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"The Parable of Mushin" From "Everyday Zen" by Charlotte Joko Beck

One upon a time, in a town called Hope, there live a young man called Joe. Joe was much into dharma studies, and so he had a Buddhist name. Joe was called Mushin.

Joe lived a life like anyone else. He went to work and he had a nice wife; but, despite Joe's interest in the dharma, Joe was a macho, know-it-all, bitter guy. In fact he was so much that way that one day, after he'd created all sorts of mayhem at work, his boss said, "I've had enough of you, Joe. You're fired!" And so Joe left. No job. And when he got home he found a letter from his wife. And she said, "I've had enough, Joe. I'm leaving." So Joe had an apartment and himself and nothing else.

But Joe, Mushin, was not one who gave up easily. He vowed that although he didn't have a job and wife, he was going to have the one thing in life that really mattered - enlightenment. And off he rushed to the nearest bookstore. Joe looked through the latest crop of books on how to achieve enlightenment. And there was one that he found especially interesting. It was called How to Catch the Train of Enlightenment. So he bought the book and pored through it with great care. And when he'd studied it thoroughly he went home and gave up his apartment, put all his earthly belongings in his backpack, and went off to the train station on the edge of the town. The book said that if you followed all its directions - you do this, and do that, and you do that - then when the train came you'd be able to catch it. And he thought, "Great!"

Joe went to the train station, which was a deserted place, and he read the book once again, memorizing the directions, and then settled down to wait. He waited and waited and waited. Two, three, four days he waited for the Train of Enlightenment to come, because the book said it was sure to come. And he had great faith in the book. Sure enough, on the fourth day, he heard this great roar in the distance, this enormous roar. And he knew this must be the Train. So he got ready. He was so excited because the Train was coming, he could hardly believe it . . . and . . . whoosh . . . it went by! It was only one blur, it went by so fast. What had happened? He couldn't catch it at all!

Joe was bewildered but not discouraged. He got out his book again and studied some more exercises, and he worked and worked and worked as he sat on the platform, putting everything he had into it. In another three or four days he once again heard a tremendous roar in the distance, and this time he was certain he would catch the Train. And all of a sudden there it was . . . whoosh . . .it was gone. Well what to do? Because obviously there was a train, it wasn't as though there was no train. He knew that, but he could not catch it. So he studied some more and he tried some more, he worked and worked, and the same thing happened over and over again.

As time went on other people also went to the bookstore and bought the book. So Joe began to have company. First there were four or five people watching for the Train, and then there were thirty or forty people watching for the Train. The excitement was tremendous! Here was the Answer, obviously coming. They could all hear the roar as the Train went by and, although nobody ever caught it, there was great faith that somehow, some day, at least one of them would catch it. If even one person could catch it, it would inspire the rest. So the little crowd grew, and the excitement was wonderful.

As time went on, however, Mushin noticed that some of these people brought their little kids. And they were so absorbed in looking for the Train that, when the kids tried to get mom and dad's attention, they were told "Don't bother us, just go play." These little kids were really being neglected. Mushin, who was not such a bad guy after all, began to wonder, "Well, gee, I'd like to watch for the Train, but somebody's got to take care of the kids." So he began to devote some time to them. He looked in his backpack and took out his nuts and raisins and chocolate bars and passed all this stuff out to the kids. Some of them were really hungry. The parent who were watching for the Train didn't seem to get hungry; but the kids were hungry. And they had skinned knees, so he found a few bandaids in his backpack and took care of their knees, and he read them stories from their little books.

And it began to be that while he still took some time for the Train, the kids were beginning to be his chief concern. There were more and more of them. In a few months there were also teenagers, and with teenagers there is a lot of wild energy. So Mushin organized the teenagers and set up a baseball team in back of the station. He started a garden to keep them occupied. And he even encouraged some of the steadier kids to help him. And before you knew it he had a large enterprise going. He had less and less time for the Train and he was angry about it. The important stuff was happening with the adults waiting for the Train, but he had to take care of all this business with the kids, and so his anger and his bitterness were boiling. But no matter what, he knew he had to take care of the kids, so he did.

Over time, hundreds and thousands of Train watchers arrived, with all their kids and relatives. Mushin was so harried with all the needs of the people that he had to add on to the train station. He had to make more sleeping quarters; he had to build a post office and schools and he was busy; but his anger and his resentment were also right there. "You know, I'm only interested in enlightenment. Those other people get to watch the Train and what am I doing really?" But he kept doing it.

And then one day he remembered that while hed thrown out most of the books in his apartment, for some reason he had kept one small volume. So he fished it out of his backpack. The book was How to Do Zazen. So Joe had a new set of instructions to study. But these didnt seem so bad. He settled down and learned how to do zazen. Early in the morning before everyone else was up, hed sit on a cushion and do his practice for a while. And over time his hectic, demanding schedule in which he had unwillingly become immersed didnt seem so much of a strain to him. He began to think that maybe there was some connection between this zazen, this sitting, and the peace he was beginning to feel. A few others at the station were also getting a bit discouraged about the Train they couldnt catch; so they began to sit with him. The group did zazen every morning and, at the same time, the Train-watching enterprise kept expanding. At the next train station down the tracks there was a whole new colony of train watchers. The same old problems were developing there, so sometimes his group would go there and help in straightening out their difficulties. And there was even a third train station . . . endless work.

They were really, really busy. From morning till night they were feeding the kids, doing carpentry, running the post office, setting up the new little clinic ­ all that a community needs to function and survive. And all this time they werent getting to watch for the Train. It just kept going by. They could hear the roar. And some jealousy and bitterness were still there. But still, they had to admit, it wasnt the same anymore; it was there and it wasnt there. The turning point for Mushin was when he tried something described in his little book as sesshin. He got together with his group and, in the corner of the train station, they set up a separate space and for four or five days they would steadily do zazen. Occasionally theyd hear the roar of the Train in the distance, but they ignored it and went on sitting. And they also introduced this hard practice to the other train stations.

Mushin was now in his fifties. He was showing the effect of the years of strain and toil. He was getting bent and weary. But by now he no longer worried about the things he used to worry about. He had forgotten the big philosophical questions that used to grip him: Do I exist? Is life real? Is life a dream? He was so busy sitting and working that everything faded out except for what needed to be done every day. The bitterness faded. The big questions faded. Finally there was nothing left for Mushin except what had to be done. But he no longer felt it had to be done, he just did it.

By now there was an enormous community of people at the train stations, working, bringing up their children, as well as those who were waiting for the Train. Some of those slowly were absorbed back into the community and others would come. Mushin finally came to love the people watching for the Train, too. He served them, helped them towatch. So it went for many years. Mushin got older and older, more and more tired. And his questions were down to zero. There were none any more. There was just Mushin and his life, doing each second what needed to be done.

One night, for some reason, Mushin thought, I will sit all night. I dont know why I want to do it. I'll just do it. For him sitting was no longer a question of looking for something, trying to improve, trying to be holy. All those ideas had faded years ago. For Mushin there was nothing except just sitting: Hearing a few distant cars at night. Feeling the cool night air. Enjoying the changes in his body. Mushin sat and sat through the night, and at daybreak he heard the roar of the Train. Then, evry gently, the Train came to a stop exactly in from of him. He realized that from the very beginning he had been on the Train. In fact he was the Train itself. There was no need to catch the Train. Nothing to realize. Nowhere to go. Just the wholeness of life itself. All the ancient questions that were no questions answered themselves. And at last the Train evaporated, and there was just an old man sitting the night away.

Mushin stretched and arose from his cushion. He went and fixed morning coffee to share with those arriving for work. And the last we see of him, hes in the carpentry shop with some of the older boys, building a swing set for the playground. Thats the story of Mushin. What was it Mushin found? Ill leave that to you.