Thank you to all who submitted their work to the WiK Sixth Annual Kyoto Writing Competition by the deadline of March 31st. This unprecedented time of lockdowns and social distancing has provided ample time for contemplation and creativity, as well as a distinct longing for the ancient capital amongst those who are currently unable to enter Japan. We are delighted to have received a very large number of international and domestic entries. The judges now have the difficult task of determining this year’s prizewinners. The results will be posted on the Writers in Kyoto website in mid-May, and a link to those results will be posted in the public WiK Facebook group.
Also, it should be noted that we experienced a slight glitch in the system this year. While some were able to send their submissions directly to this year’s competition email address, for some reason others were directed to last year’s e-mail address. Please rest assured, however, that all writings received at both addresses have been compiled and duly submitted to the judges for consideration. We deeply apologize for the confusion, and wish the best of luck to all participants.
Synopsis: The story takes place around 1700 in a merchant’s house in Teramachi. His name was Kyuben, and he and his wife had a maidservant called Tama of whom they were fond. Now Tama showed no interest in clothes and always looked badly dressed. One day Kyuben asked about this and why she never made an effort with her clothes.
By way of reply, Tama talked of her childhood and how when she was still young her mother and father had both died. As an only child the responsibility fell upon her for the Buddhist funeral rites and mortuary tablets but she had no means to pay for them. So she resolved to save all her money for that and not to spend any on finery for herself. Kyubei was touched by her story and commended her for wanting to fulfil her filial duty. Not long after this Tama had saved enough to pay for the religious ceremonies, and what little remained she entrusted to the merchant’s wife.
The following winter Tama was taken ill and tragically passed away, greatly saddening Kyubei and his wife. Some ten days afterwards a large fly appeared and buzzed around the merchant’s head. He was puzzled since flies don’t usually appear in winter, but being a devout Buddhist he took pains to catch the fly without harming it and released it outdoors.
Next day a similar fly appeared. ‘I wonder if it’s Tama,’ said Kyubei’s wife. He was dubious but as a test he nicked the tip of its wings and released it, but this time at a good distance from the house. When it appeared again the next day, Kyubei still could not believe it was the spirit of Tama so this time he painted it with beni. Two days later it returned, all covered in red. Supposing now that it must be Tama, the couple wondered what her purpose might be. ‘Perhaps she wants us to pay her money to the temple for a Buddhist service on behalf of her spirit,’ suggested the wife. As she spoke, the fly dropped dead.
The couple put the dead fly in a little box and took it to the temple priest, who performed religious rites for Tama, and over the fly were recited the eights rolls of the sutra Myoten. Its body was buried in the temple grounds and a sotoba set up, ‘appropriately inscribed’.
Commentary: Hearn’s retelling of a Japanese story provides a striking example of his lifelong interest in death, ghosts and the afterlife. Typically for a Romantic, he had a strong inclination to the macabre, and the notion of transmigration would have appealed to him as indeed the compassionate treatment of the fly. Though he himself did not believe in orthodox reincarnation, he did believe in cellular memory and thought that the dispersal of cells after death and their reconstitution in various forms could result in recollection of a previous existence. This explained for him phenomena that otherwise might seem inexplicable, such as deja vu or love at first sight. The convergence of fly and human in this story inevitably brings to mind the classic horror film, The Fly, and the critically acclaimed Jeff Goldblum remake. Given Lafcadio Hearn’s interest in the macabre, perhaps this is only apt.
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For an introduction to Hearn’s Kyoto stories, please click here. For coverage of three others of Hearn’s Kyoto stories, see here for ‘Common Sense’, here for ‘The Sympathy of Benten’, and here for ‘Screen Maiden’.
Impossible to Imagine (2019) Film review: Jann Williams (March 30, 2021) Film length: 1hr 28mins
Cast: Yukiko Ito, William Yagi Lewis, Kazuya
Moriyama, Marika Naito, Koko Price, Akira Nishide
Writer and Director: Felicity
Tillack
Producer: Hamish Downie
Translator: Hidekazu
Takahashi
Impossible to Imagine (J. Souzou Ga Dekinai), presents a slice of contemporary life in Kyoto at a time when foreign tourists flocked to the city. The movie tells the story of two female friends whose lives are irrevocably changed when they seek advice from a consultant (Hayato Arai) about their struggling traditional-culture businesses. Ami and Hayato, the main characters, embark on a journey that explores identity and connection to place, continuity and change, trust and respect, love, and the ‘other world’.
Filmed in Japanese (with English subtitles), Impossible to Imagine presents Kyoto through the lens of local neighbourhoods, the people who live there, and Ami’s attempt to make a living away from the ‘madding crowd’. Most scenes are shot in backstreets, and in people’s homes, showing a side of the city that many visitors may not have the opportunity to experience. The gentle pace of the movie gives time to appreciate the beautiful and creative cinematography and the evolving relationship between Ami and Hayato. It also reflects the ‘soft touch’ that Ami says Kyoto needs. The movie’s music score composed by Hanako Ward is splendid, creating the perfect ambience for each scene.
A feature of the movie is the many visits Ami Shimizu makes to the
small temples and shrines in the side-streets of Kyoto. Her belief in prayer,
and the presence of her mother who has passed to the ‘other world’, sustain her
through the changes in her life. In deciding her future, Ami needs to imagine
what it will be like. She gains confidence through the passing of the seasons as
she experiences and contemplates the meaning of love and relationships in their
different guises.
Ami’s strong connection to her family home and Japanese heritage contrasts with the unsettled nature of Hayato’s life. This allowed the Director to explore the challenges that many biracial children face in Japan, drawing on the symbolism of bridges as a connection between cultures. Another tension is between maintaining traditional Japanese ways and making changes to make people (especially foreign tourists) happy. Set in the lead-up to the Reiwa era, when over-tourism was a major issue in Kyoto, the timeless themes addressed in the movie continue to ring true in the time of COVID.
Impossible to Imagine is a thoughtful and thought-provoking movie that sensitively addresses topical social issues in modern Japan. It is also a passion project. Felicity Tillack wrote, directed, edited and helped with filming her debut production. The many skills and devotion she brought to Impossible to Imagine are admirable. So too are the talented actors and behind-the-scenes production team. The Producer, Hamish Downie, has tirelessly supported and promoted the film. Writing this review reminded me of why I am always impressed when the credits roll at the end of a movie. The amount of energy, effort and collaboration that goes into this form of entertainment is remarkable.
Impossible to Imagine can be viewed on Amazon Prime in certain countries and Vimeo in others, including Australia. The movie has a Facebook page for those interested in learning more: https://www.facebook.com/impossibletoimagine/
Fukushima 10th Anniversary Report by Felicity Tillack
On Saturday, the 13th of March, Leza Lowitz presented a special Zoom event for the 10th anniversary of the triple disaster that devastated north Japan on March 11th, 2011.
Leza was a long term resident of Tokyo, and was in the city on the day that the massive earthquake struck. She quickly mobilised, fund raising through her yoga studio, Sun and Moon, and also visiting the affected regions in order to bring comfort to the survivors of the tsunami.
During a deeply moving presentation, Leza showed us pictures from the aftermath of the disaster, and gave us an insight into how the experience inspired her beautiful book of verse: Up From The Sea. Her book, for young adults, is written from the perspective of a biracial, teenage boy growing up in a small town based off of Kessenuma, and began in response to the plea of a young boy she met while volunteering: “Don’t forget us.”
Picked up by Crown, then part of Penguin now Random House, Up From The Sea has touched the hearts of readers across the world, including children who rarely read poetry, as well as a group of Afghan students who later visited Japan.
It was an excellent opportunity for WiK members to hear insights from a published author, and see part of what goes on behind the scenes of getting a book to print with a larger publisher, as well as such a deeply moving account of the 3/11 disaster.
Thank you to Leza Lowitz for a wonderful Zoom session with WiK!
A spring walk from Ohara to Kurama-dera by Robert Weis
Today is a good day, is my thought, observing the shades of green on the mountain slopes through the panoramic window at KULM, a simple-yet-sophisticated vegan eatery in the quaint village of Ohara, nestled in between the rice paddies and mountains that protect Kyoto from the northern winds and spirits. Yuka and I had arrived by bus from Kokusaikaikan station earlier in the morning, which is supposed to be the fastest way out of the city by public transport. My memories of Ohara were of a charming-but-crowded rural getaway. Instead, on this weekday morning, the small road leading up to the iconic Sanzen-in temple is almost devoid of human presence and the souvenir shops are still closed. Small freshwater crabs can be spotted along the stream running down the roadside and a tree frog, the Kaeru, sits on a pole as if on a throne, the undisputed king of his own microcosm, just like a character in a Miyazaki animé.
Skipping the visit of Sanzen-in this time, we turn back and follow the signs leading to the temple of Jakko-in, in the lower part of the village. A short walk southwards along the rice fields brings us alongside carp streamer banners, on display for Children’s Day. We follow the Kyoto Trail, which heads into Ohara from the slopes of Mount Hiei. Our intention is to go for a short walk through the forest and a northern Kyoto settlement, heading for the village of Kurama, well known for both its mountain temple and hot spring with outdoor bath, Kurama Onsen, which will be our final reward for today.
The trail soon disappears into the forest, winding up towards a mountain pass. Red-bodied dragonflies are dancing in the sunshine, sitting on fresh green leaves, known in Japanese as shinryoku. We can’t get enough of observing them. At this stage, the trail is never far from signs of civilization, though a sign warns us of the potential presence of black bears. We pass a few wooden cabins in the forest, maybe weekend homes for Kyotoites who would only have to travel a few kilometers from the city. We head out into Kitayama, the northern mountains which embrace Kyoto in a long arc. Towards the west is the Shinto Atago-San and on the eastern side the Buddhist mountain Hieizan. Small statues of Tanuki-San, the frivolous figure of folklore, line the track.
The trail descends the mountain into the small hamlet of Kurama, a popular destination for daytrips out of the city. Most people come to visit Kurama-dera, the mountain temple where reiki has its origins. From the platform in front of the temple, we admire the lush scenery of the mountain valley. The contrast between the yellow-green of the fresh spring leaves, the deep blue sky, and the red painted ceilings is poignant. Japan is truly ‘the empire of the senses’. From here, a mountain trail goes further up Kurama Mountain and then down to the settlement of Kibune, famous for its restaurant decks over a cooling stream. We opt instead to head down to the village of Kurama, on the outskirts of which is the hot spring and its outdoor bath. Soaking in the hot rotenburo and enjoying the view of the surrounding forest is surely a worthy reward for our splendid spring walk. Today is a good day, indeed.
In early 70’s to 90’s, there were several poetry readings, by both Japanese and foreign poets, (including Gary Snyder, Kenneth Rexroth, and Allen Ginsberg) held at the legendary café Honyarado where writers, activists, students, artists and musicians used to go.
Since Kai himself is a part of Dankai-no-Sedai(Sort of beat generations in Japan), a lot of friends related to Labor Gakuen (Artist, writers, activists, and former colleagues) of that generation know the café, the bar, and Kai.
The café got fire in 2015, and ended.
Currently the owner and the finest photographer, Kai Fusayoshi is managing reputedly “the dirtiest bar in Japan”, Hachimonji-ya on Kiyamachi St.
He is going to have a photo exhibition of (mainly Japanese) poets, artists, and writers at the Gallery Hill Gate. According to the flyer, the galley owner, Junko Hitomi was a school mate of Kai at Doshisha Univ. and they are good friends. (Katagiri Yuzuru, poet, translator, and former head of Seika Univ. is also a good friend of Kai.)
Entrance : Free
March 9 (Tue) to 14 (Sun)
12:00-19:00 (Last day:17:00)
March 9th From 18:30 :Opening event: Butoh performance by Decalco Marie
At : 2nd floor of Gallery Hill gate 535 Tenshojimae-cho, Nakagyo-ku Kyoto (Stands on Teramachi, North of Sanjo)
(Kyoto’s Beat connection can be seen in a 1988 video of Allen Ginsberg at Seika University. Talk plus Q&A about 90 mins long. Ginsberg starts after about six minutes into the video… See here.)
Kai Fusayoshi’s photos can currently be seen in an outdoor exhibition by the river at Demachiyanagi. See here.
For another Beat connection with Japan, see the poster below for Gary Snyder reading with Shuntaro Tanikawa at the Shinjuku Meiji-Yasuda Seimei Hall in Tokyo, organised by Shinchosha in 2011. See here. And for the original poster, click here (see below).
[Incidentally, Mayumi has known Honyarado since her high school days. And she started going to Hachimonjiya a few years after it opened. In that way she got to know a lot of local writers, artists, academics and activists.]
The article below first appeared in Japan Review 33 (Special Issue: War, Tourism, and Modern Japan, 2019: p. 271–297)
Down in a Hole: Dark Tourism, Haunted Places as Affective Meshworks, and the Obliteration of Korean Laborers in Contemporary Kyoto by Andrea DE ANTONI
This article provides an analysis of the relation between tourists’ experiences, affect, and bodily perceptions, together with processes of remembering and forgetting, focusing on (dark) touristic practices in haunted places in contemporary Japan. It highlights the social features of oblivion, processes in the creation of memories and discourses of war, and their entanglement in the “meshwork” that constitutes a particular place. I draw on ethnographic data of a guided ghost tour that visits Kiyotaki Tunnel, one of the most renowned haunted places in Kyoto. I describe tourists’ experiences, analyze the rumors about the haunting, and show that, among the locals, memories of the death of and discrimination against Korean laborers in the tunnel were strategically forgotten. Yet, these memories were “unearthed,” appropriated and spread on the internet by visitors, attracted by the haunting. I point out that haunted places emerge as “affective meshworks” primarily as a result of bodily correspondences with affordances in the environment, rather than from narrative and belief, and that (dark) touristic practices can contribute to the construction of new discourses, thus unsettling power relationships. I argue that a focus on affect in shaping meshworks of bodies, environments, memories, and discourses through (dark) touristic practices, can provide an understanding of the experiences of visitors to places related to war and death, and that visitors contribute to the construction of new memories and discourses.
To see the Academia site for this abstract, please click here.
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The following is taken from the Hiding from Japanese Ghosts website, which carries numerous pictures including the one above.
Internationally famous for being one of the most mysterious and haunted destinations of Japan, Kiyotaki Tunnel (清滝トンネル ) is the single-lane route connecting northern Arashiyama to the neighbouring town of Sagakiyotaki. With a history of violence, ill-omens, and suicide, Kiyotaki Tunnel is a hub of apparition sightings, bad luck, and cautionary tales.
Originally part of the Atagoyama Railway built from 1927 – 1928, Kiyotaki Tunnel is roughly 500 metres in length, and it is claimed the tunnel was constructed by slaves (the term ‘slave’ is a loose translation as the workers were legally employed without pay). There are a number of reported fatalities including those of workers who succumbed in accidents or harsh working conditions, victims of railway incidents, and people who were executed around the area.
It is said the spirits of these fatalities can be seen wandering the tunnel at night.
In conjunction to rumours stating the tunnel is 444 metres in length (‘4’ being an unlucky number for its reading of ‘shi / 死’, seeing spirits reflected in the road mirrors situated outside the tunnel entrances or in any car mirrors is said to bring about a violent, painful fate. There are also claims the traffic signals outside the tunnel can change suddenly from red to green at night, causing accidents with oncoming traffic.
The area is said to be a popular suicide spot due to the woodland seclusion and sturdiness of the trees above the tunnel. There is a rumour of a woman who leapt to her death from the road located above the tunnel entrance, and there are stories of still being able to see her spirit.
As well as the above, sources also claim: – ‘scary’ incidents occur late at night when entering the tunnel – a woman’s scream can be heard at night from the forest around the area – the length of the tunnel changes when making a return trip (though, it can be argued the slope changes depending on which side of the tunnel entered; Arashiyama to Kiyotaki slopes downwards, making it deceivingly shorter) – a woman wearing white is known to run from the tunnel and jump on the bonnets of cars waiting at the traffic signals – dizziness, nausea, and headaches can occur while travelling through the tunnel (though, this may be due to poor ventilation and a build up of exhaust fumes) – it is warned all of the ghost activity occurs at night, and an alternative route is recommended
It was the last weekend in February and I was eager to leave the house, which is generally colder and a good deal darker than outside at this time of year. When I suggested to my wife that we go on an outing, she remarked it was time to pay our respects to gran at the Ōtani Mausoleum, where Gojō begins its climb over Higashiyama and down into Ōtsu. Just as we were preparing to leave, a call comes from our family doctor’s office to say the results are in from our annual general physical. Mitsuko is eager to find out, so she’s out the door in a flash. (The night before we’d watched a movie about your stereotypical mother who’d had a stroke from staying up all hours of the night to make daily obentō for her thankless adolescent daughter. It ends with her sneaking out of hospital to risk her life in making an enormous box lunch for the girl’s entire graduating class. There is, needless to say, a tearful reconciliation with the daughter.) The doctor gave me a clean bill of health, but told M her cholesterol and blood sugar were high, her blood pressure borderline, and her BMI over the acceptable limit. She blamed me for eating as much as I do, thus making her overeat, to which I replied dinner was not a competition.
We caught the train and then a practically empty bus to Ōtani. (Before Covid, it would have been packed with tourists.) Our favourite flower seller there waved happily when she saw us. How are you? We asked. “Ichibyō sokusai,” she replied, to the effect that we’re all getting older but, knock wood, she was doing well enough. Mitsuko launched into her medical report. We bought incense and flowers for gran, then a second time for the Ohara patriarch, the ex’s grandfather. My wife never fails to mention that she never met the guy, who passed away not long before she married. I suppose she feels that since the man was a power in the city during his lifetime he must still exert influence over the living from the other world. I’ve never felt so superfluous at a ritual laying flowers at the grave of my wife’s ex’s ancestor, but maybe I ought to be thanking him for the chance to live here, especially now? Whatever she may have said to the patriarch in silence, she finished her prayer saying out loud, “Yobantoite!” (Don’t come calling for me). The movie the previous night and the doctor that morning both had her a little rattled.
Rather than return down the hill to Higashi Ōji, we climbed up
through the vast Toribeyama graveyard to Kiyomizu Temple. It was a weekend and
the weather was good, so naturally there were quite a few visitors, but nothing
like what it would be in a month or so for the cherry blossoms, and the
pandemic has kept a lot of people away. They’ve recently repaired the deck, or
stage, as they call it, overlooking the valley and the wood and gold fittings
shone in the winter sun. Following the course round back to the Otowa falls, Mitsuko
remarked on the plethora of little Jizō statues under the rafters of the stage.
These, she claimed, marked the souls of every body that had fallen off the
deck. Some were suicides, but many were unwanted children, she said, disposed of
by courtesans and geisha. Gion is next door to Rokuhara—flesh and spirit are
cheek to clerical jowl here—sex and death have always been on intimate terms, something
Kyoto surely knows better than most other places. I was reminded that all this
beauty has been built on the bones of the dead.
This piece by Reggie Pawle first appeared on the Little Bangkok Sangha website, Bangkok, Thailand (11 July, 2020) and is representative of Reggie’s current interests.
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What do you say to university students who are depressed and don’t see
much reason for continuing to live? For some time now students at the
university that I work at have said to me that when they imagine themselves
being my age (70), they see both society (due to pensions disappearing and
governments being swallowed by debt) and the earth (due to environmental
conditions) being unlivable. In their own experience they often have
encountered social problems, like bullying and cyber-aggression. Now, with
nature for now seemingly outsmarting modern medicine with the appearance of the
corona virus, they feel their health future may also be affected. Many young
people tell me their depression has become more pervasive.
From a Zen point of view, what can you say to these young people?
Many years ago I asked my Zen teacher, Sekkei Harada, what I should say to a group that invited me to introduce Zen to them. He said speak about the Three Marks. These are three aspects that all life has: impermanence (not fixed, transient), suffering or discontent, and no self. As these three are a part of all life, how you handle them is what is important. There are many other givens in life, but Zen focuses on these three. Why? Because how you handle these three will determine the quality of your life.
This corona virus has thrust human beings into unprecedented
uncertainty, thereby bringing into focus the first of these three: the
impermanence of life.
This means that life is a process that is forever changing and we have to be able to live in harmony with this condition.
Human bodies are built according to impermanence. One basic Buddhist
teaching is the Four Kinds of Sufferings, which is that all of us are born and
will age, get sick, and die. All of us are going through the human life cycle.
The grossness with which this is depicted at some Buddhist temples in Asia
shocks my Western sensibility. This photo was taken at Wat Damrey Sar Temple in
Battambang, Cambodia:
Hopefully
the reality of our death is not as gross as is depicted here, but nevertheless,
the reality is that nobody can avoid these changes.
So I say to university students that each of us needs to accept our
personal life cycle and the personal difficulties that come with it. We can
make our lives better, but difficulties will occur in our lives.
Psychologically there are many examples of how we are built according to
impermanence. One example is that we can’t see the future, no matter how hard
we try. We don’t know who we’re going to meet tomorrow. Not knowing what is
going to happen is a condition people don’t like, so they have tried all kinds
of strategies to try to know their future. One common tendency is to focus on
threats to their survival (google “negativity bias”) and then live adapting to
this negative view of the future.
I advise young people, don’t get stuck on your depression. Remain open,
to the bad and to the good. Don’t let your depression become your lens for your
life.
Another way of being built according to impermanence is that our
perceptual ability is limited. Even in this moment there are many things you
can’t perceive. For example, the dogs at luggage carousels in airports can
smell drugs in luggage, but
humans
cannot. Therefore I recommend to my students that they recognize what they can
and cannot understand, what they can and cannot do. It will help them
understand their limits and have a healthy view of themselves.
The second mark is that all life is marked by suffering or discontent.
No matter how hard you try, unpleasant things are going to happen. Our life
cycle is not
only
suffering or discontent, but it always includes these aspects. Suffering and
discontent are two common ways that dukkha (the Pali word that according to the
Buddhist tradition the Buddha used for this second mark of life) is translated.
There are very rare people who are born without the sense of pain. They
usually die in their teens. This is because no matter how much others tell them
behaviors like walking on a broken leg are unhealthy, they don’t understand as
they don’t have the subjective experience of pain (see The Gift of Pain, by Brand and Yancey).
Pain appears because something is not right. What is important is how we
handle pain. With pain comes an urge to avoid it. This is natural – you are not
supposed to like pain! However, it is very easy to misunderstand this avoidance
urge. If a person only avoids the pain, then they may never fix what causes the
pain to appear. A person needs to develop the ability to stay with the pain, to
accept it, and then to use the not liking the pain to motivate oneself to
inquire into the source of it. Then, if a way to make things better is found,
do that and the pain will lessen or maybe go away.
One example is people who have social anxiety. If they behave according
to their anxiety urge, they will avoid social situations. However, they then
will feel lonely, which will only aggravate their problem. What they need to do
is tolerate their anxiety when in social situations and find ways to enter into
relationships.
Buddhism asserts that we need to see reality as it is, including its suffering and discontent. Buddhism then articulates a way to end the suffering / discontent that human beings struggle with so greatly. This is elucidated in the Four Noble Truths. The essence of the Four Noble Truths is that if we deeply engage Buddhist practices, peace of mind is possible even in the midst of our suffering/discontent.
We need to commit ourselves to realizing this. We need to both accept
our suffering/discontent as well as be committed to alleviating
suffering/discontent as much as we can, both within ourselves and in the world.
This is not just a Buddhist challenge. This is a human challenge. Viktor
Frankl, who survived 3 ½ years in Nazi concentration camps (Man’s Search for Meaning), is an example
of this in the Western Jewish tradition.
This is another bit of advice to young
people who see only darkness around themselves. While you need to accept your
suffering and discontent as a part of life, it does not have to be a part that
runs your life. Rather, listen to the message it is trying to tell you.
Whenever is possible, do what can be done to alleviate pain. Whatever pain you
cannot alleviate you need to accept. If you handle your suffering/discontent in
a healthy way, then you will be able to work with the pain in yourself and
others and make whatever the situation is better.
And then there is
the third mark of life, no self. This is the most difficult mark of the Three
Marks to talk about. So many masters have tried and failed, simply because
words cannot describe it. No self is the realization of the indescribable, often
referred to in Zen as emptiness. One way of describing the purpose of Zen
practice is to realize “no self”. What follows is, with the assistance of
several people, my own attempt to explicate no self.
The term “no self”,
which is also referred to as not self and non self, is about self – your
self, “I”. To really understand no self you need to focus on your self, on I.
No self is about you and how you live.
One way to
understand no self is in terms of what your self is and what your self isn’t. No
self points to the absence of the usual self. What we commonly refer to as our
self is, in fact, an on-going series of experiences, all of which fall into
what the Buddha referred to as the five skandhas: form, feelings, perceptions,
mental formations, and consciousness. The self we experience ourselves as being
is comprised of these elements and they condition how we think, feel, perceive,
behave, etc. However, all of these are impermanent. Their true nature is that
they are forever shifting and beyond our control. When we find this difficult
to accept, Zen says that we respond to impermanence in three basic ways: we try
to hold on to that which we find pleasant, we are indifferent to that which we
don’t care about, and we reject and/or avoid that which we find unpleasant.
These are all ways of trying to control the flux of nature, which only results
in suffering. Life cannot be bent to our will.
It may seem strange, but when we
experience without our usual responses of grasping, indifference, and avoiding,
we can let experience be as it is in each moment. We may still not like it, but
we can accept it as it is and then mysteriously, somehow, peace arises. Joshu
Sasaki, a Zen monk, wrote in his book (Buddha
is the Center of Gravity), “You have a very bad habit of only making your
home inside of whatever you like. That’s why you feel you are not free.” When
we can make our home in whatever circumstances arise in life, then we can be at
peace. In Buddhist language, this is because form truly is formless, or, delusion
is enlightenment.
Our reaction to
impermanence is motivated by our egoistic grasping, attachment, and
self-concern. This clinging to our ego-self can foster mind states referred to
in Zen as defilements (pollutants). These are mental factors that disturb the
natural peace of mind that everybody has. The basic mental defilements in Zen
are said to be greed, anger, ignorance, pride, doubt, and false views. These
six are subdivided into 102 more defilements, resulting in a total of 108
mental defilements. An integral part of a person’s usual self is some
combination of some of these defilements. Letting go of one’s own defilements
is basic to realizing no self.
What is the
realization of “no self”? Sekkei Harada said that the realization of no self is
not an experience. If it is not an experience, how can it be described? Saying
what is “no self” can easily result in misunderstandings. Thus Zen usually
speaks in terms of what it is not, with terms like emptiness. Emptiness refers
to being empty of the created self, with all of its delusory ideas, feelings,
and awareness. However, being empty of
one’s created self is not a condition or a mental state of nihilism. Pointing
to emptiness as indescribable, Sekkei Harada said to me once, “It is not that
it is a literal void. It is just that it cannot be perceived.” As referred to
earlier, our minds have perceptual limits. No self cannot be perceived with the
perceptual abilities that mind has.
Keido Fukushima, a
Zen monk, did describe in an interview a positive view of no self. He said,
“It’s not just a negative meaning. It
means that there is no ego. There is no
self-nature. All is empty of self and
yet you can say by cutting off the ego there’s a way in which you’re living
without ego, it’s actually a very positive thing. It’s a way of living without ego.”
This way of living
is one in which a person lets go of their sense of self as a fixed identity or
an existent. Then their self becomes more like a function or an activity that
is constantly in flux. To accept with grace the many changes we encounter and
to not take them so personally. Rather than being a person who lives trying to
make their self into something it isn’t by attempting (and failing) to control
life according to their desires, fears, delusions, etc., living life as
non-self would mean living in a way that is responsive to the ever-changing and
interconnected nature of life.
Living in this way includes exercising
our will. The Buddha only realized his true nature because he was determined. He
had great desire to be free of his suffering. The ever-changing and
interconnected nature of life occurs, according to Buddhism, by causality, the
interaction of cause and effect. Everything that happens is a result of one or
a few main causes and many contributory causes. Each occurrence then becomes a
cause for the next effect. Living no self means living as a very sophisticated,
interconnected system with many integrated functions, without the common
assumption of a controlling center like the ego-self. We need to include our
will in this web of causation. We need to be active while at the same time
accepting our condition as it is and having peace of mind. Sodo Yasunaga, a Zen
monk, said to me in an interview that a person has to do their best, but the
realization of no self occurs through conditions and circumstances outside a
person. He said it is strange, but “your active effort is in vain. However, you
have to do it.” Making effort is a natural function of being a human being.
Finally, however, it one’s self, I, the source of one’s thoughts, emotions, and
will, that is transformed.
People thought that modern medicine had
eliminated plagues and pandemics and they didn’t have to pay attention to such
things anymore. However, all life is still part of nature and subject to how
nature works. If people live out of harmony with nature, then eventually there
will be effects of this way of living.
Modern medicine has been
used by society in a way that supports the illusion that living in disregard to
nature is ok. When people go to see a modern doctor for some ailment, they have
the choice to ignore any advice they may receive. All they must do is passively
to receive the treatment and then, if it is successful, they can choose to
continue to live as they did before. I knew a guy in the U.S. who had a serious
heart condition. He also loved to eat steaks multiple times a week. His doctor
told him that
if he
wanted to live, he either had to stop eating steak or he had to have heart
bypass surgery. He didn’t want to let go of his desire to often eat steaks, so
rather than bringing his desires into harmony with his condition, he chose the
surgery. Maybe a steak once every couple months or so would have been ok, but
he couldn’t accept that. Sekkei Harada once said to me, “It is not your desires
that are the problem. It is the one who is desiring that is the problem.”
Zen practice focuses on this one, which is your self, I. Who am I in
truth? This is a question that every Zen student must resolve. To do so
requires deep study of who am I. Dogen, the founder of the Soto sect of Zen in
Japan, wrote, “The Way of the Buddha is to study the self. To study the self is
to forget the ego-self.” A person must let go of living through their
delusions. Rather than taking a pill or having surgery, this requires effort
and changes of a person that are not so easy. To realize no self Zen practice
is highly recommended.
So my advice to young people is first to take a good look at themselves,
to deeply examine the ground of their self on which they stand. Make the
effort, do whatever you can to realize a non-deluded self. And when you find
ways that you are interfering with the interactive forces of nature, let go of
your interfering, and be in the natural harmony.
Zen has these three complementary parts – making effort, letting go, and
being. This is the basis of my advice to young people. I say to them, do
whatever you can to help yourself and help the world, then let go, and be at
peace.
There is one more very important concern that needs to be addressed when
faced with this corona virus – it threatens people with death in a way that
human beings haven’t felt in a long time. Even if you live in harmony with
nature, you still will get old, sick, and die. As my great aunt used to say to
me in her British accent, “Getting old is a dreadful nuisance”. In the entrance
area of the meditation hall of almost all Zen monasteries in Japan hangs a
sign, written in Chinese characters. At the monastery I have practiced at for many
years next to this sign hangs a sign with an English translation:
Death is the greatest impermanence, suffering / discontent, and lack of self in life. If you can resolve the great matter of life and death, then you also resolve impermanence, suffering / discontent, and self. Then you will be at peace.
One word about trying to resolve this great matter. Don’t approach this
in a linear way, as in going from not knowing to knowing. Rather, it is in the
trying to resolve this itself that the resolution will appear. Keiji Nishitani,
a Japanese Zen philosopher, expressed this as, “Life is transformed through
trying to resolve unresolvable questions”.
The corona virus brings this great matter into clear focus. It is up to all of us to make the effort to clarify life and death. This is the heart of Zen and is the biggest challenge that the corona virus presents to all of us.
****************
Postscript I dedicate this article to my teacher, Sekkei Harada, who died recently on June 20, 2020, about sunset time. He was 93. When you find a true teacher, he (she) is irreplaceable. I miss him very much.
Dear Writers, The warmth and sunshine embracing Kyoto over the past couple of days signify that spring is in the air. This is a friendly reminder that the Writers in Kyoto Sixth Annual Kyoto Writing Competition submission deadline is March 31st JST — just a little over one month away. An exciting array of prizes awaits the top winners, including one cash prize of 30,000JPY, inclusion in an upcoming Writers in Kyoto Anthology, and more. In the past five competitions, our judges have had the privilege to read the works of writers from countries throughout the world who have an affinity for Japan’s ancient capital. We hope that you, too, will submit your writing for consideration. For further information and submission guidelines, please refer to the following link: https://writersinkyoto.com/…/writers-in-kyoto…/
We look forward to hearing from you soon. Karen Lee Tawarayama Writers in Kyoto Competition Organizer
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