Jesus the Zennist

In a time of fixed laws and hardened identities, a presence moved known as Jesus the Zennist, a being as water, holding no form yet touching all. 

Called 'son' by some, 'teacher' by others, this one was neither man nor woman, but a ceaseless renewal, a river of life flowing through the vessel of a body. 

This one spoke not as the scribes, who built upon the sand of 'like' and 'dislike,' but from the bedrock of the One Mind, revealing the Inner Kingdom not as a future reward, but as the ground of all being. 

This one walked among the afflicted and the accusers, yet held no preference, seeing neither 'pure' nor 'impure,' only the Way. 

When the world of dualities sought to grasp and destroy this form, pinning it to a cross, this one did not resist, embodying the ultimate release of aversion. 

And so, the tomb could not hold what was never separate; the stone was rolled away not to let a body out, but to reveal that the Truth which is beyond all words was never contained within it.

Reflection - The Water and the Bedrock

Can you feel it? The world, with its noise, its demands, its frantic energy. It is a time, much like all times, of fixed laws and hardened identities. You are told who you are by your job, by your nation, by your politics, by your family, by the anxieties in your own head. You are given a name, a role, and a label, and you are expected to hold that shape.

We are all so very tired of holding our shape. We feel brittle, like dry clay. We fear we will crack.

And into this brittle world, the text above offers a different vision. It speaks of a presence "known as Jesus the Zennist." And what is this presence? It is "a being as water, holding no form yet touching all."

This is the first, and perhaps the only, lesson. 

You are not the clay vessel. You are the water.

The world wants you to be a vessel—a "man" or a "woman," a "scribe" or a "sinner," "pure" or "impure." The vessel is the world of dualities. The vessel is the world of "like" and "dislike." And as the Hsin Hsin Ming reminds us, this is the "disease of the mind."

The scribes in our text are the masters of this disease. They are "building upon the sand of 'like' and 'dislike'."

And are we not all scribes, just a little? We scroll through our lives, through our phones, and we are frantically sorting. Like. Dislike. Good. Bad. Friend. Enemy. Right. Wrong. We build our entire sense of self on this shifting, treacherous sand. And we wonder why our house is always collapsing. We wonder why we are so anxious, so angry, so afraid.

The Zennist presence speaks from a different place. Not from the sand, but from "the bedrock of the One Mind."

What is this bedrock? It is the "Inner Kingdom." But not, as our text says, "as a future reward." This is not a prize you get after you die, after you have finally sorted all the sand correctly. The Kingdom is "the ground of all being." It is the bedrock under the sand. It is here, now. It is the simple, silent, unshakeable is-ness of this very moment, before you have labelled it "good" or "bad."

This is the Great Way. It is not difficult. It is only difficult for those who have preferences.

This teaching—that the ground of your being is already unified, already whole, already the Kingdom—is not a secret. It is the whisper found in the heart of all true spiritual seeking.

Look, for a moment, to the great rishis of the Hindu Upanishads, of the Advaita Vedanta tradition. They looked at the individual soul, the Atman—this "I" that you believe yourself to be—and they looked at the ultimate, formless, all-encompassing reality, Brahman, the One Mind. And after generations of the deepest looking, they declared the most radical truth: Tat Tvam Asi. "Thou art That."

The individual Atman is Brahman. The drop of water is the ocean. They are not two. The "you" that you think you are—the vessel, the label, the story—is a temporary illusion, a dance of maya. The bedrock, your true nature, is the One Mind itself. This is precisely the Zennist's Inner Kingdom: the "ground of all being" that you already are.

Now, turn to the mystics of Islam, the Sufis, who walk the path of divine love. The great poet Rumi tells of the lover knocking on the Beloved's door. A voice from within asks, "Who is it?" The lover replies, "It is I." The voice answers, "In this house, there is no room for 'I' and 'You'." The lover goes away, burns in the fire of separation, and returns. Again, the knock. "Who is it?" This time, the lover answers, "It is You." And the door swings open.

This is the path of fana, the annihilation of the small self. This is the "ceaseless renewal" our text speaks of. It is the realization that the separate "I" was the only thing barring the door to the Kingdom.

Do you see the beautiful harmony? The Vedantist path of knowing (Thou art That), the Sufi path of loving (It is You), and the Zennist path of being (holding no preference). All three point to the same moon. All three are a call to dissolve the separate self—the sandcastle of "like" and "dislike"—and to rest in the bedrock, the water, the One Mind.

The Hindu sage uses the language of consciousness. The Sufi mystic uses the language of ecstatic love. Jesus, the Zennist uses the language of profound, simple stillness. But the message is one. The "I" you defend so fiercely is the illusion. The Kingdom you seek so desperately is what you are.

This is why the Zennist "walked among the afflicted and the accusers, yet held no preference." This is not cold detachment. It is the deepest warmth. It is to see the bedrock—the divine, whole, One Mind—in everyone, even the accuser. It is to see the water, not just the shape of the vessel.

This brings us to the cross.

The cross is the world of dualities—the world of scribes, laws, and preferences—in its most violent form. It is the world saying, "We have a label for you. We will pin you down. We will make you this. We will call you 'heretic,' 'blasphemer,' 'criminal.' We will nail your form, this water, to a piece of wood. We will destroy you."

And what is the Zennist's response? "This one did not resist, embodying the ultimate release of aversion."

This is the Higher Ethic in its final, most breathtaking expression. "Love your enemies" becomes "See that there is no 'other'." "Turn the other cheek" becomes "You cannot strike water." This is not passive weakness. It is the invincible strength of formlessness. You cannot nail the ocean to a tree. You cannot crucify the One Mind.

And so, the tomb. The world of duality puts the form in a box, rolls a stone in front of it, and says, "It is finished."

But our text gives us the punchline, and perhaps the only punchline that matters: "And so, the tomb could not hold what was never separate."

The tomb could not hold the water. The tomb could not contain the bedrock. The stone was rolled away, not to let a broken body out, but to let our confused minds in. To show us that the tomb was, and always had been, empty. The Truth, the Way, the One Mind, "was never contained within it."

That which is "neither man nor woman," that which is "ceaseless renewal," that which is "as water," cannot die. It can only change shape.

So, what does this mean for us, today, in our brittle world of hardened identities?

We see the headlines. This very week, we see the world of the scribes in full fury, building mountains of sand, screaming "like" and "dislike." We see nations, parties, and people frantically trying to pin each other down, to label "pure" and "impure," "us" and "them." This is the cross, enacted on a global scale. This is the source of our deepest suffering.

The Zennist path is not to join the battle on the sand. It is not to build a "better" sandcastle, a "purer" side. The Zennist path is to stop, to be still, and to remember the bedrock. To embody the water.

When the world screams at you, "You must choose! You must hate! You must fear! You must be in this form!"—your practice is to breathe. Your practice is to find the Inner Kingdom, the ground of being, that is silently watching all of it. Your practice is the "release of aversion."

This is not an escape. This is the only true way to engage. You do not act from the sand of your reacting ego. You act from the bedrock of the One Mind. You act from a place of wholeness, not preference. You become the peacemaker, the pure in heart.

You stop trying to hold the water of your life, and you become the water.

Let go of your preferences. Let go of the frantic sorting. Stop building on sand. The bedrock is already beneath your feet. The Kingdom is already within you.

The tomb is empty. It always was.

Be the water.