Drawing distinctions, eh, Mesousa? I spare you thirty lashes.
Today's lecture is on Sengai. Born in 1750, Sengai was a prominent Zen priest, becoming 123rd abbot of the Shōfukuji Temple (in Fukuoka!), which was built in 1195 by Eisai, the man who brought Zen (and tea!) to Japan. Good biography here.
Whatever his preeminence in the Japanese religious scene, he made his greatest mark with his paintings and poems. It seems that nearly every modern book on Zen features at least one of his works. His most famous painting is this one:

which has been described as his rendering of the basic forms of the universe.

This painting of a frog is incribed:
If by the practice of sitting, one becomes a Buddha.....

Beside this painting of a tree, Sengai writes:
Though there must be winds
That it does not like,---
Still the willow!
This poem accompanies a painting of a traveler:
The wind-blown
Smoke of Mount Fuji
Vanishing far away!
Who knows the destiny
Of my thought?
In my view nothing more profound than this has ever been stated.
Referring to the most famous of all haiku, Bashō's "sound of water":
If there were a pond hereabouts,
I would jump in
And let Bashō hear the splash.
Further testament to Sengai's personality are the variety of anecdotes that feature him, including several of the famous "101 Zen Stories". This story I cull from a collection of death poems:
Sengai was asked by one of his pupils if he had anything to say before passing away. He replied, "I don't want to die." His pupils, astonished to hear this, asked, "What was that you said?" "I really don't want to die," repeated Sengai.
It's no wonder his students were surprised; most Zen masters near the end of their lives emphasize impermanence, the uselessness of attachment to life, and scold their disciples for grieving.
"When he died in 1837, at the age of eight-eight, all classes of society---the priesthood, the peasants, nobility, samurai, and merchants---mourned the passing of a rare friend."
Sengai's death poem:
He who comes knows only his coming
He who goes knows only his end
To be saved from the chasm
Why cling to the cliff?
Clouds floating low
Never know where the breezes will blow them.
Go meditate on Cy Young's 511 wins. |