YUNMEN'S "YOU HAVE MISSPOKEN"
Case Thirty-nine of the Wumenkuan
A Teisho by Roshi James Ishmael Ford

The Case
A student of the way said to Yunmen, "The radiance serenely illumines the whole universe." But before he could finish the line Yunmen interrupted, "Isn’t that Zangshou’s poem?" The student replied, "Yes." Yunmen said, "You have misspoken." Later Master Sixin took this up as a koan and said, "How is that this student of the way has misspoken?"

Wumen’s Commentary
In this koan, if you can see Yunmen’s rigor and uncompromising Zen and how the student misspoke, then you can teach in heaven or on earth. But, if you are not yet clear on this matter, then you cannot save even yourself.

The Verse
A line is cast into the water;
the greedy will be caught;
if you open your mouth just a little bit,
your life is completely lost

Once again we encounter Yunmen Wenyan, that wonderful teacher of the Way. Yunmen is one of the great teachers who flourished near the end of the T'ang period, that era spanning the seventh through the tenth centuries which was the cradle of the Zen way. Many of the anecdotes of Yunmen’s encounters with other teachers and his students have become koans collected in (among other books) the Gateless Gate, and particularly the Blue Cliff Record.

Yunmen’s great awakening experience is one of those wonderfully difficult stories for us as contemporary westerners. I also feel we might be able to see in it something of what informs this particular case. After studying the vinaya, the moral codes of monastic Buddhism for years and years, and still feeling at a complete loss as to what his true nature was, he turned to Zen.

He went to Master Muzhou Daoming, who was well known for his wisdom and skill as a teacher. The story that has been handed down to us says that when Muzhou heard Yunmen coming, he closed the door to his room.

Yunmen knocked at the door. Muzhou said, "Who is it?" Yunmen replied, "It is I, Yunmen." "What do you want?" And Yunmen made his appeal. "I do not understand my life. I ask you to guide me."

Muzhou opened the door, looked at Yunmen, and then closed the door. Yunmen returned three days in a row, with the same results. Finally on the third day he stuck his foot in the door. Muzhou reached out, grabbed him and yelled, "Speak! Speak!"

Yunmen was frozen for a few moments, but as he recovered and began to respond, Muzhou shoved him and said, "Too late." As the old master slammed the door shut, Yunmen once again stuck his foot in the door jamb. As the door crashed shut, his foot was broken. But at that moment he had his great awakening.

Here we find echoes of the legends of great quest. Perhaps we can hear hints of Dazu Huike who cut off his arm to show Bodhidharma his sincerity. Or maybe we think of those monks who vowed suicide if they did not achieve awakening by the time the stick of incense burns into the pot. Perhaps we can feel the repeating waves of all the great and heroic, and perhaps foolish and masochistic efforts people on this way make to find their own deep realization, their own knowing.

And perhaps we are repulsed. After all ours is an era where excesses of this sort are not highly thought of. Foolish. Masochistic. And maybe even self-centered. And such hesitations are not without merit. But to dwell too much on the violent aspects of these old stories is to miss the point.

At the very beginning of our practice, if we are not caught  by our ideas of how it is all supposed to be, who knows what we'll find? If we do not judge too quickly how passionately and recklessly we are supposed to throw our energy, our effort, our care and attention into the quest, we're far more likely to catch a glimpse of what the way really is about.

But then, maybe we can’t get past the violence. Well, here in the thirty-ninth case of the Gateless Gate, perhaps we can find another way into that question of how we direct our energy. And from that, how we encounter the great matter itself.

So, here is another sincere student of the way. This one is perhaps only hoping to open the conversation by quoting from the enlightenment poem of the government official, and a lay Zen master, Zangshou. Zenkei Shibayama translates the whole poem for us.

The radiance serenely illumines the whole universe;
the ignorant, the wise, all beings are in my abode.
When no thought rises, the whole is revealed;
if the six sense organs move even a little, it is obscured by clouds.
If you cut off your ignorance your ailment will increase;
if you look for the truth you are wrong.
Living in accord with things of the world you have no obstructions;
Nirvana and life-and-death are like colors in a dream.

Certainly there is nothing wrong in the words themselves. They are succinct and authentically point to the matter at hand. So, what is the problem? How is it that the student has misspoken, or in another translation of this case, "missed it," missed the point?

We no longer can know what that student was going to do with the poem. At the very least, we can assume he had genuine sincerity. This is a large monastery where Yunmen is teaching; possibly this student has been waiting a long time to frame that question, and just wanted to say it right. For his efforts, he is cut off. In most koans the student is at least given the chance to finish his or her presentation before the challenge, before the moment of possibility. But not here. The door slammed shut. Bang. Just this.

This is  the mark of Yunmen’s teaching style. He was always able to cut through the easy way, through the student’s strengths, and take that person to a place of no protection, where there is nothing over head, and nothing to stand upon.

The student here was possibly a highly accomplished poet. And if not, then perhaps simply very knowledgeable. There is, without a doubt, a place for knowledge, for good poets, and even mediocre ones. Even a place for critics and philosophers. But not at that moment. Not within this encounter. Something else is being called for.

The answer was already given in Zangshou’s poem:
"The light serenely shines over the whole universe,
Ignorant, wise, and living creatures—all are in my abode."

And then the turning words, themselves:
"When no thought rises, the whole is revealed."

But were these words truly understood by the student? And Yunmen asks that question. But the student isn’t quite ripe. He has the intellectual understanding, perhaps. At least he knows what poem to quote. But it isn’t his. The words are not his.

And within our practice, with that challenge we can find how those words can be ours, yours and mine. Here the possibilities that we were born to are coming to fruition. We can throw ourselves into the center of the storm. There is a great possibility waiting here.

This is something we might all take into account as we enter the dokusan room. There the small talk should vanish. Concerns about how we’re getting on with our spouse, or our parents, or our children, are of course important. But, in that moment, can we allow ourselves to be redirected to the fundamental matter, to the moment that births out into the world in all its glorious confusion?

Can we allow our pain and suffering, our longing and hope, our frustrations and fears all to be collected into one precious moment, into one phrase, into one question? Here, like that student of the way, possibilities await, the great possibility itself is apparent. Commenting on this point, Robert Aitken quotes master Hakuin.

How sad that people ignore the near
and search for truth afar.

And actually Hakuin himself commented on this moment in this particular case. "Such sharpness! Such shrewdness! If one is not astounded at Yunmen’s marvelous working, then that one is not yet a true person of Zen." Here is Yunmen’s gift, to that student and to us. Just this. As master Sixin asked some two hundred years after the fateful encounter, asking everyone, asking you and me: "How is that this student of the way has misspoken?"

Here, we’re asked to go right to the point, to know for ourselves. What is it that you know too much to actually understand? What stands in the way? Is it me? Do you put too much into the teacher? Is it something in you? Do you know all the literary points; do you understand the philosophical aspects in all its details? Are you too full? Or, equally dangerous, do you think you aren’t smart enough, good enough, have enough practice under your belt to possibly know?

But then, perhaps you already know these traps. Perhaps you’re trying to let go of being certain or not being certain, whatever the demon is. Perhaps you’re really trying to find your way. It’s here we come to that great energy which motivated the young Yunmen, and perhaps even the student who brought Zangshou’s poem to Yunmen. Here we find it really is about the most important thing. So we really do need to put our energy, our great energy into the question.

And then we need to let go of it. Here is the rhythm. At the critical moment we need to surrender our certainty, our knowing, of how good we are or even our bad we are. And we need to let go even of that desire to know the great matter beyond our ideas of should or could.

The door slams shut. Yunmen cuts off the quotation. You and I shut up. And then what?

The radiance serenely illumines the whole universe;
the ignorant, the wise, all beings are in my abode.
When no thought rises, the whole is revealed;
if the six sense organs move even a little, it is obscured by clouds.
If you cut off your ignorance your ailment will increase;
if you look for the truth you are wrong.
Living in accord with things of the world you have no obstructions;
Nirvana and life-and-death are like colors in a dream.

So, tell me, are these Zangshou’s words. Or are they mine?

And most importantly in all this, where are your words?