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albert

Laughter Through the Tears

"Kosho Uchiyama Roshi on Life as a Zen Beggar"

Introduction by Daitsu Tom Wright and Jisho Warner

Kosho Uchiyama Roshi was one of the great Zen masters of the twentieth century. He centered his life on zazen, and, at his temple Antaiji, on the outskirts of Kyoto, he taught a life of the highest culture to everyone who wanted to practice with him, monk and lay, Japanese and foreigner.

For Uchiyama Roshi, leading a truly rich spiritual life meant leading a life grounded in zazen and following a lifestyle of material minimalism. He did not see material simplicity as some sort of asceticism, but he often spoke to his disciples and followers of the importance of never being afraid or ashamed of material poverty. He saw how the very abundance that people seek confuses them and becomes the cause of so much suffering.

Uchiyama Roshi came to Antaiji shortly after the end of the Second World War, in poor health, but not having been a soldier. From the late 1940’s through most of the 1950’s, he lived a bare-bones life of zazen and takuhatsu—takuhatsu being the Japanese Zen term for the begging rounds that a monk undertakes to sustain himself and his monastery. He was a Soto Zen priest, but an iconoclast within the school who cared only for practicing and transmitting true dharma.

In the 1960’s and 1970’s, Uchiyama Roshi no longer needed to do takuhatsu. He became the abbot of Antaiji and led a practice of intensive zazen and sesshins, and he lectured and wrote extensively. In his later years, after retiring from Antaiji, he continued to write, more poetry than prose, as he explored what it was like to be at the farthest reaches of a long life.

Through his long and distinguished life, Uchiyama Roshi was a true man of Zen, who guided and inspired a great many people. According to him, the religious life was the most refined and distilled practice of life for human beings. He felt it was imperative to bring this understanding to the United States, both because we need it badly here and because he thought we would be receptive to it.

The following is an excerpt from an essay Uchiyama Roshi wrote in the late 1960’s on his life of mendicancy in Kyoto. He called it Nakiwarai no Takuhatsu, “The Takuhatsu of Laughter Through the Tears.” Roshi said that one reason he wrote Laughter Through the Tears was to thank all the people in Kyoto who had supported him during those difficult post-war years of his practice.

Uchiyama Roshi suffered from the effects of tuberculosis throughout his life. On March 13, 1998, at the age of eighty-six, he passed away quietly at his home at Noke-in Hermitage, in Kohata, a suburb of Kyoto. He is much missed, but his wisdom and great heart live on.

—Daitsu Tom Wright & Jisho Warner

The famous Japanese Zen monk Ryokan lived by takuhatsu and wrote about it in his poems. Picture a warm spring day, the flowers in full bloom, the warblers singing away, and beautiful butterflies flitting here and there. That surely must have been the setting for Ryokan’s walks through country villages from one farmhouse to the next. Children ran in delight to greet their familiar playmate. Ryokan, always happy to see the children, would put down his bowl and join in the children’s games. Poor Ryokan, the day would pass quickly while he was absorbed in the games with the children, completely unaware that all his rice was being eaten by the sparrows.

The deep resonating sound of a nearby temple bell would announce the end of the day. The light of the early evening moon shone brightly after all the children had gone home. Ryokan would feel a tinge of loneliness and head toward his own grass hut. Suddenly, he’d turn and run back to the village where he vaguely remembered having left his bowl hours before.

Just picturing Ryokan all flustered returning to the village to fetch the bowl can’t help but bring a smile to my face.

Of course, I would have liked my takuhatsu to have been that sort of idyllic, simple kind, too. Unfortunately, the reality of my life of takuhatsu was anything but that. In fact, it was the extreme opposite of the idyllic, simple takuhatsu lifestyle. If you go out on takuhatsu and can do so with the attitude of “Well, if people put something in my bowl, that’s fine, and if they don’t that’s okay, too,” then you can say that your takuhatsu is ideal with no complications. However, I was unable to do that. I was dead serious about it, and I couldn’t hide my feelings. As long as I was going out, I felt I just had to bring home a certain amount of money—I had my quota to fill. Not only that, I felt I had to do it in the most efficient way, because I needed to get back to the temple as quickly as possible. So my story becomes even more pathetic.

It wasn’t because I wanted to take a rest that I desired to get right back to the temple. Rather, besides takuhatsu, I had a lot of other work to do that made my going out all the more important. Knowing how much work was waiting for me at the temple, there was no way I could ever feel that what I was doing was in any way “spiritually uplifting.” But everyone in the world has feelings of being pursued, and of living from hand to mouth. I am not talking about my present-day life. The period I’m talking about began in the summer of 1949, when I first arrived in Kyoto, and lasted until the spring of 1962. That is, from the age of thirty-seven until I reached fifty. So, perhaps because there is a certain amount of distance between those days and my life now, I am able to talk about the sweetness and bitterness of takuhatsu.

The lifestyle of takuhatsu
Once you start down the path of poverty, there seems to be no limit to how far down you can go. I had been prepared for it by the life I led during the war prior to settling at Antaiji. In 1949, when I first began going out on takuhatsu in Kyoto, the emotion and poverty of the war years had not yet subsided. In that kind of economically difficult environment, the number of fellow practitioners diminished greatly. Finally, there were only two of us left at Antaiji, the leaf-flute artist Yokoyama Sodo and me. On top of that, Antaiji had deteriorated so badly during the war that Sodo had to go out on takuhatsu for funds to refurbish the broken-down temple, while I went around on takuhatsu to supply us with food and also to cover sesshin expenses.

I was not only going out on takuhatsu, I also had to take care of the vegetable garden and fertilize it, cut and chop the wood for cooking and heating the bath, plus make our pickle supply, weed and keep up the grounds, clean the temple, and so forth. Also, I prepared three meals a day, and if I didn’t go out on takuhatsu, I had my laundry to do.

So, obviously, I couldn’t blithely go out on takuhatsu like Ryokan and enjoy playing with the children along the way. Far from it, I had to keep my mind on how to juggle doing takuhatsu and caring for the temple. I had to figure out how to cut corners everywhere to get a little extra time for zazen and study. Being careless with even one piece of firewood meant that I would have to take that much more time to chop and cut up wood. Or, if I left a light on needlessly, that meant I had to go out on takuhatsu to pay for it. Cutting back on needless expenditures was absolutely critical for the kind of frugal life we were leading.

Our life was always on the edge. Whenever Sawaki Roshi came back to Antaiji to lead sesshin, I wanted to have a special treat of lotus root on his tray for him. I would go to the market to get some and not have the few yen the greengrocer asked for. Here was this forty-year-old adult having to say, “Oh, my God, if it is going to cost me that much, I will take something else!” We were really in a pitiable state. If I had had a wife and family to take care of, I would have broken down completely. Fortunately, I was single then. Needless to say, in those days I was never able to purchase any new clothing, such as robes. Actually, from the time the war began in 1941, I was never able to buy any new clothing, and everything I had was tattered. Even the covering on my futon was all torn up. Going to bed was like covering myself with the cotton padding that’s inside futons. If I got sick for a couple days and had to rest, my whole room seemed to be awash in dust balls of cotton.

Old newspapers served as toilet paper. Our washcloths looked like some sort of netting, since I used them far beyond the point where they resembled washcloths. Even though they only cost ten or fifteen yen at the time, I couldn’t afford new ones.

I did have one bad habit that I just couldn’t give up—smoking. I would collect half-smoked cigarettes left behind by guests and smoke the tobacco in long reedlike pipes—pretty despicable, I admit.

In those days, Antaiji looked gruesome. The tatami in my room were completely torn up, with straw popping out of them here and there. And the floor joists supporting the tatami were as soft as cushions. Twice I fell right through the floor. I just took a couple of orange crates that were lying around and used them to prop up the joists. The normally white-papered shoji looked like a patchwork quilt with slips of paper pasted over the holes. But what could I do? I had neither the money nor the time to make any proper repairs.

Antaiji was truly a dreary and desolate place in those days. This made it imperative that I put all my energy into takuhatsu. Although it would seem to be nothing more than walking around shouting, “Ho~~~!” when you go out on takuhatsu, you are risking your life. One little mistake in judgment and you’re liable to find yourself sprawled out on the street, having been hit by a car, with one-yen coins scattered all around.

Moreover, the emotional burden is incredible. When an able-bodied male is just walking around begging for money, people look at him with contempt. Enduring that look is far more difficult than enduring some half-baked job. And in the end, the amount received is barely a pittance. Besides that, while the monk on takuhatsu is the very last person to receive any material benefits when times are good, he is the very first to feel any economic downturn. By the mid-1950’s, people mostly thought the war was completely behind them, but for people like us, the war was barely over.

Occasionally, on late autumn days, Sodo and I would trudge back to the temple as the sun was going down and see a praying mantis clinging to the shoji along the west side of the building. The mantises, themselves yellowish brown in color, looked like withered leaves. They would be warming themselves in the last rays of the day. The mantis finishes laying its eggs in late September, and from then until about the middle of November, it seems to search out a warm spot, sitting there through chilling winds and showers as though just waiting for the end to come.

I always got a lump in my throat when I came across a praying mantis in the late fall. With all worldly connections cut off, just living the whole of its life by itself, breathing in and out and clinging there, not moving, waiting for death—somehow the image of that mantis at a dilapidated temple at the end of autumn was equally a picture of us. Sodo, too, must have been deeply moved by this, because he composed the following verse.

Autumn mantis clinging

to the white paper I glued to the shoji

where did it come from and where did it go?

These sad and lonely thoughts came and went in our hearts, but it isn’t really right to use the plural “in our hearts” here. Each of us had to bear his own life, in his own heart. Sodo was living out his life, and I was living out mine. We were side by side in this life at Antaiji, and at the same time, each of us was completely alone. Such thoughts came and went for each of us. They were part of the scenery of Sodo’s life of shikantaza, just as they were for me.

Precisely because takuhatsu was a part of our overall life, which centered around sitting zazen, it was a life of entrusting our lives to the bowl completely. If there had been no zazen and only begging, my life would have been nothing more than a pitiable life of poverty.

Kyoto’s other mendicants
Many of the major Rinzai training monasteries in Japan, like Daitokuji, Myoshinji, and Nanzenji are located in Kyoto. The monks go out on takuhatsu through the streets of the city, all of them carrying bags around their necks with the name of the monastery clearly written on the front of it. Occasionally, when I stopped in front of a shop, some woman would come out and ask politely, “Oh, are you from Myoshinji?” “No,” I would reply, “I’m from Antaiji.” Suddenly, the bright, friendly smile would disappear from her face, and with a very skeptical eye, she would look me up and down and deftly place a one-yen coin in my bowl instead of the ten-yen coin she had been preparing to give me. At times like that, I felt so wretched. Going out on takuhatsu from Antaiji was not like selling some famous brand name or reputation. I was often treated more like an ordinary beggar than a religious mendicant.

One thing people out on takuhatsu cannot abide are all the other people plying the trade. Among the beneficiaries of begging are, first of all, those monks and nuns from the “brand name” monasteries. Then there are monks wearing picturesque pointy hats and carrying a staff with metal rings on top that jingle as they walk around, or the Nichiren monks pounding their drums. And then there are the goeika Buddhist hymn singers walking around. I mustn’t leave out the mendicants of the Zen Fuke sect, playing the shakuhachi (traditional bamboo flute) as they go around wearing the special straw hat that covers their head and face completely, plus the yamabushi, the itinerant mountain hermits. And, last but not least, there is the ordinary garden-variety beggar. I once heard from one of the shop owners that on average five groups a day passed by looking for a handout. It follows that the first ones who come will get the best donations. That means the first fellow might get twenty yen, the second, five yen, and by the last one, it’s down to one yen—if he or she is lucky—or perhaps nothing more than a “Get lost!” Just in terms of human emotions, this is understandable behavior.

One day I went to Yamashina for takuhatsu. I used what little money I had to get there on the electric train. When I got off the train, I took the side streets first, saving the best street for last. But just as I turned the corner to start down Plum Street, lo and behold, a mendicant playing the shakuhachi came toward me from the opposite direction. He had obviously just finished making a stupendous haul! I felt just awful. To rub salt in the wound, the monk stopped in front of me and, with the utmost composure, said, “Pardon me for going first,” and continued on his way. Inside, I wanted to shout, “You rat, I’ve been saving this street for last!” But I took one look at his proud, smirking face and the whole situation suddenly seemed so absurdly funny to me that I gave him a forced smile and bowed back. I suppose you could call that a sort of unwritten etiquette among mendicants.

Takuhatsu neurosis
I had some experience of takuhatsu before I moved to Antaiji, when I lived in temples out in the countryside. There were several of us going out together just once or twice a month, so the atmosphere was more like going on an outing; and besides, it wasn’t as if our lives depended on it.

In Kyoto, my situation was totally different. Antaiji had absolutely no other income, and it was a burden to set out alone, knowing that I had to bring back a certain amount, and on top of that, knowing that the amount was not really much. I had to go out every day that it didn’t rain, so it didn’t take long before everyone in town seemed to know my face.

Once my face became familiar, shopkeepers would give me an “Oh, God, here he comes again” look. And I would show a “Hi, well, here I am again” look. After a while, I started becoming not only depressed, but also totally intimidated.

Just before going out for the day, I would imagine the street I was about to go down, and very clearly in my mind, I could picture the tobacconist on the corner and the barber shop next door, then the sweet cake shop, and the hardware store, and beyond that the fishmonger. I would imagine everyone giving me the “Oh no, not that guy again” look, and I would start feeling truly dark and gloomy. Once I reached the street, without stopping to think about it, I would start walking and muttering under my breath, “Namu Kanzeon Bosatsu, Namu Kanzeon Bosatsu”—“I take refuge in you, Bodhisattva Avalokitesvara.”

At last I would arrive at the intended street, and, sure enough, the street was laid out just as I had pictured it in my mind, and, sure enough, I would begin to feel depressed. I found myself standing in front of the first house, intoning the takuhatsu greeting, “Ho~~~” in the most timid of voices. And, sure enough, the woman would come out of her house and give me that disgusted look I knew she would, and blurt out, “Move along, there, you’re blocking the way.” I’d get more depressed and shuffle along to the next door. Just as I expected, the man there shouted at me without any mercy, “Hit the road, buster!” My voice would get even tinier as I stepped up to the next shop. Another lady would come out and, with a disgusted air, toss a measly one-yen bill into my bowl as though she didn’t really want to but felt obligated. I began to almost cower in front of every house, and after taking a quick glance at the owner, I’d move on to the next place without looking back or even intoning the usual takuhatsu greeting.

So there I was, faced with a dilemma of having to go out every day because I had to bring in so much money just to survive, while at the same time, I was walking through the streets of the city with virtually no money coming in. So, while going out every day walking my feet off from morning till night, I really began to develop a neurosis.

Three years after I came to Kyoto and began going out on takuhatsu on a daily basis, I reached this impasse. It took three years to become a thoroughly familiar face. And then, though I received grudging recognition as a monk, people still seemed to see me as “that guy in the begging business.” At any rate, I had convinced myself that people were looking at me in that way. And there I was, just going through the motions with almost nothing being dropped into my bowl. This kind of takuhatsu neurosis continued for about a year.

Although this may seem like an overblown way of putting it, to get over my neurosis regarding takuhatsu, it was necessary for me to become personally aware of my religious mission to society as a mendicant priest. Even during that period when I was personally depressed and feeling terribly intimidated and there was so little coming into my bowl, the people of Kyoto did donate something to support me, despite the fact that in those days most people would look around for the cheapest place to buy an eggplant, even just to save one sen. During my entire life of practice, I was supported entirely by the people of Kyoto, although it used to puzzle me what motivated the local folk to put money in the bowl of a monk out on takuhatsu in the first place.

One day I was taking a lunch break in the confines of Toji Temple. As we always had rice gruel for breakfast at Antaiji, it was not practical to prepare a lunch of leftover breakfast, so I usually bought a couple of rolls. I often ate on the grounds of a temple or shrine, or in a temple cemetery. Nowadays, the grounds at Toji are all fenced off, and they charge money just to get in. But in those days, there were no fences or places that collected entrance fees, and Toji was an ideal place to rest and eat a roll or two. Pigeons would approach, and I’d break off a little of the bread I was eating and share it with them. Watching them eat the few crumbs I tossed somehow cheered me up, particularly during the period when I was so depressed about going out in the first place. At some point, if I knew I would be stopping off at Toji, I got into the habit of buying an extra roll to share with the pigeons. As I was feeding the pigeons one day, I realized that I, too, was one of the pigeons of Kyoto. When the pigeons came around, people would want to feed them if they had any bread leftover, simply out of human sentiment. In the same way, if some monk happens to stop in front of your house, you might think that another one of those pigeons has come around, and you open the door and toss one or two yen into his bowl, just as you would toss bread to the birds. I realized that in a sense, I had to behave and appear attractive just like one of those Toji pigeons.

One wave at a time
It’s a fairy tale to think that once we have attained deep faith, or have had some great enlightenment experience, our whole life will be one joyous delight after another and all sadness will be swept away, so that all we can see is paradise. Living a life of true reality, experiencing an ongoing restlessness with alternate moments of joy and sadness, there has to be a settling into one’s life in a much deeper place, where you face whatever comes up. Likewise, true religious teaching is not a denial of our day-to-day predicaments; it is not cleverly glossing over reality, or feigning happiness. On the contrary, true religious teaching has to be able to show us how we can swim through one wave at a time—that is, those waves of laughter, tears, prosperity, or adversity.

Studying and practicing the buddhadharma is neither a kind of academic exercise to be carried out only after your livelihood has been secured, nor some sort of zazen performed when circumstances are favorable. I was forced to search out what true religion is when I was not unlike a stray dog, always badgered by anxieties over daily life, having to pick up whatever scraps I could.

As long as we are alive, there will always be fortunate things and unfortunate things happening in our lives. Inevitably, we go through times of utter collapse as well. Frequently during that period prior to throwing off my takuhatsu neurosis, there were days when one person after another would tell me to go away.

When we settle in the attitude that whichever way our life falls we feel grateful, we can feel the varying textures of fortune and misfortune in terms of joy and bitterness during the day’s walk. If we look at humankind from a long view of billions of years, this animal called Homo sapiens is nothing more than a single existence that suddenly appeared in this universe and will leave it without a trace. A single day in the life of this very small human species is just one tiny joy, one minute of bitterness. Without an attitude that whatever happens is OK, we are going to wind up neurotic. Still, even though whatever may happen is OK, if you do not apply any businesslike principle to your activities, even to one like takuhatsu, you will end up a fool. Going the Middle Way between the neurotic and the fool is precisely what doing takuhatsu is about.

Why go out on takuhatsu?
Most of the stories I have related here about takuhatsu don’t sound very religious, so I would like to close on a slightly more serious note about why takuhatsu is a vital activity for a person who chooses to live out genuine religious teachings.

During all the years I went out on takuhatsu, this was always a fundamental question: Why go out? As I’ve said before, takuhatsu is a kind of donation collection. There is no merchandise, no product or gift to offset the donation. It is just walking around accepting charity. Because of that, if I had been unable to totally accept myself as a beggar, I would have continued to suffer emotionally. Many times, especially when I was neurotic about it, I thought how much easier it would be if I at least had something to exchange, like a door-to-door salesman. I thought of giving up and doing some kind of part-time work. On the other hand, I thought of all the truly religious figures in Buddhist history, beginning with Shakyamuni, who lived by takuhatsu, and the Christians in the Middle Ages, like the Franciscans and Dominicans, who also lived by takuhatsu. I thought there might be a crucial relationship between takuhatsu and religion that I could never really know. If there were some intrinsic reason why a person aspiring to live out a religious life should do takuhatsu, what could it be? Ten years passed as I thought about this.

It was just at the end of that period that I read a book about the scientists who developed the atomic bomb that laid waste to Hiroshima and Nagasaki. In the midst of all that horror, no one could imagine what sort of human beings could have made such an accursed thing. I myself thought that it must have been the work of some inhuman devil who never shed a tear and had ice in his veins instead of blood. Of course, it turned out that they were not some special breed of animal; they were none other than the nuclear scientists in the vanguard of physics. How could these men have made such a terrible weapon, one that, even now, could very well lead to the complete annihilation of all human beings on this planet? Scientists around the world had raced to be the first ones to make such a bomb, and in the end the Americans had won the race.

The horrible result of dropping the bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki pricked the consciences of these top atomic scientists and they wanted to stop further research in this area, so they requested that they be allowed to return to their universities. The American government said they could return to their laboratories, but at the same time, the government issued an order to each of the universities not to rehire those scientists. Since all of the science departments at these universities were receiving financial aid from the government, the universities were obligated to follow those orders. Consequently, all the universities turned down the scientists’ requests to return, and the unfortunate scientists returned to the government facilities and continued their work on new atomic weapons.

Thinking about this, I couldn’t help but feel the weakness of human beings when confronted with money. That was when I realized that takuhatsu is important for any person intending to live by true religious teachings, because once you receive money from one designated person, you obligate yourself to bow to the money or to its source.

Of course, out on takuhatsu, I might have to lower my head several hundred or even a thousand times. Yet I am not bowing to the money, nor do I have to cavil or get down on my knees.
In all the years I have been at Antaiji, I have never solicited a penny from anyone. In that sense, I am my own person. Since Antaiji is a monastery, it has received all sorts of donations. Still, no matter how large or small the amount, to the extent that I haven’t solicited it, it is no different from a donation put into my bowl when I am out on takuhatsu. For that reason, it is not necessary to bow and scrape before the money or its source.

I have always tried to live my life in accord with religious teachings, although I am not what anyone would call orthodox. I have been able to act this way due to the support I have received through takuhatsu. If you are intending to live out a genuine religious life, then you must learn never to bow before money. And, for that, you must never be afraid of being poor.

Once I passed fifty, takuhatsu became increasingly difficult for me. Fortunately, my takuhatsu life ended in the spring of 1962, because of the royalties I began to receive from the books I had published on my hobby of origami. I am grateful for that. I have had no teacher or master or boss to bow down before, and the royalties are not something I need to bow to either. In any event, as long as you keep your desires within the parameters of your income, I see no necessity to bow down before Mammon. But if the royalties on my origami books ever dry up so that I no longer have even the bare minimum to support myself, you will see me back out on the streets.

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DAITSU TOM WRIGHT and JISHO WARNER co-translated Kosho Uchiyama Roshi’s memoir, The Takuhatsu of Laughter Through the Tears, which is excerpted here. Wright was ordained by Uchiyama Roshi in 1974 and is a professor of English at Ryukoku University in Kyoto, Japan. Warner is head teacher at the Soto Creek Zen Center in Sebastopol, California.

Marià Manent - Tardor a Viladrau

Com grans monedes d'or, d'un or prim i lleuger,

cauen les fulles dels til·lers, gronxades

en el sol de novembre. El Jardí té

un fregadís d'abril de sedes oblidades.

 Avui no duus oreig, tardor suau, no esbulles

les agulles dels cedres vora la pluja d'or.

Tenen com una pau joiosa aquestes fulles

morint-se, i mig sospiren:"res no mor".

 

Fins al peu del grans cedres es daura  l'ombradiu

d'aquest jardí tancat, reclòs com una illa.

Cada fulla, en silenci, caient tranquil·la,diu:

"La vida passa, es fon, i torna i brilla

Liu Zongyuan

柳宗元：江雪

千山鳥飛絕    萬徑人蹤滅

孤舟簑笠翁    獨釣寒江雪

RIVER SNOW

A thousand mountains without a bird.

Ten thousand miles with no trace of man.

A boat. An old man in a straw raincoat,

Alone in the snow, fishing in the freezing river.

(Kenneth Rexroth, trans.)

A thousand mountains—no bird’s flight.

A million paths—no man’s trace.

Single boat. Bamboo-leaved cape. An old man.

Fishing by himself: ice river. Snow.

(Wai-lim Yip, trans.)

NEIGE SUR LE FLEUVE

Sur mille montagnes, aucun vol d’oiseau

Sure dix mille sentiers, nulle trace d’homme

Barque solitaire : sous son manteau de paille

Un vielliard pêche, du fleuve figé, la neige

(François Cheng, trans.)

To you who are out of your mind trying so hard to attain peace of mind

The buddha-dharma is immeasurable and unlimited. How could it ever have been made to fit into your categories.

You lack peace of mind because you’re running after an idea of total peace of mind. That’s backwards. Be attentive to your mind in each moment, no matter how unpeaceful it might seem to be. Great peace of mind is realized only in the practice within this unpeaceful mind. It arises out of the interplay between peaceful and unpeaceful mind.

A peace of mind that is totally at peace would be nothing more than something ready made. Real peace of mind only exists within unpeaceful mind.

When dissatisfaction is finally accepted as dissatisfaction, peace of mind reigns. It’s the mind of a person who had been deaf to criticism when he finally listens to others talking about his mistakes. It’s the mind of a person who, naked and begging for his life, suddenly dies peacefully. It’s the mind of a person who has suddenly lost the beggar who had been pulling at his sleeve, relentlessly following him around everywhere,. It’s the mind after the flood in which the make-up of piety has washed away.

How could a human being ever have peace of mind? The real question is what you’re doing with this human life. What you’re doing with this stinking sack of flesh, that’s the issue.

Sawaki Kôdô Rôshi

Translation by Muho, Antaiji.

O Bon days

Obon (お盆, Obon) or just Bon (盆, Bon) is a Japanese Buddhist custom to honor the departed (deceased) spirits of one's ancestors. This Buddhist custom has evolved into a family reunion holiday during which people return to ancestral family places and visit and clean their ancestors' graves, and when the spirits of ancestors are supposed to revisit the household altars. Also called the Feast of Lanterns, it has been celebrated in Japan for more than 500 years and traditionally includes a dance, known as Bon-Odori.

The festival of Obon lasts for three days; however its starting date varies within different regions of Japan. When the lunar calendar was changed to the Gregorian calendar at the beginning of the Meiji era, the localities in Japan reacted differently and this resulted in three different times of Obon. "Shichigatsu Bon" (Bon in July) is based on the solar calendar and is celebrated around 15 July in areas such as Tokyo, Yokohama and the Tohoku region. "Hachigatsu Bon" (Bon in August) is based on the solar calendar, is celebrated around the 15th of August and is the most commonly celebrated time. "Kyu Bon" (Old Bon) is celebrated on the 15th day of the seventh month of the lunar calendar, and so differs each year. "Kyu Bon" is celebrated in areas like the northern part of the Kantō region, Chūgoku, Shikoku, and the Southwestern islands. These three days are not listed as public holidays but it is customary that people are given leave.

Obon is a shortened form of the legendary Urabonne/Urabanna (Japanese: 于蘭盆會 or 盂蘭盆會, urabon'e). It is Sanskrit for "hanging upside down" and implies great suffering(Sanskrit:Ullambana). The Japanese believe they should ameliorate the suffering of the "Urabanna".

Bon Odori originates from the story of Mokuren, a disciple of the Buddha, who used his supernatural powers to look upon his deceased mother. He discovered she had fallen into the Realm of Hungry Ghosts and was suffering. Greatly disturbed, he went to the Buddha and asked how he could release his mother from this realm. Buddha instructed him to make offerings to the many Buddhist monks who had just completed their summer retreat, on the fifteenth day of the seventh month. The disciple did this and, thus, saw his mother's release. He also began to see the true nature of her past unselfishness and the many sacrifices that she had made for him. The disciple, happy because of his mother's release and grateful for his mother's kindness, danced with joy. From this dance of joy comes Bon Odori or "Bon Dance", a time in which ancestors and their sacrifices are remembered and appreciated. See also: Ullambana Sutra.
As Obon occurs in the heat of the summer, participants traditionally wear yukata, or light cotton kimonos. Many Obon celebrations include a huge carnival with rides, games, and summer festival food like watermelon.

The festival ends with Toro Nagashi , or the floating of lanterns. Paper lanterns are illuminated and then floated down rivers symbolically signaling the ancestral spirits' return to the world of the dead. This ceremony usually culminates in a fireworks display.

To you who has decided to become a Zen monk

The motto for living in the world is: eat or be eaten! Now, if you have decided to become a monk because you think that life in this world is too hard and bitter for you and you would prefer to rather live off other people's donations while drinking your tea - if you want to become a monk just to make a living, then the following is not for you. If you read the following, be aware that it is addressed to someone who has aroused the mind to practice the Buddha way after questioning his own life, and only therefore wants to become a monk.

For someone who has aroused this mind and aspires to practice the way, what is important is to first of all find a good master and look for a good place for practice. In the old days, the practicing monks would put on their straw hats and straw sandals to travel through the whole country in search of a good master and place of practice. Today it is easier to get informations: Collect and check them and decided for a master and community that seems suitable to you.

You should not forget though that to practice the Buddha way means to let go off the self and practice egolessness. To let go off the self and practice egolessness again means to let go off the measuring stick that we are always carrying around with us in our brains. For this, you must follow the teaching of the master and the rules of the place of practice that you have decided for loyally, without stating your own preferences or judgements of good and bad. It is important to first sit through silently in one place for at least ten years.

If, on the other hand, you start to judge the good and bad sides of your master or the place of practice before the first ten years have passed, and you start to think that maybe there is a better master or place somewhere else and go look for it - then you are just following the measuring stick of your own ego, which has absolutely nothing to do with practicing the Buddha way.

Right from the start you have to know clearly that no master is perfect: Any master is just a human being. What is important is your own practice, which has to consist of following the imperfect master as perfectly as possible. If you follow your master in this way, than this practice is the basis on which you can follow yourself. That is why Dogen Zenji says:

To follow the Buddha way means to follow yourself. [Genjokoan]

Following the master, following the sutras - all this means to follow oneself. The sutras are an expression of yourself. The master is YOUR master. When you travel far and wide to meet with masters, that means that you travel far and wide to meet with yourself. When you pick a hundred weeds, you are picking yourself a hundred times. And when you climb ten thousand trees, you are climbing yourself for a ten thousand times. Understand that when you practice in this way, you are practicing yourself. Practicing and understanding thus, you will let go of yourself and get a real taste of yourself for the first time. [Jisho-zanmai]

It is often said that for practicing Zen it is important to find a master - but who decides what a true master is in the first place? Don't you make that decision with the measurement stick of your thoughts (that is: your ego)? As long as you look for the master outside of your own practice, you will only extend your own ego. The master does not exist outside of yourself: the practice of zazen, in which the self becomes the self is the master. That means zazen in which you really let go your thoughts.

Does that mean that it is enough to practice zazen alone without a master at all? No, certainly not. Dogen Zenji himself says in the Jisho-zanmai, just after the quote above:

When you hear that you get a taste of yourself and awake to yourself through yourself, you might jump to the conclusion that you should practice alone, all for yourself, without having a master point the way out for you. That is a big mistake. To think that you can liberate yourself without a master is a heretic opinion that can be traced back to the naturalistic school of philosophy in India.

When you practice all for yourself without a master, you will end up just doing whatever comes into your mind. But that has nothing to do with practicing Buddhism. After all, it is absolutely necessary to first find a good master and to follow him. Fortunately, there are still masters in Japan that transmit the Buddha-Dharma correctly in the form of zazen. Follow such a master without complaining and sit silently for at least ten years. Then, after ten years, sit for another ten years. And then, after twenty years, sit anew for another ten years. If you sit like this throughout thirty years, you will gain a good view over the landscape of zazen - and that means also a good view of the landscape of your own life. Of course that does not mean that thus your practice comes to an end - practice always has to be the practice of your whole life.

By Uchiyama Kôshô Rôshi
Translated from Japanese by Muhô.

Adieu tristesse Bonjour tristesse

bonjour tristesse... les velles mancançes remolinen a l'aigüera de casa. Ens mirem i la lluna s'ofega al mar roent. Dues estrelles es desfan a l'atzur. El cel s'emblanquina i s'allisa. Veiem el mar més blau que mai. L'horitzó el separa per una ratlla cada vegada més marcada.

«Adieu tristesse Bonjour tristesse Tu n’es pas tout à fait la misère Car les lèvres les plus pauvres te dénoncent Par un sourire.» Paul Éluard, Extrait du poème Bonjour Tristesse.

Hokusai Katsushika 葛飾北斎

This painting is called "the dream of the fisherman's wife". No necessary words to talk about it.

松井冬子 自画像を語る

umeda hiroaki

Ahir vaig assistir al Mercat de les Flors a un espectacle d'en Hiroaki Umeda, artista multi-disciplinari. Mostrà dues peces de dança, so i imatge esfereïdores. Us deixo la seva pàgina web per si voleu saber-ne alguna cosa més i penjo un video seu. Apa a disfrutar!
http://www.hiroakiumeda.com

des del carrer estant

Aquestes son unes quantes poesies d'en David Caño. Alguna d'elles les vam poder escoltar al V Jornades per la llengua a Sant Andreu aquest passat dissabte a la tarda quan va actuar amb Ara és demà.

Si en voleu saber alguna cosa més d'ell clickeu a: http://desdelcarrer.cultura21.cat

22@

Navegues per la rutina estàtica d’aquest soroll d’excavadora,

veus cartells que anuncien obres noves,

pisos en venta,

teles verdes que amaguen interessos foscos.

L’Art de la Nova Barcelona:

plànols lluents on exposar la cara amable de la teva decadència,

tanques metàl·liques insinuen que ja no queda plaça

només el tacte del que mai no trobes en furgar-te les butxaques,

l’escultura són grues grogues des d’on planeges la gran fugida,

crits en un matí d’agost que demà s’oblida

i el ple convenciment que la Mort del Progrés

és el teu coll

penjat

d’un fil.

Mobbing

Torna la poesia

a aquest pis que cau,

que no pot reformar-se

perquè volen fer-te fora.

Són massa anys en aquest llit de matrimoni,

massa aventures insegures,

teles que es fereixen amb natures mortes,

però no volen fer reformes,

i els teus fills són lluny de casa,

com el somni pel què et vas jugar la vida

o les nines de drap i cartolina,

els amants de tarda de cinema

les cartes sense sobre,

el rugir del mar del 38.

Torna la poesia

i el preu d’aquest lloguer t’escanya,

et deixa sense llum, sense aigua.

Volen fer-te fora,

una altra peça en el disseny de la Nova Barcelona,

monedes com pols que s’acumula,

sota el llit, en els angles foscos de les cantonades amagades,

sents la solitud de saber-te impotent per la ignorància,

goteres com llàgrimes que no cessen,

records que brollen i t’absenten,

visites inesperades amb sopar de mitja tarda,

silencis que pesen quan s’acosta el fosc capvespre,

neguit agre en tancar la làmpada de peu.

Viure en companyia d’una paga invertida

és la victòria que aquestes aus de rapinya

estan desitjant.

Fragment de Barcelona 2006 + Plaça Catalunya

Mentides,

mentides transvestides amb perruques blanques,

pantis estripats, faldilles grogues

i un piercing al nas que sagna

per les costures d’un lavabo sense gènere.

La Tribuna i el Consell de Savis,

el Parlament, la Policia,

els Mossos d’Esquadra, tots ens diuen:

és veritat!

És veritat que l’Associació de Veïns es transvesteix

i es posa silicona a les sines

per engatussar l’hereu de casa?

I l’hereu dóna que dóna,

que no hi ha res més plaent

que un polvo amb ganes i metralla

dins el cul del president que exclama

M’ho han promès! en assemblea.

I tot el veïnat calla que calla

mentre ell xiscla de gust

en habitació ben perfumada per

l’olor corporal del regidor, el comissari,

el cap d’aquella multinacional

o era el d’una Caixa amb grans Estalvis?

És igual, la qüestió és la cadena que el lligava,

pobre hereu, l’infantó de casa amb

natges vermelles i un bon fuet entre les cames,

regalimen les comissures de pinyó que en altre temps

menjaven xocolata,

cel·lofana i piloteta

a les golfes d’un pis que van fer caure

després d’anys de mobbing a una vídua

que votava Convergència

perquè sempre ho havia fet.

Sort que tenim la cultura,

la puta cultura venuda en subhasta

on una campaneta et farà ser el profeta

dels brillants de les seves arracades d’estreta

i del curt vestit embotellat al buit

de la seva carn amb colorants i conservants

que li donen més forma i color.

Així doncs què ens queda?!

Ens queda ser transgressors, l’énfant terrible

del correcte pensament i l’autocensura

d’una consciència poruga i famolenca

sense el vist i plau de la gran indústria,

les ventes, els índex d’audiència,

les llistes negres,

què ens queda, em preguntes?

Ens queda ser la guardiola en forma de porquet

perquè ens vagin posant monedes de cinc cèntims

pel cul de l’autosatisfacció.

Final o inici?

Me’n vaig.

Saps que m’asseuré a recordar-te,

l’ombra del passat que m’acompanya,

amb el sol que surt i s’escapa a mitja tarda,

la cremor de tinta blava i deformada,

la veu del que no em surt entre missatges,

el fil de sang espessa que deixes caure entre les cames,

pels dits oberts de mà fina i perfumada

que ni tan sols fingeix un plor de mare trista,

el desengany d’una fugida pactada a plena nit.

Me’n vaig,

mentre l’esperança et taca aquest vestit de gassa grisa,

el podràs trobar demà a l’abocador de pútrides mentides,

arrugat, el guardaràs per si t’apunta la tendresa

i oblides les restes de l’accident de l’experiència

que són les promeses caducades que ara et menges amb tristesa,

i no saps si el vòmit que t’afecta el produeix la pena

o les iròniques veritats que tens amagades sota el llit.

Antic hospital de Bellvitge

Últimament és el fred qui m’abraça.

Agafat de la mà del mareig,

camino descalç per les ruïnes del somni,

pago factures de tardes alegres,

sento tenir la boca ferida,

vomitar paraules de boca torta i partida.

Estic malalt, això ja no és cap secret:

qui vol estar al costat d’un maleït moribund?

Antidepressius per aquest món frenopàtic,

l’agonia és dolorosa,

per què tan lent, per què tant verí…?

Se’m rebenten les taques del vici,

la mare plora.

Aquests ulls immòbils del fracàs

em porten l’essència de l’amor paternal,

és el crit afònic dels pensaments

que mai no podràs preveure, el que notes,

estic parlant de renúncia, o penediment,

o orgull de ser un virus incurable

per aquesta societat que es retroalimenta,

per la sang putrefacta de tots els patrons

que ens van portar la misèria, o l’exili.

Tu ara em somrius amb tendresa,

estirada al llit del costat

d’aquesta habitació d’hospital blanca i silenciosa,

i jo no et podré ni perdre, o plorar.

SHÔJI - Life and death

If the Buddha is within life and death, there is no life and death.

Then again, if there is no Buddha within life and death, we are not deluded by life and death.

These are the expressions of Chia-shan and Ting-shan, two Zen masters who walked the way, so their words should not be taken lightly.

Their meaning must be clearly understood by all those who would free themselves from life and death. If you seek the Buddha outside of life and death, it is like turning the cart to the North and heading for Etsu, or looking South to see the North Star.

You will gather the cause of life and death more and more - and lose the way to liberation. If you understand that life and death are themselves Nirvana, there is no need for avoiding life and death or seeking Nirvana. Then, for the first time, you will have the possibility to free yourself from life and death.

Do not fall into the error of thinking that there is a change from life to death. Life is one position of time, and it already has a before and after. So in Buddhism it is said that life itself is no-life. Death is also a position in time, and has a before and after. So it is said that death itself is no-death.

When it is called life, there is nothing but life. When it is called death, there is nothing but death. If life comes, this is life. If death comes, this is death. There is no reason to try to escape from it, and their is no reason to cling to it either.

This life and death is the life of the Buddha.

If you try to throw it away you lose the life of the Buddha. If you cling to it you also lose the life of the Buddha, and you will obstruct the activity of Buddha. When you neither deny nor seek, you are manifesting the mind of the Buddha. But don't try to measure this by your mind. Don't try to explain it by your words. When you let go of your body and mind and forget them completely and you throw yourself into the Buddha's abode, then everything is done from the side of Buddha and you just follow along without effort or anxiety - you break free from life's suffering and are Buddha yourself. How can you then have any hindrance in your mind?

There is a very easy way to be a Buddha: Do not do any evil. Do not try to cling to life and death but, with deep compassion, work for all beings. Respect your elders and sympathize with those younger. When you do neither deny things nor seek them or think and worry about them - then you are called a buddha. Don't look for anything else.

Shôbôgenzô Shôji

Dôgen Zenji

(Translation of Mûho, Antaiji dôchô-san)

Suizan Kurokawa 黒川 翠山

Kurokawa Suizan (1882-1944)

Untitled ca. 1906

gelatin silver photograph

Tokyo Metropolitan Museum of Photography

Suizan Kurokawa (黒川 翠山, Kurokawa Suizan?, 1882–1944) was a renowned Japanese photographer.

Hasegawa Tōhaku 長谷川 等伯

Shorin-zu-byobu(esquerra)

Shorin-zu-byobu(dreta)

Matsui Fuyuko

松井冬子「試作」２０００年　絹本着色
Matsui Fuyuko "A Study" 2000 Color on Silk

la pica d'estats

La Pica d'Estats és el cim més alt de Catalunya.

La Pica d'Estats es troba entre la comarca del Pallars Sobirà i el departament d'Arièja, situada al final de la Vallferrera i de la ribera de Sotllo, formada per tres pics, poc separats l'un de l'altre. El pic central, el més alt (3.143,1 m)[1], el pic occidental o pic de Verdaguer (3.131 m) i el pic oriental o punta Gabarró (3.115 m), que és el vèrtex geodèsic. La paret sud de la muntanya forma el frontal del circ glacial on s'ubica l'estany d'Estats. La carena coincideix exactament amb la frontera entre Espanya i França, amb una orientació general que va de nord, nord-oest a sud-est.

Si res falla aviat hi pujarem. Hi penjaré fotos.

Katsushika Hokusai 葛飾北斎 1760–May 10, 1849 Utagawa Hiroshige 歌川広重 1797–1858

Ba Da Shan-ren (Zhu Da) (1626-1705)

Ja fa un temps que vaig incloure algunes pintures de l'artista xinès Bada Shanren, compatriota de Shitao, i em continua meravellant amb la seva modernitat. Penjo algunes pintures més. A disfrutar!

Qing Dynasty Master Painter Ba Da Shan-ren (Zhu Da) (1626-1705)

清代大書畫家朱耷 (八大山人) (1626-1705)

Zhu Da [Chu Ta; Chuanqi; hao Bada Shanren, Pa-ta Shan-jen]

(b 1626, Nanchang, Jiangxi Province; d 1705).

Chinese painter and poet. A descendant of the imperial Zhu family of the Ming dynasty (1368–1644) and a leading artist of the early Qing period (1644–1911), Zhu Da painted flowers, birds and landscapes in a distinctive and highly dramatic calligraphic style. His connections with the previous dynasty led him to flee Nanchang after the Manchu conquest of China in 1644. Adopting the sobriquet Chuanqi, Zhu Da became a Buddhist priest and soon a respected Buddhist master, quickly attaining the position of abbot. He also became an accomplished poet and painter; his earliest extant work is an album of 15 leaves (1659; Taipei, National Palace Museum). In 1672, after the death of his Buddhist master, Abbot Hong min, Zhu Da relinquished his solitary monastic existence to pursue his fortune as an itinerant monk-artist. He joined the coterie of Hu Yitang, magistrate of Linchuan County, and participated in the splendid poetry parties held in 1679 and 1680. Zhu Da was thwarted in his attempts to take up an official career because of his imperial lineage and in 1680 was devastated by the departure of his patron Hu Yitang. Reportedly, Zhu Da went mad; one day, laughing and crying uncontrollably, he tore off his priest’s robe and set it on fire. The burning of the robe signaled the end of Zhu Da’s life as a Buddhist monk, and from then on he lived as an itinerant painter. Between 1681 and 1684 he called himself Lu (‘donkey’ or ‘ass’), a derogatory name for monks, or Lu hu (‘donkey house’); from 1684 onwards he called himself Bada Shanren (‘Mountain man of eight greatnesses’). Zhu Da adopted other names throughout his life, many reflecting his state of mind or his loyalty to the Ming dynasty. Of these, only a few (such as Chuanqi, which identifies his earliest extant work) were used as signatures, the most common being Bada Shanren.

Zhu Da developed a school of freehand brushwork in traditional Chinese painting and became an outstanding painter and Taoism believer. The individualism of his ink paintings of flowers, birds, fish, and landscapes appealed to the Japanese, and his style has become synonymous with Zen painting in Japan. There is an Art Gallery of Bada Shanren in a southern suburb of Nanchang. The gallery was once a Taoist temple called Qingyunpu and legend says that 2,500 years ago Qiao, son of Emperor Ling of the Zhou dynasty (1100-221BC) came here to seek a way to produce pills that would make him immortal.

朱耷 (八大山人) (1626-1705)

即朱耷。清初畫家，譜名統，南昌(今屬江西)人。明朝皇族江甯獻王朱權第九世孫。19歲 時國破家亡，心情悲憤，便裝啞扮傻，在門上貼個大啞字，不與人語。23歲在奉新山出家為僧，并在耕庵老人處受戒。後又返俗，不久又做道士，在南昌建青雲譜 道院。由於長期積憂抑鬱，遂患顛狂之疾，顛態百出。所書名號八大山人，必聯綴似哭之或笑之的字樣，蓋意別有在。

工書法，行楷學王獻之，純樸圓潤，無明人習氣。狂草亦怪偉，自成一家。尤擅繪畫。山水學 黃公望。在構圖上頗受董其昌影響，但用筆乾枯，一片荒涼氣象。花鳥在沈周、陳淳、徐渭水墨花鳥基礎上，樹立特殊風格，簡單奇異，不落恆蹊，而用筆用墨，於 豪放中有溫雅，於單鈍中有含蓄，能用極少筆墨表現極複雜事物，與石濤畫風異曲同工，影響於清代花鳥畫極大。畫鳥只畫一足，畫眼則眼珠向上，所謂白眼看青 天，以寓其不平之氣。其畫作甚為日人尊崇，奉為禪畫宗師。存畫印本很多。　　

[朱氏八支宗譜、國(清)朝畫徵錄、青門剩稿、清畫家詩史、書林紀事、辭海]　

款識特點

八大山人的字、號、別名特別多，他原名統，又名朱耷，號八大山人、雪個、個山、人屋、驢 漢、驢屋驢、個山驢、刃菴、道朗、人屋、良月、破雲樵等。後做道士，居“表雲譜”。入清後隱其姓名，削髮為僧時取法名傳綮，字刃庵，用到康熙庚甲 （1680年）55歲。號雪個始於41歲，用到55歲。號個山始見於46歲，直到59歲，他還有驢、驢屋、人屋等號，驢款最早見於56歲，最晚是58歲。 人屋、驢屋同時使用，60歲以前使用的字，號尚有法堀、掣顛、純漢、綮雪衲、臥屋子、弘選等。朱耷為僧名，“耷”乃“驢”字的俗寫，至於八大山人號，乃是 他棄僧還俗後所取，始自59歲，直至80歲去世，以前的字均棄而不用。所書“八大山人”含意深刻，“八大”與“山人”緊聯起來，即“類哭之、笑之”作為他 那隱痛的寄意，他有詩“無聊笑哭漫流傳”之句，以表達故國淪亡，哭笑不得的心情。　　

藝術特色

八大山人善畫山水和花鳥。他的畫，筆情恣縱，不構成法，蒼勁圓秀，逸氣橫生，章法不求完 整而得完整。他的一花一鳥不是盤算多少、大小，而是著眼於佈置上的地位與氣勢。及是否用得適時，用得出奇，用得巧妙。這就是他的三者取勝法，如在繪畫佈局 上發現有不足之處，有時用款書雲補其意。八大山人能詩，書法精妙，所以他的畫即使畫得不多，有了他的題詩，意境就充足了，他的畫，使人感到小而不少，這就 是藝術上的巧妙。　　

他的山水畫多為水墨，宗法董其昌，兼取黃公望，倪瓚、他用董其昌的筆法來畫山水，卻絕無 秀逸平和，明潔幽雅的格調，而是枯索冷寂，滿目淒涼，於荒寂境界中透出雄健簡樸之氣，反映了他孤憤的心境和堅毅的個性。他的用墨不同于董其昌，董其昌淡毫 而得滋潤明潔，八大山人幹擦而能滋潤明潔。所以在畫上同是“奔放”，八大山人與別人放得不一樣，同是“滋潤”，八大山人與別人潤得不一樣。一個畫家，在藝 術上的表現，能夠既不同於前人，又于時人所不及。他的花鳥畫成就特別突出，也最有個性。其畫大多緣物抒情，用象徵手法表達寓意，將物象人格化，寄託自己的 感情。如畫魚、鳥，曾作“白眼向人”之狀，抒發憤世嫉俗之情。其花鳥畫風，可分為三個時期，50歲以前為僧時屬早期，署款“傳綮”、“個山”、“驢”　、 “人屋”，多繪蔬果、花卉、松梅一類題材，以卷冊為多。畫面比較精細工致，勁挺有力。50歲至65歲?中期，畫風逐漸變化，喜繪魚、鳥、草蟲、動物，形象 有所誇張，用筆挺勁刻削，動物和鳥的嘴、眼多呈方形，面作卵形，上大下小，岌岌可危，禽鳥多棲一足，懸一足。65歲以後為晚期、藝術日趨成熟。筆勢變為朴 茂雄偉，造型極為誇張，魚、鳥之眼一圈一點，眼珠頂著眼圈，一幅“白眼向天”的神情。他畫的鳥有些顯得很倔強，即使落墨不多，卻表現出鳥兒振羽，使人有不 可一觸，觸之即飛的感覺。有些禽鳥拳足縮頸，一副既受欺又不屈的情態，在構圖、筆墨上也更加簡略。這些形象塑造，無疑是畫家自的寫照，即“憤慨悲歌，憂憤 於世，一一寄情於筆墨”。他在題黃公望山水詩中寫道：“郭家皴法雲頭小，董老麻皮樹上多。想見時人解圖畫，一峰還與宋山河。表現出他的民族意識。　　

八大山人的畫在當時影響並不大，傳其法者僅牛石慧和萬個等人，但對後世繪畫影響是深遠 的，他的藝術成就主要一點，不落常套，自有創造。他的大寫意，不同于徐渭，徐渭奔放而能放，八大山人嚴整而能放。清代中期的“楊州八怪”，晚期的“海派” 以及現代的齊白石，張大千、潘天壽、李苦禪等巨匠，莫不受其熏陶。

作品行情

八大山人的繪畫不易摹仿，傳世作品不多，目前海外市場很少能見到八大山人作品，由於他在 美術史上佔有極重要的地位，一般收藏八大山人作品的公私博物院也不會輕易出售。現在見到出售的作品只有4件，1990年11月紐約佳士得拍賣行拍賣過一幅 《貓石圖》軸，水墨紙本，以1.8萬美元成交。1991年5月29日紐約蘇富比拍賣行拍賣過兩幅，一幅是行書《愛蓮說》，金紙本立軸，以1.32萬美元成 交，另一幅是《荷花》軸，紙本，拍到34萬美元。1991年11月26日，紐約佳士得又拍賣他一件精品《花鳥冊》，價格達到55萬美元。

joan vinyoli

Qui no té por i estima a la vegada la mar i el vent, es va fent gran així: nedant sempre en perill damunt la cresta de l’onada.
Només d’un llamp en closa nit podrà morir. (Joan Vinyoli)

Sino tens por i estimes a la vegada home i llibertat, ets vas fent gran així: marxant adulta pel penyassegat de la vida.
És ara que podràs morir sense recança.

Veillées

C'est le repos éclairé, ni fièvre, ni langueur, sur le lit ou sur le pré.
C'est l'ami ni ardent ni faible. L'ami.
C'est l'aimée ni tourmentante ni tourmentée. L'aimée.
L'air et le monde point cherchés. La vie.
— Était-ce donc ceci ?
— Et le rêve fraîchit.

Potser el darrer poema no casava bé amb la fotografía, massa neutra potser, comparada amb el bell dia que tenim avui. Així que..

Génie

Aquest és un poema que ja he inclòs moltes vegades aquí al meu blog, però sempre l'acabo incloent, es que vaja el trobo insuperable. I Rimbaud sembla que es creix en aquests dies en que la primavera comença a morir i vai naixent l'estiu. Al costat, una bella imatge d'una de les places més boniques del món, amb més ànima! La Place des Vosges a Paris. Que tingueu molt bon dia!

Il est l'affection et le présent, puisqu'il a fait la maison ouverte à l'hiver écumeux et à la rumeur de l'été, lui qui a purifié les boissons et les aliments, lui qui est le charme des lieux fuyants et le délice surhumain des stations. Il est l'affection et l'avenir, la force et l'amour que nous, debout dans les rages et les ennuis, nous voyons passer dans le ciel de tempête et les drapeaux d'extase.

Il est l'amour, mesure parfaite et réinventée, raison merveilleuse et imprévue, et l'éternité : machine aimée des qualités fatales. Nous avons tous eu l'épouvante de sa concession et de la nôtre : ô jouissance de notre santé, élan de nos facultés, affection égoïste et passion pour lui, lui qui nous aime pour sa vie infinie...

Et nous nous le rappelons, et il voyage... Et si l'Adoration s'en va, sonne, sa promesse sonne : "Arrière ces superstitions, ces anciens corps, ces ménages et ces âges. C'est cette époque-ci qui a sombré !"

Il ne s'en ira pas, il ne redescendra pas d'un ciel, il n'accomplira pas la rédemption des colères de femmes et des gaîtés des hommes et de tout ce péché : car c'est fait, lui étant, et étant aimé.

O ses souffles, ses têtes, ses courses ; la terrible célérité de la perfection des formes et de l'action.

O fécondité de l'esprit et immensité de l'univers.

Son corps ! Le dégagement rêvé, le brisement de la grâce croisée de violence nouvelle !

Sa vue, sa vue ! tous les agenouillages anciens et les peines relevés à sa suite.

Son jour ! l'abolition de toutes souffrances sonores et mouvantes dans la musique plus intense.

Son pas ! les migrations plus énormes que les anciennes invasions.

O lui et nous ! l'orgueil plus bienveillant que les charités perdues.

O monde ! et le chant clair des malheurs nouveaux !

Il nous a connus tous et nous a tous aimés. Sachons, cette nuit d'hiver, de cap en cap, du pôle tumultueux au château, de la foule à la plage, de regards en regards, forces et sentiments las, le héler et le voir, et le renvoyer, et sous les marées et au haut des déserts de neige, suivre ses vues, ses souffles, son corps, son jour.

雨ニモマケズ not losing to the rain

Japanese

雨ニモマケズ
風ニモマケズ
雪ニモ夏ノ暑サニモマケヌ
丈夫ナカラダヲモチ
慾ハナク
決シテ瞋ラズ
イツモシヅカニワラツテヰル
一日ニ玄米四合ト
味噌ト少シノ野菜ヲタベ
アラユルコトヲ
ジブンヲカンジヨウニ入レズニ
ヨクミキキシワカリ
ソシテワスレズ
野原ノ松ノ林ノ蔭ノ
小サナ萱ブキノ小屋ニヰテ
東ニ病気ノ子供アレバ
行ツテ看病シテヤリ
西ニ疲レタ母アレバ
行ツテソノ稲ノ束ヲ負ヒ
南ニ死ニサウナ人アレバ
行ツテコハガラナクテモイヽトイヒ
北ニケンクワヤソシヨウガアレバ
ツマラナイカラヤメロトイヒ
ヒドリノトキハナミダヲナガシ
サムサノナツハオロオロアルキ
ミンナニデクノボートヨバレ
ホメラレモセズ
クニモサレズ
サウイフモノニ
ワタシハナリタイ

Transliteration

ame ni mo makezu
kaze ni mo makezu
yuki ni mo natsu no atsusa ni mo makenu
jōbu na karada wo mochi
yoku wa naku
kesshite ikarazu
itsu mo shizuka ni waratte iru
ichi nichi ni genmai yon gō to
miso to sukoshi no yasai wo tabe
arayuru koto wo
jibun wo kanjō ni irezu ni
yoku mikiki shi wakari
soshite wasurezu
nohara no matsu no hayashi no kage no
chiisa na kayabuki no koya ni ite
higashi ni byōki no kodomo areba
itte kanbyō shite yari
nishi ni tsukareta haha areba
itte sono ine no taba wo oi
minami ni shinisō na hito areba
itte kowagaranakute mo ii to ii
kita ni kenka ya soshō ga areba
tsumaranai kara yamero to ii
hidori no toki wa namida wo nagashi
samusa no natsu wa oro-oro aruki
minna ni deku-no-bō to yobare
homerare mo sezu
ku ni mo sarezu
sō iu mono ni
watashi wa naritai

Translation

not losing to the rain
not losing to the wind
not losing to the snow or to the heat of the summer
with a strong body
unfettered by desire
never losing temper
cultivating a quiet joy
every day four bowls of brown rice
miso and some vegetables to eat
in everything
count yourself last and put others before you
watching and listening, and understanding
and never forgetting
in the shade of the woods of the pines of the fields
being in a little thatched hut
if there is a sick child to the east
going and nursing over them
if there is a tired mother to the west
going and shouldering her sheaf of rice
if there is someone near death to the south
going and saying there's no need to be afraid
if there is a quarrel or a suit to the north
telling them to leave off with such waste
when there's drought, shedding tears of sympathy
when the summer's cold, walk in concern and empathy
called a blockhead by everyone
without being praised
without being blamed
such a person
I want to become

宮沢 賢治
Miyazawa Kenji

沢木興道老師 の言葉

屁ひとつだって、人と貸し借りできんやないか。人人みな「自己」を生きねばならない。お前とわしとどちらが器量がいいか悪いかーそんなこと比べてみんかてええ。

目が、オ レはカシコイのだけれど、位が低いとも思わず、眉はオレは役なしだけれども、位が高いと思はぬ。仏法の生活とは、この不知の活動である。山だからというて 高いとも思わず、海だとて広いとも深いとも思わず一切合財、不知の活動じゃ。野鳥自啼花自笑、不干岩下坐禅人ー野鳥は坐禅している人に、ひとついい声を聞 かしてやろうと思って鳴くわけでもなく、花も人に美しく思ってもらおうと咲くのではない。坐禅人も、悟りをひらくために坐禅しているのではない。－みなた だ自分が自分を自分しているのである。

宗教とは何ものにもダマサレヌ真新しの自己に生きることである。

ケツの穴 だからというて卑下せんでもいい。足だからというてストライキやらんでもいい。頭が一番エライというのでもない。ヘソが元祖だというて威張らんでもいい。 総理大臣が一番エライと思うているからオカシイ。目の代わりを鼻ではできぬ。耳の代わりを口はできぬ。みな天上天下唯我独尊である。

一切衆生は唯我独尊じゃ、自分が自分を生きるよりほかはないんじゃ。それをどうして見失うたか。
世間の見本が悪いからじゃ。常識といい、社会意識といい、党派根性といい、一切合財みんな見本が悪すぎる。

ようつつしんで親だとか先祖だとか背景だとかで、値うちを持たそうとしてはならぬ。金や地位や着物で味をもたせてはならぬ。現ナマじゃ。宗教とは現ナマの自分で生ききることじゃ。

世の中はヒトやヨソモンを背景にして自分をエラクみせようとする。味ないものを、皿で味をもたすようなもんじゃ。そんなことで世間では、人間を見失う。

宗教には連帯責任というのはない。私ひとりである。

凡夫は見物人がないとハリアイがなくなる、見物人さえあれば火の中にまで飛び込む。

世の中に表章ということがあるが、ロクなことではない。表彰されると「はばかりながら・・・・・」という染汚ぜんながおこりがちだから。

仏道とはよそ見せんこと。そのものにナリキルことである。これを三昧という。飯を食うのはクソをするためではない。クソをするのはコヤシをつくるためではない。ところがこのごろは、学校へ行くのは上の学校へ行くため、上の学校へ行くのは就職するため、と思っている。

見わたすかぎり自分ぎりで、自分でないものは何もない。「オレのダルイのを手伝ってくれ。オレのイタイのを代わってくれ」・・・　そうはいかぬ。

三昧とは、自分ぎりの自分であり、自性清浄心である。坐禅だけが、自分ぎりの自分であることができる。坐禅のとき以外はいつでも他人より勝れたい、他人より楽しみたい根性がでてくる。

われわれはだれでも世界と一緒に生まれ、世界と一緒に死ぬ。めいめい持っている世界はちがうのじゃから。

人間は動揺が大好きである。映画の広告の看板を見ても、動揺した顔ばかりがかいてある。仏法は動揺しないことである。ところが世の中では、何のこともないのに、大騒動をやっている。

グループ呆けの中でのみしか見えぬのが凡夫の性である。

グループができると、その中に麻痺状態が発生して、良い悪いがわからなくなってしまう。われわれが世の中を遠ざかっているのも逃避しているのではない。この麻痺状態をおこしたくないからである。昔から山野に才を求むというが、この山野とは無色透明な世界のことだ。

周囲のノボセにノボセにこと。これこそ智慧である。どの思想と、どの組合にもひきこまれてはならぬ。人間みたいな阿呆な奴を相手にせんこっちゃ。

「グループ呆け」というのがある。そして呆けたのを経験とこころえておる。ひとり透明になって呆けぬことが必要だ。坐禅はこのグループからご免こうむり「シュッケイ」（失敬、出繋、出家）して一人になることである。

いま時分 の奴のやることは、みな集団をつくって、アタマ数でゆこうとする。ところがどこの集団もグループ呆けばかり、金がほしいというのもグループ呆けなら、エラ クなりたいというのもグループ呆け。いわんや党派をつくるなど、グループ呆けの代表である。そんなグループ呆けをやめて自分ぎりの自分になることが座禅で ある。

男女同権という言葉が出てくるのは夫婦喧嘩する時の言葉で、夫婦仲がいい時には、男女同権も何もあったものじゃない。

人生とは矛盾である。「あいつあんなことしやがっった」と言いながら、じつは自分もしたいことだったり。

人生とは複雑なものである。天から火が降ってくるような戦争の時もあれば、炬燵の中で昼寝しているような時もある。また徹夜で働かねばならん時もあれば、酒を飲んでいる時もある。こういう人生を、仏さまの教えによって、どう始末してゆくかが仏法である。

子供がぐずると、「このワカラン奴」と言うて叱っておるが、なあに、そう叱る親たちもみなワカラン奴なのである。これを無明という。

教育、教育というて、何かと思えば、みな凡夫に仕立てることばかり。

喜怒哀楽の波がたっておらなければ、どうせにゃならぬということはない。

動物園の猿をみているより、飼いっぱなしの人間を見ている方がおもしろい。

今の世の 中の人間は、オカシナことに自分の人生を、しみじみと考えてみたことがない。われわれ過去永劫の昔から、何ぞ煮えきらぬものを持ってきており、「あの人も そうじゃ、この人もそうじゃ」と、それで平気でいるだけである。これがグループ呆けというもんじゃ。人並みでありさえすればいいと思うとる。サトリとは、 自分の人生を、しっかりと持つことでなければならぬ。グループ呆けがなくなることである。

私は和（わ）ということをいろいろ考えたが、日本のことを「大和（やまと）」というのは、是はいわゆる「大和（だいわ）」ということです。つまり我々の最後の理想、一切の根本的最後の理想がこの「大和（だいわ）」という欲求であらねばならぬわけなんだ。（「禅談」より）

人と神との和が出来なければ人間と人間との和ということは、皮相なものにすぎない。・・・好きなときは好きだというようなものだ。（「禅談」より）

この和ということが我々の宗教、道徳、精神文化の理想であって、これより外に理想はないわけである。（「禅談」より）

たいがい人間のやることは、べつにはっきりした人生観があってやっているのではない。ただ肩の凝った時にトクホン貼ってみるぐらいの、まにあわせの人生観でやっているのでしかない。

世の中は、いつもアアシタイ、コウシタイ。してみたら、ナンデモナイことばかりである。

乞食でも笑うことがあり、億万長者でも泣くことがある。ナーニ、たいしたことはないんじゃ。

仏教というものは「ああ人間に生まれてきてよかった」ということを教えるものである。

凡夫は五 欲六塵にウロタエテおる。そして好きだとか嫌いだとか、得したとか損したとか、エライとかエラクナイとか、金があるとかないとか、勝ったとか負けたとか。 ところがそんなこと結局ナンニモナラヌということがわかって、そうして最後に「ナンニモナラヌ座禅をタダスル」ということにゆきつかざるをえないのであ る。

昆虫学者がガラス張りの中に昆虫を入れて、それらが物を食うたり、とも食いしたり、つるんだり、鳴いたりしているのをいちいち見ておるように、われわれ生活のいちいちも、じつは「真実」からすっかりのぞかれておるのだ。

われわれにはユガミがホンモノのような顔してひっついていおる。

人の物を盗めば、もはやそれだけでりっぱな泥棒に決まっておるのに、今の奴は警官がつかまえ、検事がしらべ、判事が判決をくだし、牢屋へ入ってはじめて罪人になるのだと思うておる。

石川五右衛門だけがヌスットであって、ちょっと出来心で他人の物を盗った奴はヌスットではないというわけではない。ちょっと出来心で他人の物を盗ってもりっぱなヌスットである。それと同じくお釈迦さまだけが仏なのではない。仏のマネして座禅すれば、仏である。

みんなが違った業（ごう）を持っているのだが、みんな同じく仏さんにひっぱられてゆくことが大切だ。心身脱落とは我のツッパリを捨てて仏の教えを信じ、仏さまにひっぱられてゆくことである。

生きておる間はオレとオマエと当然あるかのごとく思うて、背丈比べしたり、お化粧したり大騒ぎする。しかし本当はオレとオマエという二つはないのである。それは死んでみればようわかる。

世の中に心を労せにゃならぬことは何もない。妄想分別の何も役に立たぬことが、「役に立たぬ」と決まるだけである。

人間はいつの間にか「私」が入ってしまう。「ああよかった」何がよかったのかといえば「私がよかった」というだけの話じゃ。

どんなことでもならべてみろ。百千あろうとも、どれもこれもゆきづまる。あれもゆきづまる。これもゆきづまる。どの方向へ向いていってもゆきづまるものばかり。そんなゆきづまるものはみんな捨てる。そして何も持っていない。そこが絶学無為（ぜつがくむい）の閑道人である。

坐禅とは、われわれのナマニク（生肉）でかためたホトケである。

凡夫のナマミを最高にせりあげたのが只管打坐である。

飢え死するつもりで坐禅しておればいい。「法輪転ずれば食輪転ず」などということをアテにしておるとワケが違う。法輪さえ転ずれば食輪などどうでもいいんじゃ。

「みんな壁の方むいて坐っていてーアレいったい何をやっているんじゃ。坐禅みたいなとぼけたこと」と言うた奴がおる。ー娑婆から見たら、みんなこれじゃ。

「坐禅して何になるか」　この「何になるか」という問いが第一、中途半端じゃ。テレビが発明されて何になったか？おまえが生まれて何になった？　何になるものは一つもない。

仏教的人生観がハッキリしてからでなければ、真の坐禅修行にはならぬ。

正法とは無所得ということ。邪法とは有所得ということ。　われわれはできるだけ損をせねばならぬ。

どんな奇特玄妙なこと、どんな神秘的体験を味わったと言うても、一生その味わいが続くものではない。

「なんにもならんこと」を自信を持ってしておるところが、おもしろくはないか。

よう「禅をやって、ちょっとマシな人間になろうと思いまして」と言うてくるのがある。坐禅は人間の修養ではない。人間の廃業である。

無量無辺というものが、この人間の欲に物足りたものであるはずがない。

坐禅ににらまれ、坐禅に叱られ、坐禅に邪魔され、坐禅にひきずられながら、泣き泣き暮らすということは、もっとも幸福なことではないか。

われわれは意識に味をもたしなれているので、無味無色の仏法にはなかなか入りにくい。

坐禅しておると、よう妄念がおこりますと言うてくる人があるが、妄念がおこるということがわかるのは、波風がおさまりノボセが下がったからである。

妄念を気にするのは、「凡夫」が気にするだけである。

坐禅がありがたいと言えば、まだまだ。　「お蔭さん」とも何とも言わず、ナントモナイ所に不染汚（ふぜんな）の坐禅がある。

仏法で一番イヤラシイとするのは染汚（ぜんな）ということである。重役とか社長とか会長とかーそういう顔するのが染汚である。この染汚が清められることそれが祇管（しかん）である。

坐禅というものはツミアゲルものではない。親鸞聖人も「ツミアゲル念仏」を捨てられたのじゃ。そうして「ツミアゲル修行」を、真宗では「自力根性」と言う。

小乗とは自他の心をおこした所にある。小乗の解脱はつくりものである。

ええことすると、「ええことをした、した」と、ベッタリそれがひっつく。サトレば「サトッタ、サトッタ」と、またこれがベッタリそれがひっつく。ええことしたり、サトッタリせんほうがええんじゃ。サッパリしておらねばならぬ。足をおろしてはならぬ。

凡夫が仏法をみれば、どれだけいっても、仏法で「人間のネウチをつけよう」とするばかり。

坐禅はええな。坐禅は大死人の姿じゃから。

われわれはサトリをひらくために修行するのではない。サトリにひきずりまわされて修行するのである。

仏法は人間のもがきで得られるようなものではない。

坐禅しながら仏になろうと思うのは、たとえば故郷へ帰るのに、早く帰りたい早く帰りたいと、汽車に乗っていながら汽車の中でかけだしいているようなもんじゃ。

坐禅している時には、自分が成道しているとも何とも思わなくとも、成道しているのである。

人間がサトッタら、人間の話である。人間の話でないのが、坐禅である。

胃を忘れているのが胃の健全なることである。サトリ、サトリと忘れられないのはサトッテおらぬ証拠じゃ。

「サトッタ」と言うても、よう悪魔が通力を得たにすぎん場合がある。

「われと仏とスキマがなく、なんともない」という所までいっていないと、人間、気がねがいり、くたびれ、ゆきづまる。

サトリとは泥棒が空家に入ったようなもんじゃ。盗る物がない。逃げなくともいい。追いかけてくる者もない。　だからはなはだモノタリナイ。

サトリ、サトリとーほんに、ちっさいものをサトリと思うているが、そんなものは意識の問題で、意識がちょっと変化したら、もう何でもないもなになってしまう。

お釈迦様はおれだけ悟ったとはおっしゃらぬ。有情非情同時成道なのだから。ところがみんなは、そんな連帯的サトリでは物足らぬ。個人持ちの悟り、ご利益が好き。つまり「我」が好きなのだ。

よう「これでようございますか、ようございますか」と見解を呈してセガム奴がある。他人に問う間は本物ではない。他人に証明されて、サトッタつもりになっている奴もおる。他人に問わいでも、自分が、「行きつく所へゆきついたら」いいじゃないか。

「酒を飲むと酔う」と聞いて「なるほどそうか」と思うて、酔っぱらいのマネをして、酒を飲んだつもりになっているようなサトリがある。

今の科学的文化は、人間のもっとも下等な意識をもととして発達しておるにすぎぬということを忘れてはならぬ。

文化、文化と言うけれど、ただ煩悩に念が入っただけのものでしかないじゃないか。煩悩のシワが、いくら念が入っても、仏教から言えば、進歩とも文明とも言わぬ。いったいいま進歩、進歩と言うが、どっちゃ向いて進んでいるか。

こんなに利口ぶって、こんなにバカになってしもうたのが、人間というバカモノである。

智慧とは、行きつくところへ行きついた判断を、つねに持つことである。

科学は人からモライモノの上にツミカサネがきくからどんどん進歩しよる。それに反し人間そのものは、人からモライモノできぬし、ツミカサネもできぬから、ちっとも偉うならぬ。だから頑是ない餓鬼が凶器をふりまわすような格好になって、危なうて仕様がない。

あほが電子計算機をあやつり、ノロマがジェット機に乗り、気違いがミサイルの発射ボタンをにぎっておる。それが今日の問題なんじゃ。

原爆、水爆は味方を救うことができても、敵を救うことはできぬ。敵も味方も救うことができるのは坐禅のみである。

ツクリモノの世界は、いつでも変わるに決まっておる。文化とはツクリモノが発達したにすぎぬ。だから文化とは悲劇である。どこへいってもマチガイのないもの。これこそ生命あるものであり、かぎりない幅を持つものである。

しずかに落ち着いてよく読んでみれば、マルクスもエンゲルスも「餌の分配」の話でしかない。

なんやら人間にはいつも忘れられぬものがある。金がありやがると金があると思い。頭がいいと頭がいいと思い、器量がいいと器量がいいと思って忘れられぬ。そしてこれが門口に出ばって邪魔しよる。

「おれ」と言うて、いったい何年つっぱれるか問題である。死ねばすぐこの肉体は品物になってしまう。

よう「この目でみた」と確かそうに言いよるが、その目がアヤシイんじゃ。凡夫の目じゃないか。

自分とい うものはキマッタものではない。「わしの心はこんな心」そんなもの、ありゃせん。わしも坊主になったればこそ、仏法の言葉をなんたらかんたら言うておるけ れども、これがもし侠客の親分にでもなっていたらどうか。「野郎バラシちゃえ」ぐらいなことを言っていたに相違ない。

別嬪だってヘチマだって、八十まで生かしておけば同じこと。洞然明白（とうねんめいはく）というのが本来の姿である。

たいていの人間は忙しい、忙しいと言うておる。なんで忙しいかと言えば、煩悩に使われて忙しいだけの話じゃ。坐禅しておればヒマである。天下一のヒマ人になるのが坐禅人である。

人間の仕事を何もせぬのが坐禅である。

坐禅の内容に浮世をあらしめれば仏法も豊富、ただの浮世の苦労をいくらしたって、人生を豊富にするものではない。

人間の知識は煩悩と業の窓口からのぞいた世界でしかない。最後の世界は、この煩悩と業から見た世界をすべて「やめる」こっちゃ。

必然に向かって文句なしに受け取るのがサトリである。大悟とは、「必然が必然と決まったこと」である。必然とは宇宙とつづきだからである。

亡者が出てくるとよくいうが、それも生きているものがある間だけのことで、もし生きているものがなくなると、亡者も化けて出てこない。亡者は生きているものの道具であると、「二十唯識」には出ている。

夢を見ていながら、これは夢だとはなかなかわからぬ。頬っぺたをつまんでみたら痛い。その痛いのも夢なんじゃ。夢と夢のつきあいだから、夢が夢ともわからぬ。

現実、現実と言うが、これみな夢である。夢の中での現実でしかない。革命とか戦争とか言うと、ドエライことのように思うておるが、やはり夢の中のモガキである。死んでみれば「夢だったな」とようわかる。それを生きているうちにカタヅカナイのが凡夫というものである。

意識に映った影を、またむしかえしてみるのを妄想という。

天地も施し、空気も施し、水も施し、植物も施し、動物も施し、人も施す。施し合い。われわれはこの布施し合う中にのみ、生きておる。ありがたいと思うても思わいでも、そうなのである。

一切のものにケチをつける必要はない。

実際に腹が減ってもおらんのに「食えぬ」と言う。それだけで腹が減ってしまう。みんなコトバによってウナサレテいるのだ。名前でヤッサモッサやりおるのじゃ。

地獄、餓鬼、畜生、修羅、人間、天上とこの六道は、ただわれわれの「ノボセの目盛り」じゃ。ほんとうにノボセが下がったら、仏である。

道心とは、「ひと」のために「おのれ」を忘れること。無道心とは、「おのれ」のために「ひと」を忘れること。

サトリとは損すること。マヨイとは得すること。

自分がむさぼらぬという一時をもって、十方に供養する。これほど大きな供養はない。

「くれ」と言うのでもないのに、施し恵まれる風景は、「むしり合いの世界」と違うて、じつに涼しい風景であり、じつに広大無辺なる風景である。

少住為佳（しょうじゅういか）ちょっと一服すればいい。人間をちょっと一服したのが仏じゃ。人間がエラクなったのが仏じゃないぞ。

良寛さまがどこまでも涼しいのは、テをつかわぬからである。

「こうし て、こうすりゃ、こうなるぞ」というのは、娑婆の話で、仏法ではない。よう「人さまの面倒をみておくこともな、人ごとじゃあらへん。うちの子供もあること だで。こうしておけば、いつか子供が面倒みてもらわんならんこともあるさかい」これが娑婆の話である。「ナンニモナラヌことをタダする」これは容易なこと ではない。これを行ずるのが、心身脱落、脱落心身ということじゃ。

天国といえば天国というカコイができる。神も忘れた神、神すら失ったところに、真の神がある。

坐禅すればいいと言っても腹がへるから飯を食わねばならぬ。金もなくなるから托鉢にも出ねばならぬ。ところがややもすると一本調子になりたがる。しかしいくらよいことでも一本調子ではダメじゃ。一切のものにとらわれぬことだ。自在無礙の問題である。

差別のわからぬのはバカだし、差別が気になるのは凡夫だ。

金閣寺でも法隆寺の金堂でも、みんな坊主が修行するためにあるのじゃない。ただ坊主が遊んで食えるというだけの話じゃ。

金をためねばならにような坊さんは不徳であるということは言うまでもない。・・・・・・坊主が金をためねばならぬようになったら、それだけ欠点がわが身のうちにあるからじゃ。

坊主は金 のないのが自慢である。良寛さんが死んだ時、金をためておったというウワサがある。それに対して、「そんなことはない。死んだ時の帳面にも、これこの通 り」と言うひとがある。これは良寛さんを庇（かば）った言葉である。してみればやはり坊主に金のあるのは恥なんじゃ。

どんなプロからみても「見劣りせぬ」のが出家者であらねばならぬ。しかるにブルぶろうとする坊主や寺の嬶（かかあ）のあるのは、これまたどういうわけか。

傍観者の観念遊戯　それを戯論（けろん）という。傍観者の観念遊戯ではダメじゃ。全身全霊をもってとびこまにゃ。

世間の人 は仏道修行とは、修行をつんでランプの火をほそめるようにだんだん煩悩をほそめっていって、最後にパッと消すぐらいに思うておる。そうじゃない。大乗の修 行は、「おのれいまだわたらざるさきに、一切衆生をわたさんと発願し、いとなむなり」であって、そのため「煩悩をわざわざとどめて生をうるおす。」いかに も人間的であらねばならない。根っから単調で曲線のないようなのはダメじゃ。

立派なことを言う奴のことを「あれは粥飯（しゅくはん）の熱気だ」と言うことがある。栄養が足ってエラソウなことが言えるという意味じゃ。

柳は緑、花は紅　アタリマエというのが仏法である。ところが人間は、そのうえによけいなモノをかぶせる。いいとか、悪いとか、得くとか損とか。

坐禅は善も悪もこえたものである。修身の話ではない。共産主義も資本主義もみんなヤンダところに坐禅はある。

自分というものは自分をもちこたえてゆくことはできない。自分が自分を断念した時かえって宇宙とつづきの自分のみとなる。

われわれの生まれてから後におぼえたものを捨てさえすればよい。

無我、無心と言うても、べつにボーッと意識がなくなることではない。無心とは必然に反抗せぬことである。つまり宇宙とのつづきに服従することだ。宇宙とのつづきで働くことである。

一切のものが自分の内容である。ゆえに他人のおもわくも考えて行動せねばならぬ。

思想とは「すべて出来上がったうえでの話」でしかない。仏法とは「すべて出来上がる以前」のことである。

年寄りは経験、経験と言うて、昔のくせをふりまわしておる。どこがどう変わっても、変わりのないものを般若の智慧という。

工夫とは般若の智慧をピカピカにみがきあげることじゃ。考え込むことではない。

仏法は主観的事実である。それがただ個人的解脱になってしまったのが小乗である。大乗はそうではない。仏とツギ目がなくなると同時に、地獄の衆生ともツギ目なしになることである。

十万億土とは「自分から自分への距離」である。

ここに石油ストーブがあっても、マッチ一本は、はりこまねば暖かくはならぬ。みんな仏性があると言うても、あるだけでは何ともならぬ。仏性に火をつけねばならぬ。

人間でない方から人間の方を見なおしてみれば、どうしても本当のことはわからない。

たとえ現実のお釈迦さまを見ても、凡夫が見ればダメである。唯仏与仏　仏眼をもって仏を見るのでなければ。

「これで よい」という世界があるものではない。それなのにどこぞに「これでいい」という世界があるかと思うて、それを求めてウロウロ歩きまわる。ウロウロしたって 仕様がないやないか。それじゃ泣き寝入りするか。そうじゃない。ウロウロしない世界にドカッと坐っておるこっちゃ。

仏道とは、もとからキマッテいることを信ずる（澄浄する）だけである。非思量するだけである。

沢木興道
Sawaki Kôdô

on ets?

on ets? on pares? pels carrers lluents camines fatigosa cercant l'aigua fresca que brolla del teu cor i jo, assedegat, em balmo.

iroha uta いろは歌

The iroha (Japanese: 伊呂波, いろは) is a Japanese poem most likely written sometime during the Heian era (AD 794–1179). Originally the poem was attributed to the founder of the Shingon sect of Buddhism, Kukai, but more modern research has found the date of composition to be later in the Heian Period. The first record of its existence dates from 1079. It is famous because it is a perfect pangram, containing each character of the Japanese syllabary exactly once.

色は匂へど
散りぬるを
我が世誰ぞ
常ならむ
有為の奥山
今日越えて
浅き夢見じ
酔ひもせず

i ro ha ni ho he to
chi ri nu ru wo wa ka
yo ta re so tsu ne na
ra mu u wi no o ku
ya ma ke fu ko e te
a sa ki yu me mi shi
we hi mo se su

いろはにほへと

ちりぬるをわか

よたれそつねな

らむうゐのおく

やまけふこえて

あさきゆめみし

ゑひもせす

As flowers are brilliant but [inevitably] fall,

who could remain constant in our world? [No one could]

Today let us transcend the high mountain of transience,

and there will be no more shallow dreaming, no more drunkenness.

The iroha contains every kana precisely once, with the exception of ん [-n], which was spelled just like む "mu" at the time. For this reason, the poem was frequently used as an ordering of the kana until the Meiji era reforms in the 19th century. Thereafter the gojūon (五十音, literally "fifty sounds") ordering system became more common. This order is partly based on Sanskrit. It begins with "a, i, u, e, o" then "ka, ki, ku..." and so on for each kana used in Japanese. Although the iroha is seen as more "old fashioned" than the gojūon, the earliest known copy of the gojūon predates the iroha.

It is said that the iroha is a transformation of these verses in the Nirvana Sutra:


諸行無常
是生滅法
生滅滅已
寂滅為楽

which translates into

That everything is impermanent
Is the way all things come into and go out of existence.
It is when these processes are over
That we see true happiness in nirvana.

The above in Japanese is read

Shogyōmujō
Zeshōmeppō
Shōmetsumetsui
Jakumetsuiraku