The Scariest Thing

A Zen master was sitting by a pond when a student approached and sat down next to him.

“Master,” the student said, “a few of the guys and I were wondering, does anything scare you? And, if so, what do you consider the scariest thing?”

The Master, who was used to being asked about the profundities of life, was a little thrown by such a personal question. He looked out over the pond.

“Do you see the long-winged flies hovering over the water?” the Master asked the student.

“Yes, Master.”

“The long-winged fly eats the smaller flies that sip the drops from the vegetation. This has been happening for many years and yet the smaller flies continue to sip the drops for they know not fear.”

“I see, Master.”

“The long-winged flies are themselves eaten by the hungry fish who leap from the water. This has been happening for many years and yet the long-winged flies continue to eat the smaller flies for they know not fear.”

“I see, Master.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, Master. You are saying that the world is as it should be and we should not carry fear with us for it would keep us from living our lives and seeking the sustenance we need. I feel closer to enlightenment, Master.”

And the student wandered off.

The Zen master was disturbed that the student had so misinterpreted his words and he sat there trembling in fear of the giant flies that he was sure were lurking just beyond his range of vision. The giant flies that were, in fact, THE SCARIEST THING!

The Hungry Man

A Zen master was walking a dusty road, contemplating inner peace, when he happened upon a man clearly in the grip of death due to starvation.

“My friend,” the master said, “Tell me of your plight.”

“I am so hungry,” the man said from the ground where he lay, “I . . . want . . . food.”

The Zen master knelt down in the dirt, picked up a long stick and carefully scratched out the words “I. Want. Food.”

“First,” said the Zen master, “Remove the word ‘I’ for ‘I’ is ego and ego is not necessary. Then, remove ‘want’ for ‘want’ is desire and desire leads to dissatisfaction. Now, what are you left with?”

The starving man looked at the ground.

“F-food?” he managed to stammer out.

“Yes!” said the Zen master, “You are left with all the food you need. I’m glad I could help.”

And the Zen master walked away.

“But,” said the dying man, “I can’t eat that food.”

“I’M GLAD I COULD HELP!” the Zen master screamed over his shoulder. Then he reached into his bag and pulled out an incredibly long submarine sandwich which he ate in a series on comically large bites before licking his fingers noisily and burping.

Later, the Zen master realized that what he had done had been kind of a dick move and he returned to the dying man, but all he found was gray bones on the ground.

“I guess he found something to eat after all,” thought the Zen master, “What with all these bones.”

Then he pulled out another sandwich and sat down and ate it. So many sandwiches! Where does he find them?!

Zen Blogging

A small Zen studio was starting a blog, but the blog’s title remained elusive. Stymied, the followers contacted a great Zen master with the question of what would be the most “Zen” thing to call their blog.

The master wrote back:

Many years ago, a young student was following his master through a forest. The trees grew close together and eventually all light was blocked. ‘Master,’ the young student cried, ‘I cannot see you and fear I shall grow lost!’ ‘Stupid fool!’ the master yelled back, ‘Your pitiful cries are beacons for the wild animals! Lost you may be, but rather lost than devoured! Quiet your noise, or the bears and wolves will follow their sound and feast on your -’ But the master said no more. Later, the student stumbled across his half-eaten corpse. ’ This student attained enlightenment and became known as Zen master Sheng-yen.

The students weren’t sure what to make of this story, so they wrote back to the master.

The master replied with another letter:

The Zen master Kakua approached the Emperor with a beautiful bird in a gilded cage. The Emperor, always looking for new animals to add to his menagerie, asked the master if he had brought the bird as a gift. ‘I bring a gift,’ said the master, ‘but it is not the bird. It is the song contained within the bird. And, it is only available by listening to the trees. For the bird will not sing when caged.’ Just then, the bird began warbling an enchanting song. ‘What’s that then?’ asked the Emperor. The master grew nervous, ‘Oh, that’s his – that’s his second best song. The best song he only sings in the trees.’ Things grew tense as the bird’s song got more complex and gorgeous. ‘Kakua,’ said the Emperor, ‘why are you wasting my time? This bird sings beautifully caged or no. Guards! Go out into the countryside, find all the birds and put them in cages! Put all the most talented journeymen in cages as well. Cage everyone! The whole country needs to be put in cages! Later, cage yourselves!’ ‘Well, that backfired,’ thought Kakua.

“Dear Zen master,” wrote the students, “please stop telling us stories and just give us a good title for our blog. We were thinking ‘Zen Some, Lose Some’ or ‘Too Many Roosters in the Zen House.’ What do you think?”

The students never heard back from the master and, a few weeks later, their Zen license was revoked. Which is totally a thing that can happen.

Good Hand, Bad Hand

A Zen master was walking down a rural lane, contemplating life’s mysteries, when he passed a campfire, around which several men were playing a game of cards. 

One of the men saw the master and, recognizing his robes, called him over.

“You’re one of them Zen guys, ain’t you?” the gentleman asked, “Well, we got ourselves a deep question. Think you can help us out?”

The master nodded.

“Now, I got me a hand of cards that looks like it might be a winner. My friend on the other side of the fire there has a hand that he thinks might be a winner. Now, Mr. Master, when our hands are played only one of us can be declared the winner. But, if we remain friends after this, won’t we both really be winners?”

The master pondered the man’s question.

“It would seem,” said the master, “that you have already discovered the secret to happiness.”

The man was surprised at this turn of events, but thought that sounded pretty cool. So, he and his friends started playing cards again.

“And,” said the master, “If you – if you stay friends forever then no matter who has the most money  – no matter who has the most money, you’ll both be the richest of all.”

The master waited for some acknowledgment of what he’d said, but the men were pretty intent on playing their card game.

“The richest of all,” the master mumbled. He started walking away but turned back when he thought one of the guys had said something to him. But, they were just talking to each other.

Later, the master shared this story with a student, except he changed it so that he was the one who came up with the part about them both being winners and made it so the card player was the one who tried the “richest of all” thing. 

“But, I was already walking away,” the master concluded.

The student was unimpressed, but he nodded a lot so as not to betray how unimpressed he was. He maybe nodded a little too much, though. No one nods that much.

The Master’s Medicine

A Zen master was confused when he opened a jar of medicine and found a frog inside.

“Truly, this is the medicine I sought,” said the master, and he swallowed the frog.

The master’s student walked up just as the master had finished swallowing, holding a jar of his own.

“Master,” he said, “it seems your medicine was mixed up with one of the local’s frog jars.”

The master began retching and coughed up the frog.

The student was shocked and amazed.

“What the hell?” he thought, “Is this enlightenment? I’m not sure I’m on board with this.”

“Don’t look so worried,” the master reassured the student, “this isn’t a Zen thing. I swallowed this frog because I thought that my medicine jar … well, it was in my medicine jar or what I thought was my medicine jar and so … so I swallowed it. The frog. I swallowed the frog.”

The frog began hopping out of the room. 

“Oh, look at that!” said the master, “It’s still alive! So … so, enlightenment is like a swallowed frog, see? You think it’s something you have to take into yourself, but really you’re taking the wrong thing … the – you’re supposed to wait a minute and someone will bring you the right thing to … to eat.”

But, the student had left as soon as the frog started moving. It was pretty freaky.

The Wind-Up Bird

A Zen master was meditating under a bridge when his disciple approached him carrying a bag.

“Master,” the disciple said, “in this bag is a wind-up bird. When turned on, it produces music indistinguishable from a real bird’s.”

The master gazed at the student.

“When it’s turned on or when you’re turned on?” asked the master.

The disciple blinked.

“Um, when it’s turned on.”

The master stared at the disciple.

“Because it’d be pretty funny if it was the other way,” he said.

“Yes, master,” the disciple replied. “So, do you want to see the bird?”

“The bird in your bag or, like, your bird?” asked the master.

“The – the bird in the bag. The wind-up bird.”

“Because, it’s like ‘Why does he want to show me his bird?’ Right?” asked the master.

“Right,” said the disciple.

“Get out of here,” said the master. “Go get some lunch.”

“Do you want me to leave the bag?” asked the disciple.

The master thought for a moment, but couldn’t figure out how to turn the question into something suggestive. So, he just shook his head.

The disciple was in a bad mood for the rest of the day. Surprisingly, so was the master. He wished the conversation had ended better, with, like, a pun or something.

The dog and the Master

A zen master was meditating on a patch of dirt when a stray dog approached him and began sniffing the ground around the master’s legs.

“My friend,” the master said to the dog, “we are not so different. You spend your life scrounging for food on the ground while I spend my life scrounging for enlightenment in the dirt. Perhaps if we both raised our eyes, we would find that what we seek is right in front of us.”

The dog looked up at the master and then continued his sniffing.

“What I mean to say,” said the master, “is that what we seek is perhaps not always where we look. Sometimes we have to stop looking to find what we seek.”

The dog kept sniffing the ground around the master.

“It’s like, if you’re looking for a quill and you know you saw one – like one that’s always around when you don’t need it – but you really need a quill now and, you know, you can’t find it? Sometimes you have to stop looking for it and then an hour or so later, you’ll stumble on it?”

“And then you can’t even remember what you wanted it for?” asked the dog.

“Right, right. That happened the other day; I was – HEY!” The master stood up. Had that dog just spoken to him? What was going on?

But, the dog had startled at the master’s cry and was running off.

“Hey!” called the master, “Hey, come back! Did you just talk?!”

A young student was passing at that moment and the master grabbed him by the robe.

“Can you catch that dog?! That dog just talked to me! I swear that dog just talked to me!”

The student thought, “Is this a test? Like, a zen test?”

“A talking dog,” said the student, “Is like … searching for enlightenment? It will only come to you when you … stop … yelling at it?”

“No, no!” screamed the master, “That dog talked to me! He made a joke!”

“Uh,” said the student, “true inner peace is as the joking dog? We laugh at the absurdity of it and … panic when we find it?”

“Son of a -” yelled the master and he took off after the dog.

The student did not achieve enlightenment that day.

Rocks in the path

The zen master was meditating on a rock in the middle of a beautiful garden when he was approached by a young student.

“Master,” the student said, “This garden is very beautiful and yet the path to the center is covered in many small rocks that hurt the feet. Should we not clear the rocks, to make the path more comfortable?”

The master looked about the garden and turned to the student.

“There are many comfortable paths in this garden, but the one that hurts the feet is always the one to the center.”

The student thought about this.

“Right,” he said, “But, if we clear the rocks then our feet wouldn’t get hurt.”

“Are you going to clear the rocks?”

“Maybe I will.”

“Good. Clear the rocks if it makes you comfortable.”

“I will.

“Fine.”

The student left and returned with a basket that he filled with the rocks.

“Now, master, the path is clear.”

The master looked at the basket.

“And, what do you propose to do with all those rocks?”

The student pondered the question.

“I don’t know,” he said, “Dump them on another pa – ohhhhhhh!”

“Ahhhhhhhh!?”

“Yeaaaaaaaaaaahhh!!!”

And the student was enlightened.