Proverbs

Some teachers say sudden awakening, gradual cultivation. I say if the awakening is genuine, the cultivation has already happened — the work that remains is only to stop pretending it has not.

Bow to a cherry blossom and the blossom does not return the bow; yet some part of the bow is returned, in the body, days later. Practice in this way.

I attained arahantship the night before the council, after years of being told I was not yet ready. Whoever has been told he is not ready: that telling itself is the door.

A monk said: I have just entered the monastery; please instruct me. Have you eaten breakfast? Yes. Then go and wash your bowl. The monk woke up.

Doubt is the lamp; certainty is the candlestick. Without the lamp, the candlestick is decorative. Without the candlestick, the lamp burns the floor. Carry both.

Plant the lineage flag on the mountain. The wind will tear it; rebuild it. The students who stay are the ones who can patch a flag in a storm.

The precepts are not laws to obey but practices to undertake. Each one is a koan in the body — solved by the way you live, not by the way you think about it.

I asked each new student to bring a small stone for every passion that arose. The cave filled with stones; the passions did not. Then we built a wall around the cave with the stones, and used it as a meditation hall.

Body and mind drop away — that is the practice. The student who tries to drop them on purpose finds them stuck more firmly. Sit until the body forgets itself; the rest is automatic.

Fall seven times, stand up eight.

Plunge into the poison to discover the antidote.

A temple hidden in the trees teaches you to walk in. A temple at the head of the road teaches you to walk past. The dharma is in either, depending on the kind of legs you arrive on.