The monk then asked, “Are the Buddha and the way somewhat different?”
Baso replied, “The Buddha is like stretching out the hand, the way is like clenching the fist.”
Opening the hand or closing the hand are not two things, although they appear as two. Just let your mind be silent and settled and you have entered into no-mind.
There is no difference. The difference is only of an open hand and a fist. Not much difference, not a difference that can be called difference. But yet, apparently, it is different…but only apparently.
Maneesha is asking:
More than any other understanding of life, Zen is uncompromising. There is no recourse to interesting explanations from the head or moving expressions from the heart. Either you get the experience or you don’t. There is no middle way.
Could you please comment?
Maneesha, there is no way, neither middle nor extreme. Way means distance, and you are already there. I teach you the no-way. Just relax and you are there. You have not taken even a step on any way.
Before we enter into thisness, the bamboos are asking for a few laughters. You cannot be hard on the poor bamboos.
Old Daisy Smith dies, and shows up at the Pearly Gates. She is let in by Saint Peter. “You can just settle down anywhere you want,” he says.
“Well,” says Daisy, “I would like to be with my husband who has been dead for many years.”
“Okay,” replies Peter. “What is his name?”
“John,” she says.
“My God,” cries Peter, “we have here hundreds of John Smiths. Is there anything about him that would set him apart?”
Daisy thinks for a while and then says, “Yes, there is. He told me before he died that if I was ever unfaithful to him, he would turn in his grave.”
“A-ha!” says Peter, “I know him. He is the one we call Whirling Smith.”
Kowalski gets a job at a big sawmill but on the first morning he calls the foreman over to where he is working and says, “Boss, one of my fingers has gone with the saw.”
“Well,” demands the foreman, “what did you do wrong?”