On the lesson of Ikkyu the sage

[unixronin]

I have just awoken from a dream.  Awakening and considering the dream, I realized that though the story would be somewhat long (hence the cut), it was necessary that I should tell it.  And so I shall.

---

In this dream, I worked at a hospital, which I realize as I write this was a research and teaching hospital.  I am uncertain as to the capacity in which I worked at this hospital.  It was, however, a capacity which took me at times into the cancer wards, and led me to work with some of the staff in those wards.  In particular, one young psychiatrist who worked in the women's cancer wards frequently took me into her confidence and sought my advice and assistance, sometimes in a formal capacity, sometimes otherwise.

One such case in particular concerned a patient under her care who was under treatment by an older and much respected professor.  This young woman was undergoing treatment with a new and experimental drug, considered unproven by and even potentially dangerous by some, including the young doctor I have spoken of.  I do not know the exact nature of her condition; only that she was apparently in mostly good physical health aside from her cancer.  She was under the supervision of my psychiatrist friend because either her cancer, or the drugs being used to treat it, had affected her mind.  She was not considered violent or dangerous to herself or others, but was deeply distraught.  She was occasionally found wandering the corridors of the hospital, even on different floors, and could often appear lucid, but was not really competent to manage her own safety.  On two separate occasions in my dream, this psychiatrist (whose name I never knew, nor the patient's) and I managed to find this woman and return her to the ward after she had strayed off and found her way into service corridors and other non-patient areas of the hospital.  My understanding of the dream is that she was on the experimental treatment because, despite its dangers, it was believed by the professor working on the treatment that it offered her a chance.  Even with the drug, her prognosis was poor.

This psychiatrist spoke with me on several occasions regarding this woman, and shared documents with me in confidence concerning her misgivings as to the risks of the new treatment.  Her belief was that although it was possible that it could offer a chance of remission in cancers such as this one, past studies had failed to fully assess its potential for harm, and in her belief, it was as sure to eventually kill her patient as the cancer itself was otherwise.  Her contention was that in this case, the treatment was offering a false hope, and stealing her patient's sanity as it did so.

Now, next door to the hospital, but not attached to it, was a hospice for the terminally ill.  This particular hospice was a very unusual one.  To see it, one would have thought it some kind of cross between some kind of open-air garden cafe in feudal Japan, and a monastery or dojang.  It was run by an aged Zen master, whose philosophy and goal was to teach those who came to his care to accept and achieve inner peace with their impending deaths.  The hospice, however, had for as long as it had been in existence maintained a tradition that only men were admitted as patients and students (for they were both).  Moreover, only men could introduce new patients/students, who were accepted only after being introduced to and accepted by the Master by one whom the Master had in turn accepted as a student.  By tradition, the current student would lead the new student to the Master, before whom both would kneel in silence.  The Master would study both the prospective new student, and the student who had brought this candidate to meet him.  If the Master chose to accept the new student to join his hospice, he would reach out to the student who had brought the new candidate, and tap him three times upon the sleeve before speaking.  If not, he would simply offer tea to both.  The Master's decision was, in all cases, final.

I do not recall from the dream who it was who took me to meet the Master (simply as an introduction, not as a student).  I never saw the face of the person who led me there.  When I was presented to the Master, properly and respectfully dressed of course for such a meeting, the Master shared tea with me and told me the following story of the sage Ikkyu.

Ikkyu, the Zen master, was very clever even as a boy.  His teacher had a precious teacup, a rare antique.  Ikkyu happened to break this cup and was greatly perplexed.  Hearing the footsteps of his teacher, he held the pieces of the cup behind him.  When the master appeared, Ikkyu asked, "Why do people have to die?"

"This is natural," explained the older man.  "Everything has to die and has just so long to live."

"Master," said Ikkyu, producing the shattered cup, "It was time for your cup to die."

After this story, we talked a little more, never directly mentioning any patients or the traditions of the hospice.  It seemed to me, however, that the Master had intended more than one meaning when he told me his story.

Back at the hospital, it was clear over the next while that the young woman patient whom I spoke of was becoming more and more distressed.  Her prognosis was also worsening, and in consultation with the young doctor I have also spoken of, it seemed clear that her time was becoming very limited.  She was officially placed upon the terminal list.  I discussed the matter of the hospice with both, and we agreed that, the traditions of the hospice notwithstanding, I would take her to see the Master.  The next day, I did so.

As the two of us walked into the hospice, both of us dressed appropriately, the current patients/students watched us enter.  No word was spoken.  Guiding and steadying the woman, who was beginning to have difficulty walking, we made our way slowly through the outer and inner courtyard and to the Master's table.  There, I knelt in front of the Master, and the young woman whom I was leading knelt also, beside me.  Still no words were spoken, as the students watched to see what the Master would do.

After a pause, the Master leaned foeward and tapped me slowly upon the sleeve, once, twice.  But before he could tap a third time, the young woman fell over against me, and fell into my lap.  Looking at her, I could see that her eyes had rolled up, and when I placed two fingers discreetly under her jaw and felt for her pulse, I realized that she was dead.  I looked up at the Master, and spoke to him, saying this:

"Master, I brought you this blossom to add to your garden.  But it seems she did not bloom long enough."

At this, the Master smiled, nodded slowly, and replied:

"I thank you for your gift.  Perhaps on another day, you shall bring me another such blossom for my garden."

I replied that I would endeavor to do so, then bowed to him, still kneeling.  Having done so, I lifted the young woman, whose name I never knew, and carried her body from the garden.

---

Here, I awoke from the dream.  I believe I understand the lesson of this dream, though I do not believe the lesson was intended for me personally.  My place is only to pass on what has been granted to me.  Thus, I tell this story.

May those in a position to apply this lesson study it, and be enlightened.

Comments

[technoshaman.livejournal.com]

Ah, so. Thank you.

[rbos.livejournal.com]

Thank you.