Moonlight Sesshin
in a therapist’s office
sesshin 接心 — literally “touching the heart-mind” - a period of intensive meditation (zazen) in a Zen monastery.
This is part 3 of a story — part 1 here, part 2 here.
The following week, at eight o’clock on Monday evening, the therapist turned off the lights and shut the door to her office. She jiggled the knob several times to make sure it was locked. The moon shone into the room through a small window. The old monk and the young monk heard her go down the stairs. They heard her car start up in the parking lot. Then it was quiet.
After a long while the old monk said, “Anything to say?”
“Maybe I like to think my own thoughts, not tell anyone,” said the young monk.
“Maybe so,” said the old monk.
An hour or two went by. The moon rose higher in the sky and vacated the window, the room grew darker.
“Why did she think I need ‘a tenshin’ (天心 - tenshin, a snack)?” asked the young monk.
“Maybe you look very hungry!” said the old monk roaring with laughter.
“Not so!” said the young monk, defending himself. “When hungry, I eat.”
It was almost morning before the old monk spoke again. “You like therapist house?”
“Oh, very nice!” answered the young monk. “Go see for yourself.”
The old monk chuckled as he slid to the edge and jumped off the table.
When the therapist arrived at her office the next day, there was the old guy on the floor in three pieces. She had no explanation for it — she knew she had checked the door the night before to be sure it was locked. It was almost time for the girl to come, her first client of the day. She decided to leave the pieces where they were on the floor.
“Wow!” said the girl when she walked in. She silently picked up the shards and tried to fit them together in her lap, but they wouldn’t stay put. “Hang on,” she told the old monk.
To the therapist she said, “Do you have some tape?”
She did. They taped the old guy up so his parts stayed in place. “Now,” the girl addressed him sternly, “what do you have to say for yourself?”
“He was jealous,” she said, looking up at the therapist. “He wanted to see your house too.”
The therapist laughed. “Is that so?”
“Yes,” said the girl. “He really really wants to see it.”
“I understand, but I’m not going to take him home with me. I’ll bring the glue into the office. Next week we can give him some attention together.”
“But he wants to see your house!” said the girl.
“Hmmm,” said the therapist. “How do you think we can help him understand that my office is the best place for us to take care of him?”
“But why did you bring the other guy home?” asked the girl.
“One moon shows in every pool, in every pool the one moon,” the therapist was surprised to hear herself say.
“What?” said the girl.
“It means that I can help someone who needs help here in my office, or I can help them at my home, or anywhere. But I get to decide where I want to do it.”
“You mean not everything is fair?” asked the girl.
“I mean everything is fair. Because wherever you are, you can be helped. And wherever I am, I can be helpful.”
“But you like to do it better in your office?” asked the girl.
“Yes, I like it better here.”
“Me too,” said the girl, setting the tape-wrapped monk aside. “Did you know I’m getting a new tooth? Look!” She showed off little white points poking through her upper gum.
“I see,” said the therapist.
“If you think you really come and go, that is your delusion.
Let me show you the path on which there is no coming and no going.”
— Ikkyu
