Be Wide Awake: Reflecting on Zuigan’s Call

I’d like to share a kōan that isn’t among the most commonly discussed—at least not in my experience—but one that I find incredibly practical and enriching in my own Zen practice. It’s Case 12 from the Mumonkan (The Gateless Gate): Zuigan Calls His Master.

The Kōan

Case 12 – Zuigan Calls His Master
Zuigan Gen Osho called out to himself every day:
“Master!”
And he answered, “Yes, sir!”
Then he would say, “Be wide awake!”
And he answered, “Yes, sir!”
“Do not be deceived by others!”
“No, I won’t!”

What strikes me about this kōan is its unusual structure: Zuigan isn’t addressing a student, a teacher, or even the universe. He’s speaking to himself. He calls himself “Master,” answers himself, gives himself clear instructions, and promises himself he won’t be deceived.

It might sound strange at first, but this scene resonates deeply with me. I often find myself in an internal dialogue—sometimes a debate, sometimes a moment of clarity, sometimes a reminder to return to presence. There’s something deeply human about this kōan, and also something radically direct.

Of course, this kōan isn’t inviting us to simply talk to ourselves or indulge in internal chatter. In my understanding, it points beyond that. It raises a very potent question: Who is talking to whom?

This is the core of the kōan for me. Who is the speaker, and who is the listener? Are there two people? Or is this a way of cutting through the illusion of self as a fixed identity?

We often carry multiple voices in our heads—habitual thoughts, criticisms, justifications, self-doubt. It can feel like having two little figures on our shoulders, each with their opinion. But Zen challenges this: what if these voices are just thoughts passing through awareness? What happens when we drop the dialogue entirely?

This is the heart of it: Be wide awake. Wake up to this moment. Drop the internal story. Drop the back-and-forth. Drop the identification with thought. What is really happening right now?

For me, this instruction is a powerful grounding tool. When I find myself spinning in thought, caught in speculation or judgment, I return to this phrase: Be wide awake. What is present, here and now? What is this moment asking of me?

This line is equally powerful. It’s easy to get caught up in social conditioning, habitual thinking, even in the opinions of teachers or books. In Zen, we often rely on texts, on teachers, on tradition—and rightly so. But ultimately, we must turn inward. No one else can give us the answer.

To me, “others” doesn’t just mean people—it includes ideas, societal expectations, comparisons, internalized voices that aren’t truly ours. Zuigan reminds himself not to be misled by anything external. The truth must be seen directly. It’s already within us.

Some may read this kōan and think of it as odd or eccentric. But I don’t see madness—I see method. I see discipline. I see a way of staying connected to direct experience. This kōan has become a practical tool for me. A reminder. A wake-up bell.

I don’t walk around calling myself “Master” out loud, of course, but the spirit of that gesture—the firmness, the clarity—is something I carry with me. “Where are you now? What are you engaging with? Are you present or lost in the story?”

This kōan reminds me not to wander from direct experience. When I notice myself getting pulled into speculation, judgment, or overthinking, I return here: Be wide awake. Do not be deceived. The answers I seek are not out there. They unfold moment to moment, in presence.

For much of my life, I believed that other people had life figured out—that they had the answers, the clarity, the wisdom. I often felt like I was the only one who didn’t. But over time, and especially through working with kōans like this one, I’ve come to see that everyone is navigating their own experience. No one has the final answer—and in fact, the answers we need are already within us.

Each moment holds its own truth. This moment reveals what it reveals. The next moment will do the same. If we are truly present, the moment gives us everything we need.

This kōan, playful and serious at once, is a tool for awakening. It invites us to go beyond identity, beyond internal dialogue, and beyond reliance on others. It reminds us that what we seek is already here. In the very act of waking ourselves up—calling ourselves back—we are already home.