Any attempt to describe the essence of Zen falls short within the limited construct of words, like trying to convey the sound of raindrops falling upon a flower petal in September, or the sensual experience of a warm cup of tea on a winter morning, or the awareness of the universe as it flows freely through your breath, limitless without any effort or intention on your part. It is, in the words of the old Japanese Zen Masters, like pointing a finger to the moon.
The very paradox of Zen lies in trying to describe in our limited language that essence which is beyond all words, beyond our humanness, beyond space and time. One can only experience the essence of Zen for oneself, within oneself. How can one possibly ever express in words the experience of being on a still, calm lake as hues of pink and blue paint a mosaic of colors across the sky, just as the morning sun makes its appearance along the horizon, and in that one moment the awareness of your individual insignificance in the vastness of this endless universe, and yet in that same moment the entire universe reveals itself within you in a fleeting glimpse of oneness with everything? Or how can one convey the miracle of a baby’s breath ever so delicately brushing across your cheek in one miraculous moment?
A monk once asked Zen Master, Zhàozhōu:
“What is my Teacher?”
Zhàozhōu answered: “Clouds rising out of the mountains, streams entering the valleys…without a sound.”
“I wasn’t asking about them”…the student said.
“Though you don’t recognize them they are your teacher,” Zhàozhōu responded.
The essence of Zen cannot be captured or quantified. It can only be glimpsed, breathed, found unexpectedly in a single moment of stillness. It is like trying to capture and hold an elusive butterfly happily making its way through the milkweed at sunset. We spend our lives seeking for it outside of ourselves only to be disappointed when all the while it is quietly and patiently waiting to be discovered within and all around us.
Everything is our teacher.
