Embracing the Present: Letting Go of Stories and Finding Compassion
Teisho by Sensei Michael Brunner for Saturday Morning Zen: Exploring Shoyoroku Case 14 'Attendant Kaku Serves Tea' | October 12, 2024
This practice is such a wonderful way of collecting ourselves, bearing witness to ourselves, and allowing the universe to bear witness through us. When we slow down, and when we drop off our judgments—our ideas about how things should be, how things are—we're just here. We just breathe, we just see clearly.
That may seem simple, but it shouldn’t be underestimated. Often, we get so latched onto, or even addicted to, the buzz of being carried away in our thoughts and judgments. From the perspective of the small self, just the act of seeing our lives as they are may seem less appealing, less important. And yet, that's where our lives bear fruit. That’s the bleeding edge of the womb of the Buddha—when we can enter into that emptiness, appreciate everything clearly, and manifest compassion. Without that, our lives pass us by, and we cling to a story.
There’s a koan in the Shoyoroku, Case 14:
Attendant Kaku Serves Tea
Attendant Kaku asked Tokusan, “Where do the holy ones of the past go?”
Tokusan answered, “What? What?”
Kaku said, “Give an imperial order for a fleet horse, and out comes a lame tortoise.”
At that, Tokusan desisted.
The next day, Tokusan left his bath, and Kaku brought over tea and served it to him.
Tokusan patted him once on the shoulder.
Kaku said, “Old man, at last you’re beginning to see.”
At this, Tokusan desisted again.
This is almost a painful exchange between a master of great standing and rapport at this stage in his life, and a student who believes he has penetrated to the heart of it all and is there to instruct his teacher.
Tokusan lived at the end of the 8th century in China and was a scholar of the Diamond Sutra. Many of you know him—he was a successor of Ryutan, a name echoed long in Zen texts. Ryutan is in the case from the Mumonkan, where Tokusan attained awakening when a lamp was extinguished. It was in that moment Tokusan opened his eyes to the darkness he had never seen before, as his discursive mind had always filtered his experience. Tokusan was very learned, always carrying a cart full of commentaries on the Diamond Sutra, believing he had mastered the sutra’s cryptic wisdom.
Yet, despite all his learning, he missed what the sutra was pointing to—until Ryutan gave him the final nudge toward awakening. Tokusan’s teachings weren’t always as kind and gentle as Ryutan’s; he often scolded his students fiercely, encouraging them to break through their fixed ideas.
In this case, however, Tokusan is aging and mellowing. He’s working with a difficult student, Kaku, who wouldn't have responded well to harsh treatment. Kaku still has arrogance and self-clinging going on, and Tokusan is aware of this. When Kaku flares up, Tokusan desists, allowing a pause. Sometimes, in that pause, is the only place where a student can be guided to look deeper.
When we engage in arguments about conceptual ideas or respect between teacher and student, we may stir up more karmic dust rather than settling anything. Tokusan sees this and skillfully chooses to desist, both in the initial exchange and when Kaku serves him tea. The teacher must know how to act skillfully with each student, and we, as Zen students, must know how to act skillfully with our teacher.
Ultimately, our true teacher is the very point of our lived experience—feeling the cold wind on our face, the weight of our footfalls as we walk kinhin, or the tears in a child's eyes that call us back to the present moment of suffering. When we enter the zendo or sit with our teacher, we need to let go of our ideas and beliefs and simply be open to the present moment. When we do this, we begin to appreciate the true nature of emptiness.
This emptiness is not a void or a sterile place. It is the womb of the Buddhas—a place of creativity and compassion. Out of this emptiness, we come to understand the interdependence of all things, and we manifest compassion. So, when we meet our teacher, we meet them in this boundless no-place, where everything is connected.
In this case, Kaku is asking where the holy ones of the past have gone. He’s looking for some verified air of practice, wanting to be present with the spirit of those ancient masters. But Tokusan responds with, "What?"—reminding him that if he wants to find awakening, it’s not in the past or future, but right here, right now.
Kaku, caught up in the ideal of the past, wants to live in the pages of dusty old books and experiences long gone. But this is like eating a stale sandwich when the fresh meal of the present is right before him. All the holy ones are embodied in this very moment, but if we cling to ideas of what it should look like, we lose sight of it.
Tokusan is like a father watching his child make a mess of breakfast—food in the hair, all over the face. Sometimes, we need to let that happen. The child needs to experiment, to play, to make mistakes. That’s how they learn to appreciate that food is for nourishment. Eventually, the child will want to keep the food on their plate and eat properly. But we have to trust the process. In the same way, we have to allow ourselves to make mistakes, to enter into folly and foibles, to see a way out of our delusions.
When we find ourselves in a mess, we don’t need to despair. Just pick up the napkin, wipe your face, and get to eating. Don’t dwell on past mistakes or the stories that led to this moment—just engage with the present moment directly, and you will find the Way right where you stand.
We must all come to the point where we want to be clear of our clinging to stories, ideas, and concepts. Telling the story, no matter how articulate we become, can never compare to simply showing up in the present and manifesting as compassion. This life is no dress rehearsal—this is it. When you bear witness to suffering, don’t wait for someone else or some other time to act. Be the one to step in. When you do that, you’ll meet the holy ones face to face and know who the true master is.
