The Returning Bird, Lost Its Nest

A lay devotee asked Chan Master Foguang:

"The sutras say that making offerings to hundreds of thousands of buddhas is not as meritorious as making offerings to a single practitioner of no-mind. So what fault do the hundreds of thousands of buddhas have? What merit does the no-mind practitioner possess?"

The master replied in verse:

A single white cloud stretches across the mouth of the valley, and countless returning birds lose their nests.

He explained: it is only because of that single white cloud that the homeward birds lose their way and cannot find their nests. When you make offerings to buddhas, you fixate on something outside yourself and so lose sight of your true nature. Making offerings to a no-mind practitioner, by contrast, is to apply the wisdom of non-discrimination and so transcend everything. The hundreds of thousands of buddhas have no fault, but the no-mind practitioner is the one who can truly know their own nature.

The lay devotee asked again:

"If the temple is already pure, why strike the wooden fish and beat the dharma drum?"

The master replied again in verse:

Send the sound soaring beyond the blue heavens, and you'll never have to face the nodding ones at Dragon Gate.

He explained: there is a deeper meaning behind striking the wooden fish and beating the dharma drum in a pure monastic ground. The wooden fish: fish never close their eyes, even in the water, so the wooden fish serves as a reminder to press on without ever slacking. The drum is beaten to dissolve karmic obstacles and to add merit and blessing. The sound of fish and drum rises far past the clouds—why would one still fall back into the suffering of samsara?

The lay devotee asked once more:

"If one can already practice the Buddhist path at home, why bother taking monastic vows and wearing the robes?"

The master answered once more in verse:

Though the peacock's splendid feathers adorn its body, it cannot fly as high as the wild goose.

He explained: while practice at home is certainly good, it cannot match monastic practice in its single-minded focus. The peacock may be beautiful, but the goose can fly higher.

At last, the doubts in the lay devotee's heart were swept away by Chan Master Foguang.

Some questions, when unresolved, tie the heart in countless knots. But once they are explained, it is like parting the clouds to see the clear sky. Sometimes Chan offers no explanation; sometimes it does—and in either case, the words often seem to have nothing to do with the question. If you can read what lies between the lines, then every word and every gesture, every movement and every silence of the Chan masters is itself Chan.