The beggar only smiled.
That night, a terrible storm swept the valley. Lightning struck the temple’s grain stores. Famine clawed at the village. The disciples, once proud, grew thin and desperate. But the beggar — who had taken shelter in an old pigsty — did not starve. He ate wild roots, knew which mushrooms were safe, and slept warm in the straw.
Sesshin stared at him. “Why help me? I called you worse than a pig.”
He entered the master’s room, carrying a bowl of broth made from muddy yams.
Sesshin fell ill. His body, weakened by fasting, could no longer rise. The disciples scattered, each looking for their own survival. Only the beggar remained.
The beggar knelt. “Master, a pig does not know it is called a pig. But a man who calls another buta no gotoki — he forgets that even pigs have the Buddha-nature. Mud is not a curse. It is where lotus roots grow.”
From that day, he never again called any living thing buta no gotoki — except himself, with a smile, when pride whispered in his ear.
One autumn, a wandering beggar came to the temple gates. His clothes were rags, his face weathered, but his eyes were calm as still water. The disciples, eager to prove their worth, mocked him. “Even pigs know better than to beg here,” one sneered.
The beggar only smiled.
That night, a terrible storm swept the valley. Lightning struck the temple’s grain stores. Famine clawed at the village. The disciples, once proud, grew thin and desperate. But the beggar — who had taken shelter in an old pigsty — did not starve. He ate wild roots, knew which mushrooms were safe, and slept warm in the straw.
Sesshin stared at him. “Why help me? I called you worse than a pig.” buta no gotoki
He entered the master’s room, carrying a bowl of broth made from muddy yams.
Sesshin fell ill. His body, weakened by fasting, could no longer rise. The disciples scattered, each looking for their own survival. Only the beggar remained. The beggar only smiled
The beggar knelt. “Master, a pig does not know it is called a pig. But a man who calls another buta no gotoki — he forgets that even pigs have the Buddha-nature. Mud is not a curse. It is where lotus roots grow.”
From that day, he never again called any living thing buta no gotoki — except himself, with a smile, when pride whispered in his ear. Famine clawed at the village
One autumn, a wandering beggar came to the temple gates. His clothes were rags, his face weathered, but his eyes were calm as still water. The disciples, eager to prove their worth, mocked him. “Even pigs know better than to beg here,” one sneered.
