Meeting the Monkey: Shōyōroku Case 72 – Chuyu’s Monkey
We often talk about Buddha-nature as if it’s something we can define. We say, Well, here’s what it is. Here’s what it means. But that’s, at best, just an idea. All of this practice is really about dropping away the conditioned karmic mind and seeing directly—tasting it, experiencing it. Of course, there are karmic circumstances that we have to work with even to begin to see it. Our perceptions are shaped by more than just our thoughts, though thoughts are a significant part of it. They are conditioned by our very bodies and the circumstances we find ourselves in. I’m colorblind, so my eyes don’t see the same colors that your eyes see. The world I perceive isn’t the same as the world you see. Does that mean I see less? Does it mean I see differently? If my eyes don’t register certain colors, do they cease to exist? If I’ve never seen the world as you do, can I still recognize the truth?
These are traps that are sprung when we get caught up in the discursive mind. If we stop, sit, and look directly at what’s there, the answers aren’t difficult. As long as we don’t get tangled up in the questions! Each of us carries the weight of our conditioning—our joys, our traumas, our assumptions. Each of us looks at an ever-vanishing point on the horizon, at that place we call self. It’s located somewhere deep within and far away. We see through this maze of filters—our storehouse consciousness, our assumptions, our judgments. The question becomes, how do we see beyond them? And more importantly, if we do see beyond them, what then?
This isn’t about escaping or transcending the conditions of our lives. It’s about meeting them fully. Awakening is never somewhere else. It’s not some perfected state free of struggle or suffering. It’s this very life, just as it is. We often want to wait and say, Well, when conditions align correctly, then I’ll practice. How does that work out? We tell ourselves that when life settles down, when we have more time, when we feel more peaceful, then we’ll sit, then we’ll open up, then we’ll be able to engage. I’ll be okay when… But that’s just the monkey talking.
The truth is, practice isn’t about waiting for the right conditions. It’s about finding the strength and courage to turn around and shine the light within, to step into the unknown, to leap into the unknown, to be present in the midst of uncertainty. It’s about learning to embrace that uncertainty, seeing through our stories and conditioning, and meeting this world with clarity and an open heart—an open heart that contains everything. If you find parts of yourself that you’re looking to exclude, walk into that, examine it closely, and embrace it all the more.
In the Shōyōroku, this is examined in the seventy-second case, known as Chuyu’s Monkey:
Kyozan asked Chuyu, What is the meaning of Buddha-nature? Chuyu replied, For your sake, I’ll tell you a simile. There’s a room with six windows, and in the middle is a monkey. A person outside calls, “Monkey, monkey,” and the monkey responds. In like manner, when all six of the windows are called, they all respond. Kyozan asked, What about when the monkey sleeps? Chuyu got down from his meditation cushion and grabbed him, saying, Monkey, monkey, you and I have finally just met!
Kyozan was a prominent Chinese Zen master in the Tang dynasty, closely associated with Seppō and Isan. He was a key figure in the lineage that later founded the Igyo school. Different Zen schools had different methodologies for awakening, and Kyozan’s was often deeply intuitive. He moved beyond conditioned thought and logic, offering profound but simple responses to questions about Zen. His interactions with teachers and students reveal a subtle attitude toward aspects of practice that can’t be touched with words or ideas.
We don’t know much about Chuyu aside from this encounter. He was Kyozan’s Dharma uncle, a disciple of Isan. So here we have a student interacting with his Dharma uncle, kind of like when Sensei Bob comes to visit, and you all get to meet someone like that. Chuyu offers a simple but penetrating image—a room with six windows and a monkey in the center. Where are these six windows? Some of you have probably already figured it out. In the Yogācāra school, you’d be right to guess there’s some sensory alignment here. We have the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, and body, but Yogācāra adds mind as a sixth sense organ. That’s brilliant because we do use the mind to summarize and interpret sensory input.
But who is the monkey? Although I ask as if it’s a surprise, I think many of you already know. The monkey is the grasping mind, constantly scanning the horizon, reacting, making meaning out of things that might be meaningless. We’re very good at this. We jump from one branch of thought to the next, always running, swinging from trees, making a mess, pulling ourselves in all directions. A sound arises, and the monkey turns. A sight appears, and the monkey follows. This monkey is eager, and it’s convinced that it’s in charge. Many of you have met this monkey. It feeds on recognition, on validation. It wants to know it’s in control of safety. It shapes our experience with its interpretations and assumptions, making conclusions rapidly because it always has something else to do.
But is this monkey really in control? Or is it just responding, drawing inferences where there are none, making connections that sometimes cause suffering? If the monkey is not in control, then what is? Kyozan asks an interesting question: What about when the monkey is asleep? This challenges the simile, but that’s exactly what monkeys do—assemble worldviews that can also be deconstructed. This is what we do in Zen. We use words, concepts, and logic in such a way that they pile up into a tenuous tower, and then we show how it collapses under its own weight. When self-protective narratives fade into the background, does experience cease? Does reality vanish? If you touch a hot stove, do you pause to check in with the monkey before pulling your hand away? If a gust of wind suddenly takes your breath, do you need the monkey to tell you it’s cold outside? There’s a response before the thought, before the commentary.
Even when the monkey is asleep—or maybe especially when the monkey is asleep—awareness remains. Seeing happens, hearing happens, and there is nothing other than seeing and hearing. Life unfolds in full immediacy without the monkey’s interference. Kyozan, still thinking conceptually, asks his question, and Chuyu grabs him, saying, That’s the monkey at work right there. He’s not explaining it. He’s cutting through the intellectualizing and showing him. Direct experience—beyond explanation, beyond metaphor. This is the heart of the kōan.
The monkey loves puzzles. Some of our monkeys are really good at solving puzzles, connecting things, even torturing themselves in the process. But you will never find what is immediate and real there. We don’t often think of our monkey as being an intellectual, but I promise you—many of your monkeys are. They love to dress up. Maybe they put on a cigar and glasses, looking like Freud, puffing away, analyzing everything. Or they don a lab coat like Einstein, scribbling away, convinced they’ll figure it all out. They dig into books, theories, trying to pin down reality in concepts and models.
But here’s the truth: you won’t find what is immediate and real there. If you want to understand the protection mechanisms of the ego, sure, read Freud. If you want to put a man on the moon, Einstein and Newton will help. But if you want to experience life directly, you have to put the books away. You have to take a step forward, right here and right now!
Ultimately, in that moment of direct contact, there is no question. There is no answer. Who are you when the monkey is asleep? Better yet, who are you when you step back and see that you are not the monkey? When the windows are forgotten, the whole world shines through. There is no inside, no outside. We inherit everything—both suffering and boundless resources to meet it. So I ask you this morning: Do you know who you are? But don’t ask the monkey. It will only dress you up, put you in front of a mirror, and make you imitate it. When you move beyond that, who are you really?
