand or luminous pearl in the palm: a Hu comes and a Hu appears, a Han comes and a Han appears. Not even a fly passes their inspection. What is compassion fallen into weeds? The exchange is perilously steep; only a genuine person can handle this ground. Unmon raised the issue: “The monk came personally from Lushan. Why did Kyōzan say he had never toured the mountain?” Isan once asked Kyōzan how he tested visiting monks. Kyōzan said, “When a monk comes, I raise my whisk and ask, ‘Do other communities have this?’ Whatever he says, I tell him, ‘Set this aside for now—what about that?’” Isan said, “These are the fangs and claws of a person directed upward.” Baso asked Hyakujō where he came from. “From below the mountain.” “Did you meet a person on the road?” “I did not.” “Why not?” “Had I met one, I would have told you.” “Where did you get this news?” Hyakujō said, “My fault.” Baso said, “No—it is this old monk's fault.” Kyōzan's question resembles this. When he asked whether the monk had reached Wulao Peak, a capable person would simply have said, “Disaster!” Instead the monk reported that he had not. Since the monk was no expert, why did Kyōzan not carry out the command and spare the later vines? He explained, “You have never toured the mountain.” Therefore Unmon calls it compassionate talk fallen into weeds. Speech emerging from the weeds would not be like this. “Out of the weeds, into the weeds—who knows how to seek it?” Setchō knows where it comes down. Here one hand lifts and one presses. “White clouds, layer upon layer; the red sun, brilliantly bright.” It resembles luxuriant grass and veiling smoke. Not one thread belongs to ordinary or holy. Nothing in the whole realm has ever been hidden, and nothing can cover it. This is called the realm of no-mind: in cold, not hearing cold; in heat, not hearing heat. Altogether it is a great gate of liberation. “Look left: no flaw; glance right: already old.” Master Lazhan lived secluded in a stone chamber on Mount Heng. Emperor Dezong sent an envoy to summon him. The envoy announced the edict and demanded thanks. Lazhan was stirring a cow-dung fire, searching for roasted taro, with cold mucus hanging from his chin. He did not answer. The envoy suggested he wipe his nose. Lazhan said, “How could I have time to wipe it for a worldly person?” He never rose. The emperor admired him greatly.² Such a person is clear and solitary, plainly evident, accepting no one's command and holding firm as if cast from raw iron. After Buddhist suppression, Master Shandao no longer dressed as a monk and was called the Stone Chamber Practitioner. While treading the grain-pounder he forgot to move his foot. Asked the meaning, Rinzai said, “Drowned in a deep pit.” Hōgen's verse on perfected real nature says: Principle exhausted, emotional naming forgotten— what analogy could equal it? At the end, the moon on a frosty night naturally falls into the stream before us. Fruit ripens, weighted further by the ape; mountains lengthen, as if the road were lost. Raise your head: the remaining sunset— originally the dwelling lay in the west.³ Setchō says, “Do you not see Hanshan? He traveled too early. For ten years he could not return, having forgotten the road by which he came.” Hanshan wrote: If you wish for a place to settle the body, Cold Mountain can preserve you long. A slight wind blows through hidden pines; heard nearby, the sound grows finer. Below sits a gray-haired man, murmuring over Laozi and Zhuangzi. For ten years he could not return, having forgotten the road by which he came.⁴ Yongjia said, “Mind is the root, dharmas the dust; both resemble marks on a mirror. When grime and traces are exhausted, light appears; when mind and dharmas are both forgotten, nature is real.” Reach here, seeming stupid and inert, and you see the case. Otherwise you only run inside words—with what end?