These are things that cannot really be figured out through rational thinking. I am not saying one has to figure out anything about a koan, because that is not really the point. But when someone puts their shoes on their head, it is not an action that can be followed in a step by step fashion, like solving a crime.

Takuin has made many strange actions or movements in its life, and in hindsight, if someone else tells the story, it might seem like a koan. But I can tell you right now, these actions, if they happen at all, do not arise from a ‘because.’ It is not as if one says, “I am going to put shoes on my head because it means THIS.”

It all seems to arise, more often than not, in moments of great emotional tension, for whatever reason. Although I am not sure of what that might mean.

Nansen saw the monks of the eastern and western halls fighting over a cat. He seized the cat and told the monks: `If any of you say a good word, you can save the cat.’ No one answered. So Nansen boldly cut the cat in two pieces.

That evening Joshu returned and Nansen told him about this. Joshu removed his sandals and, placing them on his head, walked out.

Nansen said: `If you had been there, you could have saved the cat.’

Too bad for the pig.

It is almost dawn.

She goes barefoot
to the kitchen
selects a tall glass,
returns to the bathroom
and brings the open end down
over the faintly furry body.

She finds
a piece of paper
and slides it
underneath the glass.

A bird begins
it’s morning liturgy.

The spider scurries up
the side of the glass
looking for a way out.

She tells him
what a foolish fellow he is
how inconsiderate
of her wishes
that he remain outside
where he most naturally belongs.

She tells him
he is lucky
she is not hungry
for spider this morning
how lovely he would taste
on a piece of toast
with a bit of ginger jam.

She carries him outside
across the cold, wet grass
to a creamy white lily
iridescent in the half light
and pulls the paper away.

A doe and her fawn look up
distracted for a moment
from the delectable roses.

She returns to the kitchen
makes an omelet
and fills it with
sautéed mushrooms
and the most succulent ham.

Nice story…and thanks for sharing with us…

My only question is, what do you think will happen when you find the next roach?

Below is my story of a recent encounter with a roach. I wrote it a few months ago, in June. It came to mind when I read this. Hope it is okay to post it here:

FORGIVEN BY A ROACH
My daughter had an adult-size roach living in and around the window sill in her bedroom. That’s where it made its home. She screamed the first time she saw it, and refused to sleep in her room while it was still alive. We bought the sticky roach traps and the roach poison that they eat and later die from. But this roach didn’t seem to be wandering off too far from the windowsill so didn’t take the bait since we left these contraptions on the floor under my daughter’s bed.
I’m a persistent guy and I’ve dealt with roaches before and have overcome for the most part my squeamishness toward them, although that is still the first instinct that comes up for me. So each time I’d walk by my now-empty daughter’s room I’d peak in and see if the roach was out and about. Maybe one out of five times, I’d spot the roach. Always moving along the wall right alongside the windowsill. And relatively slowly it moved, for a roach. It seemed pretty content, not hyper or jerky and fearful as roaches often appear to be. First time I saw it I grabbed the first thing I could find to swat it, a tissue box. But I missed. It got away and slid under a sliver of an opening on the inner side of the windowsill. Next time around, which I think was the following day, I had another chance. I saw the roach again climbing up the wall alongside the windowsill, which I should mention was a brown color similar to that of the roach. I again grabbed the closest weapon I could find, the tissue box, and smashed it against the wall using, using far more force than was needed. Amazingly, the roach dodged out the way and leaped onto the tissue box itself. This was done in a split second. What reflexes!
I pulled back and the tissue box ended up on the bed. The roach, instinctively, took off and headed for the side of the bed and toward the shadowy world below. There was not time for me to grab the tissue box. I smash the side of my hand against the side of the bed and the roach splattered all over the place on the floor. I cleaned up the mess the best I could and told my wife who called me a hero.
I didn’t feel like one, though. I took the life of this roach, who basically was just going about its business, rather nonchalantly and contentedly, as I mentioned. And then I swooped down and brought its life to a sudden end.
So I forgave the roach in my own mind, and myself, for killing it. And surprisingly, I felt the roach had forgiven me for killing it as well. So I’m okay with this roach now. And my daughter it again sleeping in her room again.

Welcome to my house!

If you were not scared, would you have killed the little guy?

But even now, all that remains is the memory. It has lost its luster.