And I'm surpassed the trading and perfect dharma. Is Mary met with even a hundred thousand million kaphas. Having it to see and listen to, to remember and accept. I vow to taste the truth of the Tathakara's words. That, too, is the sound of the Dharma. Are you letting it in? Are you welcoming it? My understanding is they're doing some drilling right out here to test the soil, see whether or not they can put a type of drainage system in for...

[02:32]

going to have plants there, some kind of wild plants there will help to filter the rainwater as it goes in. So they're seeing whether or not that's a good place to do it. And they promised they would only do drilling twice for about five minutes, yesterday and today. So we'll see what happens, if that's the case. But they are definitely supporting our practice. Might even be apropos of the Dharma Talk team today. So, hello. Good morning. Welcome to another day of Sushin. Some might call it the third day of Rahatsu. Others may not. We'll see. I hope you might be feeling a little bit more stelted in, having maybe fully gathered your hearts and mind and body together and kind of being deepening, beginning to... Maybe relax a little bit, open a little bit, settle into some deeper currents of your being, both conditioned and unconditioned.

[03:43]

So this is the time of Sashin when things can get a little bit more complex, right? And both kind of the way that our particular karmic energy patterns of mind and body, of assert themselves in some way, saying, oh, thank you for taking the time to finally meet me, listen to me, be with me. So we get to see these deeper karmic knots, obstacles, difficulties. So making themselves known. Be with them just like that. Ah, this is what's happening now. Okay. Might not be pleasant, but fundamentally, I'm actually okay.

[04:47]

I can be with this. And take the time to give it space, to be gentle, to be kind, to offer compassion to ourselves, to those around us. Offer a little encouragement. I can do this. Or I can allow Buddha to hold me while this is happening. Offer some loving kindness, some tender care, curiosity, while you continue to make your best effort to be with whatever the experience is. Meeting it with as much spaciousness and the receptivity of Buddha heart-mind, your fundamental nature. And this is the path to boundless liberation. Just this. So, this morning, we're going to continue our exploration of the koans and the Blue Cliff Record.

[06:04]

on which Suzuki Roshi taught, or at least he apparently taught on all 100 of them, but we only have about 24 altogether, maybe, of the talks, 22, 24. And the case I want to explore today with you is case 46, Chan Ching's The Sound of Raindrop. Here's the main case. Chan Ching asked the monk, what sound is that outside the gate? The monk said, the sound of raindrops. Tanqing said, sentient beings are inverted. They lose themselves and follow after things. The monk said, well, what about you, teacher? Tanqing said, I almost don't lose myself. The monk said, what is the meaning of I almost don't lose myself? Tanqing said, though it still should be easy to express oneself, to say the whole thing has to be difficult. What is the sound outside the gates?

[07:09]

So it's been raining for the last few days, raining on and off the last few days of Sushin. And I've always appreciated this koam because one of the great pleasures in my life is, for me, is the sound of rain kind of pattering into my meditation. And this was a particularly special experience whenever I was in the zendo at Tassajara. There's something about that particular zendo, the way when it was raining, I could just hear the sound of the raindrops as they made their usual kind of light rhythmic tapping on the corrugated metal roof. I don't know if you've been, those of you who have not been to the zendo at Tassajara, it has this metal roof, right? And so you can almost hear each drop. The same thing, you can hear the drops on the trees and on the ground outside. In a way that I think here in the city, things get kind of lost. Everything's kind of cement. So it has the same sound where the variety of sounds of rain falling in the wilderness.

[08:15]

It's just such more rhythmic, like a symphony of sound. And there's a particularity of each drop you can almost hear as it descends. So it was always a joy just to sit in there in the zendo and allow myself to be soaked in the sensory delights that accompanied the rain. The sound of the rain mingled with the gleam of the water, the smell of the wet mountain foliage, the wet rock, the wet earth, and the scent of the kind of slightly damp robes as well. And there's something unique about the way that the sound of Rain quiets and calms the mind. At the same time, it has this effect of kind of activating the senses. At least for me, you know, there's something that suddenly comes alive when it's raining. And so whenever it rained during meditation at Tassajara, I would try to listen not only to the overall murmur of the rain, but also to the space between each raindrop.

[09:26]

So the overall field and the particularity within that field. And there's also something exquisite about being able to perceive a sound, it's like during meditation, without applying a thought to it. Just allow it to be what it is. No echo of thought, no application of thought. And sometimes it gets to the point where it's hard to distinguish the sound of the rain Inside your mind and outside your mind, where is it falling? Where is this rain? So you're just kind of left giving yourself over to the pitter-patter, right? The wordless sutra of the rain. And the sound of the raindrops, as well as in this case, Changqing's inquiry in the koan, all of it's an invitation. invitation to wake up and then come alive to the experience of our true nature.

[10:29]

Even that drilling outside is the same invitation. Everything is calling you. Are you listening? So a little background on the main character before unpacking the case. So Chan Ching, whose Japanese name is Kyose Dofu, he was born in 868 and died in 937 at the age of 74. And he was a disciple of the great Shui Feng Yikan, who in Japanese is known as Seppo. And hence, he was a Dharma sibling of the renowned Yunmin. And we've already been studying a number of Yunmin's koans, and we'll do more. And according to Tanqing's autobiographical story that's found in the transmission of the lamp, at the age of six, he refused to eat meat or strong foods, such as onions and garlic.

[11:30]

And this happens to be the foods that are prohibited for Buddhist monks at that time, particularly in Chinese and some of the other monasteries. So apparently, when his parents said, you know, no, no, we have to eat what we give you, they forced him to eat some dried fish, he would immediately vomit it up. And so while he was still quite young, he entered into a temple and he received ordination. And then later he traveled to Elephant Bone Mountain where he met Xue Feng and became Xue Feng's student. So there are a couple of stories about Chongqing's first encounter with his teacher, Xue Feng. According to one version that's cited by Ehe Dogen, when he first arrived at Shui Feng's monastery, Chan Ching said to the abbot, as a student entering this monastery, I ask you to point me on the way. And so Shui Feng replied, do you hear the water flowing over the dam?

[12:36]

And Chan Ching responded, yes, sir. To which Shui Feng replied, enter there. Enter there. So you can hear the resonance between Shui Fang and Chan Ching's respective pointers in each of these situations. What do we hear? What do we hear? What are we willing to hear? Are we truly willing to listen? To listen? To notice? To attend? Attend. This is the entry to the path of liberation. So after he received Dharma and Transmission and left his teacher, Chan Ching went to Yao Shou, where in time, a large... I guess a mountain of place where a large number of monks assemble to study with them. So like most wonderful teachers, they kind of collect students, people hear about them and come.

[13:43]

And there are a number of stories about Chan Ching in Annie Ferguson's wonderful book, Zen's Chinese Heritage. In one, Chan Ching entered the Dharma Hall and addressed the monks saying, if you have not already realized the great matter that is before us today, then listen carefully. to what I say. It has been a long time since you left your homes and you've traveled for many years. During this whole time, you have merely experienced the conditions and dust of the world. This is called turning your back on enlightenment and facing the dust, or forsaking your family and running away. Today, I urge you all to not give up nor turn away. Wouldn't it be disappointing if you children of the great worthies did not exert yourselves in this manner? Throughout the day, look everywhere for the official road, the path.

[14:44]

But don't ask me to give you the official road. So while none of us here have taken formal Chinese monastic vows, During Sushin, you know, we could kind of consider all of us monks for a week. And just by taking Chan Ching's encouraging words to hearts, we can harness them just as effectively as those monks in the temple sitting in Chan Ching's meditation hall. So another time a monk said to Chan Ching, this student has not yet arrived at the source. I asked for the master's expedient guidance. In other words, I haven't reached enlightenment yet. Can you offer me some help to get there quickly? Would any of you like some help to get there quickly? A few, okay, okay. So Chan Cheng said, what source is that? He says, I haven't reached the source.

[15:46]

And he says, what source is that? The monk said, the source. And Chan Cheng said, if it's that source, How can you get any expedient guidance? The monk bowed in thanks and went away. Changqing's attendant said, Just now. Just now. Just now, did the master give the monk support or not? Changqing said, No. The attendant said, Then you didn't answer his question? Changqing said, No, meaning, no, I did. The attendant said, then, I don't understand the master's meaning. And Chan Ching said, one drop is just black ink. Two drops and a dragon is created. So the true response isn't a matter of simply offering a turning word or a phrase, right?

[16:47]

Or one drop of ink. But in the encounter that... happens between these two sincere practitioners. That's where the true dragon comes to life. So, back to the case. Chanjing asked the monk, what is the noise outside? Now, it's obvious in the case that he's heard rain before. So, and as Yuan Wu, who's one of the authors of the Blue Cliff Record notes, he doesn't suffer from deafness. So why does he ask the monk this question? Or as Yuan Wu comments, he casualty lets down a hook. What is he asking? Okay, so in other words, Tan Cheng's question is a probe, right? So he's tossing it out, checking on the monk's understanding. And so what is that noise outside really? Now, it seems like Chan Ching was kind of very fond of this particular line of questioning, or you could call it an invitation to the students.

[17:59]

So the commentary accompanying this koan in the Blue Cliff Record notes that on another occasion, Chan Ching asked the monk, what is that sound outside the gate? And the monk said, the sound of quail. Chan Ching said, if you wish to avoid uninterrupted hell, don't slander the will of the true Dharma. And another time, Chan Ching asked, what is that sound outside the gate? A monk said, the sound of a snake eating a frog. Chan Ching said, I knew that sentient beings suffer. Here's another suffering sentient being. So in each of these exchanges, the monks declined Chan Ching's invitation to step beyond the apparent, and into the non-dual, right? Each month named the various sounds outside the gates, quail, a snake eating a frog, a drill, right?

[19:04]

But in doing so, they maintain a dualistic orientation. They thought that what was being experienced existed someplace outside and hence separate from the one who was having the experience inside the gates. What is the sound outside the gate? So in his notes to this koan, Matthew Jukson Sullivan says that the original Chinese character used for gate, the word, I believe it's pronounced men, M-E-N, with a dash over the E, can mean gate, double-leaved portal, or door to the outside. And in the context of monastic Buddhism, it generally means the gate, in terms of the gates to the monastery, the gates to the temple, temple grounds. However, both gate and door in Buddhism also have another meaning. Do you guys know what that is? Yeah, yeah.

[20:07]

It's the sense doors, the sense gates, right, which are a common metaphor, right, for the six senses, sight, hearing, smell, taste, touch, and thought. The Winsai teacher, Li Jing, Linji, excuse me, vividly evoked the idea that our senses are portals to the outside world. When he taught, there is a true person of no rank always going out and in through the doors of your face. If you have not yet seen it, look, look. So a true person of no rank is always going in and out through the sense gates. So what then is the sound outside the gate? Listen. We might also ask, what is it that gets deliberately left outside the gate?

[21:08]

That is, are there some things we welcome while there are other things that we don't welcome into the gates? And what exactly is it that is guarding the sense gates? Letting some things in and other things not. Of course, it's not the senses themselves. They're neutral. They let everything just come in. But there's something else that doesn't welcome so easily. What is that? The Buddha once asked about the sound of a bell. He said, if you ring a bell... Does the sound go to your ear or does your ear go to the bell? It may seem like a kind of an abstract question, but I think it's a valid one. It's about the fundamental nature of experience. Is the sound of the bell or maybe the sound of the rain out there? Is the sound out there or is it in here?

[22:10]

And what is the sound outside the gate? If it's raindrops, then everyone knows that. And yet the question so remains, what is it really? And maybe the inquiry isn't about what's outside the sense gate, but rather how it is that the true person of no rank is able to freely come and go. Dogen offered a pointer to this inquiry in a poem he wrote on this very case. He said, because the mind is free, listening to the rain, dripping from the eaves, the drops become one with me. Because the mind is free, listening to the rain, dripping from eaves, the drops become one with me. So when the mind is free to listen fully, without judgment, without discrimination or separation, then all the gates fling open wide.

[23:14]

And the rainwater comes rushing in through our whole being. And the boundaries between us and our experience, between the inside and the outside, between us and them, dissolve. And a true intimacy is possible. And yet, is this the whole of the experience that Chan Ching is trying to direct them up toward? What is that noise outside? John Cheng asked the monk, knowing full well it was raining, and the monk said the sound of raindrops. Now, whether or not the monk knew what his teacher was up to, he gave a very common sense answer. Yeah, it's raining outside. A simple question, what is that sound, the sound of raindrops? It's an honest answer, right? But what is the student not hearing?

[24:17]

Hearing the sound of the raindrops, what is the sound itself? So, not satisfied with the monk's response, Chan Ching chides the monk by quoting the Abhatam Sakha Sutra. People's thinking is inverted, deluded by their own selves. They pursue things. There are several other translations of this line. One is, people's thinking is topsy-turvy, deluded by their own selves. They pursue things. Another is, people these days are confused and out of touch with themselves. They only go about chasing things. Suzuki Roshi's own commentary on this case is actually kind of rather brief. It consists mostly of kind of the presentation of the case, and then just a few lines of interpretation are peppered throughout. So he translates this line as... All sentient beings are deluded by the idea of self and by the idea of the world.

[25:22]

Then he comments, Chan Ching has seen through the monk who thinks he is not caught by the objective sound of the raindrops, but who actually is caught by the sound of the raindrops in his subjective world. And Yuan Wu also comments on Chan Ching's response saying, People all misunderstand and call this intentionally upsetting the monk. But this has nothing to do with it. How little do they realize that Chongqing has the skill to help people? And this is what's happening all the time throughout these cases. Whenever there's this kind of pushing back or this query or this challenge a teacher makes of a student or another practitioner, it really is meant. to be beneficial, to be helpful. It's done from a place of deep love and care. Even though on a relative surface level, it may not sound that way initially.

[26:25]

So he's not just testing the monk, right? But he's actually, in this case, also simply stating the truth, a fact. What is real? There are... several aspects of Chan Ching's response we can reflect on in this regard. So our human thinking is inverted, right? It's upside down, primarily because we are deluded and confused about our true self. Does anyone have that feeling? Am I the only one? At least a few other people. Good. Thank you for joining me in that. We are kind of led astray by our egoic our egocentric thinking, and hence tends to chase after objects, right? And Sekeda notes in his commentary on the case, he says, the result of all this delusion and chasing, the result is a distorted view of life and the world, which has led to endless disasters, deceiving, fighting, killing, wars, and so on.

[27:33]

You may ask what relation, the raindrops have to the human's appalling condition. The answer is that they have a close relationship because this case is dealing with the fundamental question of cognition and hence the central nature of our underlying mental attitude. So this is familiar territory in Buddhism, the question of cognition and how it is that humans perceive and then consequently relate to the world. because what we perceive is how we relate to things. So, for example, in the well-regarded Lankavantara Sutra, the Buddha expounds on the matter of delusion, essentially telling us that everything we perceive is a projection of our own mind. Nothing more than appearances that misconstrue or misrepresent the truth of the way things are. And the Lankavantara Sutra comes out of the Mahayana Yogacara school of the 4th and 5th centuries.

[28:42]

And the word Yogacara literally means mind only. And the mind only, the Yogacara school, emphasized the study of cognition, perception, and consciousness through the interior lens of meditation and yoga. And their main stance was that beyond the mind, there are no things. And beyond things, there is no mind. Beyond the mind, there are no things. And beyond things, there is no mind. However, this is an epistemological stance. It's not an ontological stance. It's about knowing, not being. So the Yogacara was saying, All we can know of this world is through the mind. It's not saying that the world out there is nothing more than a fabrication of the mind.

[29:44]

There's something, you could say, beneath, maybe, what we can relatively know that we can't touch directly because it's not a place. It doesn't have a location. commenting on case 46, this case, the 18th century Japanese Soto Zen teacher Tenkai Densan tells us, the sound of rain is simply the sound of rain. Whatever it may be, it is all the marvelous function of mind. So in other words, all we can know of rain is the experience of the phenomenon as it's engaged by and filtered through our minds. Again, This isn't to say that there is an experience that we can label rain, or that rain is only a phantom construct of the mind. It's not to say that rain isn't rain, nor that we can't use the word rain to describe this experience of kind of wet stuff, you know, something we could think of as water falling from the sky.

[30:58]

But this is rain from our... Conditioned relative point of view. We use conventional thinking and terms to describe this experience. But we shouldn't attach to these terms. Or to the word rain. What are other ways to describe rain? And the mind likes labeling things. Likes giving things names. As a way to fix them. distinguished, to create discrimination in some way. That's just how these human things work. It says, I know what that is. That's rain. But this is a mind still of separation. A mind that lacks intimacy and actually true feeling of what that is. So in order to communicate, of course, we necessarily use words for things.

[32:06]

But the real understanding only comes through directly experiencing this. You've heard this probably a hundred times in Zen. But what is it to actually live it? And so our attachment to words creates all kinds of problems for us, as well as suffering. And any attachment to words or language reinforces, fundamentally, a sense of duality, a sense of fragmentation of subject and object. And Suzuki Roshi, as noted earlier, said, you know, we want to avoid getting caught in either. So we need to go beyond the words to direct experience itself. To see and hear beyond words like range-offs and be able to counter the thing, the living reality of the experience. So in the Lankavantara Sutra, the Buddha says, delusions also appear to the wise, but they aren't confused by them.

[33:12]

So the wise, the enlightened ones, are also deluded in some way? Or delusions appear to them? Their awakened beings can distinguish between delusions, what we might call a dreamlike nature of reality. And also the delusions plus our interpretation of them. So we have the initial delusion, then we add an interpretation on top of it. We just kind of compound the problem again and again and again. And we just continue to cast additional projections on this kind of baseline delusion. So as humans, we may not be able to avoid our minds initially misperceiving the world. But we can avoid adding delusions. delusion on top of delusion. And this is what practice is about. So we can use terms such as rain and know that they don't touch the reality of rain itself. And so when wise ones speak, they know that they're simply playing a word game in order to try to share or communicate something of our experience on an everyday relative level that is ultimately inexpressible.

[34:27]

I want to make a detour for a moment to Shwedo's verse on this case. And this is how it's been translated by Suzuki Roshi. When the voice of the raindrops covers the whole world, even an expert cannot give any answer, because they themselves are also the raindrops. Even though you say the voice of raindrops is nothing but your mind, that is not a perfect answer of full understanding. Southern and northern mountains all over the world are covered by heavy rain. And to this last line, Yuan Wu adds the following comment. Above our heads and under our feet, if you call it the sound of raindrops, you're blind. If you don't call it the sound of raindrops, what sound will you call it? Your feet must be treading the ground of reality before. You can get there.

[35:36]

So Shreda is saying that even an expert, even a wise one, cannot fully answer the question of what's that sound outside because they themselves are the raindrops. There are not two things, you and raindrops. And yet to say that the voice of the raindrops is nothing but mine does not reflect full understanding. because it's still dualistic. If you call it the sound of raindrops, you're blind, meaning you're deluded and not seen clearly. If you call it the sound of raindrops, then you're also wrong, because it isn't something else. So what will you call it? So the monk then asks Chan-Cheng, what about you, teacher? What would you call it, oh wise one? Suzuki Roshi comments that the monk is, in other words, saying, I have the raindrops in my clear mind, but how about you?

[36:43]

I have a little bit of understanding. What about you? That is, the monk understands that the raindrops are a mind-only experience for him and is asking the teacher how the teacher experiences them. And Yuan Wu makes a kind of humorous retort. regarding the monk's question here. He says, as it turns out, the monk suffers a defeat. He's turned the spear around. Inevitably, it will be hard for Chan Ching to stand up to it. Instead of Chan Ching, the monk grabs the spear and stabs the man back. More aggressive imagery in these John Coens. So how does Chan Ching's parry, how does he parry the monk's thrust of his spear, right? putting the question back on him. It says, I am almost, not quite, deluded. Now, there are a number of different translations to this reply.

[37:43]

One is, I am on the brink of falling into delusion about myself. Another is, a little more, and I would be deluded too. And then there is, I almost don't lose myself. I almost don't lose myself. So what do all these mean? Suzuki Roshi comments that what Chan Ching means is that he does not exclude the monk from the sound of the raindrops. He's just listening to the raindrops. But at the same time, listening to the monk. So Chan Ching, in other words, is acknowledging that while he is not without a mistaken view... He, too, is subject to delusion that time loses himself. How wonderful that a revered teacher can acknowledge they, too, have delusion, they, too, slip up. But he is saying most of the time he's able to hold the experience of the reign and the monk simultaneously and non-dualistic.

[38:50]

So most of the time he's surfing the razor's edge. He's able to attend and listen to both. Yan Wu's commentary says that what happened then was that Chongqing went into the mud and water to say to the monk, I almost don't lose myself. The reason for saying this is that the monk was losing himself, pursuing things. Why did Chongqing lose himself too? You must realize that Chongqing had a place to get out himself. had a place to get out himself within the phrase he used to test the monk. So in other words, Chan Ching is willing to go into the mud to make sure that the student doesn't further lose himself. And this is, of course, because the student's already lost, already in the mud, already inverted, already upside down. And the teacher, or the bodhisattva, is willing to go into the ocean of samsara to save a drowning person.

[39:56]

But they also take care not to get pulled in under the waters by the flailing person that they're trying to help. So Chongqing had a way out. So what is your way out? As a bodhisattva, if you're going to save other beings, you're going to go into the mud and the water with them. How are you not going to get pulled under by their suffering also? What is your way out? Ching says that sentient beings are inverted. They are deluded by their own selves and in the process get lost. So then how do we not get lost? What is the way out of the mud? One word. Zazen. Zazen is the principal path out of the mud. So we sit down and we make an effort to find ourselves right here. right where we are, and we stay here.

[40:59]

And then what happens? We go about chasing things, right? And in the process, we get lost. We constantly get lost in Zazen over and over again, lost in the mind of thinking, of daydreaming, of our emotions, chasing after fantasies, obsessing over desires, pursuing all kinds of thoughts. But then we find our way back. Who knows how that happens, right? We find our way back. And the kitchen is finding their way back. They got lost in the Buddha hall. Now they're going back. Thank you, kitchen, for all the wonderful preparation you're making. So the skill that we need to cultivate in Zazen is to return and return and return again and again. to our fundamental seat, awareness. So we seem to lose our awareness and then we find it.

[42:03]

But the greater question is, where is the awareness? Where does it go when we get lost? Well, it doesn't go anywhere. It's always here. Awareness can never be lost. Only our attention, awareness directed towards an object, gets lost or goes astray. But awareness itself is ever abiding. Never goes anywhere. And when we realize this, we are then just a little less frustrated when we get lost in Zahazen. Because we know there's always some place to return to. We are only able to return because the fundamental awareness that we are never goes away. It's only our attention that goes astray, that gets lost in objects seemingly out there.

[43:06]

But Chan Ching says, I almost don't delude myself. I almost don't lose myself. The monk, however, doesn't understand. And so he asks, what do you mean you are almost not deluded by yourself? And Chang Cheng replies, even though it is not difficult to be free from the objective world, and here's what Girochi adds, and to make a clear statement, it is difficult to express reality fully on each occasion. So another translation of this line has it, though it still should be easy to express oneself, to say the whole thing has to be difficult. And then two other translations, two versions, to cast it all off, Seems like it would be easy. Actually, the path will be hard. And then finally, emerging can be relatively easy. Total expression can be hard. So Chan Ching is reminding us that even though we can momentarily step out of the objective world, the relative world into the realm of the ultimate, the absolute, into the realm of emptiness, non-duality, where there is no reign or self or other,

[44:20]

To be the whole thing, the relative and the absolute, fully integrated, and express it all at once without getting lost, is naturally going to be difficult. After all, life is difficult. After all, the Dharma realm is vast and inconceivable. Fully integrated, not getting lost. Sometimes it rains. But if we devote ourselves to endless practice in this way, Then like the 20th century poets and monk Santoka has said, he said, just as it is, it rains. I get wet. I walk. So this case and Suzuki Roshi's comments were printed in the February 1964 issue of The Wind Doll. For those of you who are not familiar with The Wind Doll, it was kind of a newsletter. a magazine that ran for about five decades from the early days of Zen Center.

[45:24]

Sometimes it would just be one two-sided sheet, other times it would be a little booklet. And so I came across this original article and was surprised at what appears to be on the back, at the bottom of the article, an image of Suzuki Roshi's handwriting, his handwritten notes with the concluding comments that he has to this case. And he writes first, give the monk 30 blows. Okay. And then he adds another sentence, but with each word followed by a period, an underline with an exclamation point. As this, you know, the exclamation point was kind of a blow of his Kiyosaku. So he wrote, it is difficult. To express reality fully on each occasion.

[46:26]

Right? And if anyone thought of inquiring further, right? What did you mean by that? Rather than just sitting with this dramatic statement, he says, no more questions. Isn't that always the case? We always want more. Tell me more, right? Rather than just be with this. There is no more. Just this. And then, however, Suzuki Roshi adds a brief coda. When my master, in this case, Gapajun Soan, When my master and I were walking in the rain, he would say, do not walk so fast. The rain is everywhere. What a beautiful and intimate teaching, huh? Do not walk so fast. The rain is everywhere. True reality is everywhere.

[47:34]

Don't be in a rush. Walk slowly. Savor the experience of true reality as it descends and soaks you through and through. And this is something that we can take up its sheen. To walk slowly. To allow ourselves to be simply bathed in the present moment experience as true reality is raining down on us everywhere. Saturating us through and through. And we can escape no matter how fast we move or how hard we try. I'm sorry, you can't escape. Really. So allow yourself to be with the direct experience of the rain or whatever other weather is showing up for you in the present moment. Whether that of storm clouds, storm clouds of anger.

[48:39]

Or the fog of confusion. Or the darkness of grief. Or maybe the sunshine of a warm, open, joyous heart. Or maybe there's a tornado of ruminative thoughts. Or wildfire of pain in the knees and the back. It takes courage and perseverance to stay with your inner experience. to allow yourself to be soaked through and through by it without doing something about it. Simply sit, walk, or stand mindfully in the downpour of reality, being present for it, whether it comes as a hurricane, a steady flow, a drizzle, or just simply the mist. Suki Roshi talks about the mist of the Dharma soaks you through and through. So all that's left for us to experience is just the wonderment of Dharma reign.

[49:46]

Just the wonderment and mystery of aliveness. To allow ourselves to be soaked through and through with the beauty of being alive here and now. The feel and the mystery saturate every cell and fiber of your being. Not just your being, but all being. I'll close with the great 20th century Zen teacher, Hakon Yatsutani, who invites us to meet this in this way. Just listening. Body having no self. The raindrops falling from the eaves of the house. Are nothing if not myself. Myself. Yourself. Just listening. Body having no self.

[50:49]

The raindrops falling from the eaves of the house. Are nothing if not myself. Myself. Yourself. Each of us is a complete, independent raindrop. And together we are rainfall. And each of us and all of us are the expression of the great ocean of being itself. So enjoy the sound inside, outside. Enjoy the rain, the drilling. Just allow yourself to give over to what it is to be alive. You don't have to do anything. Zazen is not a doing. Rest in being.

[51:51]

Rest in awareness. That is the true invitation. Thank you for your patience and kind attention. attention equally extend to every being and place with the true merit.

[52:20]

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