What would I most like to learn at this time in my life?

The Parable of Mushin
From “Everyday Zen” by Charlotte Joko Beck
. . . sorry it’s so long.
——
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
didn’t 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 didn’t 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 couldn’t 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 weren’t 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 wasn’t the same anymore; it was there and it wasn’t 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 they’d 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
to watch. 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
don’t 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, ever 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. That’s the story of Mushin. What was
it Mushin found? Ill leave that to you.