I’ve just heard* from my friend and colleague in the Zen way, Jay Weik, that John Daido Loori, Jay’s former teacher, Zen roshi and abbot of the Mountains and Rivers Zen Order died this morning at nine thirty.
In the Blue Cliff Record, case fifty-five, we get a pointer on this matter. Here’s the case in John Tarrant & Joan Sutherland’s version.
Daowu and Jianyuan went to a house to offer condolences. Jianyuan struck the coffin with his hand and asked, “Alive or dead?”
Daowu said, “I’m not saying alive, I’m not saying dead.”
Jianyuan asked, “Why not?”
Daowu said, “I’m not saying! I’m not saying!”
On the way home, Jianyuan said, “Say something right now, Reverend. If you don’t, I’m going to hit you.”
Daowu said, “You can hit me, but even if you hit me, I’m not saying.” Jianyuan hit him.
After Daowu passed away, Jianyuan went to Shishuang and told him this story.
Shishuang said, “I’m not saying alive, I’m not saying dead.”
Jianyuan asked, “Why not?”
Shishuang said, “I’m not saying! I’m not saying!”
At these words Jianyuan had an insight.
One day Jianyuan took a hoe, went into the teaching hall, and crossed from east to west and back again from west to east.
“What are you doing?” asked Shishuang.
Jianyuan said, “I’m searching for the sacred bones of our late teacher.”
Shishuang said, “Flooding waves are everywhere, whitecaps overwhelm the sky. What sacred bones of our teacher are you looking for?”
(Xuedou’s commentary says: “Heaven help us! Heaven help us!”)
Jianyuan said, “This is just what I need to strengthen me.”
Fu of Taiyuan said, “The sacred bones of the late teacher are still here.”
Perhaps the plain text is confusing.
Perhaps this can point a littler further into the matter…
Coleman Barks, the interpreter of the poet Rumi tells a story about three Taoist sages who taught the way by going into a village to its center and then laughing. Eventually one of them died. People were of course curious how the two survivors would handle the rough fact of death.
The dead man had left some instructions, however, that guided what they would do. His instructions included not prettifying the the body, no preparation in particular, well, except one. He had told his friends to pack his pockets and pants and shirt with firecrackers and then to put the body on the funeral pyre…
Finding the sacred bones of the late teacher…
Lighting the fire and watch the action…
Zazen…
Dancing…
Exploding firecrackers…
Life…
Death…
One thing.
Bows in all the ten directions.
* and soon after from several other friends…
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