Self-examination in Poetry: Metaphors Be With You

Since April I’ve been at the temple every Sunday but more weeks than not I’m out of town (either in Minnesota helping in my mother’s transition to assisted living or in Texas with the on-going settlement of my late sister’s affairs). So for the Wednesday study group we’ve been trying Skype as a way for me to conduct the class when I’m not in Chicago. The class gathers at the temple and my husband uses a large monitor hooked to a laptop for the members to see me coming over the internet.

In our second try with Skype, we had a lively discussion – at times I couldn’t make out all the comments when people were speaking at the same time. We read two poems by Kotaro Takamura (1883-1956) which were translated by Rev. Gyoko Saito and Joan Sweany in A Garland of Bright Flowers (poems and essays by various Japanese writers) published privately by Joan Sweany as “Orchid Press” in 1995.

I found it intriguing that Rev. Saito was drawn to translate Takamura’s poems and articles but the anthology he and Joan Sweany put together gives very little information about the writers. They only note that Takamura was known as a sculptor and had studied under August Rodin. There wasn’t much more information on him at the English version of Wikipedia. I wanted to know how Buddhism influenced Takamura. His father (Koun Takamura) and the master his father worked under were both sculptors of Buddhist statues. In the translation of one poem there was a reference to a place called “Iwano prefecture” so I went into the Japanese version of Wikipedia to find that Takamura had lived in Iwate prefecture and for a while was associated with the brother of the poet Kenji Miyazawa (who died before Takamura went to Iwate). Miyazawa in turning away from his parents’ Jodo Shinshu faith, turned to Nichiren Buddhism and his work shows the strong influence of the Lotus Sutra. Takamura, however, seems to have an affinity with Zen.

 

Image of Kotaro Takamura from Wikipedia.

Here’s an except from Takamura’s poem “To a Mob” which generated much of the discussion:

Look at the starved faces of those who curdle in anger

            Clumping their eyebrows into a snarl;

Look at their weakness and fear

            Irrelevant to the essential.

You secondary selves separated by screens!

You who float weightless like animals on water.

See that poverty of yours, then look at the clear moon

            About to unfold over the hill.

Feel how this winter night is charged!

One member of the group, Joe, took the references to “starved faces” and “that poverty of yours” literally and thought Takamura was putting down poor people. I reminded the group that after reading all the Joseph Campbell material in January and February, we should appreciate the use of metaphors in expressing spiritual themes. (The Star Wars flavored subtitle above is from a placard I saw in the University of Minnesota alumni magazine.) The “starved” and “poverty” in the poem describe the lack of spiritual richness.

I was glad that Lisa made the criticism that I was going to make – in this poem and in some other Buddhist writings (Zen in particular), there is a tone of arrogance and an elitist attitude. The poet from his enlightened perch is looking down on all the deluded beings who are so out of touch with the deeper reality of life.

But the poem is valuable if we read it for our own self-examination. It is the “clear moon” that charges up the winter night that makes me see how lost in petty concerns I am – I know I operate like an animal floating around, walled off from others by the screens of my arbitrary judgments. And I know how much I snarl and curdle in anger, too crippled by weakness and fear (defending and asserting my ego-self) to touch what is the essential (hongan, the innermost aspiration of unbounded Life). I am sure that is how Rev. Saito read the poem – hearing its expression of Namu Amida Butsu.

Not "Practice" but "Great Living" of D.T.Suzuki

I want to get back to studying Buddhism, but I find it difficult to concentrate on much (besides television shows) so soon after my sister’s passing and now worried about my mother’s health. Spending my days at the nursing home where my mother is at, I was afraid I didn’t have any serious material to read during the times when she’s napping but then I remembered that I had the latest newsletter from the Shinran Bukkyo Center with me.

The Shinran Bukkyo (Japanese for “Buddha-Teaching”) Center is a research institute in Tokyo sponsored by Higashi Honganji. One important project they have been working on is the republication of D.T. Suzuki’s translation of Shinran’s Kyogyoshinsho. It’s not a complete translation because Suzuki died after translating only four of the six chapters and there are many parts where Suzuki veers towards a general Mahayana interpretation of the passages instead of presenting the passages from Shinran’s unique viewpoint. To me it’s a valuable work because it’s a much needed alternative to the currently accepted “standard” The Collected Works of Shinran (known as the CWS) published by Nishi Honganji. Right now the anticipated publication date is July of this year. http://www.us.oup.com/us/catalog/general/subject/ReligionTheology/Buddhism/?view=usa&ci=9780199863105#Description

As part of their work on the project, the Shinran Bukkyo Center invited scholars to give lectures on Suzuki’s translation and the reports on the lecture series appear in their newsletters and full transcripts are published in their journal. What a pleasant surprise it was to open this month’s newsletter to see the recent speaker was our Chicago guy, Michael Conway. I call Mike my “oshiego” (“child that I taught” – what a grade school teacher would call her former pupil) since he came regularly to our temple’s study classes before he went to Japan. But it’s very embarrassing to hear him introduce me to people as his “sensei,” because he’s become such an advanced scholar of Buddhism, accomplishing much in Japanese and English with so many decades ahead of him. He currently teaches at Otani University and has appeared at scholarly conferences throughout the world.

In the report, one of the points Mike made in his lecture was why he thought D.T. Suzuki chose “Great Living” as a translation for “dai-gyo” when the standard English translation for “gyo” has long been the word “practice.” Mike said the word “practice” in English refers to actions done with the purpose of gaining some reward. (As in “How do you get to Carnegie Hall?” – “Practice!”) But D.T. Suzuki was well aware that “Namu Amida Butsu” was not something done over and over in order to get better at it and win the all-expenses-paid trip to the Pure Land. Suzuki resonated to Shinran’s focus on “suchness” and so he could taste the nembutsu as that which guides us to being in accordance with “Reality as-it-is.” This accordance is meant to be experienced, not “practiced,” so to Suzuki it made more sense to see Shinran’s use of the word “gyo” to refer to “living” – and “dai-gyo” is the Great Living of unbounded life, i.e. Amida.

For me Reality as-it-is means jagged unstable ground beneath my clumsy feet. But where there is a lack of readiness, willingness and ability for “practice,” there is the wide open path of Great Living.

Cowgirl All Dressed in White Linen

You would think any seriously practicing Buddhist would have their ojuzu (meditation beads) in their hands at least some time every day, especially if they’re a minister. But during my stay in Texas to take care of my sister, I only took my beads out of my purse twice. The first time was for the improvised memorial service at the request of a temple member (see previous blog entry). The second time was last night – as the two mortuary workers, a young woman and man, carried my sister’s body wrapped in a white sheet from the bedroom to the gurney set up in the hallway.

My brother didn’t want to see it. He had just arrived that afternoon and was able to spend several hours with our sister while she was still conscious.

He went to the front door to hold it open as the two workers wheeled the gurney out of the house. With my hands in gassho (palms together) and the ojuzu around them, I walked behind in the same manner as a minister following the coffin in a funeral recessional.

I wanted to keep my hands in gassho, but before leaving the house, the woman from the mortuary extended her hands to me. I let her take my one hand in hers. “Sorry for your loss,” she said. Then she did the same with my brother.

Namu Amida Butsu. Sorry – loss – ours.

Forgetting and Remembering - Others as the Buddha

Don't try to be too wise; don't always try to search for something profound to say. You don't have to do or say anything to make things better. Just be there as fully as you can. And if you are feeling a lot of anxiety and fear, and don't know what to do, admit that openly to the dying person and ask his or her help.

From The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying by Sogyal Rinpoche

I was surprised that the “Caregiver’s Guide” pamphlet from the hospice service (providing care to my sister dying of cancer in Texas – see previous blog entry) had two quotes from recognizably Buddhist writers – one was Jack Kornfield and the other Sogyal Rinpoche. The latter’s quote in the pamphlet was short so I Googled it to read a fuller version (see www.rigpa.org/en/teachings/extracts-of-articles-and-publications/extracts-from-the-tibetan-book-of-living-and-dying/showing-unconditional-love.html).

Being here fully is just not happening. I find myself forgetting every little thing, even things that used to be routine with me. I try to write down important things dealing with my sister’s care, but the sheets of paper and sticky notes are all piled here and there in disarray – as the to-do list gets longer. And I’m not talking to my sister about my fears and anxieties, since she lets me know she has enough on her mind and doesn’t want to hear my troubles.

As much as we say we want to be “there” for someone – we are elsewhere a lot of the time. And the internet makes it easy to be other places mentally while you are physically in one place. I’ve been taking care of a lot of temple correspondence by e-mail, mostly about the Buddhism Intro class which I’ve postponed a week. Yesterday my husband e-mailed me a scan of the handwritten note sent to me by a temple member, Mr. J, an elderly Japanese American.

When I read Mr. J’s note I realized I completely forgot about performing a memorial service on the anniversary of his wife’s death as he had requested a month ago. Mr. J had been hospitalized for a while and was not up for the drive from the western suburbs to the temple, so I offered to go to his house to do the memorial service and asked his son to set it up. The son called me later and said his father didn’t want that and so I intended to comply with Mr. J’s original instructions to just do the chanting on the date without his presence.

(Photo by Joanne Kamo)

As it turned out I had to come to Texas to deal with my sister’s declining health and the memorial date of Mr. J’s wife had come and gone. Mr. J wrote the note as a reminder to me of his original request but he began reminiscing about her death twelve years ago: “I took her to the hospital for heart valve replacement. We had never thought it would be the end that night. We made a recovery room for her by the window so she can see birds and squirrels. Never entered our mind of the outcome that day. I thank you for being there that night.”

That night when my husband and I went to the hospital we saw Mrs. J was unconscious and hooked up to a breathing machine. At one point the family said it was getting late for us and nothing much was happening – I wanted to go home and get to bed but my husband said he had a feeling we should stay a little longer. We stayed and maybe it was about an hour or so later when I saw the monitor by Mrs. J’s bed go “flatline” and the alarm went off. It was the first time I was in the presence of a person at the moment of death. After the medical personnel completed their procedures, the family gathered around Mrs. J’s body and I conducted the Makura-gyo (“pillow sutra”) service. [Customarily the service is done within a day after the death since ministers are called after the fact and often end up doing the service at the funeral home.]

After reading Mr. J’s note, I got out the chanting pages I tuck away in my appointment book and I went to a window in my sister’s house that looks out on her back yard, thinking of the recovery room Mrs. J’s family had set up for her. I saw birds landing and flying around the patio with all the plants my sister had cared for. I didn’t have a bell with me, so for the gong-striking parts of the chant, I tapped with my fingers on a metallic angel figure that was by the window. A couple days late, but I performed the memorial service for Mrs. J – grateful to be reminded of what I had forgotten: tariki, the power beyond self.

Tripping Over Uncertainty: No Skillful Means

I thought “constant change” (mujo = not-always) would be an inspiring theme for the new year, but impermanence is a big pain in the oshiri when you need to make travel plans. I didn’t want to blog about my personal issues, but my being away from Chicago does affect the people at the temple. I’m scheduled to do a 4-week course “Brief Introduction to Buddhism” in March, but at this point, I’m wondering when I’ll be back in Chicago.

Back in mid-February my sister’s health took a turn for the worse and she asked if I or my brother could come down to Texas to help her settle her affairs (which included setting her up on a hospice program). I paid for a one-week round trip ticket to Austin but it looks like I definitely can’t go home that soon since it’s taking time to set up all the hospice care arrangements. In some moments my sister is busy putzying around and seems able to do most things herself (she expressed that she does not desire the constant company of me and my brother) but other times she’s weak and in pain and I would hate to go away even with a caregiver visiting her daily.

In the daily e-mail I receive from Tricycle magazine, they had a quote from (one of my big idols) Thanissaro Bhikkhu saying we should keep up the intention to be skillful in our every thought, word and deed. It hit home with me in my present situation – I’m pretty clueless and clumsy dealing with all the things my sister needs to have done. I’m so bad at making efforts and so easily distracted by entertaining trivia (like watching the Oscars).

At one of the Maida Center retreats, Rev. Ken Yamada of the Berkeley Higashi Honganji Temple told his story of driving his wife to the hospital when she became critically ill. He was speeding but it seemed like the route was full of traffic jams and aggravations and he was getting more anxious and swearing at all the other drivers. Then Naomi told him, “Whether we make it to the hospital quickly or not – it’s all up to Amida.” To hear her calm settling into true entrusting (shinjin) helped Rev. Ken let go of his anger and drive more sensibly. Everything turned out okay – Naomi received treatment and recovered.

As Amida means the unbounded power of conditions and events beyond our control, then Amida includes the reality of one’s own limitations and inabilities. We can’t will ourselves to suddenly become strong and competent and without years of intense monastic training, even our intention to be skillful goes off track more often than not. I’m finding out that the Namu in “Namu Amida Butsu” doesn’t just mean “bowing down” – sometimes it means tripping over and falling flat on your face.

Ayn and Rita: The Praise of No-praise

The local PBS station had an interview with architect Stanley Tigerman (pictured below) looking at his career of over fifty years (http://chicagotonight.wttw.com/2012/02/13/architect-stanley-tigerman). He loved the work of Ludwig Mies van der Rohe who he called brilliantly original, but he didn’t like all the followers just copying Mies’ designs. Mr. Tigerman said many of today’s architects are trying to be a “brand name,” imitating their own past designs over and over. Mr. Tigerman spoke as the voice of mujo (“not-always”), saying he approached each new project with fresh ideas (including respect for his clients’ concerns) instead of trying to force the project into the cookie-cutter mold of “my style.”

He said a big influence on his becoming an architect was the book The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand. On one occasion he was excited to have the chance to finally meet her in person. The interviewer had a good laugh as Mr. Tigerman recounted that when he told Ayn Rand how much her book inspired him to be an architect, she responded by looking at him coolly and saying, “So what.”

That reminded me of my encounter with feminist Buddhism scholar Rita Gross a few years ago when she was one of the featured speakers at the annual Buddhist Council of the Midwest’s Visakha festival. She was being led through the exhibition hall by the festival organizers and when I saw her I jumped up from our temple’s information table and went to greet her, almost falling over in my formal robes. “Dr. Gross, you’ve been such an inspiration to me and I talk about you a lot in my articles,” I said, shoving a copy of my “Women’s Liberation in Buddhism” article in her hands. I don’t remember her saying anything to me – the escorts were in a hurry to get her to the room where the other VIPs were gathering – but the look on her face said, “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

It would probably be the same with the Buddha and any of the historical teachers such as Shinran and Dogen. They don’t need to have fans rushing up to them singing their praises and asking for autographs. What they want are questions—from our earnestly seeking hearts to arouse new questions in their minds. The teachers want to learn from real situations – whether we or they found neat solutions or screwed up royally.

In our monthly sutra study class we see the give-and-take of the Buddha interacting with questioners in the Sutta Nipata chapters. A year ago in our weekly class we read selections from Majjhima Nikaya (the Middle-Length Discourses) and witnessed the Buddha having discussions with a wide range of people: men and women, some noble and some despised, some taking his words seriously and some flipping him off. But in all the encounters the Buddha showed himself actively engaged in deepening his awakening, continually refreshing his beginner’s mind.

The real way to honor our teachers for their dynamic spirit of inquiry is to discover our own path of seeking. Mies van der Rohe is not honored by all the copycat followers but by the praise for each individual’s originality from a man of mujo like Stanley Tigerman.

"No Thanks" to DIY: Sangha is the Context

The “free special offer” you get when you subscribe to a publication is usually something next to useless. I recently signed up for an online subscription to Tricycle magazine (I can always thumb through the print edition when I visit Barnes & Noble) and I was glad they had a “no thanks” button to click when their free special offer popped up. Whether digital or print, the last thing I needed was a guide to meditation, no matter how many experts were contributors.

But I understand that for a lot of people searching for peace in their lives, any instruction on how to meditate is valuable. And there are probably hundreds, if not thousands of people on the internet who are hungry for any information about Buddhism they find because they live too far away from any Buddhist group. Yet there are all those “night-stand Buddhists” (those who read and write books on Buddhism) who could easily walk or take public transportation to a Buddhist center but don’t want to interact in person with any “organized religion” followers, as if we have some kind of filthiness that would contaminate their practice of “pure” Buddhism.

On the Tricycle magazine website I was impressed by a recent essay “Living Buddhism” by David Brazier – so much so that I posted the link on my Facebook page and sent the article to our temple’s Dharma School teachers. Here’s an excerpt:

Lack of a coherent and meaningful community life and way of relating to others is, arguably, the cause of much of the suffering that people seek to resolve in Buddhism. If what they get is a do-it-yourself, on-yourself, by-yourself, for-yourself, at-a-price technique, this is not going to do the trick, even if it does provide some secondary gains or palliative satisfactions. In Asia, Buddhism has flourished by being a focus for community life. Communities are held together by shared values, attitudes, and forms that affirm their deepest sense of reality. Most traditional Buddhists have little if any concern for their own attainment of enlightenment, except in the very long term. Their spiritual and religious concerns are more immediate: the well-being of their community, the relationships they have with fellow sangha members, and, above all, their relationship to the Buddha, the Tathagata. Buddhism flourishes through an other-centered, rather than a self-centered, orientation toward life. Otherness here refers both to ordinary others—one’s neighbors, for example—and spiritual others—the Tathagata and other spiritual presences. Practice in an other-centered context means expressing one’s devotion, whether practically or ceremonially, toward the other.

The article made me realize I should appreciate anyone who wants to learn about Buddhism through human contact. With all the books, DVDs, YouTube videos etc. on “how to meditate,” I should feel reverence for the person who reaches out to our temple to explore Buddhism in the presence of fellow human beings (although for every ten e-mails and phone calls we get from people wanting to visit, only one will actually show up at the door).

One story that keeps inspiring me is what I heard Rev. Bob Oshita (of the Sacramento Buddhist Temple) tell at an Eastern Buddhist League convention a couple years ago. He talked about his college student days when he started to seriously explore Buddhism and said he went to the San Francisco Zen Center to learn sitting meditation (zazen). He felt uncomfortable and unsure of what to do so he knew he was fidgety and breathing unsteadily, yet when the session was over, the teacher, Dainin Katagiri (1928-1990), said to the group, “Your zazen is much better than mine.” Through Rev. Bob’s story I heard the nembutsu of Katagiri-sensei – he was casting off his high stature as a well-known Zen roshi and humbly bowing down to the pure seeking spirit he received from the newcomers. The story continues to remind me that however jaded I tend to get, I am fortunate to encounter all these new and on-going seekers and be revitalized by their ever-fresh, earnest spirit of going forth to experience truth.

In the above quote, Brazier is talking about devotional Buddhist groups in general, but in our temple’s teaching lineage (Kiyozawa, Akegarasu, Maida), there are no separate “spiritual others” apart from the “ordinary others.” From the viewpoint of Katagiri-sensei, the Bodhisattva Dharmakara was manifesting himself as the fulfilled Amida Buddha in the bodies of the struggling zazen students, so sincere in taking their first steps onto the path of awakening. The tatha-agata is thus-coming through our temple doors with each man, woman and child who enters, no matter how poorly groomed or mentally “out of it” they may seem to be. Whether it is the meditation sessions I preside over when the regular leader is out of town or the weekly and monthly study sessions, there is no Buddha and Dharma for me unless there are those ordinary-looking “spiritual others” present-- the Sangha.