The man knew what to do. He made a large pot of clay
and took it into the center of the village. Then he filled the pot with
snow and lit a fire under it. Naturally all the villagers came out to
see what he was doing.
"Today," he announced, "I will teach you how to make
stone soup." Everyone laughed. It was not possible to make soup
from stones. But the man selected several stones from the mountainside and after washing them carefully, he threw them in the pot.
Then, from the pocket of his threadbare coat, he withdrew a few
pine nuts and some dried roots.
One of the villagers said, "You'll need some salt for that
soup."
"Ah," said the man, "I have no salt."
"I do," said the villager. "I'll run home and get it."
Another villager said, "You know, I just happen to have an
old cabbage in my cellar. Would you like to include it in the soup?"
"Of course," said the man. "That would be wonderful!"
And that villager ran home to fetch his old cabbage.
Another villager offered two shriveled carrots while yet
another remembered an onion he had stored away. Handfuls of rice
came from many households.
A few more old vegetables, a little wild celery, a pinch of
pepper, and then, to everyone's delight, the delicious smell of soup
filled the air.
People brought their bowls and ate with such joy! There
was plenty of soup for everyone. "What a clever fellow," they all
agreed, "to be able to make such fine soup from stones."
They thanked the man for his recipe, the main ingredients
of which were love and generosity.
Again the man returned to his cave and continued his
work on the Hua Tou, "Amitabha! Who is it who now repeats the
Buddha's name?"
But he grew famous for being a sort of "stone soup chef";
and when his mother and sister heard about his marvelous power,
they came to visit him, bringing an offering of a bolt of fine silk.
But when they entered his cave, he was in deep samadhi, and he
neither responded to their flattering remarks nor acknowledged
their gift. Disappointed and angry, his mother and sister propped
the bolt against the wall and departed.
For thirteen years he lived in that cave and at the end of
that time, his mother died and his sister came alone to call on him.
She was agitated and depressed and felt that life had no real meaning.
When she entered the cave she was astonished to find the
bolt of silk propped up against the wall exactly where she had left
it.
"What secret power do you have that makes you so independent of the things of the world?" his sister asked.
"I have no secret power," he said. "I strive to live the life
of the Buddha Self. I strive to live the Dharma."
That didn't seem to her to be much of an answer, and so
she got up to leave.
"Take this bolt of silk with you," he said. "Take also something which is far more valuable." And he gave her the precious
Hua Tou instruction. "Every day, from morning to night, say to
yourself, `Amitabha! Who is repeating the Buddha's name?'"
The Hua Tou immediately captured her attention. Even
before she left she had begun to make spiritual progress with it. Her
thoughts, instead of being scattered and agitated, suddenly settled
down to focus on the Hua Tou. Instead of being depressed and aimless, she became actively involved in solving the problem. She was
concentrating on something besides her troubles.
The man, seeing how this method had so fascinated and
delighted his sister, realized it was time for him to return to the
world and to try to help people.
He returned to the monastery where he had first worked in
the fields and received ordination in the Dharma. But he declined to
live at the monastery. Instead, he proceeded to Xia Men, a town on
the south coast of FuJian Province, where he built himself a roadside hut. Everyday he gathered roots and wild vegetables and
brewed a tea which he offered, without charge, to pilgrims and
other travelers.
Whenever someone asked his advice about spiritual matters, he repeated the advice that had been given him by the visiting
monk: he recommended that Hua Tou!
Then, during the reign of Emperor Wan Li, the Empress
Mother died, and the Emperor, grief stricken, planned a magnificent
funeral ceremony, one that was worthy of her memory. But which
priest was worthy of conducting the service? That was a problem!
There is an old saying, "Familiarity breeds contempt," and the
Emperor evidently knew the Buddhist priests in the capital too well.
He didn't think that any of them was sufficiently saintly to conduct
such a sacred service.
Day after day he struggled with the problem of finding a
suitable priest, and then, one night in a dream, his mother spoke to
him. "In Chang Zhou prefecture of FuJian Province," she said,
"there is a monk who is qualified to lead my funeral service." She
gave him no other information.
Immediately, the Emperor dispatched government officials to FuJian Province to seek out the most holy monks. And the
officials, being no better judge of holiness then than they are now,
simply picked the most eminent monks they could find. Naturally,
these monks were delighted to be selected for the honor and, naturally, the officials were delighted to have completed their assignment; and so a large group of very happy officials and monks
started back for the capital. On the way, they stopped at the monk's
hut for tea.
"Venerable Masters," said the monk, "Please tell me the
reason you are all so happy."
One of the eminent priests couldn't resist bragging,
"We're on our way to the capital to conduct funeral services for the
Empress Mother."
This didn't seem like an occasion for joy to the monk. He
respected the Emperor and the Empress Mother who were both
devout Buddhists. "I would like to help you," he said, asking, "May
I accompany you to the capital?"
All the officials and priests laughed at him for being such
a rude fellow. Then the bragging priest asked incredulously, "Do
you actually hope to help us conduct the services?"
"Oh, no," said the monk. "I merely wish to carry your luggage."
"That's better," said the priest. "Very well, you may come
as our porter."
Meanwhile, the Emperor had devised a test for determining which priest of the many who had been summoned was worthy
of leading the ceremony. He had the Diamond Sutra carved into a
stone, and when he heard that the officials and priests were
approaching the palace, he had that stone placed in the threshold of
the Palace Gate.
Sadly the Emperor watched as, one by one, the officials
and priests walked across the stone, chatting with each other about
the different things they would do to make the ceremony more
impressive.
The porter monk was the last monk to approach the stone.
When he saw it, even though he could not read, he sensed that it
was Holy Writ. He stopped and called to one of the priests, "What
do these characters say?"
The priest turned around, looked down and read. "Why,
it's the Diamond Sutra!" he said, surprised; but he kept on walking
and chatting with the others. The monk, however, would not cross
the threshold. Instead, he knelt before the stone, and remained outside the Palace gate.
The Emperor watched all this and then commanded the
monk to enter.
"Sire," said the monk, "I am sorry to disobey you, but I
cannot dishonor these sacred words by walking on them."
"If you were reading the sutra, you could hold it in your
hands without dishonoring it, couldn't you?" asked the Emperor.
"If I could read, Sire, I would not then be dishonoring the
words by holding them in my hands."
The Emperor smiled. "Then cross the threshold by walking on your hands."
So the monk did a somersault and entered the Palace by
having only his hands touch the stone.
The Emperor then decreed that this humble monk should
lead the funeral ceremony. But when the Emperor asked the monk
how he intended to proceed, the monk merely replied, "I will conduct the ceremony tomorrow morning. I will require one small altar,
one processional banner, some incense, candles and offertory fruit."
This was not the grand ceremony the Emperor had in
mind. So, prompted by the grumblings of the eminent priests, he
began to doubt his decision to allow the monk to conduct the services.
Immediately he devised another test. He ordered two of
his most beautiful and experienced concubines to go to the monk's
chambers and assist him in his ablutions for the ceremony.
And that evening, by Imperial command, these two
women came to the monk and proceeded to bathe and massage him;
but though they used the most sensuous unguents and perfumes and
did everything they knew how to do to arouse him sexually, he
remained unmoved by their efforts. When they were finished, he
politely thanked them for their kind assistance and bid them good
night. The women reported this to the Emperor who was much
relieved. He ordered that the ceremony be held in accordance with
the monk's design.
During the ceremony, the monk went to the coffin of the
Empress Mother and said, "See me, dear Lady, as your own Original Face. Know that in reality there are not two of us but only one.
Though there is naught to lead and naught to follow, please accept
my direction and take one step forward to enter Paradise."
The Emperor overheard this and was again dismayed by
the simplicity of the address. "Is that enough to liberate Her Majesty, the Empress Mother?" he asked. But before the monk could
answer, the Empress Mother's voice, sounding a little annoyed,
resounded throughout the Palace. "I am now liberated, my son!
Bow your head and give thanks to this holy master!"
The Emperor was stunned, but so happy to hear his
mother's voice that he beamed with joy. Immediately he ordered a
banquet to be held in the monk's honor.
At that banquet something strange occurred. The Emperor
appeared in magnificent attire and when the monk saw the
Emperor's trousers, which were richly embroidered with golden
sky dragons, he was struck by their beauty. The Emperor saw him
staring at his trousers and said, "Virtuous One! Do you like these
trousers?"
"Yes, Sire," answered the monk. "I think they are very
bright and very beautiful. They shine like lamps."
"The better for people to follow you," said the Emperor;
and right on the spot he took off his pants and gave them to the
monk! Thereafter, the monk was known as "Imperial Master
Dragon Trousers".
I tell you this wonderful story because I want you always
to remember those Dragon Trousers and the persevering monk who
received them. Dear friends, imagine that you, too, are wearing
those bright trousers and be a lamp unto the feet of others, a gleaming light which they may follow. Always remember, that just as that
monk so quickly noticed the Emperor's trousers, others will be
noticing you. Do not yield to temptation or distraction. Always
keep your Hua Tou in your mind. Never be parted from it. It will
become the source of your resourcefulness. And, just as you should
always help others, you should never allow yourself to become
helpless.
Remember: motive, means, and opportunity. Retain your
motivation! Seek the means of enlightenment! Find the opportunity
to practice! Then, when someone asks, "Who is guilty of success in
Chan?" you can say, "I am."
