Recently, I have been working with some of the 300 koans collected by the Japanese Zen Master Ehei Dogen in his Shobogenzo. I’d like to discuss a short one: “Case 21, Panshan’s Cut a Fine Piece.” It goes like this.

Once Zen master Baoji of Panshan went to the marketplace and overheard a customer speaking to the butcher. The customer said to the butcher, “Cut a fine piece for me.” The butcher threw down his knife, folded his hands and said, “Sir, is there any piece that is not fine?” Upon hearing these words, Panshan had an awakening.

One thing I found interesting about this koan is that it’s not the typical story of a nameless, clueless, monk encountering teaching from a wise zen master.

It’s about an overheard remark. The butcher may not have even known anything about Zen.

It reminds me of those stories about monks who have an insight when they see a flock of birds, or a flower, or hear a sound. A pebble hitting a sandal. Dharma gates are everywhere, boundless, as we chant in the great Bodhisattva vows.

A stranger says something, a little piece of unexpected teaching. And the words stick with us. About 20 years ago, when I was just starting out with Zen meditation, I was at another zendo and I overheard a senior student, a monastic, who was upset about something. I think he was the facilitator of the retreat. Something was going wrong. I don’t remember what it was. The mats weren’t set up right, or something was wrong with the altar. People weren’t doing kinhin walking meditation properly.

He was frowning and complaining about whatever it was to another senior monastic.

And she said to him, “see the perfection.” And they both suddenly laughed.

I don’t remember much else about that day, but that stuck with me. See the perfection. It’s great advice.

It’s also hard to do.

I find it easy to fall into perfectionism, a form of negative thinking. Nothing is good enough. There is always something better, somewhere.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s good to have high standards. We need rules. They give us structure. They encourage discipline, and excellence.

But I think, like me, many Zen practitioners, are prone to excessive perfectionism.

I used to experience this in my old job as a journalist. There were editors who would overlook good work to nitpick little things that didn’t matter that much. Sometimes they’d even miss deadlines obsessing over some minor detail.

A boss of mine used to have a reminder taped to his computer: don’t let the perfect be the enemy of the good. Zen has reminders like that too.

You may have heard about the aesthetic principle called wabi sabi. It values the asymmetry and simplicity of the ordinary. Artisans will deliberately introduce “mistakes” into the teacups and other objects they make. It’s a reminder.

Or take the enso, the Zen circle.

You draw it with a single brush stroke, a single breath. It’s a broken circle, not closed. Another reminder.

It is a paradox: perfection within imperfection.

It makes me think of that line from the song by Leonard Cohen, a longtime Zen practitioner. There’s a crack, a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.

In the koan about the butcher, the customer asked for a fine piece. The butcher is defensive. He doesn’t sell bad meat.

This exchange, overheard hundreds of years ago, written down by Dogen, is still remembered. Why?

At first, I was little distracted by the subject matter. I haven’t eaten meat in 30 years.

But this koan could be about anything. Tomatoes. Apples. Cake. How the mats are lined up in the zendo. 8

Some commentaries on this koan mention the Diamond Sutra. Every slice, every piece contains the whole of the universe. It’s complete. Perfect.

The story also echoes a more famous koan that a lot of us have studied. There are a several versions: The Great Way is not difficult for those who have no preferences. For those who do not pick and choose.

I remember struggling with that one. No preferences? How do you get dressed in the morning? How do you decide what to eat for dinner? Of course, we make choices and decisions every day. We must.

But the more I’m able to go with the flow, the less I pick and choose, the more I am at ease. If I have strong expectations, if everything must be just so, the more I suffer. That’s straight from the Buddha’s first noble truth.

Like all of us, the customer in the marketplace was caught up in preferences. And how was the butcher to know which cut of meat that the customer wanted? To him, all of it was fresh, expertly trimmed, perfectly fine.

Lately I have taken this koan as guidance in my practice.

Sometimes, when I am doing zazen (sitting meditation), I catch myself trying to be at peace, calm, focused. I want the chattering in my head to just fade away, along with all the aches and pains of my body.

I’m trying to cut a fine piece of zazen. Of course, this backfires.

There is no good or bad zazen. There is just zazen. Whatever is happening right now is the practice. And the practice comes down to focusing on your breath.

Does my back hurt? Breathe. Am I replaying an argument in my head? Breathe. Is the person next to me coughing? Breate. Is it too hot or too cold? Breathe. Are there loud noises out on the street? Breathe

Remember our little story: Zen master Baoji of Panshan went to the marketplace and overheard a customer tell the butcher, “Cut a fine piece for me.” The butcher replied, “Sir, is there any piece that is not fine?”

See the perfection.

I gave a slightly different version of this talk on Sept. 23, 2024, at Still Mind Zendo in Manhattan. This koan appears in The True Dharma Eye: Zen Master Dogen’s Three Hundred Koans, translated by John Daido Loori.