This month, snapshots of Japan seen from the eyes of an earnest, fumbling Zen pilgrim, practicing releasing what I think I need to learn with every step.
One note: Upon my return home, I found myself back in hospice, helping change a woman’s dressings, dying far too young at the tender age of sixty-one. Speaking with her mother who’s in her late seventies, seeing pictures of her sons; all is real, raw, poignant.
In light of this seemingly stark contrast from the trip, revisiting images as I write to you feels both soothing and patently unreal. How can the beauty experienced co-exist with such pain, I’m wondering, questioning if I should even write at all right now.
Then I remember: There is no separation. This is all one occurrence, one pulsation, and the practice is to be with all of it.
So. First stop, Kamakura, during the height of sakura season.
Outside Engaku-ji Temple, April 2024.
“Whatever you’re learning, you don’t need to know what it is,” the abbot says quietly in Japanese, smiling. “Your body absorbs precisely what it needs from your food without you telling it what to do.”
We’ve just toured one of the most respected Zen temples in the country, Engaku-ji. Abbot Roshi Yokota Nenrei is a prolific teacher, sharing his warm, accessible Zen with the world via YouTube. Just as the population of young people interested in practice in Japan is steadily dwindling, the numbers of people shutting themselves in due to depression and other mental ailments is growing, just like in the States. Yokota Roshi is an embodiment of practice: The kindness in his face reminds us of why we’re here. Feels like he’s transmitting from the light in his heart directly.
Climbing stairs looks more like flying for Yokota Roshi—now we’re heading up to the Engaku-ji cemetary. The grave of Yasujiro Ozu is here, famed Japanese filmmaker of the forties and fifties; watching his work has helped James and me understand the anguish of post-war Japan, the unspoken pain, the rift in the traditional family home as the kids moved to the cities and the elders were left on their own. Yokota Roshi shows us Ozu’s stone, which reads simply “Mu”—pointing to nothingness, emptiness, a koan in itself. Which is presumably how Ozu wished to leave things for us, with a question.
This state of inquiry will thread throughout my travels in this country.
And as you can see by what’s offered by his family and fans below, he was known for his drinking as well as his enduring art; leaving sake on shrines is a common practice.
Watch Late Spring, Early Summer and Tokyo Story if you can, for the beauty, simplicity, the enriching, necessary history, and to see how different yet similar we all are.
As we sit for lunch, in front of us is placed a meticulously wrapped bento box. A selection of one or two bites of several (so many!) colorful dishes, a notable shift from the vast quantities we’re typically served in the west. Savoring every bite and color, the quiet respect of mealtime means we can actually taste everything, which is also a shift.
We finish with a question and answer session, edifying and also inviting us all to pause, not to think, to just be.
Deep bows of great thanks, Yokota Roshi.
Next stop, nearby Tokei-ji Temple, with Reverend Inoue.
Ascending the stairs with this young abbot of what was once a training temple, founded in 1285 by then-shogun’s wife Masako Hojo as a refuge for battered women. Reverend Inoue and the monks and priests of Tokei-ji Temple care for families in the community with rituals, ceremonies, memorial services and classes for children and adults, committed to keeping the spaces alive with learning.
We ascend stairs upward into a lush forest to visit the shrines of D.T. Suzuki, ambassador of global spirituality who lived from 1870-1966, as well as that of his teacher, Shaku Sōen, for whom he was translating initially. Clearly hallowed ground; we’re here to pay our respects to two core teachers, spring bursting all around us.
As a twenty-year-old lay disciple of Engaku-ji Temple, Suzuki’s proficiency in English landed him the job of translating then-abbot Sōen Roshi’s address, “The Law of Cause and Effect as Taught by Buddha,” which was read to the delegates of the World Parliament of Religions at the 1893 Exposition in Chicago. Invited to represent Japanese Buddhism at this first-ever gathering of world religious dignitaries, Sōen initiated the dialogue between Zen and the West; Suzuki’s role in translating made him an iconic voice of Zen globally. Later, Sōen would be abbot of Tokei-ji until his death in 1915.
And in some days, our group will visit the memorial museum of D.T. Suzuki in Kanazawa, a moving homage to his teachings.
As we pass each shrine, we take in the damp, electric greens of spring, chanting, listening, emptying ourselves. Hands clasped, I can feel the tug of history and sanctity quieting us all inwardly.
Personally I feel an ignition of my own certainty that service will be central in my life from this point forth. Something is changing here, and it’s only day one.
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“Whatever you’re learning, you don’t need to know what it is,” the abbot says quietly in Japanese, smiling. “Your body absorbs precisely what it needs from your food without you telling it what to do.”
So appreciating these words and the way they're landing right now. Thank you Elena🙏
Oh, this just feels like blossoms. Fragile and fresh and fierce. ❤️