In a world being torn apart by war, it’s impossible not to think of the brokenness of our time, and how we might respond to this brokenness. Zen Master Yanguan offered his own unlikely response when he said, after discovering that his precious rhinoceros fan was broken, “Well, if the fan is broken, bring me the rhinoceros.” What did he mean? How might we learn from his left-of-field invitation? And what is it to respond from the dark of not-knowing instead of the more limited perspective of knowing?

In this talk, we meet Yanguan Qi’an, one of Mazu’s primary dharma heirs. Yanguan lived right up until the Huichang Persecution of 840-845, where 4,600 Buddhist temples were destroyed and 260,000 monks and nuns were displaced. Not only did his teaching endure, but his influence led to a restoration of temples and practice throughout China, and a flourishing of Zen that continues to this day. So what did he teach? How did he convey the simplicity of Mazu’s “ordinary mind”? And how might this be useful in our own time of uncertainty, with so much violence and displacement shaking the globe? This talk was given as part of Zen Open Circle’s Taking Part in the Gathering.

This talk was offered into a round of silent meditation during Zen Open Circle’s Taking Part in the Gathering. It explores the Chinese characters for “ordinary mind” and opens them up for contemplation. This talk preceded a much longer talk on Yanguan Chi’an, one of Mazu’s colourful dharma heirs.

Birds have always been great Zen teachers. In this talk, we take up the miscellaneous koan, “My relaxed gaze freely follows the tracks of flying birds” and examine what implications this might have for our practice today. We also meet Niutou Farong, a fascinating figure from the 6-7th Century, who meditated in a cave and was visited by birds “with flowers in their mouths”. What was going on? And why did these very same birds stop arriving with flowers in their mouths after Niutou spoke with the fourth Zen ancestor, Daoxin? This talk was given in Castlemaine on 15/3/26.

At the start of 2026, it’s time to get back to basics. That’s what Zen is all about, after all. Instead of spending our time curating a perfectly polished “self”, we learn to let this “self” go and draw closer to what Zen masters of old called “someone”. This someone, who has no name or form, is nevertheless standing, sitting, walking and lying down. Can we rely on this “someone” and their innate, practical wisdom, even when we’re sitting on the point of a needle? Even in these perilously complicated times?

With our end-of-year Jukai Ceremony fast approaching, we take up the questions, “What is a Bodhisattva? How does a bodhisattva act in the world? And how do the precepts liberate wise action in the world?” To bring this forth we meet Mahasattva Fu, a younger contemporary of Bodhidharma, who became a teacher of the Emperor. Affectionately known as “The Motley Bodhisattva”, he demonstrates just how inclusive the Way is, and how with every move we make we can “take hold of the plough with empty hands.”

One of the great pleasures of immersing yourself in Zen is getting to know the ancestors. In this talk we meet Linji, the inspiration behind Rinzai Zen, who opened up the path of practice with a great shout, beyond words and letters. This talk was given as part of a wider series on the Zen ancestors, hosted by Susan Murphy Roshi and Zen Open Circle.

What does it take to build a temple, right where you are? When Shakyamuni Buddha was walking with Indra, he announced that, “Here would be a good place to erect a temple.” Indra immediately took a stem of grass, inserted it in the earth, and said, “The temple is erected.” Just one blade of grass was all it took. So how do we erect a temple in our day-to-day activities? And what, exactly, are we erecting? This talk was given at our regular Sunday morning zazen, teisho and dharma inquiry.

When a monk came to visit Zhaozhou he said, “For a long time I’ve heard about the famous stone bridge of Zhaozhou, but coming here I see only a common wooden bridge.” What is the stone bridge of Zhaozhou? And what does it span? This is a talk that asks us to see the stone bridge flows, and that to realise this, we must become a flowing bridge ourselves.

What is Mu? Why do we constantly return to this not-quite-a-syllable in our Zen practice? In this talk, given at the Zen Open Circle Spring Sesshin, we look at how Mu undoes our habitual thinking and liberates a life of not-knowing. In Japan there is a word, “sa’pari”, which means something like “unblemished by understanding.” What does a life unblemished by understanding afford? Why would we want to draw close to its promise?