The Title: The Cry of the Blind Man and the Zen Master’s Smile

Darkness enveloped the blind man’s world, yet his ears were sharper than anyone else’s. He sat in the corner of a small tea house, listening to the chaotic sounds of life: loud laughter, soft sighs, and the hurried beating of human hearts. To him, images mattered less than sound, for sound reflected the inner state most honestly.

Today, he paid special attention to a stranger who had just entered. It was the Zen master Bankei. People often praised his ease and freedom, but this blind man wished to verify if that freedom was merely indifference to the suffering of sentient beings.

A young woman approached the master, her voice trembling and tears streaming down her face. She said, “Teacher, my husband died suddenly. I do not know how to live. The whole world seems to have collapsed beneath my feet.”

Many around them feigned sighs, secretly rejoicing that they were luckier than others. Some praised her courage, yet their voices carried hidden judgment. The blind man listened closely. He heard only detachment in the crowd’s sighs, even petty satisfaction.

But when Zen master Bankei spoke, the blind man was startled. His voice was not lofty, nor did it quote dry scriptures or mechanically advise letting go. In every syllable, the blind man heard a deep resonance, a shared sadness that was not swept away by emotion. The master said, “I understand this pain. Let the tears flow; do not suppress them. I am here, sharing this with you.”

The blind man smiled. He realized there was no pretense in that voice, no contempt, and no clinging to pain that would exhaust the listener. It was complete compassion. Soon after, another man rushed in, shouting excitedly, “Master! I won the lottery! I am rich!”

Once again, the blind man listened. Those around offered praise, but he detected envy lurking within their congratulations. Yet Zen master Bankei laughed aloud, a clear and joyful laugh, genuinely happy for the other man, without jealousy or calculation.

The blind man turned to ask one of the master’s disciples, “How can he share everyone’s joy and sorrow while remaining so peaceful?”

The disciple replied, “Because his mind is like a mirror. When things arrive, they are reflected; when they leave, it becomes empty. He does not cling to happiness or sadness, so he can respond sincerely and promptly to the needs of sentient beings.”

The blind man nodded, filled with reverence. He understood that true freedom is not building a wall of insensitivity between oneself and the world. Instead, it is opening the heart to receive everything while standing firm on one’s own feet. Indifference is the death of humanity, whereas freedom accompanied by compassion is the pinnacle of ethics.

The Meaning of the Story

This story, told through the perspective of the blind man about Zen master Bankei, clarifies the difference between true freedom and indifference. Many practitioners mistakenly believe that being unaffected by external conditions means being apathetic toward the suffering and joy of others. This is a serious error that leads to selfishness and the loss of compassion.

The lesson is that a proper practitioner has an unmoving inner mind, free from afflictions (kleshas), yet still activates the function of the mind through sincere empathy for sentient beings. They rejoice in others’ happiness without envy and feel sorrow for others’ suffering without being dragged into pain. This freedom allows them to support others effectively rather than separating themselves from the community.

Compiled from the dharma talk of Venerable Thich Chan Quang