Zen master (n.) is no theosophical mahatma; he gets sick and dies, has bad tempers, and is not above falling in love.
Zen master (n.) with his lively features and wide-awake eyes is anything but a collective nonentity or a weakling ego dissolving back into the womb.
Zen master (n.) teaches like a judo expert: he never attacks, lets the student pose the problem, then rolls with it until it topples its own false premise.
The Zen master (n.) is human with the same artless grace and lack of inner conflict with which a tree is a tree.
The Zen master (n.) is like a ball in a mountain stream: nothing can block, stop or embarrass him.
The Zen master (n.) does not, strictly speaking, exist, because Zen has nothing to teach.