The Gateway of Mu

We come to this practice, I think, not really having a clear idea of why. Sometimes we walk through the door because we’re feeling stressed. Maybe we’re feeling a little disconnected or lost. Maybe we just feel like we can’t find our way. But for one reason or another, we find ourselves on the cushion, and that’s when our training begins.

For all of us in this lineage, training begins the same way. We meet Joshu and hear about his dog. It’s one of the most foundational koans and points to one of the most foundational teachings in Zen practice: the first case of the Mumonkan, often called the “barrier” entry to Zen. It’s not a barrier in the sense of something blocking your way. It’s an invitation to go beyond.

Mu is where we start—not because it’s easy, but because it asks us to return to the essence of what it means to walk freely in this life.

The koan seems deceptively simple:

A monk asked Joshu,
“Does a dog have the Buddha nature?”

Joshu said,
“Mu.”

Just one word. No explanation. No elaboration. And yet, within that single word lies the entire teaching of the Buddha. It lays bare all the secrets of Zen practice.

When students encounter this koan, they often feel like something’s missing. They think, “If someone would just tell me what Mu means, I’d get it.” I tell them, “You don’t need to know. Just sit with it.” Over time, it begins to open.

But many students hesitate to take that first step without some kind of orientation, so I’ll offer this: Mu means nothing. Literally, it means nothing. But don’t mistake that for negation. Mu points to something entirely beyond concepts. It’s not something you can figure out or analyze. It’s something you experience directly, something you embody.

So, how do we embody Mu? First, we have to reflect on how we arrive at this moment in our lives.

In a sense, we begin free. When we’re born, there’s a natural sense of wonder and curiosity. Of course, certain karmic conditions arise—our bodies, our families, our circumstances. But initially, we don’t see these things as conceptual. They don’t weigh us down or hold us in.

We’re free to explore, to touch, to taste, to see things as they are. And then life happens.

We take a step in one direction. Maybe we fall, maybe we skin our knee. So, we plant a sign: “Caution: Pain here. Don’t go there.” We carefully turn another way. Maybe we fall in love. That always goes exactly to plan, doesn’t it? And then another sign goes up: “Caution: Danger here.”

Over time, these signs accumulate. Eventually, we look around and see that we’ve built a fence around ourselves—warnings, judgments, fears. What started as freedom becomes this narrow path carved out by our habits and thoughts.

We roam that path, but only a short distance. And the more we walk it, the deeper it gets. At some point, it becomes so deep that we can’t even see beyond it anymore. The wide-open landscape we once saw is gone, and we’re left walking the same narrow trail—made of opinions, ideas, judgments.

And then we wonder, “Where did the wonder go? What else is there to see?”

We wake up in the morning with a pretty good idea of what the day will bring—and, for the most part, the day delivers what we expect. And when it doesn’t, we explain it away: “He just hadn’t had his coffee yet.”

How did we get so stuck?

Søren Kierkegaard once said, “I feel like a chess piece when it’s said of it, ‘This piece cannot be moved.’”

That’s where many of us find ourselves when we come to practice: feeling trapped, unable to move, surrounded by caution signs. We forget that we put those signs there. We treat them as if they’re universal truths.

This is where Mu comes in.

The monk asks Joshu, “Does a dog have the Buddha nature?” It’s a profound question. The Buddha clearly said that all beings possess Buddha nature. So why does Joshu respond with “Mu”?

Because Mu isn’t about affirming or denying anything. It’s about breaking down the conceptual barriers that keep us stuck. It’s about clearing away all those signs.

When we start working with Mu—or any koan—we have to take everything we’re holding onto and put it in Mu. Judgments, fears, doubts—they all go in.

“This is silly.” Put it in Mu.
“I don’t know where this is going.” Put it in Mu.
“What if this doesn’t work?” Put that in too.

Keep going. Up, down, good, bad—every label, every concept—tuck them into Mu. And when you say, “I don’t know what’s left,” put that “I” in there too.

At first, it might feel like nothing is left. Your conceptual idea of nothing. And, in a way, that’s the point. When all the signs and labels fall away, what remains?

From that space, something opens: wisdom, clarity, the ability to see things as they truly are. We recover the ability to hear without naming, to see without filtering, to experience without grasping.

But this clarity isn’t passive. It’s dynamic. It doesn’t free us to come up with new ideologies or definitions. It frees us to respond.

We see suffering clearly, and we step into it—wholeheartedly and bravely. Sometimes that response is playful and joyous. Sometimes it’s mournful. But it’s always genuine, always unhindered.

Mu is the gateway to this freedom. It’s not something you solve or figure out. It’s something you live with, wrestle with, and embody.

When you think you have no judgments, remember—that’s a judgment too. And you have to go beyond even that.

In the end, it’s a kind of surrender. Surrender to the path that meets you right under your feet when you take a step.

As we begin this study and this period of practice, I encourage you to approach it with wonder and ardor. Set aside your beliefs and judgments. Put them into Mu.

When you let it all go, don’t fear that you’ve lost something. Look at what you’ve found.

That narrow focus we all have—on our thoughts, ideas, and judgments—begins to disappear. And then life appears before you.

In this place, there’s nothing to fear. And no small self to fear it.

In this place of Mu, you find your life.