A monk asked Fuketsu in all earnestness, “Both speech and silence are concerned with ri and mi. How can we transcend them?” Fuketsu said, “I constantly think of Kōnan in March, where partridges are chirping among hundreds of fragrant blossoms.”
Fuketsu’s activity of mind is like lightning. He gains the road and immediately walks along. But why does he rest upon the tip of the ancient one’s tongue and not cut it off? If you realize this deeply, a way will be found naturally. Just leave all words behind and say one phrase.
Fuketsu does not speak in his usual style;
Before he says anything, it is already manifested.
If you go on chattering glibly,
You should be ashamed of yourself.
Fuketsu Enshō Zenji is the fourth descendant of Rinzai Zenji. He was born in 896 and died in 973 at the age of seventy-eight. As a youth he studied the Confucian classics but failed the examination for public office. He then turned to Buddhism, first the Tendai sect and then Zen. His first teacher was Master Kyōsei, who was Seppō’s disciple. He later studied under Nan’in and eventually became a great teacher in Rinzai Zen. This is his only appearance in the Gateless Gate, but he appears more frequently in the Blue Cliff Record.
The first line of the koan requires a bit of explanation. “Both speech and silence are concerned with ri and mi.” The word ri-mi can be found in “Rimitaijōbon (Chapter of the Essential Purity of Ri-Mi)” in the Hōzōron (Treatise on the Jewel Treasury), ascribed to Sō Jō (Monk Jō). Jō was a fourth-century monk and one of the four great translators of the Buddhist scriptures under Kumarajiva, who died about 412, more than a hundred years before Bodhidharma came to China.
In the second chapter of the Hōzōron, Jō says, “To enter is ri, to come out is mi. When we enter ri, the dust of the outer world has no place to adhere. When we come out to mi, the inner mind has nothing to do with it.” Literally, ri means separate and mi means minute or extremely subtle. These terms could be understood to mean that if we separate from the phenomenal world and enter into the inner world, that is called ri. When we come out of the inner world, that is called mi.
One way of thinking about ri and mi would be in terms of the denominator and numerator of the fraction I often refer to. Alternatively, it could simply be that ri means the subject or consciousness, and mi means the object or outer world. In either case, speech is of mi, the phenomenal world, and silence is of ri, separated from the phenomenal world.
At any rate, both speech and silence are connected with subject and object—in other words, with the dualistic world. The monk in this case knew that as long as we are confined to the world of dualistic concepts, we cannot free ourselves from the sufferings of the six evil realms.
It was in relation to all this that we find the monk asking Fuketsu, “How can we transcend ri-mi, the world of dualistic concepts?”
As I often bring to your attention, ordinary people think that subject and object are in opposition and that the objective world is standing before our consciousness as the completely different outer world. They suffer pain and agony because the outer world does not obey their will, and circumstances do not go as they wish. We should know that subject and object are intrinsically one. This is the most fundamental point of Buddhist teaching. It is the true satori of Zen. To intuit, experience, and realize this fact is the main reason for doing zazen.
If you realize clearly that subject and object are one, you may say either that there is only the subject in the whole universe without any object whatsoever or that there is only object without any subject. Taking the former stand would lead one to say, “In heaven above and earth below, there is only I, alone and sacred.” The latter point of view would lead us to say, “No subject” or “No I (muga).” “Only I, alone and sacred” and “No I” are the same. People who have not experienced the absolute world of oneness are always perplexed in the dualistic world of subject and object, of ri and mi.
What do speech and silence mean here? Superficially, we all know that speech is speaking with our lips and tongue. If we think about it a bit more deeply, however, speech is the expression of thoughts and not only involves the mouth but also the eyes and gestures and actions as well. Thus we can speak in many ways. To put it even more comprehensively, when we have concepts or ideas, or images or pictures in our consciousness, that is speech. To have none of these is silence.
To our ordinary common sense, I suppose there is no other way to free ourselves from speech and silence than to die. But we are not considering death. It does not solve the problem. Incidentally, to commit suicide is one of the gravest sins in Buddhism. A person’s essential nature can never be killed or otherwise perish. Anyone who harbors the slightest thought that this is possible sins gravely. The light of such a person’s essential nature is hidden from his eyes.
The monk wanted to see how Fuketsu would solve this difficult problem, so he asked, “Both speech and silence are concerned with ri and mi. How can we transcend them?” He seems to be saying that even if you have a tiny bit of a concept or picture in your mind, you fall into the dualistic world of subject and object. If you have nothing in your consciousness, you are like a dead man, totally useless. How can we be free from lapsing into this dualistic pitfall?
Fuketsu, however, was not concerned with ri-mi and could show very clearly his true way of living. “Once I went to the south of the Yangtze River (Kōnan) and looked at the spring scenery there. It was very wonderful. Hundreds of sweet-scented flowers were in full bloom, and partridges chirped and sang among them. I’ve been constantly thinking of it ever since.”
In Fuketsu’s consciousness there is neither subject nor object, neither “only I, alone and sacred” nor “no I.” He is completely free from ri and mi and speech and silence. We are not told whether the monk realized Fuketsu’s world or not, but that is not important. What is important is that we all attain great enlightenment by Fuketsu’s answer.
“Fuketsu’s activity of mind is like lightning. He gains the road and immediately walks along. But why does he rest upon the tip of the ancient one’s tongue and not cut if off? If you realize this deeply, a way will be found naturally. Just leave all words behind and say one phrase.”
Fuketsu’s way of guiding people is not only as quick as lightning but the most appropriate for the monk’s stage of understanding. But Mumon says that from his point of view, it is still dull. Why does he rest on the tip of the ancient one’s tongue and not cut it off? In other words, why did he not cut off the concepts of ri and mi for the monk, for they are really the words of an ancient priest (Sō Jō)? Mumon seems to be protesting to Fuketsu, but he is really spurring us on to open our Dharma eye. If you clearly realize this koan, you will be able to realize perfect freedom and true peace of mind in your daily life. Just try; see if you can say a phrase or some words without using your brain and mouth! There are several koans in the Gateless Gate and Blue Cliff Record which are in this category. The next case in this text, and Cases 70, 71, 72, and 73 in the Blue Cliff Record are similar.
Fuketsu does not speak in his usual style;
Before he says anything, it is already manifested.
If you go on chattering glibly,
You should be ashamed of yourself.
Fuketsu, as a Dharma descendant of Rinzai, is usually very strict in dealing with his disciples. But here he is mildness itself, “. . . where partridges are chirping among hundreds of fragrant blossoms.”
And still these words are superfluous! “Before he says anything, it is already manifested.” All living beings are intrinsically Buddha. Before we move our lips, everyone is bestowed with perfect Buddha nature. What else is necessary?
“If you go on chattering glibly, you should be ashamed of yourself.” Saying such superfluous things as “subject and object are one,” “our essential nature transcends all dualistic concepts,” or “I am thinking of sweet-scented blossoms” is nonsense. You should be ashamed of yourself because you do not seem to have realized your essential nature even a bit!
Now I would like to tell you more about the monk Jō. He was such a talented writer that the then emperor ordered him to leave the monastery and return to lay life to serve as an imperial secretary. Jō refused and was condemned to death. He was only thirty-one years of age. He asked for one week’s reprieve, during which time he wrote the Hōzōron. When it was finished, he calmly submitted to the execution. At the point of death, Jō wrote the following poem:
Four elements have no master from the beginning;
The five skandhas are intrinsically void.
When the neck goes under the sharpest blade,
It is as if you cut through the spring breeze.
The five skandhas (aggregates or elements) are form, sensation, conception, discrimination, and awareness. The opening words of the Prajna Paramita Sutra are: “Avalokitesvara Bodhisattva practicing deep prajna paramita clearly saw emptiness of all the five skandhas, thus completely relieving misfortune and pain.”
Another example of composure in the face of death is Bukkō Kokushi, the founder of Engakuji. His monastery was invaded by soldiers when he was still in China. He was sitting in zazen at the time, and one of the soldiers came up from behind to cut off his head. With great composure, Bukkō composed and recited the following poem:
There is no ground on which to put a single staff;
How happy it is to find both the subject and the object empty.
Of great rarity is the giant sword of Gen,
It is just as if the spring breeze is cut off in a flash of lightning.
The soldier put down his sword and retreated with his accomplices.
I am sure you can see the similarity between the two poems, and I believe that nothing except zazen can give us this composure in the last moment of our life.