This podcast is offered by San Francisco's Zen Center on the web at sfcc.org. Our public programs are made possible by donations from people like you. Welcome to those in the Buddha Hall and those online. And for anyone who may not know me, my name is Tenzin David Zimmerman. I serve as the abiding abbot here at City Center. And we're in the final two weeks of the fall practice period, 10-week practice period. And that's being led by Abbot Ed and myself. Abbot Ed is actually not here tonight. He is out of town on business. So I agreed to fill in for him in our tonight's Dharma talk. And what we've been studying over the last... couple months has been a selection of koans from the blue cliff record uh the hickey gone roku and uh it's a collection of about 100 koans about a little over a thousand years old and uh for each of the dharma talks and the classes that are being offered we're returning a different case there's about maybe 22 altogether out of the hundred that were chosen and they are supported by commentaries

[01:24]

by Suzuki Roshi that he offered. Most of the commentaries are from a period 1962 to 64, maybe 65. And so the koan that I'd like to explore with you tonight is Case 52. And this is the titles, Jaojo, Let's Asses Cross, Let's Horses Cross. And so most of the koans, they often have an introduction or a preface or what's also called a pointer. This one does not have a pointer. It's one of those of about, I think there were about 20 or so that was lost when the original Blue Cliff record was destroyed. And after it was resurrected, this was one of them that did not have the pointer. And here is the main case by Shwedo, the original collector. A monk asked Zhao Zhou, for a long time I've heard of the stone bridge of Zhao Zhou, but now that I've come here, I just see a simple log bridge.

[02:32]

Zhao Zhou said, you just see the log bridge, you don't see the stone bridge. The monk said, what is the stone bridge? Zhao Zhou said, it lets asses cross, it lets horses cross. So it's often I find helpful to find out, well, who are the main characters in this, these koans, and gives us a little context. So Zhaojo Songshen, in Japanese, his name is Joshu Jushen. He lived from 1778 to 897. And he was a wonderful and a very beloved teacher in the Zen tradition. And we have many stories that are about him and include him in many of the different koan collections, not only the Blue Cliff Record, but also the Gateless Gate and the Book of Serenity. And someday I was thinking, I actually offer a whole practice spirit or ongo on just koans that involve Zhao Zhao and his teachings.

[03:42]

And one of the things that I think makes him so... appreciated is his very simple and, you could say, ordinary way of teaching. He's a very down-to-earth, you could say, Zen master. There's not a lot of the kind of exaggerated behaviors and the dramatic flair that we've seen of many of the teachers from the Tang Dynasty period. He doesn't go about shouting beating his students. We've seen a lot of this during this practice period as kind of teaching devices, you know, kind of shock them into the present moment by some dramatic gesture. He also doesn't use a lot of flowery language or cryptic or over literary phrases or words. And so he's just kind of like this ordinary person who goes about his ordinary life and business, engaging with people as best he can, but At the same time, you have a feeling of his depth of practice and his compassion.

[04:47]

And you could say the only slightly anomalous detail mentioned about him is that apparently Zhao Zhou's lips emitted light. And when he spoke, it was said because his manner of teaching profoundly expressed the Chan or the Chinese Zen experience in a very pithy, succinct fashion. So his words were enuminating, literally, his mouth. So other than that, very ordinary down-to-earth person. Zhaozhou started his practice very young, as we often see in many of these great ancestors. He became ordained as a monk at a local temple. And he was around 18. When he was around 18 or so, he heard about a well-regarded Zen teacher, Nankuan Puyuan. who was the successor of Matsu. Maybe you might remember Matsu's Master Ma. And so he decided to visit him.

[05:49]

And when he got to Nankuan's place, he found him lying down. Perhaps, you know, I don't know, the teacher was taking a nap, or maybe he wasn't feeling so well. So Zhao Zhou greets Nankuan, goes in, and Nankuan asks a typical greeting or opening question. of this young monk. He said, where did you come from? Now, if you've been studying koans for some time, you know that this question appears on the surface is a very simple and straightforward question. Where are you from? I'm from San Francisco. Okay. But it serves a dual purpose. And it's the kind of question that a Chan teacher would ask to try to ascertain something of the monk's practice. you know, and get a sense of how they were showing up and what is their understanding. So, Nong Kwan asked, where did you come from? And Yaujo answered, I came from the Sacred Elephant Monastery.

[06:52]

Sometimes that's translated as the, I came from the Sacred Image Monastery or the Bliss Image Monastery. I like Sacred Elephant because it seems more tangible. And so, Nankuan asked, did you see a sacred elephant or a sacred image? And Zhao Zhou replied, I did not see any sacred elephants, but I now see a reclining Buddha. So Nankuan was laying down, if you recall. And Nankuan was impressed with this answer and Zhao Zhou's spirit of practice. So he said, well, do you have a master? Do you have a teacher? And in other words... are you coming looking for a teacher? Or maybe have you been sent by a previous teacher? And Zhao Zhao in response said something that one would probably only say formally to a teacher, someone that they are really wanting to establish a relationship. So he said something along the lines of, winter days are very bright. I hope your good health continues.

[07:55]

And impressed by the monk's answer, Nanquan asked the temple, you know, to show them the new monk, you know, his seat in the zendo, basically saying, welcome, you know, there's a place here for you to practice. Now, those of you who attended Eli's Shusou entering ceremony, you might recall that Eli said something very similar, you know, to Abbot Ed upon entering at Shusou. These are beautiful days. May your good health continue. Allow me to support you in leading the teaching of this temple. So there's another famous dialogue between Zhao Zhou and Nanquan, and this is how Suzuki Roshi presents it. In fact, Suzuki Roshi's commentary on this koan, it's not very extensive. It actually consists mostly of a few stories about Zhao Zhou. So there's not a lot of in-depth commentary here, it seems like.

[08:57]

And I've read a number of other times where a lot of the unpacking is just sharing fun stories about Zhaozhou. So here's one. One day, Nanquan allowed Zhaozhou to meet him in his room. And Zhaozhou asked Nanquan, what is the true way? Ordinary mind is the true way, said Nanquan. Is it something to be attained or not to be attained? Attained, asked Al Zhou. To try to attain it is to revert from it, said Nan Quan. When you do not try to attain it, how do you know the true way, asked Al Zhou. To this question, Nan Quan's answer was very polite. The true way is not a matter to be known or not to be known or attained. To know is to have a limited idea of it. And not to know is just psychological unawareness. If you want to achieve the absolute, where there is no doubt, you should be clear enough and vast enough to be like empty space.

[10:05]

Hereby, Zhao Zhou acquired a full understanding of the true way of Zen. In other words, he was enlightened. This isn't one of those enlightenment stories. And now, this is a very wonderful, exchange here, and we could probably give a whole Dharma talk, could give a whole Dharma talk on this particular exchange, but not tonight. So, I'll save that for another time. So, Jia Zhou eventually received Dharma transmission, and he stayed at Nanquan's monastery for 40 years, until his teacher's death. And Tsukiroshi notes that throughout those 40 years during which Giaojo lived in the simplest form of life in the monastery, he never wrote a single page of a letter. So he never wrote any letters, he never took any notes, and only begged for his support. He also appreciated the bare life of ancient ancestors. And then he gives an example. Using a broken-legged chair, a broken-legged chair, paired with a piece of firewood.

[11:12]

So apparently there was a chair, like one of those chairs in the corner, and one of the legs was broken off. So rather than get a new chair or even find a nice piece of wood, he just got a piece of firewood and tied it to the chair and left it like that. When Zhao Zhou was 60 years old, he figured it was time to leave, to go out into the world and test his practice. So I'm going to be 60 next year, so maybe I'll do that. I'll go out into the world and test my practice. And he spent then the next 20 years in pilgrimage. And it wasn't until he was 80 years old that he finally thought, perhaps I'll start teaching now. I'm 80. Maybe there's something I have to share. Even though he didn't feel 100% ready. So now according to legend, he lived to be almost 120 years old. So that means he had another 40 years. a practice in life ahead of him.

[12:14]

And in time, Zhao Zhao would come to have 13 Dharma heirs, although his particular lineage unfortunately died out quickly, in fact, due to many wars and frequent purges of Buddhism in China at that time. So this is something that we've seen a few times now, where there was a really kind of rough going for many of those Chan Buddhists during those years. There are many wonderful tales about Jojo, which give us a sense of both the ordinariness of his teachings and the profundity, as well as often this kind of touch of humor that we keep seeing. I don't have time to offer many more, but I just want to give one brief example before I return to the case. A monk asked Jojo, what is the most important principle of Zen? What is the most important principle of Zen? And Zhao Zhou said, excuse me, but I have to go pee.

[13:16]

It was his reply, right? So it's not clear whether or not Zhao Zhou's answer was actually just a matter of bad timing on the monk's behalf. He got the teacher on the way to the toilet. Who knows? But I'm very tempted to make that my go-to response anytime anyone asks me a Dharma question. So just be aware. Just be aware, I might do that. So in case 52, we have an encounter between Zhaozhou and unnamed monk. Perhaps someone on pilgrimage or seeking a worthy teacher. And it seems that... Zhaozhou taught not in a remote, large mountain monastery, as many of the old Chun teachers did, but in a town that was actually called Zhaozhou. And at the time in China, many of the abbots took the name of the mountain in which they lived.

[14:21]

So in this case, Zhaozhou took the name of the town itself where he lived. And in this town, there was a very famous bridge called the Bridge of Zhaozhou. which many tourists would come and visit, much like the Golan Gate Bridge, you know, something wondrous to see. And the Giaojo Bridge is a stone art bridge. It's got a kind of a gradual ascent and a gradual descent. And I've actually seen pictures of it. It's quite lovely. It was actually built in the first two centuries of the Common Era. So by Giaojo's time, it already had stood for seven centuries, right? In fact, this bridge is still standing today. And it's actually one of the oldest bridges in China and one of the oldest bridges of its type in the world. And these days it serves as a pedestrian bridge, so we don't have cars or maybe horses or asses going over it, most likely. And it's known as both the Great Stone Bridge and the Anji Bridge, an interesting point that will be relevant.

[15:28]

later on is that the Chinese word Anji means safe crossing. So it's a safe crossing bridge. And there happens to be a record of another conversation that Zhaozhou had about this particular bridge. And Zhaozhou and the hidden monk, where he was at, were inspecting the stone bridge. And Zhaozhou asked, well, who built it? And the head monk said, the great architect Li Chun built it. And Jojo replied, when he built it, where did he start? When he built it, where did he start? Now, Suzuki Roshi translates this line, when he was building it, on what did he work? When he was building it, on what did he work? And then Suzuki Roshi comments, in other words, did he work on the subjective bridge? or an object, a bridge, or what?" Then the head monk couldn't answer, and so Giao Zhou said, you're always going on about the stone bridge, but when they ask where it started, you don't even know.

[16:39]

Where does all phenomenons start? And so Giao Zhou here, you know, he seems a bit crusty. And yet there's this kind of discernible flavor of the Dharma in this exchange. You're not 100% sure what's going on here in some cases, but you feel the Dharma on the current. And Suzuki Roshi comments that the Zen master is supposed to be tough enough to remain faithful to the way, but all the better to be not so tough and follow the way. So tough, but not too tough. So in this time, in this go on, a different monk, approaches Zhaozhou and says, for a long time, I've heard of the stone bridge of Zhaozhou. But now that I've come here, I just see a simple log bridge. In other words, the monk wasn't there to actually check out the bridge. He was there to check out Zhaozhou himself. So he's implying that while Zen Master Zhaozhou is renowned throughout the whole world, coming here to see him, I only find an old...

[17:47]

broken-down monk. Nothing special. And even though Zhao Zhou was 80 years old at the time, the monk obviously is a bit presumptuous as he encounters this famous teacher. But all the same, Zhao Zhou responds to this light in a very straightforward, non-defensive way. He says, you just see the log bridge. you don't see the stone bridge. That is, you see only Zhao Zhou's external appearance. You don't see the real Zhao Zhou. Now, Yuan Wu here, who is also one of the authors of the Blue Cliff Record, Compilous of the Blue Cliff Record, says in his commentary on this case that Zhao Zhou is modest, but that there was a hook in his response. And the monk climbs up on the hook, just as Giaojo expects.

[18:47]

So he caught a fish. So why does the monk only see a log bridge, but not a stone bridge? Why does he only see an ordinary old man, but not a wise Zen teacher? There's another story involving Giaojo, in which he was cleaning the main hall of his temple. Maybe this hall, the Zendo, right? When a monk came in and asked, teacher, you are a man of knowledge. Why is there dust in the hall to clean? And Zhao Zhao responded, because it's something that comes from outside. And again, the monk asked, in a pure and clean monastery, why is there dust? And Zhao Zhao said, there's one more piece of dust. you just see a log bridge, you don't see the stone bridge.

[19:51]

In many ways, Zhao Zhou is pointing out what's true, right? What's always true is that we're always misperceiving in some way. What keeps us from seeing clearly? Why do you miss the stone bridge? In what ways do you only see log bridges? Are you looking for something in particular? Something different? Something better? Something special? Maybe ignoring the pure fact of this moment, as it is right in front of you, even if it's kind of rearing up and presenting itself for your benefit. So, the monk doesn't see a stone bridge, but he does see a log bridge. He sees what he is able to see. As Dogen tells us in the Genjo Kahn, though there are many features in the dusty world and the world beyond conditions, you see and understand only what your eye of practice can reach.

[21:06]

So we see what we're able to see depending on the amount of karmic dust in our eyes. In Buddhism, there are so many teachings about our delusions, about our attachments, and how they filter, and they bleed, and they kind of cover everything that we experience in some way, distorting it, right? So the dust of our expectations, our opinions, our preferences, and lots of other stuff, like our fears, our habits. ideas about what should have been, what might be, you know, many, many things get in our eyes and obscure our perception. And as a result, we don't see the world or each other clearly, and we don't see ourselves clearly, because our views of self and others are so warped by our karmic consciousness and our skewed views.

[22:13]

It's all a matter of you. Your perspective creates your reality. Your perspective creates your reality. So Jaojo tells the monk, you just see a log bridge, you don't see a stone bridge. Now, Suzuki Roshi says that with his response, Jaojo gave the monk an interesting gift problem. An interesting gift problem. and adds that the monk was called in Zhao Zhou's gift box of duality. He says, in which there is right or wrong, this or that, phenomena, noumena, the interplay of subjective and objective. So in other words, Zhao Zhou generously, but kindly points out to the monk how he is boxed in by his own dualistic notions and perceptions. And thus he's missing What's right in front of him, very apparent.

[23:15]

However, with this gift problem, the monk realizes there's more to this old man than meets the eye. So something suddenly gets peaked. It's like, oh, wait a second. Maybe I kind of had to pre-judge a little too soon. So he says, okay, so what is the real stone bridge? But even this question shows that the monk is still stuck in his dualistic box, thinking there's another bridge, a second bridge, one that's real or perhaps better in some way, right? And Suzuki Roshi comments, now Zhao Zhou, wishing to free the monk from the idea of some special stone bridge, answered, donkey's cross and horse's cross. So it's interesting, in his response, Zhaozhou doesn't give the monk anything to get caught on or to project on, right?

[24:22]

Zhaozhou doesn't puff himself up, and he also doesn't make the monk wrong or bad in any way. He simply brings the monk to face with his own expectations and his own projections. His projections about what a Zen teacher is supposed to be, about what maybe a practitioner invites a teacher to be for them, as well as about what might serve as a worthy Dharma vessel. So there's some way that Jaojo is creating a mirror for this monk, right? And because of this, Suzuki Roshi praises Jaojo's style of pointing. He says, This unusual manner of instruction is not like Tokasan or Rinzai, two other teachers, who answered by means of sticks and scolding voices. Zhaozhou just answered with simple, common words. This koan looks quite ordinary, but it does not allow you to become accustomed to it.

[25:26]

Most of us have all kinds of ideas and expectations about what Zen is. Teachers are going to be like when we first come to practice. I know I did. How about you? Right? Yeah? People are shaking their head. You know, I confess even at one point, I wonder, I wonder if they can read my mind. That'd be scary. I hope they can't read my mind. Right? However, you know, maybe they're that enlightened. They can actually see inside my head. Fortunately, that was dissuaded. Or that maybe they just never actually confessed to me that they could. However, many times, many of those ideas, typically limited and dualistic, they kind of fall away over time, and then they allow us to see actually the real human that's before us, right? People who have some wisdom, just due to their years of experience, but aren't without also some degree of normal human faults, right?

[26:32]

I recall once... My first couple of years at Tassajara, when I lived there, Mel Weitzman came down for a visit during a practice period. I think it was maybe a practice period that was led by Blanche Hartman. And so she invited him down and invited him to give a talk. And during the talk, he spoke on the value of learning Zen by simply observing our Zen teachers and their conduct. And in the Q&A session that followed, I expressed something along the lines of, I seem to learn from Zen teachers more about what not to do than what to do. Now, I expected Mel to somehow defend Zen teachers, right? But he said, well, of course, of course, you know, we learn both how to behave and how not to behave by watching our teachers. And both are equally important ways of learning skillful means and what is upright practice.

[27:39]

So Mel's words served for me as a lesson for how to be more, let's say, generous in how I viewed and evaluated Zen teachers. To actually see their gifts and their wholeness in the midst of their imperfections. Which is something that I think this Cohen is also pointing to. And furthermore, one of the things that I think makes Zen practice so potent is that despite some of its rituals and its literary flourishes, Zen is actually quite ordinary. And I would suggest its best teachers, like Jaojo, like Suzuki Roshi, like Mel Weitzman, right, are also very ordinary. And yet there's this great depth. extraordinariness about both Zen practice and those who are deeply committed to practice. So what is the stone bridge?

[28:58]

asked the monk. Now, Yanwu, Yan, Yuan Wu's footnote says, he's climbed up into Zhao Zhou's hook after all, right? And Zhao Zhou replies, it lets asses cross, it lets horses cross. Now, this response, of course, is somewhat amusing. It feels a little bit like a kind of a sarcastic put down of the monk. It's nothing mean. It's just a little tweak, right? Enough to communicate that despite the monk's ass-like behavior, an effort to kind of best the teacher, to one-up the teacher, the teacher is willing to support him. And at the same time, it gives us pointers about the nature and the function of the stone bridge and who is able to utilize it. So it's important to recognize that a bridge is only a bridge when it allows beings to cross over.

[29:59]

That its essential function That is its essential function, allowing beings to cross over. It needs asses and horses to cross over to fulfill its essential nature, its purpose. And in his commentary on this case, Matthew Jukson Sullivan notes that the word Zhaozhou chose for cross here, in Chinese, the du, du, in the phrase, it lets asses cross, it lets horses cross, has a special resonance in Buddhism. It can indicate to ford a river or to ferry across a river, right? And so ferrying, he continues, evokes the parable from the Alagadum Pama Sutra, excuse me for mangling that, where enlightenment is likened to crossing a river with a raft. And what's being crossed over is the river of samsara, of suffering, of birth and death.

[31:05]

So, what this kaun is reminding us is that every bridge and every encounter is a stepping stone for crossing over, right? For transversing from samsara to nirvana. That is... as long as you see and engage it in that way. You will only be met with what it is that you perceive. You see a plain old plank of wood, you get a plain old plank of wood. You see a wondrous bridge to liberation, you get a wondrous result. Yet, in some ways, the monk's view of the bridge, of Zhaozhou, isn't what's most important. his simply being able to cross over is the only thing that counts. And Zhao Zhao is saying that he is willing to serve as a Dharma bridge to the other shore, to liberation, for everyone he encounters, regardless of who they are and whether or not they recognize his capacity to support them or not.

[32:25]

So Zhao Zhao's stone bridge is is a non-discriminating bridge. One with no preference regarding who is able to cross over, right? It serves the same function for both adepts, in this case the metaphor being used is horses, and laypersons, or donkeys, as a Dharma vessel for crossing the wide river of, we would say, the dualistic mind. Even if They don't see it for what it is. Even if we don't perceive the bridge for what it is, it still allows this to function in this way. And so all beings are welcomed and supported to cross, regardless of their appearance, their social status, intelligence, their physical ability, and so forth. No one is denied, no one is deemed unacceptable or unworthy to cross the stone bridge.

[33:28]

No one's turned away, no one's forsaken, deliberately left behind, even if they act like an ass or have a limited view. So crossing the river, in this case, is the only thing that counts. And such is the nature and function of the monogamous stone Dharma bridge, the magnificent bridge built by bodhisattvas and Buddhas. Now, we might reflect for ourselves how it is that we're serving as stone bridges, as Dharma vessels, as someone indiscriminately supporting safe passage to the other shore, even if others may not perceive us as worthy or renowned Dharma bridges or great practitioners. We can still offer some Dharma support and encouragement, even in small ways.

[34:30]

regardless of how others view us. And to my mind, in many ways, it's not so much a matter of how others see us, but whether that they permit our crossing, but rather whether we allow ourselves to serve in this way. In fact, there can be many ways in which we hinder our own passage in the Dharma. For instance, we are often, you say, tethered like asses and horses, to some pull of karmic conditioning in which we keep kind of circling around and around the same limiting habit patterns and self-beliefs and we're unable to make any headway on our dharma path. And so the invitation of practice and the stone bridge is to see where we are tethered and to Enter directly in there to see the places we don't want to go and to go directly.

[35:37]

And what does this mean? It means in this world of all the problems, you know, and our problems and the world's problems, you know, what does it mean to go directly into the places that we feel tethered to in order to become free, to unbound ourselves in some way, to see the ways that we are entangled. and our beliefs or ideas of self and others, you know, and our misperceptions. We have to actually kind of go in there and work with the knots of self-clinging and undo them in some way. So everything and every experience in some way can serve as a stone bridge, as a Dharma vessel or transit. Don't... or underestimate its capacity to offer passage beyond our limited views and understanding.

[36:37]

And a final point before closing. I don't know about you, but I expect that we all want to be the horses, right? Going across the stone bridge, we want to be the adepts, you know, the skillful practitioners galloping along across the stone bridge. You know, swiftly, elegantly, look at me, you know, how wonderful a practitioner I am. But in actuality, I think most of us, maybe I'll just speak for myself, sometimes feels like an ass, right? Kind of plodding our way somewhat slowly, maybe a little bit obstinately, right? A little stubborn, maybe feeling a bit kind of, you know, stupid because we don't... kind of understand all the aspects of Zen practice, or including these nonsensical and paradoxical koans that are like a thousand-year-old, you know, I just don't get them, you know. And there it is, you know, and we sometimes feel that way. And even so, as Suzuki Roshi reminded us, you are perfect just as you are, you know, and you could also use a little improvement.

[37:53]

So the best teachers are those who are able to see our inherent perfection, our Buddha nature, while at the same time are also able to see and tolerate our faults. There's times when we are a little bit of an ass. And skillfully point out those places where we could benefit from a little improvement in some way. Where is the dust that we need to clean? So whether you are an ass or a horse, a simple plodding monk, or a thoroughbred practitioner, the path of practice welcomes you equally. The Dharma bridge of the Buddha way accommodates all, regardless of your stride. So I'll close with a brief poem by A. Dogen. This is regarding crossing over. He wrote, In my grass hut, in my simple dwelling, Either standing or lying down, I constantly say, I vow to ferry others across before myself.

[39:01]

That's the Bodhisattva vow. So thank you very much. I appreciate your attention and kind patience. And I wish you all safe passage. Thank you for listening to this podcast offered by the San Francisco Zen Center. Our Dharma talks are offered free of charge, and this is made possible by the donations we receive. Your financial support helps us to continue to offer the Dharma. For more information, please visit sfcc.org and click Giving. May we all fully enjoy the Dharma.

[39:41]

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