was a quiet and unorthodox Sà Âtà  Zen Buddhist monk who lived much of his life as a hermit. Ryà Âkan is remembered for his poetry and calligraphy, which present the essence of Zen life.
Ryà Âkan was born in the village of Izumozaki in Echigo Province (now Niigata Prefecture) in Japan to the village headman. He renounced the world at an early age to train at nearby Sà Âtà  Zen temple Kà Âshà Â-ji, refusing to meet with or accept charity from his family. Once the Zen master Kokusen visited the temple, and Ryà Âkan was deeply impressed with his demeanour. He solicited permission to become Kokusen's disciple. Kokusen accepted, and the two returned to Entsà «-ji monastery in Tamashima (now Okayama Prefecture).
It was at Entsà «-ji that Ryà Âkan attained satori and was presented with an Inka by Kokusen. Kokusen died the following year, and Ryà Âkan left Entsà «-ji to embark on a long pilgrimage. He lived much of the rest of his monastic life as a hermit. His decision to leave Entsà «-ji may have been influenced by Gentà  Sokuchà «, the abbot of the temple. At the time, Gentà  was aggressively reforming the Sà Âtà  school to remove perceived 'foreign' elements, including kà Âan. The scholar Michel Mohr suggests Ryà Âkan may have been in disagreement with Gentà Â's efforts.
Ryà Âkan spent much of his time writing poetry, doing calligraphy, and communing with nature. His poetry is often very simple and inspired by nature. He loved children, and sometimes forgot to beg for food because he was playing with the children of the nearby village. Ryà Âkan refused to accept any position as a priest or even as a "poet." In the tradition of Zen his quotes and poems show he had a good sense of humour and didn't take himself too seriously.
Ryà Âkan lived a very simple life, and stories about his kindness and generosity abound. On his deathbed, Ryà Âkan offered the following death poem to Teishin, his close companion:
In 1826 Ryà Âkan became ill and was unable to continue living as a hermit. He moved into the house of one of his patrons, Kimura Motouemon, and was cared for by a young nun called Teishin. "The [first] visit left them both exhilarated, and led to a close relationship that brightened Ryà Âkan's final years". The two of them exchanged a series of haiku. The poems they exchanged are both lively and tender. In his later years, as reflected in his devotional poetry, Ryà Âkan also adopted elements of Pure Land Buddhism into his practice, chanting nembutsu and aspiring for birth in Amida's Pure Land. Ryà Âkan died from his illness on the 6th day of the new year 1831. "Teishin records that Ryà Âkan, seated in meditation posture, died 'just as if he were falling asleep'".
It is common practice for a monk to abstain from eating meat. Once a young monk sat to dinner with Ryà Âkan and watched him eat fish. When asked why, Ryà Âkan replied, âÂÂI eat fish when it's offered, but I also let the fleas and flies feast on me [when sleeping at night]. Neither bothers me at all.âÂÂ
It is said Ryà Âkan only slept with most of his body inside of a mosquito net so that he would not hurt the bugs outside.
Ryà Âkan was fond of rice wine and would sometimes drink it to excess. "I send one of the children to buy some country wine/ And after I'm drunk, toss off a few lines of calligraphy."
Ryà Âkan attended the midsummer Bon Festivals. Because he was a monk, he would normally be unable to attend, but sneaked in disguised as a woman.
Ryà Âkan hated waste, and so any food that he was offered that he did not eat, he put into a little pot. Over time, the food rotted and became filled with maggots and other bugs. When warned against eating it, all Ryà Âkan said was, âÂÂNo, no, it's all right. I let the maggots escape before I eat it and it tastes just fine!âÂÂ
One evening a thief visited Ryà Âkan's hut at the base of the mountain only to discover there was nothing to steal. Ryà Âkan returned and caught him. "You have come a long way to visit me," he told the prowler, "and you should not return empty-handed. Please take my clothes as a gift." The thief was bewildered. He took the clothes and slunk away. Ryà Âkan sat naked, watching the moon. "Poor fellow," he mused, "I wish I could have given him this beautiful moon." This story may be an interpretation of an account mentioned by Ryà Âkan in a haiku: