Smashing the Bones of Empty Space

In his youth, National Teacher Musō traveled a thousand miles to study with Chan Master Issan in Kyoto. One day he went to the abbot's quarters and asked:

"I haven't yet seen into the great matter. Master, please point me directly!"

Issan answered austerely: "In my lineage there are no words or phrases, and no dharma to give to people."

Musō pleaded again and again: "Please, Reverend, show me a compassionate way."

Issan replied even more sternly: "I have no expedient means, nor any compassion."

After several such attempts brought no guidance, Musō thought: Since there's no affinity with this master, staying longer won't lead to awakening either. With tears in his eyes, he took leave of Issan's monastery and went to Manju-ji in Kamakura to call on Chan Master Bukkoku. There he received an even harsher beating with the stick—a tremendous blow to his ardent seeking heart. At last, broken-hearted, he vowed to Bukkoku: "If this disciple doesn't reach the place of great rest, I will never come before you again." He departed and, day and night, held silent communion with nature.

One day he was sitting beneath a tree in the front courtyard, his mind free of all attachments, and didn't notice the night deepening. He went into his hut to sleep. As he lay down, still half-dazed, he mistook an opening for a solid wall, leaned toward it, and tumbled to the ground. In that instant he burst out laughing—and with that laugh, great awakening was complete. With body and mind utterly opened, he spontaneously composed a verse:

For years I dug the earth seeking the blue sky, Only adding layer on layer of things that clogged my breast. One night in the darkness I tossed a broken tile, And casually smashed the bones of empty space.

After his inner eye was clear and bright, Musō went out of gratitude to visit Masters Issan and Bukkoku, presenting what he had seen. Their minds met in tacit accord, and Bukkoku greatly praised him, offering the seal of confirmation at once: "The subtle meaning transmitted from the West—you have now attained it. Guard it well!"

Musō was thirty-one years old at the time.

Chan masters across the ages, East and West, share a common trait: most speak with cold words while harboring compassionate hearts. Master Issan's "no expedient means, no compassion" was itself expedient means, itself compassion. Master Bukkoku's stick and shout were even greater expedient means and greater compassion. Without these two masters, the later National Teacher Musō would never have come to be. Spring breeze and summer rain can make all things grow, yet autumn frost and winter snow bring them to ripen.