D T Suzuki Quotes

I would have followed you to hell and back... if only you'd lead me back.

He looked at me like I was the stars when all I’d ever felt like was the dark nothingness between them.

The truth of Zen, just a little bit of it, is what turns one's humdrum life, a life of monotonous, uninspiring commonplaceness, into one of art, full of genuine inner creativity.

I’d never dreamed anybody could love me the way he did. And even when he proved it to me time and again – I still could hardly believe it was true.

God against man. Man against God. Man against nature. Nature against man. Nature against God. God against nature. Very funny religion!

How many times did we pass each other before we met? If only I’d known…. I would have searched for you endlessly. If only I’d found you before it was already too late.

In a way, it was the same as any normal break up. You took what was yours …. and I kept what I’d had from before we were together… You took my heart …. and I had nothing…

the intuitive recognition of the instant, thus reality... is the highest act of wisdom

She wears it so beautifully doesn’t she, her pain… Always smiling, always positive…. always happy to help… It’s like a garment perfectly tailored to fit the way she carries it… with a touch of grace… and the quietness of that sad smile…. All so you’d never know how heavy it really was.

It’s the intricate details you miss the most. For me, it’s the soft lines around the eyes when he smiles… Or that look he gave me sometimes that I cannot begin to describe - but I would know it if I saw it again. It was the look that gave him away. I’d know that look anywhere… It used to be my everything.

When mountain-climbing is made too easy, the spiritual effect the mountain exercises vanishes into the air.

We teach ourselves; Zen merely points the way.

When a thing is denied, the very denial involves something not denied.

The idea of Zen is to catch life as it flows. There is nothing extraordinary or mysterious about Zen. I raise my hand ; I take a book from the other side of the desk ; I hear the boys playing ball outside my window; I see the clouds blown away beyond the neighbouring wood: — in all these I am practising Zen, I am living Zen. No wordy discussions is necessary, nor any explanation. I do not know why — and there is no need of explaining, but when the sun rises the whole world dances with joy and everybody’s heart is filled with bliss. If Zen is at all conceivable, it must be taken hold of here.

the finger pointing at the moon remains a finger and under no circumstances can it be changed into the moon itself.

The way to ascend unto God is to descend into one's self"; -- these are Hugo's words. "If thou wishest to search out the deep things of God, search out the depths of thine own spirit";

Zen has nothing to do with letters, words, or sutras.

However insistently the blind may deny the existence of the sun, they cannot annihilate it.

The basic idea of Zen is to come in touch with the inner workings of our being, and to do so in the most direct way possible, without resorting to anything external or superadded.

Zen perceives and feels, and does not abstract and meditate. Zen penetrates and is finally lost in the immersion. Meditation, on the other hand, is outspokenly dualistic and consequently inevitably superficial.

How hard, then, and yet how easy it is to understand Zen! Hard because to understand it is not to understand it; easy because not to understand it is to understand it.

Zen professes itself to be the spirit of Buddhism, but in fact it is the spirit of all religions and philosophies. When Zen is thoroughly understood, absolute peace of mind is attained, and a man lives as he ought to live.

But nothing awakens religious consciousness like suffering.

Modern life seems to recede further and further away from nature, and closely connected with this fact we seem to be losing the feeling of reverence towards nature. It is probably inevitable when science and machinery, capitalism and materialism go hand in hand so far in a most remarkably successful manner. Mysticism, which is the life of religion in whatever sense we understand it, has come to be relegated altogether in the background. Without a certain amount of mysticism there is no appreciation for the feeling of reverence, and, along with it, for the spiritual significance of humility. Science and scientific technique have done a great deal for humanity; but as far as our spiritual welfare is concerned we have not made any advances over that attained by our forefathers. In fact we are suffering at present the worst kind of unrest all over the world.

No amount of wordy explanations will ever lead us into the nature of our own selves. The more you explain, the further it runs away from you. It is like trying to get hold of your own shadow. You run after it and it runs with you at the identical rate of speed.

If there is anything Zen strongly emphasizes it is the attainment of freedom; that is, freedom from all unnatural encumbrances. Meditation is something artificially put on; it does not belong to the native activity of the mind. Upon what do the fowls of the air meditate? Upon what do the fish in the water meditate? They fly; they swim. Is not that enough? Who wants to fix his mind on the unity of God and man, or on the nothingness of life? Who wants to be arrested in the daily manifestations of his life-activity by such meditations as the goodness of a divine being or the everlasting fire of hell?

Taking it all in all, Zen is emphatically a matter of personal experience; if anything can be called radically empirical, it is Zen. No amount of reading, no amount of teaching, no amount of contemplation will ever make one a Zen master. Life itself must be grasped in the midst of its flow; to stop it for examination and analysis is to kill it, leaving its cold corpse to be embraced.

I’d say true friendship is worth fighting for.

In Zen there must be satori; there must be a general mental upheaval which destroys the old accumulations of intellection and lays down the foundation for a new life; there must be the awakening of a new sense which will review the old things from a hitherto undreamed-of angle of observation.

When mind discriminates, there is manifoldness of things; when it does not it looks into the true state of things.

Perhaps there is after all nothing mysterious in Zen. Everything is open to your full view. If you eat your food and keep yourself cleanly dressed and work on the farm to raise your rice or vegetables, you are doing all that is required of you on this earth, and the infinite is realized in you.

Emptiness constantly falls within our reach. It is always with us, and conditions all our knowledge, all our deeds and is our life itself. It is only when we attempt to pick it up and hold it forth as something before our eyes that it eludes us, frustrates all our efforts and vanishes like vapor.

In Christianity we seem to be too conscious of God, though we say that in him we live and move and have our being. Zen wants to have this last trace of God-consciousness, if possible, obliterated. That is why Zen masters advise us not to linger where the Buddha is, and to pass quickly away where he is not.

[W]e must remember that the finger pointing at the moon remains a finger and under no circumstances can it be changed into the moon itself. Danger always lurks where the intellect slyly creeps in and takes the index for the moon itself.

They justly compare Zen to lightning. The rapidity, however, does not constitute Zen; its naturalness, its freedom from artificialities, its being expressive of life itself, its originality—these are the essential characteristics of Zen.

Copying is slavery. The letter must never be followed, only the spirit is to be grasped. Higher affirmations live in the spirit. And where is the spirit? Seek it in your everyday experience, and therein lies abundance of proof for all you need.

In the study of Zen, the power of an all-illuminating insight must go hand in hand with a deep sense of humility and meekness of heart.

The idea of Zen is to catch lie as it flows. There is nothing extraordinary or mysterious about Zen. [...]. No wordy discussion is necessary, nor any explanation. I do not know why—and there is no need of explaining, but when the sun rises the whole world dances with joy and everybody's heart is filled with bliss. If Zen is at all conceivable, it must be taken hold of here.

There is something rejuvenating in the possession of Zen. The spring flowers look prettier, and the mountain stream runs cooler and more transparent. The subjective revolution that brings about this state of things cannot be called abnormal. When life becomes more enjoyable and its expense broadens to include the universe itself, there must be something in *satori* that is quite precious and well worth one's striving after.

Is satori something that is not at all capable of intellectual analysis? Yes, it is an experience which no amount of explanation or argument can make communicable to others unless the latter themselves had it previously. If satori is amenable to analysis in the sense that by so doing it becomes perfectly clear to another who has never had it, that satori will be no satori. For a satori turned into a concept ceases to be itself; and there will no more be a Zen experience.

All the causes, all the conditions of satori are in the mind; they are merely waiting for the maturing. [...] From the very beginning nothing has been kept from you, all that you wished to see has been there all the time before you, it was only yourself that closed the eye to the fact. Therefore, there is in Zen nothing to explain, nothing to teach, that will add to your knowledge. Unless it grows out of yourself no knowledge is really yours, it is only a borrowed plumage.

Man is a thinking reed,” D. T. Suzuki, one of the early popularizers of Buddhism in the West, once said, “but his great works are done when he is not calculating and thinking. ‘Childlikeness’ has to be restored with long years of training in the art of self-forgetfulness. When this is attained, man thinks yet he does not think.

D. T. Suzuki, the eminent scholar of Zen Buddhism, one day made this sarcastic comment on the Christian tradition to his friends, American mythologist Joseph Campbell and psychoanalyst Carl Jung: “Nature against Man, Man against Nature; God against Man, Man against God; God against Nature, Nature against God; very funny religion!

— Не е ли похвално да се почита Буда? — Да, — казал учителят, — но още по-добре е без похвални неща.

Zen has no business with ideas.

Религия ли е Дзен? Дзен не е религия в общоприетия смисъл на думата, защото в Дзен няма Бог, пред който да се прекланяме, няма обреди и церемонии, които да спазваме, няма отвъдна обител за мъртвите, и най-сетне, в Дзен няма душа, за чието благополучие да отговаря друг, за чието безсмъртие да се грижат хората. Дзен ще рече освободеност от цялото това бреме на догми и религиозни вярвания.

You see, religion is really a kind of second womb. It’s designed to bring this extremely complicated thing, which is a human being, to maturity, which means to be self-motivating, self-acting. But the idea of sin puts you in a servile condition throughout your life. MOYERS: But that’s not the Christian idea of creation and the Fall. CAMPBELL: I once heard a lecture by a wonderful old Zen philosopher, Dr. D. T. Suzuki. He stood up with his hands slowly rubbing his sides and said, “God against man. Man against God. Man against nature. Nature against man. Nature against God. God against nature—very funny religion!

Zen attempts to take hold of life in its act of living; to stop the flow of life and to look into it is not the business of Zen. [...] Satori is attained in the midst of this activity and not by suppressing it[.]

This acquiring of a new viewpoint in Zen is called *satori* (*wu* in Chinese) and its verb form is *satoru*. Without it there is no Zen, for the life of Zen begins with the "opening of *satori*". *Satori* may be defined as intuitive looking-into, in contradistinction to intellectual and logical understanding. Whatever the definition, *satori* means the unfolding of a new world hitherto unperceived in the confusion of the dualistic mind.

If we really want to get to the bottom of life, we must abandon our cherished syllogisms, we must acquire a new way of observation whereby we can escape the tyranny of logic and the one-sidedness of our everyday phraseology.

We have never lost Paradise, but human consciousness tells us we have lost it and that we have to regain it. But in fact, Paradise has never been lost, Paradise is never to be therefore regained. We are in Eden, just as we are now.

Life is an art, and like perfect art it should be self-forgetting; there ought not to be any trace of effort or painful feeling. Life, according to Zen, ought to be lived as a bird flies through the air or as a fish swims in the water.

Zen opens a man's eyes to the greatest mystery as it is daily and hourly performed; it enlarges the heart to embrace eternity of time and infinity of space in its every palpitation; it makes us live in the world as if walking in the garden of Eden

When we know the reason, there is satori and we have Zen. Whereas with the God of mysticism there is the grasping of a definite object; when you have God, what is no-God is excluded. This is self-limiting. Zen wants absolute freedom, even from God.

Seymour had already begun to believe, and I agreed with him as far as I was able to see the point, that education by any name would smell as sweet, and maybe much sweeter, if it didn't begin with a quest for knowledge at all, but with a quest, as Zen would put it, for no-knowledge. Dr. Suzuki says somewhere, that to be in a state of pure consciousness, satori, is to be with God before He said, 'Let there be light.' Seymour and I thought it might be a good thing to hold back this light from you and Franny, at least as far as we were able, and all the many lower, more fashionable lighting effects—the arts, sciences, classics, languages—'til you were both able at least to conceive of a state of being where the mind knows the source of all light.

Както казват учителите по Дзен, коан е само парче тухла, с която чукаш по вратата, показалец, насочен към луната. Той има за цел да синтезира или да преодолява — без значение коя дума ще изберете — дуализма на сетивата. Докато съзнанието не е свободно да приеме звук от една ръка, то остава ограничено и раздвоено в своя вреда. Вместо да намери ключа към тайните на съзиданието, съзнанието е безнадеждно погребано в относителността на нещата, т. е. неистинската им страна. Докато съзнанието не се освободи от оковите, то никога няма да разглежда света в неговата цялост и да бъде удовлетворено. Всъщност звукът, произведен от едната ръка, стига и горе до рая, и долу до ада, така както „истинското лице“ на човека е обърнато към цялото пространство на съзиданието и до края на времето.

Zen, therefore, most strongly and persistently insists on an inner spiritual experience. It does not attach any intrinsic importance to the sacred sutras or to their exegeses by the wise and learned. Personal experience is strongly set against authority and objective revelation[.]

with all due deference to the vast doctrinal differences between Buddhism and Christianity, and preserving intact all respect for the claims of the different religions: in no way mixing up the Christian “vision of God” with Buddhist “enlightenment,” we can nevertheless say that the two have this psychic “limitlessness” in common. And they tend to describe it in much the same language. It is now “emptiness,” now “dark night,” now “perfect freedom,” now “no-mind,” now “poverty” in the sense used by Eckhart and by D.T. Suzuki later on in this book (see p. 110).

Christians as well as Buddhists can practise Zen just as big fish and small fish are both contentedly living in the same ocean. Zen is the ocean, Zen is the air, Zen is the mountain, Zen is thunder and lightning, the spring flower, summer heat, and winter snow; nay, more than that, Zen is the man.

Trees for which there is no commercial value are referred to as "weeds" that interfere with commercial harvesting. That's what alders were called until a method to make high-grade paper from them was developed, but you'd never know that alders play an important ecological role. They are the first trees to grow after an opening is cleared in a forest, and they fix nitrogen from the air to fertilize the soil for the later-growing, longer-lived, bigger tree species. Yew trees have tough wood with gnarled branches and were called weeds and burned until a powerful anti-cancer agent was found in their bark.

The wise Sekiso (Shih-shuang) said, 'Stop all your hankerings; let the mildew grow on your lips; make yourself like unto a perfect piece of immaculate silk; let your one thought be eternity; let yourself be like the dead ashes, cold and lifeless; again let yourself be like an old censer in a deserted village shrine!

When Nangaku was approaching Yeno, the Sixth Patriarch, and was questioned, "What is it that thus walks toward me?" he did not know what to answer. For eight long years he pondered the question, when one day it dawned upon him, and he exclaimed, "Even to say it is something does not hit the mark". This is the same as saying, "I do not know".

Are you going to be eternally chained by your own laws of thought, or are you going to be perfectly free in an assertion of life which knows no beginning or end? [...]. The Zen method of discipline generally consists in putting one in a dilemma, out of which one must contrive to escape, not through logic indeed, but through a mind of higher order.

Zen has from the beginning made clear and insisted upon the main thesis, which is to see into the work of creation; the creator may be found busy moulding his universe, or he may be absent from his workshop, but Zen goes on with its own work. It is not dependent upon the support of a creator; when it grasps the reason for living a life, it is satisfied.

Some say that as Zen is admittedly a form of mysticism it cannot claim to be unique in the history of religion. Perhaps so; but Zen is a mysticism of its own order. It is mystical in the sense that the sun shines, that the flower blooms, that I hear at this moment somebody beating a drum in the street. If these are mystical facts, Zen is brim-full of them.

It seems crazy, but it isn’t. “Man is a thinking reed,” D. T. Suzuki, one of the early popularizers of Buddhism in the West, once said, “but his great works are done when he is not calculating and thinking. ‘Childlikeness’ has to be restored with long years of training in the art of self-forgetfulness. When this is attained, man thinks yet he does not think.

Day after day they’d waited for Ryoji to be taken away for his tests. Then in the brilliant light of day Kaoru would lay Reiko down on the bed, hike up her skirt, pull down her panties, and examine her sex organ. It was no more than one organ of the many that made up her body, but he found it inexplicably fascinating. His love for her had endowed it with inestimable value.

The basic idea of Zen is to come in touch with the inner workings of our being, and to do this in the most direct way possible, without resorting to anything external or superadded. Therefore, anything that has the semblance of an external authority is rejected by Zen. Absolute faith is placed in a man's own inner being. For whatever authority there is in Zen, all comes from within.

Zen purposes to discipline the mind itself, to make it its own master, through an insight into its proper nature. This getting into the real nature of one's own mind or soul is the fundamental object of Zen Buddhism. Zen, therefore, is more than meditation and Dhyana in its ordinary sense. The discipline of Zen consists in opening the mental eye in order to look into the very reason of existence.

As far as content goes, there is none in either satori or Zen that can be described or presented or demonstrated for your intellectual appreciation. For Zen has no business with ideas, and satori is a sort of inner perception—not the perception, indeed, of a single individual object but the perception of Reality itself, so to speak. The ultimate destination of satori is towards the Self; it has no other end but to be back within oneself.

Much, much more important, though, Seymour had already begun to believe (and I agreed with him, as far as I was able to see the point) that education by any name would smell as sweet, and maybe much sweeter, if it didn’t begin with a quest for knowledge at all but with a quest, as Zen would put it, for no-knowledge. Dr. Suzuki says somewhere that to be in a state of pure consciousness—satori—is to be with God before he said, Let there be light.

Much, much more important, though, Seymour had already begun to believe (and I agreed with him, as far as I was able to see the point) that education by any name would smell as sweet, and maybe much sweeter, if it didn't begin with a quest for knowledge at all but with a quest, as Zen would put it, for no-knowledge. Dr. Suzuki says somewhere that to be in a state of pure consciousness- satori- is to be with God before he said, Let there be light.

Monks ought to behave like a grinding stone: Changsan comes to sharpen his knife, Li-szŭ comes to grind his axe, everybody and anybody who wants to have his metal improved in anyway comes and makes use of the stone. Each time the stone is rubbed, it wears out, but it makes no complaint, nor does it boast of its usefulness. And those who come to it go home fully benefitted; some of them may not be quite appreciative of the stone; but the stone itself remains ever contented......

The economy — and the need to keep it strong and growing — has somehow become the most important aspect of modern life. Nothing else is allowed to rank higher. The economy is suffering; the economy is improving; the economy is stable or unstable — you’d think it was a patient on life support in an intensive-care unit from the way we anxiously await the next pronouncement on its health. But what we call the economy is nothing more than people producing, consuming and exchanging things and services.

Във всички тези обреди — благочестиви и пречистващи за повечето вярващи — Дзен вижда нещо изкуствено. „Съвършените йоги не постигат нирвана, а монасите, нарушаващи обета си, не отиват в ада“, гласи един от дзен-принципите. За обикновеното съзнание това противоречи на общоприетите морални норми, но именно тук се крие истината и жизнеността на Дзен. Дзен е духът на човека. Дзен вярва във вътрешната му чистота и доброта. Всичко насилствено добавено или отнето от духа нарушава неговата цялост. Затова Дзен е категорично против всякакви религиозни условности.

Satori is the sudden flashing into consciousness of a new truth hitherto undreamed of. It is a sort of mental catastrophe taking place all at once, after much piling up of matters intellectual and demonstrative. The piling has reached a limit of stability and the whole edifice has come tumbling to the ground, when, behold, a new heaven is open to full survey. [...]. Religiously, it is a new birth; intellectually, it is the acquiring of a new viewpoint. The world now appears as if dressed in a new garment, which seems to cover up all the unsightliness of dualism[.]

[T]he koan is only a piece of brick used to knock at the gate, an index-finger pointing at the moon. It is only intended to synthesize or transcend—whichever expression you may choose—the dualism of the senses. So long as the mind is not free to perceive a sound produced by one hand, it is limited and is divided against itself. Instead of grasping the key to the secrets of creation, the mind is hopelessly buried in the relativity of things, and, therefore, in their superficiality. Until the mind is free from the fetters, the time never comes for it to view the whole world with any amount of satisfaction.

Zen often compares the mind to a mirror free from stains. To be simple, therefore, according to Zen, will be to keep this mirror always bright and pure and ready to reflect simply and absolutely whatever comes before it. The result will be to acknowledge a spade to be a spade and at the same time not to be a spade. To recognize the first only is a common-sense view, and there is no Zen until the second is also admitted along with the first. The common-sense view is flat and tame, whereas that of Zen is always original and stimulating. Each time Zen is asserted things get vitalized; there is an act of creation.

Here lies the value of the Zen discipline, as it gives birth to the unshakable conviction that there is something indeed going beyond mere intellection. The wall of koan once broken through and the intellectual obstructions well cleared off, you come back, so to speak, to your everyday relatively constructed consciousness. [...] Zen is now the most ordinary thing in the world. A field that we formerly supposed to lie far beyond is now found to be the very field in which we walk, day in, day out. When we come out of satori we see the familiar world with all its multitudinous objects and ideas together with their logicalness, and pronounce them "good".

The object of Zen discipline consists in acquiring a new viewpoint for looking into the essence of things. If you have been in the habit of thinking logically according to the rules of dualism, rid yourself of it and you may come around somewhat to the viewpoint of Zen. You and I are supposedly living in the same world, but who can tell that the thing we popularly call a stone that is lying before my window is the same to both of us? You and I sip a cup of tea. That act is apparently alike to us both, but who can tell what a wide gap there is subjectively between your drinking and my drinking? In your drinking there may be no Zen, while mine is brim-full of it. The reason for it is: you move in a logical circle and I am out of it.

By the time I first encountered Jung, as a teenager in the early 1970s, this was certainly happening. Jung may not have been accepted by mainstream intellectuals—Freud was their psychologist of choice—but he had certainly been adopted by the counterculture. When I first read Memories, Dreams, Reflections—his “so-called autobiography”—Jung was part of a canon of “alternative” thinkers that included Hermann Hesse, Alan Watts, Carlos Castaneda, D. T. Suzuki, R. D. Laing, Aldous Huxley, Jorge Luis Borges, Aleister Crowley, Timothy Leary, Madame Blavatsky, and J. R. R. Tolkien, to name a few. That his face appeared on the cover of the Beatles’ famous Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band album, in a crowd of other unorthodox characters, was endorsement enough.

When Tanka (Tan-hsia) of the T'ang dynasty stopped at Yerinji in the Capital, it was severely cold; so taking down one of the Buddha images enshrined there, he made a fire of it and warmed himself. The keeper of the shrine, seeing this, was greatly incensed, and exclaimed: "How dare you burn my wooden image of the Buddha?" Tanka began to search in the ashes as if he were looking for something, and said: "I am gathering the holy sariras* from the burnt ashes." "How," said the keeper, "can you get sariras from a wooden Buddha?" Tanka retorted, "If there are no sariras to be found in it, may I have the remaining two Buddhas for my fire?" * Sarira (shari in J. and she-li in C.) literally means the "body", but in Buddhism it is a kind of mineral deposit found in the human body after cremation. The value of such deposits is understood by the Buddhists to correspond to the saintliness of life.

It is precisely this [transcendental] privilege that Christian missionaries in China and Japan failed to relinquish when they spoke about Buddhism; but the same failure is found in such "na(t)ive" exponents of Zen as D. T. Suzuki, and it would perhaps be hard to decide which version of Zen, the negative or the idealized, is most misleading. Even if the degree of reductionism is not quite the same in both cases, both interpretations share responsibility for the strange predicament in which Westerners who approach Chan/Zen find themselves: they are unable to consider it a serious intellectual system, for the constraints of Western discourse on Zen cause them to either devaluate it as an Eastern form of either "natural mysticism" or "quietism" or to idealize it as a wonderfully exotic Dharma. In this sense, Zen can be seen as a typical example of "secondary Orientalism," a stereotype concocted as much by the Japanese themselves as by Westerners.

Jesus said, "When thou doest alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth; that thine alms may be in secret." This is the "secret virtue" of Buddhism. But when the account goes on to say that "Thy Father who seeth in secret shall recompense thee", we see a deep cleavage between Buddhism and Christianity. As long as there is any thought of anybody, be he God or devil, knowing of our doings and making recompense, Zen would say, "You are not yet one of us." Deeds that are the product of such thought leave "traces" and "shadows". If a spirit is tracing your doings, he will in no time get hold of you and make you account for what you have done; Zen will have none of it. The perfect garment shows no seams, inside and outside; it is one complete piece and nobody can tell where the work began, or how it was woven. In Zen, therefore, no traces of self-conceit or self-glorification are to be left behind even after the doing of good, much less the thought of recompense, even by God.

To speak conventionally - and I think it is easier for the general reader to see Zen thus presented - there are unknown recesses in our minds which lie beyond the threshold of the relatively constructed consciousness. To designate them as “sub-conciousness” or “supra-consciousness” is not correct. The word “beyond” is used simply because it is a most convenient term to indicate their whereabouts. But as a matter of fact there is no “beyond”, no “underneath”, no “upon” in our consciousness. The mind is one indivisible whole and cannot be torn in pieces. The so-called terra incognita is the concession of Zen to our ordinary way of talking, because whatever field of consciousness that is known to us is generally filled with conceptual riffraff, and to get rid of them, which is absolutely necessary for maturing Zen experience, the Zen psychologist sometimes points to the presence of some inaccessible region in our minds. Though in actuality there is no such region apart from our everyday consciousness, we talk of it as generally more easily comprehensible by us.

While the founder [of any religious or spiritual system] was still walking among his followers and disciples, the latter did not distinguish between the person of their leader and his teaching; for the teaching was realized in the person and the person was livingly explained in the teaching. To embrace the teaching was to follow his steps - that is, to believe in him. His presence among them was enough to inspire them and convince them of the truth of his teaching... So long as he lived among them and spoke to them his teaching and his person appealed to them as an individual unity. But things went differently when his stately and inspiring personality was no more seen in the flesh... The similarities that were, either consciously or unconsciously, recognized as existing in various forms between leader and disciple gradually vanished, and as they vanished, the other side - that is, that which made him so distinctly different from his followers - came to assert itself all the more emphatically and irresistibly. The result was the conviction that he must have come from quite a unique spiritual source. The process of deification thus constantly went on until, some centuries after the death of the Master, he became a direct manifestation of the Supreme Being himself - in fact, he was the Highest One in the flesh, in him there was a divine humanity in perfect realization... Indeed, the teaching is to be interpreted in the light of the teacher's divine personality. The latter now predominates over the whole system; he is the centre whence radiate the rays of Enlightenment, salvation is only possible in believing in him as saviour.

As far as the content goes, there is none in either *satori* or Zen that can be described or presented or demonstrated for your intellectual appreciation. For Zen has no business with ideas, and *satori* is a sort of inner perception -- not the perception, indeed, of a single individual object but the perception of Reality itself, so to speak.

Un fluide insaisissable coule d'une génération à l'autre. Lorsque nous développons nos antennes et apprenons à déceler partout la trace d'autres passants, d'autres humains vivants ou morts, alors notre façon d'être au monde se dilate et s'agrandit. Je suis le témoin de la scène suivante : Un ami de longue date, Richard Baker Roshi, héritier dharma de Suzuki Roshi, et sa fille de trois ans sont installés à la table du petit déjeuner chez nous. Sophie commence avec son couteau à rayer la table. Et grâce à ce geste qui ne m'as guère enchantée, voilà que j'assiste à une leçon de transmission. Le père arrête avec douceur la petite main. "Halte, Sophie, à qui est cette table ?" Alors la petite fille boudeuse : "Je sais ! A Christiane. - Non, mais avant Christiane !... Elle est ancienne cette table, n'est-ce pas ? D'autres ont déjeuné là... - Oui, les parents, les grands-parents, les.... - ... Mais ce n'est pas tout !.... Avant encore ?... Elle a appartenu à l'ébéniste qui en avait acquis le bois. Mais d'où venait-il ce bois ?... Oui, d'un arbre qu'avait abattu le bûcheron... mais l'arbre, à qui appartenait-il ?... A la forêt qui l'a protégé... Oui... et à la terre qui l'a nourri... à l'air, à la lumière, à l'univers entier... ! ... Et puis, Sophie, elle appartient à d'autres... la table... à ceux qui ne sont pas encore nés et qui viendront après nous... ici même quand nous seront partis et quand nous serons morts." Un cercle après l'autre se forme, comme après le jet d'une pierre dans un étang. Et les yeux de Sophie aussi s'agrandissent, se dilatent. L'hommage aux origines. Ainsi commence tout processus d'humanisation. (p. 15-16

deepest spiritual experience.

Нито сатори, нито Дзен имат същност, която да бъде представена или демонстрирана за усвояване.“ Защото Дзен не борави с идеи, а сатори е своеобразно вътрешно възприятие — всъщност не възприятие на отделен предмет, а — така да се каже — на Цялото. Крайната цел на сатори е Азът; няма друга цел освен човек да стане отново самия себе си.

Ако човек отвори уста, за да изрече утвърждение или отрицание, той е загубен. Дзен вече го няма. Но и да пази мълчание не върви. Камъкът на земята мълчи, разцъфналото цвете под прозореца също мълчи, ала те не разбират Дзен. Трябва да се открие някакъв начин, мълчанието и говорът да бъдат едно и също, т.е. отрицанието и утвърждението да се уеднаквят в по-висша форма на изказ. Постигнем ли това, значи сме познали Дзен.

Дзен се интересува от фактите, а не от техните логически, словесни, предубедени и непълноценни изразители. Съкровената същност на Дзен е непосредствеността и простотата, оттук и неговата жизненост, свобода и оригиналност. В християнството, както и в други религии, също се говори много за простотата на сърцето, което не винаги означава човек да бъде простодушен. В Дзен това означава да не се допусне въвличане в интелектуални упражнения, нито във философски разсъждения, които често са безсмислени и пълни със софистика.

— Когато съзнанието не се помещава в определен обект, казваме, че то пребивава там, където не съществува постоянна обител. — Какво значи да не се помещава в определен обект? — Това значи да не пребивава в двуначалието добро — зло, съществуване — несъществуване, дух — материя. Това означава да не пребивава в пустотата или не-пустотата, нито в покоя или не-по-коя. Където не съществува постоянна обител, там е истинската обител на съзнанието.

Сатори е изживяване, което с никакви обяснения или примери не може да бъде предадено на друг човек, освен ако той самият вече не го е изпитал. Ако се поддаваше на анализ — в смисъл, чрез анализ да става ясно другиму, който не го е изпитал, сатори не би било сатори. Превърнато в понятие, то губи същността си и вече няма Дзен. Затова единственото, което може да се направи в Дзен, в смисъл на обучение, е да се посочи, да се подскаже или означи пътят, така че да се съсредоточи вниманието на човека към целта. Постигането на целта и осъзнаването на този факт трябва да направим сами, никой не може го стори вместо нас. А знаците за това са навсякъде. Когато съзнанието на човека е узряло за сатори, той може да го намери във всяко нещо.

... в Дзен няма нищо за обяснение, нищо за обучаване, нищо, с което да се обогатят човешките знания. Ако познанието не възникне у човека, то не е истински негово, то е като взето назаем чуждо украшение.

Индийците са мистични, но техният мистицизъм е прекалено умозрителен, прекалено съзерцателен, прекалено сложен и, нещо повече, — сякаш няма реална, жизнена връзка с конкретния свят, в който съществуваме. Далекоизточният мистицизъм, напротив, е непосредствен, практичен, учудващо прост и не би могъл да прерасне в нищо друго освен в Дзен.

Монаси помолили учителя Хякуджо (Пайчан) да им изнесе беседа за Дзен. Той казал: — Идете на полето да си гледате работата, а после ще ви кажа всичко за Дзен. След като си свършили работата, те помолили учителя да изпълни своето обещание. В отговор Хякуджо разтворил двете си ръце, но не казал нито дума. Това била неговата велика проповед.

Even amidst the worst panic, there are still scattered moments like this, when time flows leisurely by. Even when trying to finish a story by an impending deadline, Asakawa would sometimes find himself aimlessly watching coffee drop from the spout of the coffee maker, and later he’d reflect on how elegantly he’d wasted precious time.

The essence of mysticism is to feel the mystery of being; to feel that being is becoming and becoming is being; that 0=∞ and ∞=0; that freedom is necessity and necessity is freedom; that what goes out from you comes back to you; that you are you and at the same time are not-you; that you are moving and yet what is moving is not you; that creation is taking place every moment; that we are simultaneously in and out of Eden or Pure Land or Paradise; that you are running after God all the time and God on his part is doing the same thing to you; that what is near is far and what is far is near; that when 3+3 are 6, 3+2 are also 6; and so on infinitely.

Uma criança está se afogando; eu entro na água, e a criança é salva. Isso é tudo