The Old Woman Revisited

An old woman lived on the road to Mount Wutai. A monk on pilgrimage asked her, “Which is the way to Mount Wutai?” The old woman answered, “Right straight ahead.” The monk took a few steps and she said, “He's a good monk, but off he goes, just like the others.” Monks came one after another; they'd ask the same question and receive the same answer.

Zen Master Joshu's monks told him about her and he decided to see for himself. He went to the old woman and asked, “Which is the way to Mount Wutai?” “Right straight ahead,” she replied. Joshu took a few steps. The old woman said, “He's a good monk, but off he goes, just like the others.” Joshu returned to his monestary and told his monks, “I have checked out the old woman of Mount Wutai for you.”

–- adapted from The Hidden Lamp: Stories from Twenty-Five Centuries of Awakened Women, Florence Caplow and Susan Moon, editors.

Sixteen years ago, oral cancer surgery removed part of my hard palate and opened a channel between the mouth and the left nasal and sinus cavities. One result of this is that bubbles from carbonated beverages come out the left nostril. Another is sensitivity to barometric pressure resulting in left-side migraine headaches whenever the barometric pressure drops and particularly when it see-saws.

For the last week, we in the Triangle of North Carolina have been in oscillating (and mostly low) barometric pressure as storms have come through daily. One result is that I have been in and out of migraine-land. Even when the headache isn't there full-blown, there's either the mental haziness of before or the physical exhaustion of after. During these times I'm not good for much. Stamina decreases, concentration declines and I move more slowly.

Is this a problem? Like most of us, I have things needing to be done and wish to be useful. Instead, there isn't much I can do.

What does this have to do with our practice? During this migraine period I've been living with the koan of the old woman of Wutai Mountain. What is this desire to have a defined path? Do we want to have someone tell us what to do or at least give us an inkling? One measure of that desire is what happens when something like a migraine derails me, or any of us, from the things we perceive to be our job or our duty. How much are we really able to surrender to this moment and to the reality of non-doing? The answer to will vacillate as we weave in and out of the mental formations that come and go. When we get caught in them, when we feel we cannot do what we want to do, it can feel like mild depression.

Someone asked Zen Master Suzuki, “What does a zen student do in his spare time?” “Spare time?” Suzuki Roshi replied, and then laughed. Thich Nhat Hanh once answered a similar question with “We are always practicing something.” Right in this moment, everything is right just as it is. Physical discomfort is only that. The desire to serve is only that. We make a cup of tea? Only that. Moment to moment, we cannot evade our practice because it is just what is happening right now. I write this. You read it. Just like this. I imagine Joshu raising his foot to take a step along the Mount Wutai path, just dipping a toe to see what happens, a smile on his face, playing out this little dance.

The old woman stands eternally outside her hut on the road to the mountain we all feel we must climb. As I wonder what I should do in the haze of migraine-land, she waits for me to ask, “What is the way?” I know the question's a fake but I ask anyway; let's see what she'll do. She answers, just as she always has, “Right straight ahead,” and waits for me to lift my foot and make those fatal few steps. “He's a good man, but off he goes, just like the others.”

Today I reply, “Asking was already a big mistake,” and the old woman and I go into her hut for tea.