A Finger Pointing to the Heart

Sometimes Zen is a brutal thing

Whenever the master Jinhua Juzhi was asked about the intimate matter, he simply raised one finger. One day a visitor asked his young attendant what his master taught. The young man raised a finger. When the master heard about this, he cut the young man’s finger with a sharp knife. The attendant began to scream and grasping his bleeding hand ran toward the exit. As he neared the doorway, Juzhi called to him. As the young man turned back to the master, Juzhi held up one finger. His attendant tumbled into the intimate.

Gateless Gate, Case 3

In the Blue Cliff Record and the Book of Serenity, the case is reduced to “Whenever anyone asked about the intimate way, Master Juzhi would simply raise one finger.” This certainly, if you'll forgive the word, cuts to the chase. And is worthy of inclusion in the collections that way.

However, I prefer the messiness of the longer version.

There are several koans that feature acts of violence. I remember one of the first times I heard a dharma talk on the case in which the master Nanquan kills a cat. There's a set up. But quickly the case turns on the master challenging the assembly, saying if anyone can say a word from the intimate moment, the cat will live. When he doesn’t get a response from the community, I can imagine all sorts of horror in their minds, freezing them in their seats - he kills the cat.

The teacher giving that talk wanted to make sure we understood this was just a story. No one ever actually killed the cat. Another teacher commenting on the same case said it is a real story, but Nanquan only mimed killing the cat.

However, the only talk that actually helped me delve into the matter was from a teacher who said, yes, the cat was killed. Yes, the young man (in other versions a boy) had his finger cut off.

I join the case of the finger and the case of the cat in my heart with the story, not as far as I know collected formally as a koan, of the Ninth century master Yantou Quanhuo. Master Yantou was murdered by bandits. It is said as they stabbed him, he screamed, and the screams could be heard valleys away. This anecdote haunted the young Hakuin Ekaku. And actually would in many ways become his most important koan.

Koans. As my grand teacher Robert Aitken tells us are a matter to be made clear. As I find it, a pointer and an invitation.

As we take up koan practice, we’re invited into a stripped-down version of reality. The discipline invites us to let the whole of the universe rest within the few words, sentences, paragraphs that shape the koan. Then with fewer distractions we are asked to notice out of our own hearts what is.

It wouldn’t be useful if some of those koans didn’t touch on the violence of life. Of our hurt. And, of course, of death.

What I would encourage for anyone taking up this case, or any of the others, would be to set aside, just for a moment, just for a moment, questions like should or should not. They’re important. But there is also a bit of a cart and a horse here. We’re turning to the most fundamental.

In the Soto Zen form of full ordination there is a small packet of teachings, mostly liturgical cues, and rites for special occasions such as if a dragon might visit. But there are also teachings. Cues for the spiritual life. The one that caught me most was a simple bit of advice: the intimate way will last as long as there is bowing. When the brain knows, it becomes very hard to learn.

And there to find the question our hearts ask. Mine. Yours. If we want to delve into the real matter, we need to learn to bow into the moment. We need to open our hearts.

With this case, as with all koans, we are invited to find out who we are. And to find that real in the midst of what actually is. The dream world and this world are one. And, sadly, it is not all beer and skittles. So much hurt. So much. Cut fingers are just the beginning of that lament.

However. We’re given a promise. Some genuine good news. We find it when we find the intimate way for ourselves. There is a place where our troubled hearts are put to ease. This is the goal and the realization of intimacy.

Now, fair warning. The wounds do not end. All things made of parts, come apart. Those we love we will lose, or they will lose us.

The Diamond Sutra calls out to us:

So you should view this fleeting world:
A star at dawn, a bubble in a stream,
A flash of lightening in a summer cloud,
A flickering lamp, a phantom and a dream.

It’s important to note that passing world and our dream world are both true. But there are more truths. Here is one more truth. The dream world and this world are the same world. And, at the same time, as real, as real can be. You cut me I will bleed. And I will hurt. It may be a dream, but it can be a bloody one.

Here we return to the question at hand. At the hand. Juzhi’s hand. That young attendant’s hand. The matter of one finger.

There is a finger that is used as a universal answer to all questions of the heart. It is the universal answer. That finger which points to the moon. And then, all of a sudden - it’s gone. Well, there is a spurt of blood. There’s a burning pain. And, with a tourniquet the spurt becomes an ooze. All that.

The attendant cries out, he holds his bleeding hand, he flees. And the mast calls to him. He turns, and the master holds up a finger.

The matter to be made clear? The pointer and the invitation?

Form is emptiness. Emptiness is form.

Know this and you are walking the intimate way.

One finger. No finger.

Neither one nor two…

And with that nothing less than the saving of the worlds...