Once, when the Zen master Tokusan was still a student, he visited his teacher, Ryutan, just before sundown. They sat on the floor of Ryutan's hut, casually drinking tea and discussing Zen until deep into the night. At last Ryutan said, "Maybe it's about time you went home." Tokusan bowed to his teacher and walked to the door. "It's completely dark outside," he said. Ryutan lit the lantern and said, "Why not take this?" Just as Tokusan was about to take the lamp from his teacher's hands, Ryutan blew out the flame. Tokusan suddenly knew everything there was to know.

Enlightenment stories such as this one highlight the dramatic results of Zen study but tell you nothing of the years of preparation that preceded them.

Sometimes there is no remedy for our situation other than to begin from a point of absolute darkness. Turning off a television set and extinguishing a lantern have certain similarities; they are both abrupt and transition making, and can leave us in a different world. In darkness, we are always on our own.

Gary Thorp, Caught in Fading Light