1435 FORTY-SECOND YEAR, EIKYŌ SEVEN
WOOD’S YOUNGER BROTHER, THE HARE
Ikkyū spent some time down in Izumi [Sakai]. Whenever he went out in the city streets, he took along a wooden sword. As he walked, he rapped his fingers on its hilt.
The townspeople argued with him saying, ‘The virtue of a sword is killing. What use does a monk have for one?’
He replied, ‘You don’t know it yet, but these days the world is full of a false wisdom that is just like this wooden sword. As long as it is kept in the scabbard, it looks as good as a real blade, but if it is drawn out from the scabbard, it is seen to be only a sliver of wood. It cannot even kill people—much less make them live.’
— Sanford, Zen-Man Ikkyū, pp. 91–92.
Part of the reason I am not a serious practitioner of Zen is the number of props that someone being serious about Zen seems to require. Incense, robes, zafu and zabuton, chimes and gongs, and whatnot, along with a meditation space and a shrine (if you lean that way), blank walls to limit distraction…
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