Enter the city, said the wise man, it is all yours

Found in a small selection of Thomas Merton’s work called Silence, Joy but originally from his The Wisdom of the Desert (Saying 38):

Once there was a disciple of a Greek philosopher who was commanded by his Master for three years to give money to everyone who insulted him. When this period of trial was over, the Master said to him: Now you can go to Athens and learn wisdom. When the disciple was entering Athens he met a certain wise man who sat at the gate insulting everybody who came and went. He also insulted the disciple who immediately burst out laughing. Why do you laugh when I insult you? said the wise man. Because, said the disciple, for three years I have been paying for this kind of thing and now you give it to me for nothing. Enter the city, said the wise man, it is all yours.

People who make no mental effort

From The Asian Journal of Thomas Merton, a recording of of his 1968 trip to Bangkok, India, and Sri Lanka. This is a note from his Nov. 7 entry as he enjoyed a series of interviews with the Dalai Lama.

People who make no mental effort, even if they remain in mountain retreats, are like animals hibernating in their holes, only accumulating causes for a descent into hell.

The textual notes mark this as a Tibetan saying quoted by the Dalai Lama in his 1965 Introduction to Buddhism.

What you are reading there is only the dirt they left behind them

From The Way of Chuang Tzu, Thomas Merton’s ‘reading’ (not translation):

DUKE HWAN AND THE WHEELWRIGHT
The world values books, and thinks that in so doing it is valuing Tao. But books contain words only. And yet there is something else which gives value to the books. Not the words only, nor the thought in the words, but something else within the thought, swinging it in a certain direction that words cannot apprehend. But it is the words themselves that the world values when it commits them to books: and though the world values them, these words are worthless as long as that which gives them value is not held in honor.

That which man apprehends by observation is only outward form and color, name and noise: and he thinks that this will put him in possession of Tao. Form and color, name and sound, do not reach to reality. That is why: “He who knows does not say, he who says, does not know.” (11)

How then is the world going to know Tao through words?

Duke Hwan of Khi,
First in his dynasty,
Sat under his canopy
Reading his philosophy;
And Phien the wheelwright
Was out in the yard
Making a wheel.
Phien laid aside
Hammer and chisel,
Climbed the steps,
And said to Duke Hwan:
“May I ask you, Lord,
What is this you are
Reading?”
The Duke said:
“The experts. The authorities.”
And Phien asked:
“Alive or dead?”
“Dead a long time.”
“Then,” said the wheelwright,
“You are reading only
The dirt they left behind.”
Then the Duke replied:
“What do you know about it?
You are only a wheelwright.
You had better give me a good explanation
Or else you must die.”
The wheelwright said:
“Let us look at the affair
From my point of view.
When I make wheels
If I go easy, they fall apart,
If I am too rough, they do not fit.
If I am neither too easy nor too violent
They come out right. The work is what
I want it to be.
You cannot put this into words:
You just have to know how it is.
I cannot even tell my own son exactly how it is done,
And my own son cannot learn it from me.
So here I am, seventy years old,
Still making wheels!
The men of old
Took all they really knew
With them to the grave.
And so, Lord, what you are reading there
Is only the dirt they left behind them.”