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Thirteen hundred years ago, in an ancient province of Korea, there was a great Zen Master named Won Hyo. As a young man he fought in a bloody civil war and saw many friends slaughtered and homes destroyed. He was overcome by the emptiness of this life, so he shaved his head and went to the mountains to live the life of a monk.

In the mountains he read many Sutras and kept his precepts well, but still he didn’t understand the true meaning of Buddhism. Finally, since he knew that in China he might find a Zen master who could help him become enlightened, he put on his backpack and headed for the great dry Northern plains.

He went on foot. He would walk all day long and rest at night. One evening, after months of walking, he stopped at a small patch of green, where there were a few trees and some water and went to sleep. Toward midnight he woke up very thirsty. It was pitch dark. He groped along on all fours searching for water. At last his hand touched a cup on the ground. He picked it up and drank. Ah, how delicious! Then he bowed deeply in gratitude to Buddha for the gift of water.

The next morning he woke up and saw beside him what he had taken for a cup. It was a shattered skull, blood-caked and still with shreds of flesh stuck to the cheekbones. Strange insects crawled or floated on the surface of the filthy rain water inside it. Won Hyo looked at the skull and felt a great wave of nausea. He opened his mouth. As soon as the vomit poured out, his mind opened and he understood. Last night, since he hadn’t seen and hadn’t thought, the water was delicious. This morning, seeing and thinking had made him vomit. Ah, he said to himself, thinking makes good and bad, life and death. It creates the whole universe. It is the universal master. And without thinking, there is no universe, no Buddha, no Dharma. All is one, and this one is empty.

There was no need now to find a master. Won Hyo already understood life and death. What more was there to learn? So he turned and started back across the desert to Korea.

Twenty years passed. During this time Won Hyo became the most famous monk in the land. He was the trusted advisor to the great king of Silla and preceptor to the noblest and most powerful families. Whenever he gave a public lecture, the hall was packed. He lived in a beautiful temple, taught the best students, ate the best food, and slept the dreamless sleep of the just.

Now at this time, in Silla, there was a very great Zen master—a little old man, with a wisp of a beard and skin like a crumpled paper bag. Barefoot and in tattered clothes he would walk through the towns ringing his bell. De an, de an, de an, de an, don’t think, de an, like this, de an, rest mind, de an, de an. Won Hyo heard of him and one day hiked to the mountain cave where he lived. From a distance he could hear the sound of extraordinarily lovely chanting echoing through the valleys. But when he arrived at the cave he found the master sitting beside a dead fawn, weeping bitterly. Won Hyo was dumbfounded. How could an enlightened being be either happy or sad, since in the state of nirvana there is nothing to be happy or sad about and no one to be happy or sad? He stood speechless for a while, and then asked the master why he was weeping.

The master explained. He had come upon the fawn after its mother had been killed by hunters. It was very hungry, so he had gone into town and begged for milk. Since he knew that no one would give milk for an animal, he had said it was for his son. “A monk with a son? Dirty old man!” people thought. But some gave him a little milk. He had continued this way for a month, begging enough to keep the animal alive. Then the scandal became too great, and no one would help. He had been wandering for three days now, in search of milk. At last he had found some, but when he had returned to the cave, his fawn was already dead. “You don’t understand,” said the master. “My mind and the fawn’s mind are the same. It was very hungry. I want milk, I want milk. Now it is dead. Its mind is my mind. That’s why I am weeping. I want milk.”

Won Hyo began to understand how great a Bodhisattva the master was. When all creatures were happy, he was happy. When all creatures were sad, he was sad. He said to him, “Please teach me.” The master said, “All right. Come along with me.”

They went to the red-light district of town. The master took Won Hyo’s arm and walked up to the door of a whorehouse. De an, de an, he rang. A beautiful woman opened the door. “Today I’ve brought the great monk Won Hyo to visit you.” “Oh! Won Hyo!” she cried out. Won Hyo blushed. The woman blushed, and her eyes grew large. She led them upstairs to her room, in great happiness, fear, and exhilaration that the famous, handsome monk had come to her. As she prepared meat and wine for her visitors, the master said to Won Hyo, “For twenty years you’ve kept company with kings and princes and monks. It’s not good for a monk to live in heaven all the time. He must also visit hell and save the people there who are wallowing in their desires. Hell too is ‘like this.’ So tonight you will ride this wine straight to hell.” “But I’ve never broken a single Precept before,” Won Hyo said. “Have a good trip,” said the master.

He then turned to the woman and said, “Don’t you know that it’s a sin to give wine to a monk? Aren’t you afraid of going to hell?” “No,” the woman said; “Won Hyo will come and save me.” “A very good answer!” said the master.

So Won Hyo stayed the night, and broke more than one Precept. The next morning he took off his elegant robes and went dancing through the streets, barefoot and in tatters. De-an, de-an, de-an! The whole universe is empty! What are you?!

– From “Teaching Letters of Zen Master Seung Sahn“

It’s been a long time since I did a primary-only home practice. This morning, because Volleyball Guy is off at his niece’s wedding, I practiced here at the house. Since Saturday is usually led primary, I decided just to go ahead with a nice, leisurely primary practice. Afterwards, I actually went back and looked in the archives and found that it’s been 5 months (beginning of March) since intermediate poses were added to my practice. So all home practices since that time have included those poses.

So anyhow, this morning, just primary. Comfy and pleasant. Since I tend to focus on the poses I am working on at the end of my practice, I don’t usually “see” the primary portion of practice — I just do it. This morning I got a bit of an objective view. I read Jody’s blog last night and he mentioned his teacher’s suggestion that students practice at 75% of their maximum physical level and save the remaining 25% for the more subtle aspects of the practice. Yes, that sounded like a nice idea for this morning’s practice. Unfortunately, I sat around with my coffee, reading and surfing and chatting with My Gift via text message, and my mind got all revved up and then didn’t want to settle down and practice. Oh right, I forgot about that. Same thing happens with zazen: if your mind starts being busy, it is VERY hard to reel it back in and practice. I think this is the real reason for the traditional morning practice.So much easier to practice if you head the mind off, before it wakes up and gets all involved with the things around it.

Did finally get on the mat, and as per usual, things were all settled down by the time I got into the seated poses. What did I find, in this first primary-only home practice in at least half a year? Well, I found that the physical practice is easier and that my body has adjusted a LOT. The sheer repetition has left its imprints in my physical body, for sure. It’s kind of interesting, because I take yoga to be a deconditioning of the habits I’ve established, but (DUH!) it is a strong habit in and of itself. I used to have the habit of collapsing into my lower back while sitting at the office, and that has been alleviated — but there’s no hiding the fact that a new habit has taken its place. I guess we are ALWAYS forming habits, and the best hope is that we fashion useful ones. As I’ve said before, I see habits as karma, and karma as habits. I guess the best I can ask is that my practice burn away some of the old karma and replace it, if necessary, with karma that will be more useful in the future. Next lifetime, an easier, more advanced yoga practice?

A couple of people on my team at work are trying out some yoga classes. So far, they both like it. They also both see it as a physical practice. I’m not telling them anything different, either. They’ll find what they need to find. I am amused, though, to realize that they think my practice is a physical pursuit. Even as much as I, as a driven Ashtangi, focus on the physical aspects of my practice, so do I recognize — when contrasted with the lenses through which these new practitioners see my yoga — how much MORE it is than the physical.