A Zen koan asks “What was your original face before your parents were born?”
Distant memories, consciousness as simply one of many thoughts; life as a continuum, with neither a beginning nor an end.
Birth and death and no end to birth and death. Our lives but a gentle ripple on a lake, a flower in bloom, a fallen leaf pushed along the narrows of a stream, “…a flickering lamp, a phantom and a dream…”, as described in the Diamond Sutra.
As I sat with the koan, at a Zen retreat several years ago, I worked my way back through my life, to images of my parents and further back, through grandparents – to a point at which thoughts and consciousness ceased, or never began. The absolute state of reality, an insight grasped for just a moment.
“What was your original face before your parents were born?”
“ANSWER NOW!”, and the Roshi, or teacher picks up the carved stick by his side and slams it onto the floor. I don’t yet have an answer. He smiles ever so slightly, puts down his stick, rings a small bell to signal the end of the dokusan (interview session). I put my palms together in gassho, stand, take a few steps backward, and then bow and prostrate as a sign of respect for the teacher, my forehead touching the floor, my arms stretched out in front of me, palms facing up and then lifted slightly. I stand, bow again and walk backwards to the door; the Roshi maintains his posture in full lotus position, silently measuring my steps, my awareness – the room is dark except for the flickering candles and the fragrance of the incense.
I walk softly and quietly back to my cushion in the zendo (meditation hall), and contemplate this “original face”, before birth, before consciousness and thought, before “self”. Impossible to describe other than through symbols.
Distant memories, the beginning of consciousness…