Timeless Abundance: The Wine of This Moment

A teisho on the tenth case of the Mumonkan delivered by Sensei Michael Brunner on January 4, 2025 at One River Zen.

Good morning, everyone. It’s a wonderful morning to practice. It’s only 10 degrees outside, but here we are, sitting together in the zendo, warmed by the fire. It’s easy to settle into this cocooned stillness, appreciating the wonder of our lives as they unfold, moment by moment.

But how often do we carry the expectation that life should feel like this—contained, manageable, and calm? Life doesn’t always work that way, does it? The cocoon breaks open, the world presses in, and suddenly, we’re confronted with the fullness of living. That’s where practice really begins, and it’s where this koan meets us.

I remember my early days as a Zen teacher. Before that, I spent nearly twenty years as a marketing and sales vice president. Quite a shift, right? Back then, I had vast resources at my disposal—a staff managing sales, IT, marketing, and operations. Each person had a clearly defined role, and together, we made the machine run efficiently.

Then I became a Zen teacher, and suddenly, I was the marketing guy, the IT guy, the sales guy—all rolled into one. And let’s not forget fatherhood on top of that. It was a lot. My life became my practice, and leading practice became my life. But with that came this overwhelming sense of scarcity. There was always too much to do and never enough time to do it.

I remember one particular day, sitting down with this impossibly long list of tasks and goals—things I wanted to accomplish for the sangha, for my students, for myself—and feeling utterly overwhelmed. Then it hit me: I can only do what I can do. That might sound simple, even mundane, but in that moment, something shifted. It wasn’t just a thought—it was an experience. Suddenly, the bottom dropped out. I wasn’t thinking about the work or planning anymore. I was just in it—fully present with the tasks, the practice, the opportunity of this life. That realization transformed everything—my relationship to time, to work, and to leadership.

Which brings us to today’s koan, Mumonkan Case 10: Seizei the Poor:

A monk, Seizei, eagerly asked Master Sōzan, “I am solitary and poor. I beg you, Master, please help me to become prosperous.”
Sōzan said, “Venerable Zei!”
“Yes, Master!” replied Zei.
Sōzan said, “You have already drunk three cups of fine Hakka wine, and still you say that you have not yet moistened your lips.”

Seizei was a monk, but the title “Venerable” tells us he was also a priest. Like all priests entering monastic life, he had given up worldly possessions—a few bowls, a couple of robes, maybe a book or two. That’s it. He had let go of attachments to dedicate himself to the Dharma. And yet, even after giving everything up, Seizei carried with him a deep sense of lack. “I am solitary and poor,” he says. “Help me become prosperous.”

Think about that. Even after supposedly relinquishing everything, Seizei still held the belief he was missing something. He saw himself as not enough—as separate, alone, and impoverished. This is the poverty that runs deep. It’s not about material possessions; it’s about how we see ourselves.

Notice Sōzan’s response. He doesn’t offer a lecture or explanation. He simply calls, “Venerable Zei!” And Seizei responds immediately, “Yes, Master!” In that moment, Seizei is fully present—alive to the call, fully engaged in the response. He’s already there.

But Sōzan doesn’t stop there. He continues, “You have already drunk three cups of fine Hakka wine, and still you say that you have not moistened your lips.” What is this fine wine? Why hasn’t Seizei noticed it?

The wine is the boundless gift of the universe—the abundance that’s already here, right now. But Seizei can’t taste it because he’s caught up in his story. The story that he’s poor, that he’s lacking, that he’s not enough. How often do we do this? We tell ourselves stories about what’s missing, what we need, what we hope to achieve. And in doing so, we miss the richness of what’s right in front of us.

Let’s pause and look at that moment between Sōzan’s call and Seizei’s response. In that gap, nothing is added, nothing is taken away. Yet within that nothing, the universe has already poured three cups of fine wine. This is the alchemy of practice. When we stop clinging to the concept of time and scarcity, the situation transforms. Time itself becomes malleable, boundless.

When we’re stuck in a mindset of scarcity, life moves too fast. There’s never enough time, and we feel like we’re drowning in the current. But when we step into the gap, time transforms. It slows down, opens up, and reveals its true nature. Suddenly, we have all the time we need—not to accomplish everything on some endless list, but to be fully present with what’s here.

Here’s the irony: From the outside, when someone sees you living in this space, it looks like you have boundless energy. You seem to be moving so efficiently, accomplishing so much. But from the inside, it feels entirely different. It’s not frantic or rushed. It’s spacious, effortless, and complete. You’re simply here, with all the resources of the universe at your disposal.

Now, let’s talk about ideas. For an idea to exist, there has to be contradiction. Let’s take a moment to explore this together. If I say, “up,” what must also exist? Down. If I say, “self,” what must exist for the idea to make sense? Other. If I say, “rich,” what must also exist? Poor. Every idea relies on its opposite to manifest.

But when we step into the gap—beyond the world of ideas and concepts—there is no contradiction. There is just this: whole, complete, and free. Life itself.

How often do we say, “I don’t have time to practice”? As if practice is separate from life. But when you really think about it, that’s the same as saying, “I don’t have time to life.” And then we wonder why our lives feel chaotic, tumultuous. Because we’re clinging to an idea of what life is supposed to be, rather than stepping into the fullness of what it already is.

When we live by vow, every step we take is whole, complete, and infused with the meaning of the entire universe. Every dharma gate is present. Nothing is lacking. Free from the cycle of birth and death, from judgments, conjectures, and refutations, we can savor every drop.

Seizei’s poverty wasn’t about material things. It was his attachment to the idea that he was lacking, that he was separate and incomplete. But Sōzan’s words cut through that delusion. The wine is here. All that remains is for you to taste it—to savor it.

So, notice this week: What is your Hakka wine? Can you recognize it? Can you taste its subtle savor? And can you let it remind you that nothing is lacking, right here, right now?

Thank you for practicing with me this morning. It’s only 10 degrees outside, but here we are, together in this warm, bright space. Stay warm, and I’ll see you Monday morning at 6:30 for meditation.