In his talk this week, Tesshin Roshi noted that we are looking at the Denkōroku (Record of Transmission of Light) by Keizan, focusing in this series on the six Chinese patriarchs. Turning today to the third patriarch, Roshi pointed out a similarity among the first three that is reminiscent of our practice, insofar as their practice and their road to enlightenment were quiet and understated. Like many of us when we start, they did not make a big deal about it. We come, we sit, we know about it, but we are not showy about it. It is a very personal, private, quiet process for many of us, particularly in the beginning. One really gets that impression of these teachers: their lives were very private and personal, and not many people were exposed to their teachings during their lifetimes. It was quite intimate, just as it is for many of us.

With the next patriarch, Sengcan, we come to chapter 30 in the Denkōroku. Sengcan was the student of Huike, whom Roshi discussed last week. Roshi read the case, noting that all these exchanges become koans, representing the first exchange between Sengcan and Huike. The 30th patriarch, the third Chinese patriarch, was Jianzhi Sengcan. He arrived to see Huike, the 29th patriarch. Not much is known about his background, and he was likely already in his late 40s or 50s when he finally reached this point. He said to Huike, “Your disciple myself is afflicted with leprosy. Please purify my sinful body.” Huike says to him, “Bring me your sin, and I will purify you.” Sengcan replied after a while, “When I look for it, I cannot find it.” Huike says, “I have purified you now. Now you should take refuge in the three treasures, the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha.”

A person comes and says, “I’m in pain. I’m in need of your guidance.” The teacher responds, “Show me your pain, your suffering.” The person cannot. Through reflecting on that fact, they develop some degree of insight and continue on their Bodhisattva path.

Roshi noted that this story should sound familiar because we have heard the same pattern over and over again. It is very reminiscent of Bodhidharma, two patriarchs prior, and the famous story of Huike coming to his cave and saying, “I’m in pain and suffering, pain and suffering. Please save me, please help me.” Ultimately Bodhidharma says, “Great, put your pain and suffering in my hand, and I will solve it for you. I will heal you.” The seeker cannot, and at that point becomes enlightened.

Prior to that, there is the story of a person in great pain and suffering coming to a teacher and saying, “I’m in great pain and suffering. Please heal me.” That teacher says, “Well, you need to go around and get a sesame seed from all of the households that have not had pain and suffering and bring them to me.” The person eventually returns without any sesame seeds because every household has experienced suffering, and through that becomes enlightened.

Going back further, we hear a similar version with Shakyamuni Buddha—almost the opposite—where a woman who loses her child comes to Shakyamuni. Shakyamuni says, “Take a sesame seed from each household that has experienced loss and bring it to me.” She returns years later with a big bowl of sesame seeds, bows, and becomes enlightened.

We see this story repeated over and over again. Roshi asked: Isn’t that odd? Why is that? Is it the case that after a point in time, teachers run out of ideas, thinking, “I don’t have any more good things to tell you. So, I’m just going to tell you what the guy before me said. It worked for him.” Have teachers simply run out of ways to teach and good stories, repeatedly borrowing what others used before them?

There is a line often attributed to Picasso. Roshi mentioned that although research indicates Picasso may not have originated it, he is most famous for saying, “Good artists copy the greats. Imitate the greats. Great artists steal from the greats.” So, Roshi asked, is this a situation of teachers merely copying, or even worse, stealing from better teachers before them? That is the question.

Roshi highlighted two aspects of this case. First, in all the previous stories, the people coming to the teacher were in some kind of emotional or spiritual distress. They said, “Help me with my distress.” And they were given a prescription that healed them. In this case, however, Sengcan is not asking for spiritual or psychological advice. He says, “I have leprosy. I actually have an illness, and can you heal it?” To which Huike gives him this line, “Show me it. Show me the sinfulness.”

One has to ask: is this medical malpractice? If someone came to any of us and said, “I’ve leprosy,” we would say, “All right, here’s the number of a dermatologist or a virologist or a leprologist. I don’t even know who treats leprosy these days.” We would refer them to a specialist, obtain a prescription, and begin treatment. We would never say, “Oh, let’s talk about the Dharma.” Yet we know there are religions that eschew modern medicine, telling followers they do not need a doctor, but simply need to pray and be healed by God.

Roshi spoke of a friend who is a scientist running a company. Before developing a treatment, they sift through a massive amount of DNA data. His friend observed, “You have to be very careful about how you filter data because depending on the filter, that’s the answer you’ll get.” If one looks only for a particular outcome, that is what one will find, and one may miss the real answer or the larger picture. Roshi reflected that if Steve Jobs were asked today, “Hey Steve, still think being a pescatarian is going to…” he would likely say, “I probably should have gotten some chemo,” right? Jobs was an innovative thinker who always looked for an alternative, which made him tremendously successful. In that situation, however, he looked for an alternative path to cure his cancer rather than following conventional best practices of the time, and he died.

Coming back to this case, we have to ask ourselves: is this good teaching or bad teaching? When someone comes with a physical ailment, do you teach them the Dharma? In Sengcan’s case, it is recorded that he became Huike’s student as a result, which raises the question of whether this was sound advice. It turns out his leprosy was healed. Fortunately, the text does not claim it was healed because of the Dharma; it simply got better. Why? We do not know. We do not know if it was from the teachings, a change in water, or something else. But it raises the question for us: can the Dharma heal a physical ailment? Isn’t that crazy? Maybe.

Roshi asked all of us to consider whether our practice over the years has had a physiological impact on us. Just the act of sitting, breathing, and lowering cortisol levels creates a physiological response, and generally a positive one. For those who have received jukai, taking vows and committing to a certain lifestyle with clear prescriptions, those commitments likely have had a positive physiological impact as well. We are physical beings; our behaviors and actions have outcomes. If we live in a certain way, it is reasonable to expect beneficial results from living the Dharma. It is not unreasonable that aligning ourselves with beneficial practices brings beneficial physiological responses. Will it heal cancer or leprosy? Roshi stated that he cannot go that far—that is beyond what can be claimed. But it is not unreasonable to expect positive physiological benefits from our practice.

In Sengcan’s case, he obviously could not show Huike his sin. When he replied, “When I look for it, I cannot find it,” Huike said, “I have purified you.” Did Huike purify him, or did Sengcan purify himself through his own realization? What is clear is the instruction: now take refuge in the Three Treasures—the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha. This connects to the first point Roshi raised: even though Sengcan was not seeking spiritual advice, all paths lead to our spiritual being; all paths lead to the mind. Whether one is in economic distress, physical distress, or relationship difficulties, everything ultimately is tied to the mind one way or another. By pointing this out, Huike made clear that since everything is the mind, we look to the Dharma and the Three Treasures to get our mind in the right place. On the surface it might seem like medical malpractice, but maybe it was sound advice that led to Sengcan’s enlightenment and his eventually becoming a teacher himself.

The other aspect Roshi shared is the Picasso quote, which is often misunderstood: good artists copy, great artists steal. This is often misinterpreted as something devious, as though suggesting that if one is going to commit a crime, make it a large and worthwhile one—like bank robber Willie Sutton, who, when asked after his arrest, “Well, why did you rob a bank?” replied, “That’s where the money is.”

What is misunderstood in the quote is the distinction between copying and stealing. Picasso was saying that one should not be mediocre. Mediocre practitioners merely copy; they look at something and want to take some benefit from it without a full commitment. Picasso’s point was that achieving greatness requires complete commitment. Stealing is not mere taking; it is going deep into the predecessor’s work—understanding what they studied, how they thought, what materials they used, and how they lived their life. One enters their life so fully that one almost steals their life through total, hundred-percent dedication. Out of that depth of commitment, one can achieve a level of greatness as they did. If you are in, go all the way in: steal it.

So, are these Zen teachers copying previous teachers, or stealing from them? Roshi emphasized that they are stealing—one hundred percent. All of these stories convey the exact same message: self-reflection and self-examination. When we are in pain and suffering, we examine the nature of that suffering and the nature of our mind. You’re in pain and suffering. Now you examine, what is the nature of pain and suffering? What is your nature of your mind? That’s what each of these stories is saying. And that is the very nature of our practice, and that never gets old. That never goes away. That is always at the core. It’s always dynamic. It is always what leads to our understanding and enlightenment. You cannot say that enough, whatever version of that story you want to share. Whatever you can do to get each of us in our practice to really, sincerely, 100% examine the nature of our mind, our true nature, that’s what leads to enlightenment. That’s what leads to greatness.

They are not copying. These great teachers are great because they are stealing. They’re 100% committed to the practice. They’re 100% committed to the Dharma. They’re 100% committed to passing that on to their students. When we see this repetition, frankly we cannot get enough of it. It is passed down to all of us, asking: What are we dealing with? What are we thinking? How are we conducting our lives? Now examine it.

Roshi concluded by noting how Sengcan lived a very quiet life during a time of great turmoil in China. His teacher even advised him, “Look, don’t go out and teach right now because they’re out killing Buddhist practitioners.” Sengcan disappeared for ten years and simply continued his personal practice. After ten years, he emerged and, just like Huike, traveled from town to town, teaching here and there—and out of that came the next patriarch. It serves as a beautiful example for all of us: our practice is very personal, quiet, and intimate, but at the same time dynamic and can penetrate all things.