Koans and the Zen story of bull
The Gateless Gate
The Gateless Gate is a 13th-century Zen koan collection compiled by the Chinese monk Wumen Huikai (Japanese: Mumon Ekai). It contains 48 koans—brief encounters between masters and students—each followed by Wumen’s commentary and a short verse.
Mumon says the barrier to awakening is not outside us. It is the mind’s attachment to concepts, language, and identity. The “gate” has no gate because nothing external blocks realization. What blocks us is clinging to views, self-image, logic, even to “Buddhism.”
Koans are not riddles to be solved intellectually. They are devices that exhaust discursive thinking, collapse dualistic reasoning, and force direct, non-conceptual seeing. When thought fails, direct awareness remains. It is against the word drunkenness and mind wandering.
"The Great Way has no gate,
Ten Essential Koans
1. What Was Your Face Before You Were Born?
Meaning: Before your name, profession, nationality, memories, personality — what are you?
Not your physical face.
Not your biography.
Not your roles.
What remains when all labels are removed?
Sit quietly and ask:
If I forget my name, am I still here?
If I drop my story, what remains?
Before any thought appears, what is present?
Don’t try to answer. Notice the silent awareness that is already there. That silent presence is what the koan points to.
2. What Is It That Is Not a Thing, Not the Mind, Not the Buddha?
Meaning: Whatever you can think of — it’s not that.
Not an object.
Not a thought.
Not even a spiritual idea.
The koan removes every concept you try to hold.
When you try to define yourself, pause.
If you say:
“I am the body.” → The body changes.
“I am the mind.” → Thoughts come and go.
“I am spiritual.” → That’s a concept.
What is left when you stop defining? Rest there.
3. Mu (Joshu’s Dog)
A monk asked if a dog has Buddha-nature.
Joshu said: Mu (No / Nothing / Not that).
Mu does not mean yes or no. It destroys the question itself.
It cuts through:
“Do I have it?”
“Do I not have it?”
When stuck in mental conflict:
Should I do this or that?
Am I good or bad?
Am I spiritual enough?
Silently say: Mu. Drop the whole argument. Return to simple presence.
A monk said, “I have just entered the monastery. Please teach me.”
Joshu asked, “Have you eaten?”
“Yes.”
“Then wash your bowl.”
Awakening is not elsewhere. Practice is in ordinary action. Complete the present act fully.
5. The Sound of One Hand
“What is the sound of one hand?”
Baizhang Huaihai saw wild ducks flying.
“Where have they gone?”
“They’ve flown away.”
Baizhang twisted the monk’s nose. “They’ve never flown away!”
Reality is never absent. Only perception shifts.
7. Hyakujo’s Fox
A monk claimed enlightenment but denied cause and effect. As a result, he was reborn as a fox for 500 lifetimes.
Spiritual insight does not mean escaping consequences. Freedom does not mean: “Nothing matters.” “There is no karma.” Real awakening lives responsibly. When tempted to bypass accountability notice that actions have effects. Words have consequences. Habits shape life. Wisdom includes responsibility.
A monk asked about the ultimate truth. “What is the meaning of the Patriarch’s coming from the West?” (i.e., what is the essence of Bodhidharma’s teaching?).
Joshu said: “The cypress tree in the garden.”
Truth is not somewhere else.
It is right here. This moment. This breath. This tree.
Instead of searching for deep meaning, look around you. The sound of traffic. The feeling of your hands. The light in the room. Nothing is missing.
Linji said, “If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him.”
Any external idea of salvation becomes an obstacle.
Don’t worship an idea.
Don’t cling to a teacher.
Don’t cling even to enlightenment.
If you think:
“One day I will awaken.”
“When I meet the right guru…”
“When I achieve something…”
Stop. What you are seeking is the one who is seeking. Drop the image. Stand on your own awareness.
Whenever Gutei was asked about Zen, he simply raised one finger. A boy attendant began imitating him. One day Gutei called the boy over, suddenly produced a knife, cut off the boy’s finger, and shouted as the boy ran away crying. Gutei called him back, and as the boy turned, Gutei raised his own finger. In that moment, the boy was enlightened. The koan demonstrates that the finger is not the teaching; the direct, non-conceptual experience that the finger points to is. Gutei’s drastic act severed the boy’s imitation and forced a genuine awakening.
A monk named Seizai said to Sozan, "I am alone and poor. I beg my teacher to bestow upon me the alms of salvation." Sozan said, "Acarya Seizai!" "Yes, Sir?" replied Seizai. Sozan said, "Someone has drunk three bowls of the wine of Haku of Seigen, but says that he has not yet even moistened his lips."
Spiritual seeking often comes from the belief: “I lack something.”
But the capacity to be aware, to respond, to say “Yes, Master?” — that is already fullness.
When you feel incomplete: Ask: What is aware of this feeling? Is awareness lacking anything? Notice the richness of simple presence.
They are not about clever answers, philosophy, and mysticism. They are about cutting identification, ending mental fixation, and returning to direct awareness.
When seeking meaning: Look at what is here. Feel your breath. Notice awareness itself.
When confused, let go instead of analyzing.
Koans are mental shock therapy. They don’t give answers. They remove what blocks seeing. And what remains? Simple, ordinary awareness - before thought, before identity, before effort.
Wumen writes: “To realize Zen, you must pass through the barrier of the patriarchs.” But the barrier is your own attachment to the mind. The obstacle is the thinker. When the thinker drops, the gate vanishes.
Enlightenment is not intellectual. Reality cannot be captured in doctrine. The ordinary is already sacred. The ego dissolves under sustained inquiry. Awakening is immediate—but requires total sincerity. Koans are psychological explosives. They short-circuit identity. Ramana asks: Who is the thinker? Zen asks: What is this before thinking? Both point to the same gateless reality. The gate is not outside. There is no lock. Only the habit of knocking.
In Zen, the story of the bull (or ox) is told through a famous series of pictures and verses known as the Ten Ox-Herding Pictures (also called the Ten Bull Pictures). They are traditionally attributed to the Chinese Zen master Kuoan Shiyuan in the 12th century.
The bull represents your true nature—your original mind, Buddha-nature, or awakened awareness. The herder represents the practitioner. The entire story is a map of spiritual development, from confusion to realization and finally to compassionate return to the world.
At first, the herder is searching for the bull. He feels something is missing. This stage represents the ordinary human condition—restlessness, dissatisfaction, the subtle intuition that there must be something deeper than habitual life. Then he finds footprints. These are the teachings, scriptures, meditation practices, and glimpses of insight that suggest awakening is real.
Eventually, he catches sight of the bull. It is wild and untamed. This symbolizes how the mind, when first observed, is chaotic—full of impulses, desires, and resistance. The practitioner now sees clearly but has not mastered anything. When he grabs the bull, a struggle begins. The ox resists, just as the ego resists discipline and surrender. Meditation, mindfulness, ethical living—these are the rope and whip used to gently but firmly train the animal.
Gradually, the bull becomes tamed. The mind grows steady. The herder can sit calmly upon the ox and play his flute. There is harmony between awareness and life. Practice is no longer a battle; it becomes natural and joyful.
In the next stage, the bull disappears. Only the herder remains. This signifies that the distinction between “self” and “true nature” is dissolving. The seeker and the sought are not two. Then even the herder disappears. There is only an empty circle. This is emptiness—no self, no attainment, no division. It is the realization that nothing was ever separate.
But Zen does not stop in emptiness. The final pictures show the return to the marketplace. The awakened one comes back into the ordinary world—laughing, buying vegetables, helping others. He carries a wine bottle or staff. He blends into daily life. Enlightenment is not escape; it is intimacy with everything.
The bull story is powerful because it avoids abstraction. It shows awakening as a lived process: seeking, discipline, struggle, surrender, realization, and compassionate return. In Zen, the final stage is not sitting on a mountaintop in transcendence, but walking among people with “bliss-bestowing hands.”
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