Kuòān Shīyuǎn's original verses of the "Ten Bulls" or the "Ox-Riding Pictures" have often been used as a teaching allegory for Zen practice - metaphorically describing common stages that people encounter along the path.
One summer I found myself enrolled in beginner's class of encaustic painting and collage (working with coloured beeswax) at the excellent Haliburton School of Art + Design. I took the opportunity to produce a new interpretation of this story, with encaustic panels and a slightly new translation of the poem...
ONE
Brushing aside thick grass, I pursue the ox
Past wide rivers and distant mountains.
Lost among the paths, exhausted,
I cannot find the ox anywhere.
TWO
Along the river, under trees I discover footprints.
Even under fragrant grasses they lie.
They are found deep in remote mountains,
As plain as the nose on your face.
THREE
I hear birdsong.
Warm sun, mild breeze, green willows along the shore.
The ox can no longer hide.
What art can capture its full majesty?
FOUR
With great struggle I catch the ox.
But it is powerful and not easily subdued.
It charges to lofty plains,
Then hides deep within impenetrable ravines.
FIVE
The rope is necessary
Lest it stray down some dusty side road.
When well-trained, it becomes docile
And freely follows the master.
SIX
Riding the ox, I return homewards.
My flute music pervades the evening,
Each beat in the endless rhythm.
No need for words if you understand this song.
SEVEN
We reach home.
I am at peace, the ox is free.
Resting in bliss until the new dawn arrives.
The rope lies unused.
EIGHT
Rope, self, and ox merge into No Thing.
No words can touch this vast blue sky,
No snow can touch the blazing fire.
Here are the marks of the Sages.
NINE
Returning to the source has been difficult.
Better to have been deaf and blind at the start.
Dwelling at home, unconcerned with and without.
Rivers flow, flowers are red.
TEN
Barefoot, I mingle in the world.
I am blissful in dusty and ragged clothes.
Without need of magical powers,
I make flowers bloom from dead wood.
What an unhelpful question :-) First, it is unhelpful to ask this of any Art. If you want to know what a poem "means", read the poem again! If you want to know what a painting means, look at it! That's what the artist meant to say. Anything additional is superfluous.Secondly, this is an especially unhelpful question to ask in a Zen context. It doesn't mean anything. It's just indirectly suggesting something that cannot be spoken of directly (a "finger pointing at the moon"). Lucky there isn't a Zen master around, or it'd be 30 whacks with the stick just for asking!
Okay, that's not very helpful. And I'm trying to be helpful on this blog to people who are early on the path, or who are just curious a little. So I'll try to say a bit more (even though I do agree that explanations really are not helpful in the long run, and may actually hinder progress once you start walking the path). So, maybe here are some general pointers to think about:
One summer I found myself enrolled in beginner's class of encaustic painting and collage (working with coloured beeswax) at the excellent Haliburton School of Art + Design. I took the opportunity to produce a new interpretation of this story, with encaustic panels and a slightly new translation of the poem...
Brushing aside thick grass, I pursue the ox
Past wide rivers and distant mountains.
Lost among the paths, exhausted,
I cannot find the ox anywhere.
Along the river, under trees I discover footprints.
Even under fragrant grasses they lie.
They are found deep in remote mountains,
As plain as the nose on your face.
I hear birdsong.
Warm sun, mild breeze, green willows along the shore.
The ox can no longer hide.
What art can capture its full majesty?
With great struggle I catch the ox.
But it is powerful and not easily subdued.
It charges to lofty plains,
Then hides deep within impenetrable ravines.
The rope is necessary
Lest it stray down some dusty side road.
When well-trained, it becomes docile
And freely follows the master.
Riding the ox, I return homewards.
My flute music pervades the evening,
Each beat in the endless rhythm.
No need for words if you understand this song.
We reach home.
I am at peace, the ox is free.
Resting in bliss until the new dawn arrives.
The rope lies unused.
Rope, self, and ox merge into No Thing.
No words can touch this vast blue sky,
No snow can touch the blazing fire.
Here are the marks of the Sages.
Returning to the source has been difficult.
Better to have been deaf and blind at the start.
Dwelling at home, unconcerned with and without.
Rivers flow, flowers are red.
Barefoot, I mingle in the world.
I am blissful in dusty and ragged clothes.
Without need of magical powers,
I make flowers bloom from dead wood.
But what does it mean?
What an unhelpful question :-) First, it is unhelpful to ask this of any Art. If you want to know what a poem "means", read the poem again! If you want to know what a painting means, look at it! That's what the artist meant to say. Anything additional is superfluous.Secondly, this is an especially unhelpful question to ask in a Zen context. It doesn't mean anything. It's just indirectly suggesting something that cannot be spoken of directly (a "finger pointing at the moon"). Lucky there isn't a Zen master around, or it'd be 30 whacks with the stick just for asking!
Okay, that's not very helpful. And I'm trying to be helpful on this blog to people who are early on the path, or who are just curious a little. So I'll try to say a bit more (even though I do agree that explanations really are not helpful in the long run, and may actually hinder progress once you start walking the path). So, maybe here are some general pointers to think about:
- Obviously the Ox is a metaphor for something that many people never really stop to look at (it's "hidden"), something that is hard to subdue and that tends to wander off own its own. What could that be?
- If you are visiting a blog like this, perhaps you've already spotted its footprints and are curious what it looks like in full? Perhaps you've even seen it and noticed how much disruption it's been causing - tramping around, spoiling the crops in the field.
- Maybe you've taken up a daily zazen practice and have begun to subdue the ox, taming and calming it. Perhaps in the occasional moment of samadhi, the rope lies unused for you too.
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