The Record of Linji turns again and again to the demand for direct, immediate realization. Rather than encouraging reliance on scriptures, doctrines, or gradual philosophical analysis, it insists that awakening must be verified in one’s own present mind. This is often described as “direct pointing,” a sudden and experiential understanding that does not lean on conceptual scaffolding. Elaborate explanations, logical systems, and even revered Buddhist ideas are treated as potential obstacles if they are clung to. What matters is an unmediated encounter with reality as it is, here and now.

At the heart of this immediacy stands Linji’s teaching of the “true person of no rank,” the inherent Buddha-nature that is prior to all social roles and spiritual hierarchies. This “true person” is not an exalted status to be attained, but the original, authentic nature that is already present yet habitually overlooked. Recognizing this “true person” dissolves the imagined gap between ordinary beings and Buddhas, between the seeker and what is sought. In this light, the text repeatedly undermines attachment to external authorities, lineages, and even the figure of “Buddha” as something outside oneself.

A striking feature of the Record is its iconoclastic and dynamic pedagogy. Linji employs shouts, blows, abrupt questions, and paradoxical statements as deliberate shocks to cut through discursive thinking. These methods are not theatrical excess but skillful means, tailored to the specific needs of students in particular encounters. The emphasis falls on living function rather than static essence: how realization moves, responds, and acts freely in concrete situations. The master–student relationship is portrayed as a field of testing and challenge, where direct transmission occurs “beyond words and letters” through these intense exchanges.

Running through these teachings is a non-dual vision that refuses to separate sacred from profane or enlightenment from everyday life. Ordinary activities—eating, dressing, walking—are not outside the Way when seen with clear awareness. The text warns against quietistic withdrawal and fixation on “empty stillness,” criticizing any one-sided clinging to passivity or special states. True emptiness, as portrayed here, is vibrant and responsive, manifesting as freedom and independence in the midst of changing conditions. In this sense, the Record of Linji presents a Zen that is at once radically uncompromising and thoroughly embedded in the fabric of ordinary existence.