Good evening everyone, and thank you for being part of this final session of our series.
Over the past weeks, we’ve walked together through episodes from the life of Eno (Huineng), exploring not only his story but how it mirrors our own experience in practice and daily life. Along the way, we’ve connected these teachings with those of Shinzan Roshi, grounding ancient insight into something immediate and lived.
We began with a simple yet profound moment: Eno hearing a line from the Diamond Sutra while selling firewood—“abide nowhere and let the mind come forth.” In that instant, something shifted. Not something added, but something released. Perhaps the grip of ideas about self, reality, and how things should be softened. This became our first key insight: how deeply we cling to what arises in the mind, and how that grasping quietly shapes our lives.
In the following session, we explored Eno’s meeting with the Fifth Ancestor, who asked him a seemingly simple question: “Where are you from?” Beneath its simplicity lies a deep inquiry. How quickly do we define ourselves through stories, identities, and backgrounds? Eno’s response pointed to something beyond these divisions—a nature not confined by north or south, by Italy or England, by any narrative we tell about ourselves.
We then turned to the famous poems: one emphasizing discipline—“polish the mirror”—and Eno’s response—“originally there is not a single thing.” Here, we saw the apparent tension between effort and insight. Discipline has its place; practice matters. And yet, ultimately, there is no fixed mind, no solid “mirror” to polish. Everything is fluid, interdependent, and ungraspable. Even the idea of “mind” slips through our fingers when we try to define it.
This led us to a subtle but important trap: the “stink of Zen,” as Shinzan Roshi calls it—the moment when insight becomes something we try to own, defend, or turn into identity. Even understanding itself can become another form of grasping.
Later, we followed Eno into the mountains, where he encountered the monk pursuing him, Myo. There, he offered a powerful question:
“Without thinking of good or evil, what is your original face before your parents were born?”
This question cuts through the habitual patterns of judgment and division, pointing directly to experience before the mind organizes it into categories.
And this brings us to the heart of the teaching.
These stories are not meant to remain stories. They are invitations—not to admire the past, but to look directly at our present experience. Eno’s life was ordinary. He was poor, illiterate, working in the background. His awakening didn’t come from mastering texts, but from seeing clearly—right here, right now.
This clarity is not reserved for meditation cushions or retreats. It appears in ordinary moments: while working, walking, listening, feeling frustrated, or experiencing joy. Small moments when something loosens. When the mind’s need to control is seen, even briefly.
These moments may seem insignificant, but in practice, they are everything.
Awakening doesn’t need to be dramatic. More often, it’s quiet:
- a little less grasping
- a little less defending
- a little less believing every story the mind tells
That is more than enough.
So as this series comes to an end, the real question begins:
How do we carry this into our daily life?
Not as an idea. Not as something to perform. But as a simple way of meeting each moment.
Perhaps the teaching can be expressed very simply:
Nothing special is required.
Just notice:
- when the mind creates a story
- when we cling to an identity
- when we judge something as good or bad
And sometimes—just sometimes—allow that moment to relax.
This doesn’t mean changing who we are or becoming someone else. It means changing how we relate—to ourselves, to our thoughts, to our experience. Seeing more clearly what is already here.
Our patterns, habits, and histories are not problems. They only become sources of suffering when they operate unseen, when we hold onto them as fixed truths.
Practice, then, is not about becoming better.
It is about seeing more clearly.
And in that clarity, something softens. Something opens.
So as we close this series, we don’t really conclude anything.
We simply return—to life as it is, moment by moment.
And perhaps that is where practice truly begins.
Zen Mindfulness Cambridge Zenways Italia 