seventh world of chan buddhism - Zen Buddhist Order of Hsu Yun

"What?" shouts Master. "I can't hear you!" He turns to the head monk and gives him
a threatening look.
Ming clears his throat and says, "The sound of one hand clapping is the call of prajna
before the penetrating stroke of upaya... has.. reached it."
Master hits him with his stick. "You fool!" he shouts. "Get out!" As Ming scurries
away, Master bellows at the head monk, "You said that he was ready! Have you lost your
senses?"
While Ming, now a nervous wreck, is pacing in the garden, the head monk accosts
him. "What are you trying to do to me? I vouched for you, god damn it! I stuck my neck out
for you and you thank me by acting like an idiot. Pull yourself together! Think, man, think!"
Ming, shifting between anger and despair, does not feel grateful.
The bookmakers are in a frenzy. Ming is red-eyed. He walks around mumbling to
himself incoherently. Everyone is watching him. How long will it take? Hah! How long
will it take him to die of shame? He wishes he could take them all straight to hell with him.
He is doomed.
During his next interview Ming supposes that the sound of one hand clapping is the
configuring yang without the shadowed yin. It is present in form, absent in substance.
Master strikes him. The head monk tries to stammer an excuse but Master is too furious to
listen. Ming is the most wretched human being in the province... maybe all China... maybe
all Asia.
The head monk orders everyone to stop talking to Ming to allow him to think or at
least to come up with a better answer than those he has given. Ming is reduced to spiritual
penury. He is alone, ostracized. Everywhere he turns he is vilified by laughter. He never
smiles. Instead, he snarls and makes no effort to conceal his contempt for the head monk and
for his master. He suffers. Is there no respite?
He awakens from a fitful sleep. What is the sound of one hand clapping? He squirms
on his meditation cushion. What is the sound of one hand clapping? He picks at his food.
What is the sound of one hand clapping?
The days and weeks pass. He is hit, scorned, mocked, humiliated. "How did I ever
think I could solve a koan," he begins to wonder. Then he concludes, "I am more stupid than
cow dung." He weeps in shame. "Oh, Lord," he prays, "forgive me for my pride. I've been an
impostor. I'm nothing but a fool." Blaming himself, he begins to exonerate others. "The head
monk tried to help me and I let him down. I brought shame upon him and my good master.
How will they ever forgive me." Etc. Etc. Etc.
CHAPTER 18 SATORI, THE KOAN, AND MONASTIC POLISHING
S EVENTH W ORLD O F C HAN B UDDHISM
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