Walking in Zen, Sitting in Zen

Walking in Zen, Sitting in Zen
Zen Stories
Talks given from 05/03/80 am to 10/05/80 am
English Discourse series
16 Chapters
Year published: 1982
Original tape title calls discourses 1 to 6 as "Part 1", and 7 to 16 as
"Part 2". Walking in Zen, Sitting in Zen
Chapter #1
Chapter title: The Breath of the Soul
5 March 1980 am in Buddha Hall Archive code: 8003050
ShortTitle: INZEN01
Audio: Yes
Video: No The first question Question 1
OSHO,
WHY HAVE YOU CALLED THIS SERIES OF DISCOURSES: "WALKING IN ZEN, SITTING IN
ZEN"? I AM NOT TO BLAME. The whole blame goes to this old guy Yoka. Yoka is one
of the rarest enlightened people; his sayings are tremendously beautiful.
Very few sayings are available, but each saying is a diamond unique in
itself.
Reading his sayings, I came across this statement: A MAN OF ZEN WALKS IN ZEN AND SITS IN ZEN. WHETHER HE SPEAKS OR ACTS,
WHETHER HE IS SILENT OR INACTIVE, HIS BODY IS ALWAYS PEACEFUL. HE SMILES,
LOOKING STRAIGHT AT THE SWORD WHICH TAKES HIS LIFE. HE KEEPS HIS BALANCE
EVEN AT THE MOMENT OF DEATH. I love the statement that the "man of Zen walks in Zen and sits in Zen" for
the simple reason that meditation cannot be just a part of your life. You
cannot make a fragment of your life meditative; it is not possible to be
meditative for one hour and then non-meditative for twenty-three hours. It
is absolutely impossible. If you are doing that, that means your meditation
is false.
Meditation can either be a twenty-four-hour affair or it cannot be at all.
It is like breathing: you cannot breathe for one hour and then put it aside
for twenty-three hours, otherwise you will be dead. You have to go on
breathing. Even while you are asleep you have to go on breathing. Even in a
deep coma you have to go on breathing.
Meditation is the breath of your soul. Just as breathing is the life of the
body, meditation is the life of the soul.
The people who are not aware of meditation are spiritually dead.
George Gurdjieff used to say that very few people have souls -- and he is
right. One is born not with a soul but only with a seed which can grow into
a soul -- which may not grow. It will depend on you. You will have to
create the right soil, the right climate for it to grow, to bloom. You will
have to provoke the spring into coming to you so that your soul can flower,
otherwise you are just a body-mind. The soul is only an empty word.
Meditation makes it a reality. Meditation is the climate in which the soul
happens.
Zen is another name for meditation. The word zen comes from the Sanskrit
root dhyan -- it has traveled far. Dhyan means a state of absolute silence,
of thoughtless silence, but full of awareness. Even the thought that "I am
aware" is enough to distract you from your meditation. Even to know that "I
am in meditation" is enough to destroy it.
A state of meditation is an innocent, silent state. You are blissfully
unaware of your awareness. You are, but you are utterly relaxed. You are
not in a state of sleep; you are fully alert, more alert than ever. You are
alertness, rather.
Dhyan is the greatest contribution of the East to the evolution of
humanity.
Buddha himself never used Sanskrit; he used a language that was used by the
masses of those days, he used Pali. In Pali, dhyan becomes jhan. When
Buddha's message reached China, jhan became chan. And when it traveled from
China to Japan, it became zen. But it originates from dhyan. Dhyan means
meditation, but the English word "meditation" does not have that flavor, it
has a long association with contemplation. The English word "meditation"
means meditation upon something; there is an object of meditation.
And in Zen there is no object at all, only pure subjectivity. You are
aware, but not aware of something. There is nothing to be aware of;
everything has disappeared. You are not even aware of nothingness, because
then nothingness becomes your object, then nothingness becomes your
thought. You are not aware of emptiness either. You are simply aware; there
is no object to your awareness. The mirror is empty, reflecting nothing,
because there is nothing to reflect.
You have to remember it, otherwise "meditation" can give you a wrong
impression. Whenever the word "meditation" is used, immediately the
question arises, "On what?" That question is irrelevant. If you are asking,
"On what?" then you are asking what to think about, contemplate about,
concentrate on -- and that is not meditation.
Concentration is not meditation, concentration is an effort of the mind to
focus itself. It has certain purposes of its own. It is a method in science
-- useful, but it is not meditation.
Contemplation is a little vague, more abstract. In concentration, the
object is more visible; in contemplation, the object is abstract. You
concentrate on a flame of light; you contemplate on love. And in
Christianity, contemplation and meditation have become synonymous.
Meditation should be given a new meaning, a new fragrance -- the fragrance
of Zen. Concentration is of the mind, meditation is not of the mind at all,
and contemplation is just in between, in a limbo. It is something of the
mind and something of the no-mind, a mixture; a state where mind and no-
mind meet, the boundary.
One has to reach to the absolute state of awareness: that is Zen. You
cannot do it every morning for a few minutes or for half an hour and then
forget all about it. It has to become like your heartbeat. You have to sit
in it, you have to walk in it. Yes, you have even to sleep in it. Ananda, one of Gautam Buddha's chief disciples, asked Buddha, "One thing
always puzzles me and I cannot contain my curiosity anymore although my
question is irrelevant. The question is that when you go to sleep you
remain the whole night in the same posture. Wherever you put your hands,
your feet, whatsoever side you lie on, you remain exactly the same, like a
statue. You don't move, you don't change your side, you don't move your
hands,. your feet -- nothing changes. You wake up in the morning in exactly
the same posture that you had gone to sleep in. One night, just out of
curiosity, I looked at you the whole night -- not a single movement. Are
you controlling yourself even in your sleep?"
Buddha said, "There is no question of control. I am awake, I am in
meditation. I sleep in meditation. Just as I wake up early in the morning
in meditation, every night I go to sleep in meditation. My day is my
meditation, my night too. I remain absolutely calm and quiet because deep
down I am perfectly aware. The flame of meditation goes on burning
smokeless. That's why there is no need to move." Yoka says: A MAN OF ZEN WALKS IN ZEN AND SITS IN ZEN. This is of great significance for you all. Meditation has to become
something so deep in you that wherever you go it remains, abides with you;
whatsoever you do it is always there. Only then can your life be
transformed. Then not only will you be meditative in your life, you will be
meditative in your death too. You will die in deep meditation.
That's how Buddha died. That's how all the Buddhas have always died: their
death is something exquisitely beautiful. Their life is beautiful, their
death too. There is no gap between their life and death. Their death is a
crescendo of their life, the ultimate peak, the absolute expression.
When Buddha died he was eighty-two years old. He called his disciples
together -- just as he used to when he talked to them every morning. They
all gathered. Nobody was thinking at all about his death.
And then Buddha said, "This is my last sermon to you. Whatsoever I had to
say to you I have said. Forty-two years I have been telling you, saying to
you... I have poured out my whole heart. Now, if somebody has any question
left he can ask, because this is the last day of my life. Today I leave for
the other shore. My boat has arrived."
They were shocked! They had come just to listen to the daily discourse.
They were not thinking that he was going to die -- and without making any
fuss about death! It was just a simple phenomenon, a simple declaration
that "My boat has come and I have to leave. If you have any question left
you can ask me, because if you don't ask me today, I will never again be
available. Then the question will remain with you. So please, be kind and
don't be shy," he told his disciples.
They started crying. And Buddha said, "Stop all this nonsense! This is no
time to waste on crying and weeping! Ask if you have something to ask,
otherwise let me go. The time has come. I cannot linger any longer."
They said,'We have nothing to ask. You have given more than we would have
ever asked. You have answered all the questions that we have asked, that we
could have asked. You have answered questions which for centuries will be
fulfilling for all kinds of inquirers."
Then Buddha said, "So I can take leave of you. Good-bye."
And he closed his eyes, sat in a lotus posture, and started moving towards
the other shore.
It is said: the first step was that he left his body, the second step was
that he left his mind, the third step was that he left his heart, the
fourth step was that he left his soul. He disappeared into the universal so
peacefully, so silently, so joyously. The birds were chirping; it was early
morning -- the sun was still on the horizon. And ten thousand sannyasins
were sitting and watching Buddha dying with such grace! They forgot
completely that this was death. There was nothing of death as they had
always conceived it. It was such an extraordinary experience.
So much meditative energy was released that many became enlightened that
very day, that very moment. Those who were just on the verge were pushed
into the unknown. Thousands, it is said, became enlightened through
Buddha's beautiful death.
We don't call it death, we call it Mahaparinirvana, dissolving into the
absolute -- just like an ice cube melting, dissolving into the ocean. He
lived in meditation, he died in meditation. It is because of Yoka t