On carrying wooden swords

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…

And enlightenment. It sounds like a nice thing to have if you can find it. You can even get a certificate to show everyone you’ve been enlightened.

Being serious about such things feels a lot like what Ikkyū would call dead wood.

Records indicate he stomped on his own enlightenment certificate, tore it up when it was presented to him at a later time, tore it up a second time when he found his disciples pieced it back together and then burned it so they couldn’t save it.

I’m not sure what I’ve getting at in this post.

Maybe I’m trying to explain my “birdshit” posts. It doesn’t seem like I’ve done a very good job of it. So, maybe I’m just full of shit.

As I get older, I’m increasingly convinced that is the one universal truth: Most of us are full of shit.

Which is probably the main reason why I am not a serious practitioner of Zen: My bullshit overflows.