OUR BELOVED MASTER,

KYOZAN ONCE RETURNED TO ISAN TO INTERVIEW HIM. ISAN SAID TO HIM, "YOU ARE NOW CALLED A GOOD AND CLEVER TEACHER. HOW CAN YOU DISTINGUISH BETWEEN THOSE WHO COME FROM ALL PARTS AND KNOW IT, AND THOSE WHO DON'T KNOW IT; THE MASTERS WHO HAVE INHERITED IT, AND THOSE WHO HAVE NOT; THE PROFOUND LEARNING, AND THE MEANING LEARNING? EXPLAIN AND LET ME HEAR."

KYOZAN REPLIED, "KYOZAN HAS HAD THIS EXPERIENCE. WHEN MONKS COME FROM ALL DIRECTIONS, HE RAISES HIS STICK, AND ASKS THEM IF THIS IS EXPOUNDED WHERE THEY COME FROM OR NOT. FURTHER, HE SAYS TO THEM, LEAVING THIS ASIDE, `WHAT ARE THE OLD MASTERS WHERE YOU COME FROM TEACHING?'"

ISAN ADMIRED HIM AND SAID, "THIS HAS ALWAYS BEEN THE CLAW AND FANG OF OUR SECT."

Maneesha, the silence here is so dense, one feels a little afraid even to utter a word. It may disturb the silent lake of your consciousness. But always remember that in the wake of words, silence is deepened. The higher the mountain, the greater will be the valley surrounding it. A great mountain cannot have a small valley. There is a tremendous balance in everything as far as nature is concerned.

The essential Zen is an effort to bring you to the language of existence that you have forgotten completely. You have forgotten completely the most important, and you are filled in your mind with all kinds of gibberish.

You may know, you may not know, that gibberish is not an English word. It comes from Persia, the old name of Iran, and it comes from a very mystical person, Jabbar, because he never spoke anything relevant. Not only was it irrelevant, there was no grammar, there were no words at all, but only sounds. Because of Jabbar, the name `gibberish' came into existence.

But Jabbar was saying something through his gibberish. He was saying, "All that we can say about existence is gibberish." He was very much in tune with existence.

It seems unbelievable that he had one thousand disciples. Sitting by his side, when he was silent they would be silent; when he would go into gibberish, they would go into gibberish -- and nearabout twenty-five people became enlightened. Not a word was said by Jabbar, nothing was heard by anybody.

You cannot write a treatise on Jabbar because he never spoke anything except gibberish. But he was a radiant man, a man who had come to flowering, whose spring had come, and who was not afraid to be vulnerable and open and receptive. He went along with the wind.

Zen has done the same from a different angle, but you must be aware of the fact that any authentic master -- to whatever age, to whatever country he belongs -- is not interested in preaching you a doctrine. His interest is to bring you in communion, in balance with the reality that surrounds you.

Zen has used many methods never known before. You cannot conceive in a Greek context the validity of any method of Zen. Even Socrates and Plato would have been at a loss if they had met Bodhidharma or Jabbar.

I always think what a hilarious meeting it would be: Jabbar meeting Socrates. Socrates was so logical, so rational. His honesty was exactly the same as Jabbar's; he was ready to risk his life for his truth, but still he did not rise, until the last moment of his life, to enlightenment. The day he dropped all knowledge, all wisdom, the day he dropped language as such, that very moment a tremendous silence descended upon him. And those of you who are slowly slowly moving towards the great experience will become aware of it -- not because I say so, but because you experience it so.

How can you say anything about the tremendous silence that is here now? Our minds are preventing us... our minds are taking us away from the very center of our being. The mind is not interested at all in an interior exploration. It is absolutely committed to the outside and the objective.

Before I talk about Isan's sutra... because this sutra will be the last of this series and also this sutra is the last of Isan's life. This sutra ends exactly at the time Isan dies.

The death of a person indicates how he has lived, whether he has lived at all or not. You may be believing that you are living, but don't be so certain.

Every madman in all the madhouses in the world believes absolutely that he is not mad. He wonders why people consider him to be mad. Slowly slowly he comes to the conclusion that the world is mad: "Poor fellows, they cannot understand my state."

A man who had been crazy all his life went beyond the boundary. Small trips beyond the mind can be tolerated, but he went a little too far; he started saying that "I am dead."

Everybody laughed, everybody said, "This is too much. You have already been doing great things.... And how can you be dead? -- you are speaking!"

He said, "So what? Dead people speak."

They told him, "You are walking, you are eating, you are sleeping."

He said, "That does not prove that I am alive. That simply proves that I am vegetating. But as far as my deadness is concerned... I am absolutely certain."

They took the man finally to a psychoanalyst. The psychoanalyst said to the family, "Don't be worried. It will take a little time. You leave him with me. He has to come for a one hour session twice a week."

All this time, the madman who had now become dead was smiling.

The first question the psychoanalyst asked him was, "Why are you smiling?"

He said, "Strange... a single man is alive amongst a group who are all dead. But just to convince themselves that they are alive, they are trying to convince me that `You are also alive' -- and I have never seen anything living in me."

The psychoanalyst was at a loss himself, because this was an absolutely new case. He had never dealt with dead people, but he figured out a way. He took a knife and cut the madman's finger. Blood started coming out. The psychoanalyst said, "Have you ever heard that dead men don't bleed?"

The man said, "Yes. While I was alive I heard this saying."

The psychoanalyst felt great pride, but the madman said, "Don't be proud. It does not prove that I am not dead. It only proves that the proverb is wrong. Dead men do bleed. I am an example, a living example!"

After two, three sessions, the psychoanalyst was continuously thinking about the man. And slowly slowly a doubt started arising in him, "If somebody asks me to prove it, how am I going to prove that I am alive?"

That night he could not sleep. Next day was his session. He said to the man, "I will not charge you anything, but please leave me alone. You can find some other psychoanalyst -- they are a rupee a dozen -- because I am becoming suspicious about my own life. Rather than convincing you that you are dead, you are by and by convincing me that who knows? -- I may have died! Perhaps I am dreaming that I am alive."

What proof have you that you are not dreaming?

Death is the criterion in the tradition of Zen. How a man dies proves whether he has lived or not. Only a living man can die; you cannot afford to die if you have not lived.

I have heard about a great scholar. He became aware that he was alive only when he was dead. Then suddenly he realized, "My God! I used to be alive, and I never took any notice of it."

Particularly in Zen, the masters show the highest peaks of consciousness. Death is the criterion. If you can die gracefully, blissfully, almost dancingly, that proves that you have lived, and you have lived so deeply that you know that death is only the changing of the house.

KYOZAN ONCE RETURNED TO ISAN TO INTERVIEW HIM.

You will be surprised... That is another speciality in Zen, that disciples come to interview the master -- nowhere else. But Zen is very playful. Its playfulness is so deep that it takes nothing seriously.

KYOZAN ONCE RETURNED TO ISAN TO INTERVIEW HIM. ISAN SAID TO HIM, "YOU ARE NOW CALLED A GOOD AND CLEVER TEACHER. HOW CAN YOU DISTINGUISH BETWEEN THOSE WHO COME FROM ALL PARTS AND KNOW IT, AND THOSE WHO DON'T KNOW IT; THE MASTERS WHO HAVE INHERITED IT, AND THOSE WHO HAVE NOT; THE PROFOUND LEARNING, AND THE MEANING LEARNING. EXPLAIN AND LET ME HEAR."

KYOZAN REPLIED, "KYOZAN HAS HAD THIS EXPERIENCE. WHEN MONKS COME FROM ALL DIRECTIONS, HE RAISES HIS STICK, AND ASKS THEM IF THIS IS EXPOUNDED WHERE THEY COME FROM OR NOT. FURTHER, HE SAYS TO THEM, LEAVING THIS ASIDE, `WHAT ARE THE OLD MASTERS WHERE YOU COME FROM TEACHING?'"

ISAN ADMIRED HIM AND SAID, "THIS HAS ALWAYS BEEN THE CLAW AND FANG OF OUR SECT."

A few things to be noted.

Kyozan succeeded Isan. But to interview the master before he became enlightened shows his daringness, his courage. And it also shows the grace and greatness of Isan that he did not object to it: "You don't know anything about it, and you are trying to interview me?"

But without saying it, if you look at the whole thing, it becomes just the opposite. It is an interview not of Isan by Kyozan, but an interview by Isan of Kyozan. He did not say anything to hurt him, he did not reject the interview or say that "You are not of the quality yet; you have not experienced your innermost core." Rather than rejecting, Isan accepts it and starts the interview himself.

KYOZAN REPLIED, "KYOZAN HAS HAD THIS EXPERIENCE..." because Isan has asked, "How do you teach people? And how do you know whether somebody knows or not? whether somebody is a master or only a pretender?" And Kyozan has forgotten completely that he has come to interview Isan, and he is being interviewed -- the craftsmanship of a great master.

KYOZAN REPLIED, "KYOZAN HAS HAD THIS EXPERIENCE. WHEN MONKS COME FROM ALL DIRECTIONS, HE RAISES HIS STICK, AND ASKS THEM IF THIS IS EXPOUNDED..."

He is not asking about the stick, he is raising the stick to indicate "thisness." Are you coming from a master who has explained to you "thisness," the present moment of splendor, the great moment of being nobody? -- because a master never hits a disciple unless a disciple is really able to be awakened by a single hit.

Kyozan said, "WHEN MONKS COME FROM ALL DIRECTIONS, HE RAISES HIS STICK, AND ASKS THEM IF THIS IS EXPOUNDED WHERE THEY COME FROM OR NOT. FURTHER, HE SAYS TO THEM, LEAVING THIS ASIDE, `WHAT ARE THE OLD MASTERS WHERE YOU COME FROM TEACHING?'"

In fact, if you have found a master you have found your home; there is nowhere to go. Or wherever you go you will find your master and nobody else.

When Gautam Buddha became enlightened his first words were strange: "Not only I am enlightened, the whole existence is enlightened with me. This music, this music of silence, soundless, these flowers, invisible, falling all over the place -- I was just keeping my eyes closed. Today my eyes are open, but that does not make me superior. From the smallest blade of grass to the greatest star everything is in blissfulness."

Man has created only one thing: misery for himself and misery for others. We are great creators of misery. If someday nothing terrible happens to you, that day is wasted -- something terrible so that you can talk about it, rejoice about it, some great tragedy. People don't like to see comedies, people like to see tragedies.

When there is a war going on, everybody gets up early in the morning to find the newspaper, what is happening. Everybody looks fresh; something terrible is happening, so many thousands of people are dying. We have become so accustomed to tragedy, and comedy seems to be tasteless.

When you have found a master, you have found him. You can remain, you can go, but the master has settled in your heart.

Those who go on and on are simply indicating that they have not found the man who makes your heart dance. They have not clicked with somebody. They have not found a man of presence who engulfs you with love and joy, compassion and light, life and love, beauty and truth, and all that is divine in existence. Unless you have seen those two eyes in which all that is divine reflects, you have to go on in the hope that somewhere you may find.

But remember always, because you can miss a real master, that you have to be absolutely receptive, utterly open, with no doors closed, with no windows closed. The fresh breeze comes with great fragrance, the coolness of it... the perfume of it is always available; just your doors were closed.

So if you don't find a master, don't think that there is no master. First, begin to see: Are you able to receive a master? Is your heart open? Is not your mind burdened with many kind of prejudices?

What are all your religions except prejudices? No man of intelligence can depend on birth; birth is accidental. You are born a Hindu, that does not make you a Hindu. You are born a Mohammedan, that does not make you a Mohammedan. Such a great phenomenon as religion cannot be left hanging on the accidental phenomenon of birth. You have to choose it. You have to find it. Everybody has to go into deeper search.

ISAN ADMIRED HIM....

Remember, admiration is not the real appreciation of a master. If Isan had given him a good slap, or a good stick, that would have been appreciation.

Our stickholder -- because I am a lazy man, I cannot carry the stick -- has come from Germany. Just show your stick and hit poor Maneesha! (NISKRIYA TAKES THE STICK AND TAPS MANEESHA ON THE HEAD. IT MAKES A LOUD, SHARP CLICK.)

Good!

ISAN ADMIRED HIM AND SAID, "THIS HAS ALWAYS BEEN THE CLAW AND FANG OF OUR SECT."

Seeing that Kyozan would not understand, he is not yet ripe, Isan avoided the stick.

ISAN TAUGHT FOR OVER FORTY YEARS DURING WHICH TIME HE GATHERED INNUMERABLE DISCIPLES. ON FEBRUARY 20TH, 853, HE WENT THROUGH A RITUAL ABLUTION, SEATED HIMSELF IN THE MEDITATION POSTURE AND, SMILING, DIED AT THE AGE OF EIGHTY-THREE. HIS STUPA WAS ERECTED ON MOUNT KUEI, HOME OF HIS MONASTERY.

THE EMPEROR GAVE HIM THE POSTHUMOUS TITLE TA YUAN (GREAT PERFECTION).

Isan must have worked hard in polishing an ordinary stone into a diamond. The whole glory and credit goes to Isan. He turned an ordinary man into a great perfection.

Kyozan does not show much insight, intelligence, meditativeness, but it is the compassion of the master to do his best. Forty years he worked on Kyozan. It is a long time, but for compassion neither time means anything nor space means anything. Isan succeeded in bringing him home.

I am reminded of a great emperor who dreamed one night that a great black shadow was standing before him. With trembling hands and throbbing heart, he asked, "Who are you?"

The shadow said, "That we will discuss later on. I have come to inform you that tomorrow evening as the sun will be setting you will die." And the shadow disappeared, and with the shadow the sleep also disappeared.

The king was perspiring. He called the attendant. In the middle of the night all the astrologers, palmists, prophets were called to interpret the dream: What does it mean?

They started looking in their great scriptures, "Is there any precedent?" There was no precedent at all, because death never informs anybody; it just comes without even knocking on your door.

The sun was rising. The old attendant of the emperor, who was almost like his father -- because his mother died early, and his father was so much engaged in wars that he had given the small child to this old servant to take care of... The servant had taken care perfectly, so although he was a servant, the emperor almost respected him like a father. He was a substitute father.

The old servant came close to him and said, "I am not a scholar, I am not an astrologer, and I am not an alchemist. I don't know anything about these great things. One thing I know: that you should not stay in this palace. Take our best horse and move as fast and far from the capital as possible. If possible enter into another kingdom.

"And as far as these scholars are concerned, they have never come to any conclusion -- never! They discuss and discuss and every argument leads to another argument, but in the end the hands are empty. So let them discuss. You should not wait, because once the sun has started rising, the setting will not be too far away. In the rising sun itself, the setting of the sun is intrinsic."

It appealed... so he left without saying anything to the great scholars, leaving them to confute each other and fight and argue. He took his best Arabian horse, told the horse, "We have to reach as far away as possible. It is a very critical moment." Horses and their lovers have a certain way of communicating, just as dogs have a certain way of communicating.

The horse started with full speed. They never stopped for a single moment even to drink water or to eat something. They were happy that before the sun set they had crossed the kingdom; they had reached into another kingdom.

Outside the kingdom there was a great mango grove. The sun was already setting, and the king thanked the horse. He said, "I had no idea that you could go so fast. I knew that you were one of the greatest horses, but this speed..."

And just at that moment he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked behind him and saw the same black shadow. The black shadow said to the horse, "I was also worried whether you would be able to come this great a distance or not, because the emperor is destined to die in this mango grove. I never inform people, there is no need. The need arose because the distance was so great, and there was no reason for him to leave the palace and to come to this mango grove. Just as the emperor is grateful to you, I am also grateful."

A beautiful story, but some deeper approach is needed.

Mind always takes you far away. The servant was perfectly intelligent, rational -- far more intelligent than those so-called scholars. But mind is mind.

If an enlightened master had been there, he would have said, "It is time enough; you just go in. No horse is needed, you don't have to move a single inch outside. Just go in and there is no death. Death exists only for those who live their lives in the outside world. To those who have known their innermost core, death is just a shadow. It has no solidity, no substance, no reality."

But Isan continued to teach Kyozan for over forty years.

Enlightenment can happen in this very moment. It depends on your urgency, totality. Time is not a question, neither is causality. Nothing is needed for it to happen, because it is already there; you only have to turn your vision to look inside.

For forty-two years, Isan, a great compassionate master, worked on Kyozan, and finally managed for an almost dead man to become a buddha.

Isan's stupa -- stupa is the Buddhist word for a memorial -- still exists on Mount Kuei where after his enlightenment he established his monastery.

Certainly he must have been enlightened; his death shows it.

ON FEBRUARY 20TH, 853, HE WENT THROUGH A RITUAL ABLUTION, SEATED HIMSELF IN THE MEDITATION POSTURE AND, SMILING, DIED AT THE AGE OF EIGHTY-THREE. HIS STUPA WAS ERECTED ON MOUNT KUEI, HOME OF HIS MONASTERY.

THE EMPEROR GAVE HIM THE POSTHUMOUS TITLE TA YUAN (GREAT PERFECTION).

Soseki wrote:

ONCE IN A THOUSAND YEARS

THE UDUMBARA BLOSSOMS...

Udumbara is a metaphorical tree.

ONCE IN A THOUSAND YEARS

THE UDUMBARA BLOOMS.

IT HAS OPENED ITS AUSPICIOUS FLOWERS.

MANY LABORED TO BRING IT

FROM INDIA TO CHINA.

ITS HEADY FRAGRANCE LINGERS,

WITHOUT FADING,

AND IS NOT LOST

AMONG THE THOUSAND GRASSES,

THE COUNTLESS WEEDS.

The same fragrance reached to its crescendo in Japan.

Anybody who realizes the fact of his being a buddha becomes the flower that blossoms once in thousands of years. And even if the body of the buddha dies, the fragrance remains. Those who have the right sensitivity can smell even this moment Gautam Buddha or Bodhidharma.