Some picks from 101 Zen stories. Arranged from best to good (in my
opinion)
A Cup of Tea
Nan-in, a Japanese master during the Meiji era (1868-1912), received a
university professor who came to inquire about Zen.
Nan-in served tea. He poured his visitor's cup full, and then kept on
pouring.
The professor watched the overflow until he no longer could restrain
himself. "It is overfull. No more will go in!"
"Like this cup," Nan-in said, "you are full of your own opinions and
speculations. How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup?"
If You Love, Love Openly
Twenty monks and one nun, who was named Eshun, were practicing
meditation with a certain Zen master.
Eshun was very pretty even though her head was shaved and her dress
plain. Several monks secretly fell in love with her. One of them wrote
her a love letter, insisting upon a private meeting.
Eshun did not reply. The following day the master gave a lecture to
the group, and when it was over, Eshun arose. Addressing the one who
had written her, she said: "If you really love me so much, come and
embrace me now."
The Moon Cannot Be Stolen
Ryokan, a Zen master, lived the simplest kind of life in a little hut
at the foot of a mountain. One evening a thief visited the hut only to
discover there was nothing in it to steal.
Ryokan returned and caught him. "You may have come a long way to visit
me," he told the prowler, "and you shoud not return
emptyhanded. Please take my clothes as a gift."
The thief was bewildered. He took the clothes and slunk away.
Ryokan sat naked, watching the moon. "Poor fellow, " he mused, "I wish
I could give him this beautiful moon."
The First Principle
When one goes to Obaku temple in Kyoto he sees carved over the gate
the words "The First Principle." The letters are unusually large, and
those who appreciate calligraphy always admire them as being a
masterpiece. They were drawn by Kosen two hundred years ago.
When the master drew them he did so on paper, from which workmen made
the larger carving in wood. As Kosen sketched the letters a bold pupil
was with him who had made several gallons of ink for the calligraphy
and who never failed to criticize his master's work.
"That is not good," he told Kosen after the first effort.
"How is that one?"
"Poor. Worse than before," pronounced the pupil.
Kosen patiently wrote one sheet after another until eighty-four First
Principles had been accumulated, still without the approval of the
pupil.
Then, when the young man stepped outside for a few moments, Kosen
thought: "Now is my chance to escape his keen eye," and he wrote
hurridly, with a mind free from disctraction. "The First Principle."
"A masterpiece," pronounced the pupil.
The Voice of Happiness
After Bankei had passed away, a blind man who lived near the master's
temple told a friend: "Since I am blind, I cannot watch a person's
face, so I must judge his character by the sound of his
voice. Ordinarily when I hear someone congratulate another upon his
happiness or success, I also hear a secret tone of envy. When
condolence is expressed for the misfortune of another, I hear pleasure
and satisfaction, as if the one condoling was really glad there was
something left to gain in his own world.
"In all my experience, however, Bankei's voice was always
sincere. Whenever he expressed happiness, I heard nothing but
happiness, and whenever he expressed sorrow, sorrow was all I heard."
Everything is Best
When Banzan was walking through a market he overheard a conversation
between a butcher and his customer.
"Give me the best piece of meat you have," said the customer.
"Everything in my shop is the best," replied the butcher. "You cannot
find here any piece of meat that is not the best."
At these words Banzan became enlightened.
