I needed a Rinzai teacher again, and this time I knew what to do if I found one. I wanted to find a teacher who would not ask me to have faith or believe in anything; one who would tolerate, perhaps even welcome my relentless questioning, my rootedness in the notion of grounded, practical spirit. I wanted someone who could do for me what I did for others – cut through the crap; help me break through to clarity.
From time to time, I googled Rinzai, never came up with anything much, but each time I’d spend a half a day on it, following every link, and I would get different results, so I kept trying.
The student was ready.
And that’s when I found Nish Pfister. On the website, he didn’t look like a Zen Master. Good. But he was. Even better.
After emailing back and forth, I trusted our exchange, and my face-reading ability. He didn’t seem at all like a flake, or a self-absorbed more-enlightened-than-thou narcissist. He looked real, with a touch of imp and no pretence. He seemed as relieved as I was to discover I wanted bullshit-free teaching. Devon was a long way, but after one aborted attempt, I found myself missing the first of four trains, and on my way.
He greeted me at the tiny Eggesford station with a hug, and I felt I’d known him forever.
The master appeared.
And after thirty five years, the story begins.
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