Long ago, in China, the great Zen Master Yak Sahn had two chief disciples, Un Am and Dok Song, both of whom received the Transmission of Dharma from him. Un Am was powerfully built, a tireless man, with a resonant laugh and a voice like thunder. He soon became a very famous teacher; hundreds of disciples came to study with him. Dok Song, on the other hand, was a small thin man, who was so reserved that people rarely took notice of him. Only now and then would he say or do something that they would later ponder.
When Master Yak Sahn died, Dok Song went to Un Am and said, "You are now a great Zen Master. You have many students, many temples. I approve of this. But my way is different. It leads to mountains, rivers, and clouds. After I have gone, please find one good student and send him to me, so that I can pay my debt to our teacher.''
With these words, he left for the province of Hwa Jong. There, he put aside his monk's clothing, and let his hair grow. He bought a small boat, in which he rowed people from one bank of the river to the other, and so lived in obscurity as a simple ferryman.
Many years passed. In the nearby province of Hon Am, there lived a young man named Son Hae. He had become a monk at the age of nine and had studied the sutras diligently since then, learning from the foremost scholars in the area and mastering volumes of Mahayana texts. Eventually, he acquired a reputation as a great Dharma Teacher, and people from all over came to hear his lectures and stay at his temple.
One day, after a particularly fine lecture, someone asked him, "Master, please explain to me -- what is the Dharma body?''
''The Dharma body doesn't exist," said Son Hae.
The questioner continued, "What is the Dharma eye?''
''The Dharma eye is without flaw.''
Suddenly, from the back of the lecture hall, there was a burst of laughter so powerful that it made the ground shake. Son Hae paused for a few moments in the shocked silence that followed, then stepped down from the podium and walked down the aisle to the back of the hall. He stopped in front of the old monk who had laughed, bowed, and said, "Forgive me, Venerable Sir, but where is my mistake?"
Un Am smiled. He understood that Son Hae's mind was wide and comfortable, and that he was not bound by his own attainments. "Your teaching is not incorrect," he said, "but you haven't even glimpsed the ultimate Dharma. What you need is the kind instruction of a keen-eyed Master.''
''Won't you be kind enough to teach me?" Son Hae said.
"I'm sorry, but that's out of the question. Why don't you go to Hwa Jong province. There's a certain boatman there who will show you the way.''
''A boatman? What kind of a boatman can he be?''
"Above him," said the old monk, "there is no place for a roof; below him, there is no place for a pin. He may look like an ordinary boatman, but go speak to him. You will see.''
So Son Hae dismissed his many students, put aside his monk's clothing, and traveled to Hwa Jong. After several days, he found the boatman. He was a skinny old man, in shabby clothes, who merely nodded as Son Hae stepped into the ferry. He rowed a few strokes, then let the boat drift and said, "Venerable Sir,'' -- it was obvious from Son Hae's shaved head that he was a monk -- "what temple are you staying at?''
Son Hae recognized that this was not an ordinary question. He sat up, alert, and said, "What is like it doesn't stay; what stays isn't like it.''
''Then what can it be?" said Dok Song.
"Not what's before your eyes.''
''Where did you learn this?''
"The eye can't see; the ear can't hear.''
The Master understood his mind. Suddenly, he shouted, "KATZ!!!!"
Son Hae could find nothing to say. A few moments passed. Then Dok Song said, "Even the truest statement is a stake in the ground, which a donkey can be tethered to for ten thousand aeons.''
Son Hae was by now thoroughly at a loss. His face turned white. He could hardly breathe. Again the Master spoke.
"I have let down a thousand feet of fishing line; the fish is just beyond the hook. Why don't you say something?"
Son Hae opened his mouth, but no words came out. Just then, Dok Song swung round his oar and hit Son Hae full on, with such force that he was hurled into the river. He fell down through the water, and when he came up, sputtering and gasping, he grabbed on to the side of the boat. As he was pulling himself up, the Master shouted, "Tell me! Tell me!" and knocked him back into the river. But this time, as soon as Son Hae felt the sharp sting of the oar, his mind exploded, and he understood. When he surfaced, he trod water, smiling, and nodded three times. The Master beamed with pleasure. Extending his oar, he pulled Son Hae back into the boat. For a few moments, they sat looking at eachother. Then Dok Song said, "You can play with the silken line at the end of the rod; as long as you don't disturb the clear water, you will be doing well.''
Son Hae said, ''What are you trying to accomplish by letting down the fishing line?''
The Master said, "A hungry fish swallows bait and hook together. If you think in terms of existence or non-existence, you will be caught and cooked for dinner.''
Son Hae laughed and said, "I don't understand a word you're saying. I can see your tongue flapping, but where is the sound?''
"I have been fishing in this river for many years," said Dok Song, "and only today have I caught a golden fish.''
Son Hae clapped his hands over his ears.
"That's right. Just like this -- how wonderful!" said Dok Song. ''Now you are a free man. Wherever you go, you must leave no traces. In all the years that I spent studying with Master Yak Sahn, I learned nothing but that. Now you understand, and I have paid my debt.''
All day and all night the two men drifted on the river. When dawn came, they rowed to shore, and Son Hae stepped out of the boat.
"Good bye," said the Master, "Go straight ahead. Everything else is unnecessary. You need not think of me again.''
Son Hae walked away. At a short distance, he turned around. Dok Song waved from the middle of the river, then rocked back and forth until the boat capsized. Son Hae watched for the Master's head to surface, but it never did; the overturned boat floated down the river.
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