Andy Chase

I came across this Zen koan earlier today, and it has stuck with me. Over the last few months I have been overpowering the packrat gene I inherited from my mom and her mom, and have been jettisoning old crap with surprisingly little deliberation. My usual rationalizations for keeping stuff, “I could fix that,” “But I’ve had that for 20 years,” and “I might still wear that once in a while” seem to have lost some of their power.

I don’t think this koan is only about possessions in the purely material sense, but it does force one to think about the usefulness of keeping lots of old junk around:

The Zen master Mu-nan had only one successor. His name was Shoju. After Shoju had completed his study of Zen, Mu-nan called him into his room. “I am getting old,” he said, “and as far as I know, Shoju, you are the only one who will carry on this teaching. Here is a book. It has been passed down from master to master for seven generations. I also have added many points according to my understanding. The book is very valuable, and I am giving it to you to represent your successorship.”

“If the book is such an important thing, you had better keep it,” Shoju replied. “I received your Zen without writing and am satisfied with it as it is.”

“I know that,” said Mu-nan. “Even so, this work has been carried from master to master for seven generations, so you may keep it as a symbol of having received the teaching. Here.”

The two happened to be talking before a brazier. The instant Shoju felt the book in his hands he thrust it into the flaming coals. He had no lust for possessions.

Mu-nan, who never had been angry before, yelled: “What are you doing!”

Shoju shouted back: “What are you saying!”