The master Soyen Shaku passed from this world when he was sixty-one
years of age. Fulfilling his life's work, he left a great teaching, far
richer than that of most Zen masters. His pupils used to sleep in the
daytime during midsummer, and while he overlooked this he himself never
wasted a minute.
When he was but twelve years old he was already studying Tendai
philosophical speculation. One summer day the air had been so sultry that
little Soyen stretched his legs and went to sleep while his teacher was
away.
Three hours passed when, suddenly waking, he heard his master enter,
but it was too late. There he lay, sprawled across the doorway.
"I beg your pardon, I beg your pardon," his teacher whispered, stepping
carefully over Soyen's body as if it were that of some distinguished
guest. After this, Soyen never slept again in the afternoon.
