Day Six of September 2023 Sesshin
Today is day six... of our September 2023 seven-day sesshin.
And today, we’re going to take a look at a koan.
This is Case 89 from the Shōyōroku — The Book of Serenity.
It’s called Dongshan’s No Grass.
Let’s begin by reading the case... and then we’ll wander a little into the story behind it.
Dongshan said to the assembly of monks:
"It’s the beginning of autumn, brothers.
Now that the summer training period is over,
some of you will go east, and some will go west.
But you must go at once to where there is no grass for 10,000 miles."
And then, after a pause, he added:
"But... how can you go to where there is no grass for 10,000 miles?"
Later, another teacher, Shishuang, said:
"Just go out the gate — and there’s grass."
And even later, Dayang said:
"I’d say, even without going out the gate, there’s grass everywhere."
Now, these three weren’t sitting together having a back-and-forth conversation.
They lived across different times.
Dongshan lived from 807 to 869.
Shishuang was his contemporary — they even studied under the same teacher.
Dayang, though, lived about a hundred years later, from 943 to 1027.
We won’t dive into all three biographies today — we’ll just focus on Dongshan.
I'll be drawing mainly from Andy Ferguson’s Zen’s Chinese Heritage — but I’ll simplify a little as we go, to stay close to the heart of the story.
About Dongshan
Dongshan was one of the most important teachers of the Tang Dynasty — the so-called Golden Age of Zen.
He’s regarded as the founder of the Caodong school of Chan — which later became the Soto school in Japan.
Andy Ferguson begins Dongshan’s story with a moment from his youth:
As a young man, Dongshan was reading the Heart Sutra... and he came across these words:
"No eye, no ear, no nose, no tongue, no body."
He asked his teacher:
"I have eyes... ears... a nose...
So why does the sutra say there is none?"
His teacher was stunned.
He said:
"I can't be your teacher."
And sent young Dongshan off to study under someone else.
At 21, Dongshan took the monks' vows at Mount Song —
a remote, mythic mountain seen as the center of heaven and earth.
And following Zen tradition, he then traveled to meet the great teachers of his time.
Early Encounters
One early story:
Dongshan visited Zen Master Nanquan.
The monks there were busy preparing a feast — a memorial for Nanquan’s late master, Mazu.
Nanquan asked the monks:
"Tomorrow, we will have Mazu’s feast.
Will Mazu come?"
(Remember — Mazu was already dead. This was a testing question.)
The monks were silent.
But young Dongshan stepped forward and said:
"If he has a companion, he will come."
Right there — he showed deep understanding.
The relationship between teacher and student is not two.
One does not exist without the other.
Nanquan approved:
"Though this child is young... he’s a gem worth polishing."
Dongshan replied:
"Master... don't turn something good... into something bad."
Meaning:
Maybe a gem — a true student — doesn't need polishing at all.
Maybe it's already complete.
Later, Dongshan studied with another master, Guishan.
At one point, he shared a story he'd heard:
The National Teacher had said that even inanimate things — walls, tiles, trees — expound the Dharma.
A monk in the story objected:
"I can't hear a wall speaking.
How could that be?"
Dongshan wrestled with this story, and asked Guishan for guidance.
Guishan simply lifted his whisk — a teacher’s ceremonial staff — into the air.
Dongshan said:
"I don’t understand."
And Guishan answered:
"The mouth my parents gave me...
can’t explain it to you."
Dongshan pressed:
"Is there anyone else you respect who can explain?"
And Guishan suggested he go see Yunyan.
The Turning Point
Dongshan traveled to Yunyan.
He shared the same story... and asked:
"Who can hear inanimate things expound Dharma?"
Yunyan said:
"What is inanimate... can hear it."
Dongshan asked:
"Can the master hear it?"
Yunyan replied:
"If I could hear it...
you couldn't hear me expound Dharma."
He lifted his whisk, too, and asked:
"Can you hear it?"
Dongshan said:
"No, I can’t."
Yunyan said:
"When I expound Dharma... you can’t hear it.
How could you hear it when inanimate things speak?"
Dongshan, still seeking, asked:
"What sutra teaches this?"
And this time, Yunyan gave him what he asked for.
He quoted from the Amitabha Sutra:
"The lakes and rivers, the birds and forests —
they all chant Buddha, all chant Dharma."
And on hearing this... Dongshan awakened.
Dongshan’s Insight
He saw...
Everything embodies true nature.
Every tree, every river, every teacup, every wall tile.
Each thing has its place.
Each expresses the Dharma.
Dongshan later wrote:
"How incredible!
Inanimate things expounding Dharma — inconceivable!
It can’t be known by the ears trying to hear it...
But when the eyes hear... it may be known."
A direct experience...
a union of senses...
a glimpse beyond ordinary seeing and hearing.
Back to the Koan: No Grass
Coming back to the koan:
At the end of the training period, Dongshan told the monks:
"Go at once to where there is no grass for 10,000 miles."
And then:
"But... how can you go?"
In ancient Zen monasteries, monks trained together for three months — without leaving the grounds.
At the end, they set off into the world —
some going home, some traveling to new monasteries.
Grass here stands for attachments, distractions, worldly concerns.
Dongshan was urging them:
Step into the world — but keep your mind clear.
Find the place with no grass.
Later, Shishuang said:
"Go out the gate — there’s grass."
Meaning:
The moment you step into the world... it begins.
Desires, cravings, troubles... weeds everywhere.
Then Dayang added:
"Even without going out the gate... there’s grass everywhere."
Even inside the monastery... even sitting on a cushion...
the mind sprouts grass.
When I first encountered this koan, it reminded me of visiting a temple on Mount Emei in China about fifteen years ago.
I remember the trek up — winding through thick forests.
But when you reached the temple grounds — no grass.
Just stone tiles, bare and stark.
Very simple. Very empty.
And yet... even there... the mind can grow weeds.
The poet Rumi once wrote:
"Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field.
I’ll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language,
even the phrase 'each other' —
don’t make any sense."
That field... that grass...
That place beyond grass and no-grass...
It’s not somewhere far away.
It’s right here.
Right now.
Let's stop here... and recite the Four Vows together.
