I think therefore I am. I think therefore you are. You think therefore I am. If either of us stops thinking, does the other cease to be? If I see you as Buddha you are Buddha. If you see me as Buddha I can be Buddha, but if I see myself as Buddha Buddha and I are mountains and rivers apart.
A reflection on Case 86 of the Shobogenzo (Dogen’s True Dharma Eye)
You assume you know the answer, and wait patiently for the question which is not forthcoming. This becomes your dilemma. You have acquired a catalog of answers, all awaiting questions that never come forth. Of course it isn’t fair, you know that full well, but that, too, is an answer that must await a question for which there is no questioner, so you must ask yourself why you accumulate answers, and that is one question for which you have found absolutely no answers.
She walks with a deliberateness that bespeaks years of always knowing what the destination is. Getting to the destination, she knows is far less important than having one. On occasion she would arrive at her destination and would then have no option but to immediately select her next destination, for being on one place too long was, to her, a form of living death. Many thought her a wanderer, and she was fine with that. She knew the shortest distance between two points was a straight line it was also just the most boring, and for her it was really all about the trip.
He wants to know why we draw a distinction between dreams and what we like to call reality, as if the former is somehow less than real. We want to laugh at him, but we listen anyway. If all my senses end up in my mind then all that is real is real only in my mind. But my dreams exist in my mind as well, so they are just as real as my daytime reality. And, he added, with a smirk, nothing is real at all, but both dreams and reality are equally real, and with that, he closed his eyes and we all ceased to exist.
Lao Tse, venerable one you would be pleased as I sit here drawing closer to the center quested for my Buddhahood be not seeking it amid the rain of fire from the hills above the blood congealing in the streets. I know not to ask and am unseen by the child and mother running through the street and untouched by the hail of ammunition biting at their heels. I smell the lotus mixed with the cordite giving scent to the morning and in the clouds see the approach of understanding.