to him where I stood in life and why I had sought out Zen. He seemed to want to give it some thought. Finally, he added: “There are a lot of young Zen masters coming onto the scene. Study with one of them.”
“I do not believe any of them can help me.”
I believe he recognized that what I said was true and that he knew as well as I there was no one among the new generation of masters like him. He waited a good while before adding, with surprising tenderness: “Then I’ll have you pursue the Zen quest alone. It’s sufficient, you’ll find, and it won’t matter whether you are in America or Japan . . . Well, I am a bit tired.” He shot to his feet like a geyser. He bowed and with a huge smile said: “It was great to see you.” And he was gone behind a closing sliding door.
I was not disappointed. He would never accede to my request as long as his master, nominally my master, was still alive.
Thousands of miles block me from Japan right now. A few years ago I asked Mrs. Maeda to remind him that it was my lifelong dream to have him as my teacher.
The Thief replied: “He’s too serious.”
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