This was not a formal lecture, but a conversation that stayed with us long after we left the temple grounds.
"What does it mean to live without clinging?" A Zen monk in Kyoto once shared a well-known passage with us: "To study the self is to forget the self. To forget the self is to be confirmed by all things." It may sound abstract at first. Simply put, it means this. When we look deeply at ourselves, we eventually loosen our attachment to the idea of "me." And in doing so, we begin to feel connected to people, to nature, and to the world as it is.
This is the heart of Zen.
What Zen Means by Mushin
Zen points toward a state called mushin—often translated as "no-mind." This doesn’t mean having no thoughts or emotions. Rather, it means not fixing the mind onto one thing too tightly.
A mind that is flexible. A mind that is not trapped by fear, desire, or self-judgment. In Zen, suffering does not come from the world itself, but from how tightly we hold onto our thoughts about it.
Why We Feel So Tired
We live surrounded by wanting.
A better life. More recognition. Less failure. More certainty. Buddhism calls these restless movements of the mind bonnō—mental afflictions. And the most difficult part is this: what binds us is rarely the outside world, but our own thoughts.
Zen teaches that beneath layers of anxiety and desire, each person already has a clear, steady mind—like a mirror without dust. We simply forget it’s there.
Being Fully Where You Are
So how do we return to that clarity? Zen’s answer is surprisingly simple: become fully absorbed in what you are doing right now. In the Chinese classic Saikontan, a collection of aphorisms, it is written: Do not dwell on the past. Do not fear the future. Attend carefully to what is in front of you, one thing at a time.
When working, just work. When drinking tea, just drink tea. This is known as kissa kippan (喫茶喫飯). It sounds easy. It isn’t. Our minds constantly wander elsewhere. Zen gently invites them back.
The Sword and the Empty Mind
Zen deeply influenced Japanese martial arts. A famous Zen priest, Takuan Sōhō, once advised the swordsman Yagyū Munenori: If your attention fixes on your opponent’s sword, your mind is trapped there. If you fixate on winning, your mind is trapped by victory.
Instead, he said, let the mind spread freely—wide as heaven and earth. This is not distraction, but complete presence without attachment. That is why so many Japanese arts end with -dō( 道): tea ceremony (sadō), calligraphy (shodō), flower arranging (kadō), and martial arts (budō). Skill and way of life eventually become one.
Zen and "Enough"
Buddhism speaks of the three poisons: greed, anger, and ignorance. Among them, greed, the urge for more, is the most familiar to modern life. The monk explained it this way: Those who desire little are at ease. Those who want more are never satisfied.
Zen does not ask us to erase desire, but to know our measure. A drink enjoyed, then stopped. Work done with care, then set down. Each person lives differently. Comparison clouds the mind.
Zen as Daily Practice
In Zen, practice does not end on the meditation cushion. Cleaning, cooking, farming—these are all forms of training. This is called samu. Life itself is the practice. Do what needs to be done, without chasing results. Let go of constant self-evaluation. Often, trust and results arrive on their own.
Walking is not meant to take us somewhere special. It is simply putting one foot in front of the other. And yet, the mind slowly clears.
This conversation is one of many that shape our Deep Kyoto journey, where meeting people—and meeting ourselves—becomes part of the travel experience.