I wanted to reflect on something that has been stuck in my head for a bit. It’s this story from Dogen’s Instructions to the Cook:
When this mountain monk [I, Dôgen] was at Tiantong Monastery, the position [of cook] was held by cook Yong, of the same province [as the monastery]. Once, after the midday meal I was passing through the east corridor on my way to the Chaoran room [where my teacher Myôzen was being nursed] when I saw the cook in front of the buddha hall airing mushrooms. He carried a bamboo staff in his hand, but had no hat on his head. The sun was hot, the ground tiles were hot, and sweat streamed over him as he worked diligently to dry the mushrooms. He was suffering a bit. With his backbone bent like a bow and his shaggy eyebrows, he resembled a crane.
I approached and asked the cook his dharma age. He said, “Sixty-eight years.” I said, “Why do you not employ postulants or laborers?” He said, “They are not me.” I said, “Venerable sir, your attitude is indeed proper, but the sun is so hot; why are you doing this [now]?” The cook said, “What time should I wait for?” I took my leave, but as I walked along the corridor, I began to realize how important an opportunity this position affords.
One thing that bothers me is that Yong is refusing to delegate, as if his practice of actually doing the work is more valuable than doing things efficiently to ensure the best and most efficient result for the monastery. Can’t Yong still practice as a manager? This work is often used as the go to when discussing how we should approach our own work from a zen point of view, and here we have a story of a guy who thinks only he can do it right, and apparently suggesting that management isn’t important work or a proper basis for practice. Maybe this is all just coming from something in my brain having been raised in a capitalist society that I haven’t let go yet. I’ll take a pass on this issues for now.
What really bothers me is Yong asks, “What time should I wait for” and Dogen apparently just walks away. It is not clear if Dogen thought this question was a sufficient answer to his initial question (it sure sounds like a Zen style of answer), or perhaps Dogen “took his leave” in adherence to societal norms so as not to further impose on an elder. I suspect the former because Dogen says “I began to realize how important an opportunity this position affords” suggesting that Yong’s response illuminated something for him.
My answer to Yong would have been, “maybe wait till the evening or early morning when the sun isn’t so hot. Or maybe put on a hat, or find some shade to do this under if there is some scheduling necessity for you to do it now.” I don’t know anything about drying mushrooms, but it seems like Yong is needlessly suffering. How would Yong have responded if Dogen had answered similar to what I suggest? Would we then have a discussion about whether Yong was properly managing his workflow as a cook? Or something else?
Beyond just the kind of absurdity of the story that bugs me, I’m more interested in what this story says about what we should be doing. Zen has plenty to say about how we do things, but much less to say about what we should do, and when, and apparently whether we should be using available protective clothing to shield ourselves from the elements. Perhaps this was not as much of an issue in ancient China, especially for monks living in monasteries. Basic survival seemed to be the primary order of the day – grow and prepare food, carry water for drinking, chop wood for heat and cooking. Monks also relied on donations from benefactors and the community. Our lives today are far more complex, if we want food or heat, we generally need to find some type of employment to obtain money which we then use to pay for it. Our work is typically not for the direct benefit of ourselves, but it is nevertheless necessary for us to engage in given the realities of our society. So what, then, should we do.
And not just professionally. While I have a fairly consistent morning routine, a few days ago circumstances resulted in me having about a half hour period with nothing I “needed” to do, so I was left with choice. I could play with my dog in the yard, which would be stimulating for the dog and tire him out to the benefit of my WFH partner. I could log into my computer and get a jump on work for the day. Or I could do some cleaning around the house. These were just the “good” options I considered, but I also could have just scrolled on my phone, played a video game, or even start drinking alcohol at 7am. I can do whatever I want, so what should I choose? In order to make a decision, I have to engage in the world of attachments and start dividing the world by my preferences.
As I am going through Huang Po’s Transmission of Mind, I mentioned the other translation by Subul Sunim. The translator’s introduction describes Sunim as emphasizing “case studies” practice, known as Ganhwa Seon, which is meant to lead to sudden enlightenment. I may discuss this in more depth later. To summarize, Sunim sets up an intensive one-week Ganhwa Seon retreat for lay people so that “great doubt” can arise and they can have a breakthrough “experience” within the confines of their busy schedules. I can’t help but be skeptical of this approach as sounding like any other new age mysticism, but that is my own bias. The following passage describes his answer to student’s at the end of such retreats:
Still, after finishing their retreats, his retreatants are often eager for instruction on what to do next. What about starting another practice like insight meditation, or mindfulness training, or visualization? Subul Sunim chides them for wanting to sample this or that technique, comparing this desire to a kid in a candy store eager to try this and that morsel. The pursuit of more practice and spiritual experiences is just another sort of attachment, which can become a hindrance in its own right. So what, his students then ask, should we do after having this “experience” in ganhwa Seon? Master Subul Sunim’s answer is cryptic: “Live well.” The usual reaction: what do you mean by “living well”? This is where Master Subul turns to Huangbo’s Essentials of Transmitting the Mind-Dharma. As Huangbo reiterates time and again throughout his text, we are already enlightened. We don’t need to do anything in order to develop our enlightenment, whether that is making merit, mastering the six perfections of the bodhisattva, or practicing different styles of meditation. There is, Huangbo says in his opening section, “not the slightest dharma that you need to attain, for this mind is in fact a genuine buddha
I raise this just to illustrate the lack of zen guidance on what to do. We are humans afterall, and we live in this society, we have relationships, and jobs, and goals, dreams, preferences, etc. How can we at once be free of attachment and still be able to move through the world? I readily admit this is most likely something I am missing. Maybe it doesn’t matter what we do. At any rate, this is one of those fundamental things with Zen I struggle with.