Chapter 3

Pan G.’ s Jade-Girl’s Waist and The In-Between-Body At The Moon Gate

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The Logician of the Jeek'-Foot Mountain would have deduced and predicted The Master-Pupils’ dreams.

"Well, the twisted horses appeared because The Empress Wǔl Zénder-Tan’ talked about her demised Emperor Tame Dyke-Zeon on horseback

and his back bones spiked into swords of the Hell of the Sword Mountain, blood shredding..."

"It was rather hraphic. And I don't like the idea that those memories impacted my consciousness so deeply.”

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you know, it means that my Mind-Training as in the pertinent meditation slugged although I spent years to have excelled with you in the grand Three-Causality-Premised Logic. It seems to be uncontrollable in my subconscious mind.”

“You were too ambitious. Or I rather say you are diligent and make your nerves too uptight.” He continued, "As for the eagles, it must have been the Jurchen Warlord Clans that The Demised Emperor had related to him. Or might just be the Sun-Vinaya King. His left hand on the saddle and the other eagle, and his troop riding skillfully while attacking fiercely, slaughtered enemies and their flesh splashed."

“I couldn’t control my mind, dreams, body, illness; I could be a very good logician even surpassing you, but I still lose to my mind.”

“So?”

“So, I wanted to shift my mental training to physical training, or rather a blend of both, that should produce the answer.”

“That’s interesting, don’t forget how you might have found Pan. G’s answer for him. And more importantly, how you would reflect your own emotions in meditation. As you know, letting go and suppression is as thin as a Void Film of Phenomenon. We strive not to fall into either.. ”

“Right.”

“So, what if I spent my whole life in this line of lineage-training that focused too much on the Wing of Textual Comprehension and Translation, but later I find that my other Wing of Samādhi Training dropped? And perhaps, as you said or deduced, the answer could be in my quests? Pan G. disciple tried to tell me something more profound than I had ever contemplated?”

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“Pan G. Monk had entered Samādhi…... I am sure of it…...”

“What did you say, Master? You seemed to mumble lately. I couldn’t hear you.”

He wiped off the pearl-like sweats on his forehead. Some lights and shades blinked. And he wondered why tears had warmly rushed down on his cheeks.

Yes, Pan G. Monk should be in good hands when he left Pan G. in the death row prison.

The Assistant Monk Huey’-Lee heard some noise, tapped gently on the Abbot Master Xend'-Eon’s bamboo divider, saw that the Abbot was still sitting with spine up-right on the round futon-pillow for meditation, but seemed restless, lifting his eyebrows upon hearing his footsteps.

“Why are you here at these hours? What time is it now?”

“Hardly 11 p.m., Master. Are you well?”

The Master lowered his eyes without responding. It was quiet until the Attending Novice Monk came in looking worried.

“No wonder I had the dream. Why did you come at these hours?” He wanted an answer.

“Master must be too consumed. Moods were unstable. With what had happened to Princess Cowe’-Yank and Pian…”

"Monks don't have moods. Or at least are not supposed to have moods."

"Yeah, why did The Master wake up in shock from meditation?"

The Old Monk did not answer.

"I thought when Master came back from the prison, Master looked composed and calm. It seems that Brother Pian G. is in good hands, so we won't worry too much."

"When time’s right, I will tell you some pertinent details."

“The dreams that you recalled of the deceased Emperor, Master, must have affected your mood and health. But, Master, I thought you had solved Brother Pian G.’s problem? Why did you get so restless?” He pushed on for an answer to his earlier question.

“I saw swords and glittering blades. I saw bodies and burning corpses. And I saw Pian G. 's corpse at the Red-Temple’s Sky-Funeral....they didn’t even bother to chop the limbs and torso, or they didn’t need to……”

"Well, it must be what The Old Empress of The Buddha Father triggered the Master's old memories and wound..."

Before he could finish, he heard his much younger Attending Novice Monk gasp loudly and turn pale amidst his sudden flushed face.

“What’s wrong? Novice Brother?

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The Novice Monk recalled that hours ago while he was also sitting upright meditating during the break of The Evening Translation Session. and the Sūtra and their Ancient-Sage’s Commentaries were getting longer and much more profound for their perspectives.

He was on the round futon pillow.

Nodding off, he suddenly awoke abruptly as out of nowhere, his ears splashed eerie plopping sounds as if winds out of the thin air gushing by sharply.

His mind’s eye saw the face of his senior-Monk brother, Pan G. Monk, lean and eyes muddy.

There was a dark turbid black light in his pupils, and the Novice Monk came back to his senses, still seeing that the Senior-Monk Brother was being tied up to his back with a vertical plank sticking out from his spine-neck, written thereon in red wet ink circling a Chinese script saying ‘Death’.

He was clamped on his arms by the executioners, legs dragging on the floor, as he was too weak and unable to stand on his feet; hence, his feet, heels, and ankles facing the sky.

People circling the City Square watching Pan G. Monk’s toenails, red and swollen toes, from the torture of the Wooden-Donkey, touching the dirt-face of the hardened yellowish and greyish clay floor. Traces of marks made resembled cups of clay powder splashed out in arcs on the ground as they passed by, all the way.

“Can they have saved Pan G. after he left the prison? “ The Master asked himself. “Even so, he was still half-dead...And they almost like exhuming him to carry The After-Death Sentence of Corpse -Whipping ...” The Master thought.

The sound of the death rattle presented itself with sounds of phlegm gargle coming out of a dying throat.

He was made to lie flat on the board above the gigantic guillotine bladelike-sword, seeing in fear both palms of the executioners grasping the handle firmly, pulling downward toward his waist.

A blade-light shone like a sword blink under the lights of spectators, the rays of the skies, a muffled chopping splurged, weird red-echo, blood gushing.

Goosebumps.

Thoughts were horrified.

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“Master, you asked why I came at these hours? I came to tell you the news about Brother Pian. G. that I just received a couple of minutes ago…”

“What was that?”

“The Death Row Warden told me, that...that...they have taken Brother Pian G. away, and no one knows what will happen…..probably…”

"what!? Why? I thought…."

"What? Master?"

The Master put his palm pressing on the desk, too many dreams to handle for a day.

And The Attending Novice Monk wanted to approach to help.

"I'm fine. No."

He stopped, hearing the trembling of the Master's throat.

He saw the Master had flushed, he let the erratic candlelight shine dimly, the pale glare of his vicissitudes made clear, though.

The Master saw the light and was perplexed.

The autumn chill had tensed up.

His nose couldn’t help but emit a thick and turbid breath. Looking at the emptiness seemed floating, bewildered.

He looked out the skies far out the door, a black and faint cloud of gas formed, like a sighing mist covering the face.

“Can they have saved Pan G. after he left the prison? “ The Master asked himself. “Even so, he was still half-dead...And they almost like exhuming him to carry out The After-Death Sentence of Corpse-Whipping ...”

He didn't realize that he repeated it verbatim.

He slowly forgot the appearance of Pan G.’s, though. Only traces of young life remained, the vicissitudes of the disciple had crawled up into his heart.

He raised his eyes slightly as if to look closely at Assistant Monk Huey’-Lee who had left. What the Attending Novice Monk saw was the aftermath of the Master's original sorrow that he could not squarely fathom. His eyes were swollen and his cheeks began to twitch slightly.

"Master, don't be too sad."

The Attending Novice Monk wiped off the two lines of silky tear-traces from his face.

Looking at the back of the Old Monk who had walked out into the dark backdrop. He was going to tell his Senior Brother that the Old Master wanted a stroll for fresh air by himself and he didn’t know if he should worry.

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When autumn fell, the candlelights danced and fog lingered in the sky. The mountain bell trembles ethereal.

The verses of the Auspicious Alert had been sung, The MC Master Wei-Nor’ aimed his round-rubbery head tack hammer at the center of the eyebrows of the wooden fish.

Tock! Tock! Tock!

A single knock once at a time, followed by calm chanting in a rhythmic pace.

Pretty names were given to the body parts of the wooden fish called The Golden-Boy’s Head and The Jade-Girl’s Waist, danced in sync with each beat of the knocking and chanting of Mantra by the monastery monks.

And The Dragon-Spool would send out delightfully soothing sounds; as if to impart humming, bubbling-ticking from within the other side of the surface of the smoothly running water on rivers.

Immediately, hand holding a tiny jingle bell, with the mouth facing up, sitting on top of a slender planked hooked by a jewel golden chain to a slender steel bar, The Wei-Nor Master aimed at the edge of the mouth of the bell, hitting to match last verses for reminders:

"All you cultivators, do not fall sluggish, be diligent as if the hair on your head is burning to be saved now.

Do not stop to contemplate on the fluctuation of the life and death~ "

"Did you finish the Night Bell Chanting, Huey Lee?”

“Didn’t you hear it, Master, it was loud.”

The practitioner monks were filing out silently.

Eyes were looking in from the outside of The Hall of the Great Strength of the Sakyamuni Buddha.

It was full of black paint inside. An oil lamp and a bamboo lantern were held in their hands. They emit a weak and dim light. He heard the Incense Lamp Monk yelling:

"The sky is dry! Watch out for the flames!"

Waiting cautiously, several Monks whispered to each other, gently folding up their Three Meritorious Clothes.

Yes, he should have heard the chanting instruments resounding; and his vast chanting.

Tock! Tock! Tock! They have turned into Chop! Chop! Chop!

The Tack Hammer had been chasing The Wooden-Fish, for life, after grievances and debts, and that would always be the head to knock although hatred was unsolvable. Resentment. Heartbrokenness. The world is full of dust.

You must be wrong and I am right.

Worth it or not?

You would think that understanding equals enlightenment. Think of sitting meditation at the time span of a stick of incense finished burning or a Zen Catch Phrase out of cliche that would cause you to be enlightened.

And a light fluttering in an instant, you can realize your enlightenment.

You do not think that it takes a lifetime to practice?

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The Old Monk looked up, skies darkest before dusk had finished up.

That night, high above the dark mountains above the City, a row of monks on horsebacks appeared on a grey-yellowish black background, as if images of Grand-Sky-Goose Pagodas floating on the skies behind, when the Abbot Master got down from his horse.

He rubbed the Bodhi-Chanting-Beads that his Old Master had touched and teardrops rolled down staining his robes, like pearls flowering.

He was in his prime year, with deep eyes and bright cheeks, staring at the Old Monk at the foot of the mountain, looking at the sky with wandering eyes.

He sought refuge and pardon from the City.

For the sake of endurance.

Endurance of the Buddha-Dharma is unimaginable.

Tock! Tock! Tock! They have turned into Chop! Chop! Chop!

So people must ask for forgiveness.

People need to know, struggling for a sense of belonging and acceptance.

All kinds of lingering. And so on, all kinds of things.

"Master, go and take a break, your schedule could not be postponed, it will be tight tonight." The Novice Monk had caught up with him.

The Master shook his head.

The Attending Novice Monk tried his best to understand the Old Monk's persistence and firmness. In his opinion, overdoing things may be an expression of being unable to let go.

It is a kind of perfectionism. It is a kind of externalism. There are different opinions, and the practitioners show their magical powers on the route to practice.

“They never cared if it’s too consuming for you, Master, how worthy of all that treatment…?”

"Pan G. also did his best right?. He would have sacrificed his life for sentient beings as numerable as the dust, right?" Again, the Master answered with a question.

"The disciple doesn't know, Master."

The Old Monk was oblivious of the answer given by the Novice Monk.

At the juncture, he felt like it was time to carry out a deeply personal reflection.

Why did it matter so much? No vicarious liability whatsoever happened in the Buddha Dharma. You are your own fate.

No wondered he recalled that his own Master Venerable Sand'-Huey would have cared very much...and suddenly he realized that his life had been a matter of importance to his Master. In a way, it could not answer the question he posed to himself, though.

At least not why he felt Pian G. Monk mattered to him to such an extent.

Then, he felt the absence of his Master in his never-ending journeyed and lonely life.

"Master, I miss you..."

The Attending Novice Monk was stunned. He tried to discern the Master’s face in the dim lights, finding sorrow in the Master’s eyes that he could not fathom except that he felt deep grievances crept up in his soul profoundly.

The next moment, the Attending Novice Monk burst into tears and wailed loudly.

Thinking of giving him too much emotion for the night, the Master walked slowly back to his tiny room.

He realized that the sky was still all dingy. A gust of wind pierced through the gap and blew in.

He seemed to see Pian G. Monk.

Is it his shadow? His In-Between Body?

The candlelight exuded a gloomy light.

Pian G. was busy sorting out the manuscript of The Travel Diary.

Some pages had been blown open by wind. Pian G. closed the pages, put on top of the book an inkstone, turned his head noticing The Old Master, smiled, put his palms together, chin and head bowing down slightly, and then left.

His posture passed through the walls that were as thin as the moonlight film on the walls of the moon gate.

The Monastery’s Mountain Gate had been kept slightly ajar. The wind gently blew a splice-cracking noise.