SAMBODHI SMILES COSMIC

 
A Zen Master and his idiot disciple we're hiking through a mountain forest of ancient China. They happened upon a damsel in distress at the bank of a river, which was swollen and running fast by the rains.

The Master asked her dilemma, and through tears she explained that her husband and child had been awaiting her on the other side for days, but she was stuck on account of the rains, and none would help her.

"Hold tight," said the Master, and scooped her up into his arms like the Nite Dawg Knight that he was, then set off across the river with his idiot disciple clumsily splashing behind them.

Safe on the other side, he set the dry maiden back down on her feet. Her tears of despair became tears of joy. Her gratitude was so great that she embraced the Master tight like a daughter hugging her loving pappy. She kissed both his cheeks through her tears, bowed thrice, then sprinted off to finally get home.

A quick glance told him his idiot disciple had made it, though drenched and dishevelled, so he continued on the trek without wasting breath.

Three miles later down the trail, he chose to put an end to the negative vibes that had been emanating from his student since the river crossing. He stopped, turned, and stared with objective curiosity into the angry eyes of his approaching dingbat. 

Seeing his anger had zero effect on the Master, dingbat stopped his approach and stared down at the ground, though his lungs still huffed with anger.

In silence, the Master observed his idiot pupil. When he finally started to simmer down, Master said, "Spit it out."

The dingbat took a few deep breaths and did so, his words laced with resentment: "I studied the sutras since I was a child, years before coming to your monastery and adorning the robe. I abide faithfully in the scriptures taught by The Buddha, and yet I follow a man I thought was holy, but in truth has no respect for our founder's teachings."

Still objectively curious, Master inquired, "And what say these sacred scriptures, which I'm just hearing of, that Lord Buddha taught to his Sangha, and no one cared to tell me?"

Dingbat searched the Master's eyes, certain to see them shining with sarcasm. When he found not a trace, he was so exasperated he practically yelled this next bit.

"Females! Ladies! Women! The opposite sex! The Buddha forbade all monks of the Sangha to have contact with them! You not only touched her, you let her hug you and kiss you like a common man."

The disciple's exhaustion began to win over his anger and he dropped to his knees. Grief entered the rage in his voice when he started in with the fool questions: "Why did you touch her? Why do you spit on Buddha's teaching? Someone would've helped her. Why did you help her?" He went to his hands and lowered his head, panting. He was so tired, and mad, but so tired.

In silence, Master Yeno stepped close to his troubled student, now kneeling prostrate and miserable near his feet. He squated down, and with his fingers, gently lifted his pupil's weary head by the chin to look into his teary eyes. He rested the palm of his left hand on the nape of the lad's neck, applying pressure to a certain point. Yeno looked deep into those hurting eyes; pass the anger, the grief, the betrayal; until he saw stillness. The tips of his fingers just slightly rocking his head, and with his objective curiosity, Yeno asked The Question.

The vibration of Master Yeno's voice resonated within the now frightened Monk's head. The words like lightning, echoed, "I - I - I - I SET - SET - SET HER - HER - HER DOWN - DOWN - DOWN MILES - MILES - MILES AGO - GO - GO."

With such compassion he looked into his student's eyes, still holding his head up to see his own. Then he said, "You ask me why I helped her. Answer me this, Sambodhi: How is it you still carry her?"

It took a minute, but when Master Yeno's question finally hit that stillness deep in Sambodhi's mind, the answer which was the fact, arose. All this miserable anger, resentment, loathing of his Master and a woman he knew nothing of …. was created by the same mind that believed the scriptures, that was proud of his "knowledge", that always frowned upon those not devoted like him.

"A lie!" Sambodhi screamed, now with tears gushing as he shook his head, ashamed to look at his Master, but unable not to.

I set her down miles ago. How is it you still carry her?

And he had carried her. He understood now, and it was true. He was still carrying her right now and her weight was crushing. A mere image, a false image at that, had him more exhausted and emotionally distraught than he'd ever imagined possible. And it was his creation – his fault.

So he let "her" go, and the crushing weight did lift from his mind and body. His blurry eyes, still looking at Yeno's face, did widen in awe and became clear and focussed. The questioning look on his Master's face transformed into a very pleased and understanding smile, which couldn't have possibly been more contagious. 

And as he looked into his Master's face, all the words of his questioning mind vanished, leaving nothing but The Answer and The Truth he'd sought so long.

It could not possibly be, but it most certainly was, and without a doubt make no mistake: He, Sambodhi Basho Ting'hi, was indeed the creator/dreamer of his own Master's face, the earth beneath him, and everything he perceived, he did, indeed, conceive. 

Master Yeno released Sambodhi's head and stood, ecstatic that this trip had been blessed with a transmission. 

Sambodhi went prostrate again, but this time laughing his ass off. When he caught his breath, enough to speak as his laughter subsided, he looked up at Yeno and said, "That one hand clapping's making some pretty damn good music, Master Yeno!"

Then he got up,and threw an arm around him like a drunken friend, winked, and whispered in his ear, "If that is your real name."

Being the more seasoned master, Yeno said, "Well, gotta lotta names really. Big King Daddy Dawg, The Ancient Babby, Jo' Big Know, Old Boy ….why? Who's asking?"

Sambodhi cracked up, started dancing crazy all over the place, then did a jig and started chanting:

       "Ancient Babby
              Jo' Big Know

         Ancient Babby
              Jo' Big Know

        I with the Golden

              Buddha Glow

         They call me
              Ol' Basho Sambo"

Then high pitched at the top of his lungs:

   "THEY CALL ME

        OL' BASHO SAMBO!

    THEY CALL ME

        OL' BASHO SAMBO!
 

     WHEN JO' BIG KNOW

              DID ASK WHO ASKS?

     I SING
          IT'S OL'  BASHO SAMBO!

        I SING

         IT'S OL'  BASHO SAMBO!"

The rest of the trek to Master Boko'kujo's monastery was a great joy for both Zenjis. Sambodhi now did truly learn from Master Yeno's wisdom. He not only learned the story of his Master's history, but also of the difficulties ahead for him, which Sambodhi could see by his Master's logic was inevitable.

"Over the decades," said Yeno, "your Zen will ripen."