What is the sound of one hand clapping?
"What is the sound of one hand clapping?" asked the Zen master for the second time.
I’ve been kneeling on a cushion facing a wall, eyes closed, within the wooden floor of the most peaceful apartment in bustling NYC's Lower West Side, trying to make sense of that question.
As if reading my mind, with an understanding whisper she said:
You're not supposed to make sense of it.
It had the opposite effect. For a structured, Western-based mind like mine, being asked to not find the logic in something is like asking a kid to not open the wrapped gift in front of him on Christmas.
Feeling my mind starting to hurt, I decided to just let go and flow with the whole experience.
I even dropped my shoulders in surrender fashion.
That session in the Zen center lasted for about an hour, with some other unexpected rituals like walking fast and slow around the wooden floor and then sitting without moving a muscle for 25 straight minutes.
Other than coming out of there extremely calm and seeing everything around me with revered attention and delight, nothing magical happened. And I still couldn't answer what sound one hand clapping makes, let alone stop looking for it.
I continued my attempt to eat my way through NYC before it ate me during my 3 month stay.
But over the next few days, I found the starting question continually popping in my head during unexpected moments.
Washing the dishes. During a work call. Talking to a friend.
I found a strange delight in having it wander around my mind and relieved to not need to find a logical answer.
Around 10 days later after the session, my mind lit up: it will never make a sound, it needs another hand.
That drew me to insights into how we need other humans to thrive and the need to be connected.
Clichés are clichés for a reason, they reveal some truth about the world. But they usually lose power due to sheer repetition and familiarity.
This one felt different.
The interconnectedness of people, things, time and space was suddenly palpable.
I began seeing connections everywhere. The effect on me from a conversation my parents had 30 years ago. How the movement of a ship here had repercussions on the other side of the world. Or with strangers on the street.
That lens through which the world in front of me now appeared stayed for a few days in full display.
It then faded so slightly as the almost eternal echo of a gong, leaving the faintest, but still present residue in my world forever.
The whole experience made me want to dig deeper into the practice.
I learned that the question above is one of the most famous koans.
Koans, part of Zen Buddhism, are phrases, questions or small anecdotes that explicitly aim to not make sense and surpass the logical layer in our brains, in order to make you arrive at deep insights about yourself and the world.
There are over 1,700 koans and go back as early as the year 900.
A couple other favorites of mine are
What is my original face, from before my parents were born?
or
Wash your bones
There’s no need to go to a Zen center to sit with a koan, though I’ve found listening to them with a bit of context has a more powerful effect than just reading them.
Lying alone on a beach bed a few meters away from the pristine Caribbean sea on a sunny morning, I had a near-psychedelic experience though the only drug I’d ingested was listening to a koan.
I felt like being dissolved into the bed, floating through ether and seeing colors even with my eyes closed. Something I’d never experienced sober, unless you consider the salty sea breeze mind altering.
Other times with and around koans, I’ve felt and arrived at absolutely nothing.
No matter how hard I tried, or didn’t, for that matter.
It’s an elusive practice, but the net balance has been positive for me.
Although not always melting on beaches, my life is mystically enriched by koans, which is reason enough to keep doing it.
For me, the perfect moment is listening to them in the early morning hours, right after waking up, and sitting with one per week at most.
Although options abound, I’ve found Henry Shukman’s soothing, english accent to be my ideal cup of (Zen) tea.
You can easily listen to him for free by downloading this app on your iPhone or Android, and going to the Practice section -> The Koan Way.
Find a quiet place and 10 uninterrupted minutes.
Put your headphones on, click play.
And don’t make sense.
The extraordinary Zen center referenced at the beginning is Ordinary Mind.