Poems of a Saikoku Pilgrimage

Pilgrimage - 79. Shoshazan, Engyo-ji, Part 2

2007-04-18T02:35:00.000+09:00

To a bush warbler on the hillside:

Hidden from view
you call to me from the trees,
when I answer
you respond with a new trill,
enjoying the conversation.

Walking up the narrow root-crossed path towards the summit of the 371 meter high Mt. Shosha, I think of a small statue I saw in the small museum on the second floor of the Shokudo, one of the three buildings making up a large horse shoe in the central part of the Engyo-ji precincts.

To a kite, high in the sky:

Swaying in the wind
as though a sleek sailing ship
off to the Indies,
you turn back once and call out,
voice echoing in the valley.

The statue is very beautiful, and delicately made. It is of a white egret or heron, with Kannon standing on its back. I had seen statues of Kannon standing or sitting on various things before, including the Nozaki Kannon, which is on the back of a dragon, but this was the first time for me to see one on a white egret.

Scattered on the path
these cherry blossom petals
welcome
those few who tred the back paths
to the top of the mountain crest.

Because my favorite birds are the egrets and the herons (I probably was one in a past existence), and because of my attachment to Kannon, I the statue immediately imprinted itself in my memory. There was a note explaining that when the temple was burned down an egret appeared and carried the statue away to safety, but later I realized the implications -- that Engyo-ji served as the protecting temple for the castle (after all, its lords and their families were buried in a prominent place on the temple grounds). The idea of Kannon as somehow being a "war deity" did not set well with me, but slowly I realized that the compassion of Kannon must serve all equally, if it is to serve any one at all. The old "god is on MY side" image came back to me, I could hear Bob Dylan singing his song about the problem as I walked along the empty path. Gradually it faded, and I found myself thinking more and more about Saint Shoku.

When I reach the top I am surprised to discover a shrine to Hakusan Gongen. A sign says explains that this is the spot where Saint Shoku is said to have attained enlightenment, to have broken free from attachments to the six senses.

There is a small shelter by the shrine, where three or four people could sit. Alone, but feeling very much in the presence of sanctity, I take off my shoes and sit cross-legged, staring vacantly at the shrine, and letting the sacredness of the place fill me.

You come
within the pause of the wind
and are here,
my breathing slows, waiting,
as you pass through my being.

My mind goes back to the legend of Saint Shoku visiting the pleasure quarters to find Lady Eguchi. The man must have had an amazing amount of faith to go into a part of town that was normally strictly off-limits to priests. It's interesting to me that he prayed to Kannon that he might be able to see Fugen. Kannon symbolizes the path of faith, as well as compassion and mercy. Kannon is one of the two main attendants of the Buddha Amida, of the Pure Land of the West, which has been compared to the Christian Heaven, because people hope to be reborn there after they die, and it is said to be a land of great beauty, of plenty, and of peace.

Fugen, on the other hand, is an attendant of representations of the historical Buddha. The historical Buddha represents the 4 truths, the 8-fold-path, the 12-link chain of causation--the path of meditation in reaching enlightenment. (These paths are not exclusive, of course, they are concepts, and as such can easily join and blend with other paths or concepts.) Fugen represents the concept of "putting into practice" -- in the sense of action -- good deeds, charity -- of putting realizations or attainments into practice, of actually applying them in daily life.

Thinking about it that way, the legend of Saint Shoku wanting to see Fugen Bosatsu can be seen as his desire to more actively perform good deeds, charitable actions, etc., in the "floating world" (ukiyo) of attachments, such as the world represented by the courtesan Lady Eguchi. The message of the legend, is that the "practice" (in the sense of carrying one's insights into Buddhism into the everyday world, and into one's everyday actions) is to be found everywhere, that it properly belongs everywhere. And to everyone. That it is not bound by any certain range of professions or types or classes of people, not bound by age or gender.

The beauty of the Noh play Eguchi comes back to me. That it builds not only on this legend but also on the supposed visit of the great poet-priest Saigyo, is part of the whole beauty of the message. Sitting there as the afternoon headed slowly but surely towards dusk, I remembered the story of Saigyo being offered a silver cat after visiting a high-ranking aristocrat or government official) as a gift. Reluctantly he finally accepted it, only to give it away to a little girl, as soon as had left the home of the wealthy and powerful patron. Saigyo was sometimes criticized for being both a very serious monk who spent years in solitary meditation and a poet who embibed in the pleasures of the court, especially in activities involving writing poetry. He is said to have answered with something to the effect that attainments are not worth anything if you can't take them into the everyday world with you. I'm sure Saint Shoku would have agreed completely. Feel it all, don't reject any of it, it is all life, it is all existence, and insights and attainments must apply equally to everything, if they are truly real.

I sigh. Then laugh. I know what a great great distance I have to go along that path.

Whispering winds
through the pine trees around me
speak softly to me,
keep this in your mind and soul
as you walk on, on your journey.

Slowly I stretch my legs (now quite numb) and begin my walk back down the hill, to the place where I will catch (hopefully) the last ropeway down the mountain.

Pilgrimage 78 - Temple 27, Shoshazan, Engyo-ji, Part 1

2007-04-16T00:52:00.001+09:00

The wind through the pines
is the chanting of a prayer
for peace and mercy,
I walk slowly on
falling in with the rhythm.

Getting off the ropeway, I go up the stairs to the roof of the station and take a look at the view. Ahead and a bit to the right, over a low finger of hills, I can make out Himeji castle. Beyond that, the hills leading to the last of the Saikoku temples I have visited, and beyond them the city of Osaka, then Kyoto, and to the south Wakayama, and Seigantoji. All of that over the horizon of course. Turning to the left, my eyes follow the river as it disappears into a long twisting valley, leading northeast, to the Japan sea, and to Nariai-ji, the next of the thirty three temples of the Saikoku pilgrimage. It is a beautiful day, though the sky is grey with mist, and perhaps with the "kosa" dust from China. Then I go back down and begin the walk towards the "sanmon," literally Mountain Gate, which will mark my entrance into the world of Engyo-ji.

The path I take is not wide, but is both well-travelled and ancient. To the left and right along the way are small shrines, one for each of the thirty-three temples of the Saikoku pilgrimage. I pause at each one to pray to Kannon, to Jizo, Yakushi Nyorai, and other manifestations of the Law of Buddhism, for guidance, for peace, for the alleviation of suffering, for the enlightnment of those wandering in darkness.

Your hand on mine
we move through countless moments
from past to future,
pausing as blossoms scatter
we sense the taste of cherries.

As I walk my mind goes back to Saint Shoku (Shoku Shonin 910-1007), the man who founded this temple in 966 AD. There are a lot of legends about him. Several point to his early interest in meditation and in the Lotus Sutra. His father, however, was opposed to his son becoming a monk, and so it was not until Shoku Shonin was in his thirties that he finally became a priest. After studying at Mt. Hiei (the main monastery of the Tendai Sect of Buddhism, located on a mountain northeast of Kyoto), he travelled west too continue his practices. On his way back to Mt. Hiei, when he reached the vicinity of Engyo-ji, he had an overpowering feeling that he should found a temple there, rather than returning to Kyoto. Climbing up the mountain, he came to a place where he felt he should make a small temple, and did so. Later, while meditating outside, he saw a beautiful Kannon in the trunk, and knew he was looking at a spirit tree, which he should use to carve the statue.

Scatter, scatter
fill the sky with your wild dance
cherry blossoms,
with tall trunk and outstretched branches
you offer all your beauty.

Reaching the Sanmon, I think again of how the whole pilgrimage route makes a rough circle. Pilgrims coming down from Edo (today's Tokyo) would go first to the great Shinto shrine at Ise, then either taken the land route down past the great Kumano shrine to the sea, or take a boat to Shingu, where they would visit the second of the Kumano shrines before going on to Seiganto-ji, the first of the 33 temples of the Saikoku pilgrimage, and the location of Nachi, the third of the three great Kumano shrines. From there they would go further east, and then after visiting a few temples near Otsu and Lake Biwa and in Kyoto (and Kameoka, inland from Kyoto) they would again head west, until they finally reached Engyo-ji, the western most temple on the pilgrimage. From there they would cut through the mountains to the Japan sea side of Japan, to Nariai-ji, then go northeast to Matsuo-ji, then cut across to Lake Biwa, again, and finally head northeast to Tanigumi-dera, the last of the thirty-three temples, which in effect closed the circle. This comes back to me now because the name of this temple "Engyo-ji" is written with the characters for "circle" and "teaching" and "temple," and my mind plays with that image for a bit as I pause at the great Mountain Gate.

As you go through me,
let the spirit of place grow,
within you, too,
when the bush warbler calls,
answer, with gentle whistle.

But the name of the temple does not really refer to the pilgrimage. Instead, Engyo is usually translated "Perfect Teaching," and refers to one of the main approaches to Buddhism taken by the Tendai. There are two main divisions of the teachings of Tendai, and Engyo represents one of them. It is the open path, as distinct from the esoteric one, and is directly related to the Lotus Sutra. In addition, it finds representation in a lengthy work by Chih-i, the Chinese Tendai master, called, in Japanese translation, Maka Shikan. The image of the circle is said to represent both the completion of the teaching of the Buddha and the image of sentient beings all being equidistant from enlightenment. Coupled with this is the idea that enlightenment exists wherever we are, it is within us at this moment, it is within all of us, at this moment. The foundation of the system of meditation of the Tendai school is shikan, written with the characters for "stop" and "see/look." The roots of the system go back to the beginnings of Buddhism, and are found in the Therevada system of meditation known as samatha vipassanya, which also means "stop" and "see/look." It is probably not by chance that I spent several years studying the Therevada system, and then several years more translating an introductory book on Tendai philosophy, and I let those experiences come back to me as I lean against one of the pillars of the Mountain Gate. (The translation of the book, done at the request of the Tendai priest who wrote it, was never published.)

Walking further on along a basically level path through dense forest, the ruins of a small temple appear on the left, then to the right what seems to be a temple office building. There are other buildings, and paths heading off in one direction or another, until finally the path turns into steps heading downwards. At the end of the stairs there is a road, across which more steps, heading up to the Maniden, the temple on the Engyo-ji complex which is dedicated to the worship of Kannon Bosatsu. Here the form of Kannon is Nyoirin Kannon (Inagaki's A Dictionary of Japanese Buddhist Terms has "Kannon (fulfilling people's wishes) with a wish-fulfilling gem . . . and a wheel.)

Going up the flight of stairs I see the porch of the temple stretching to the right before me. It is a large porch, which has been compared to that of Kiyomizu-dera in Kyoto. (It is probably as long, but certainly much narrower.) Going inside, to the outer shrine, I prostrate myself on the and pray. As I do, images of the mountain come to me. I feel drawn to the top of the mountain, although I have no idea how far away it is. I only know that I have come roughly a mile on a path that runs along a spine that lies towards the top the mountain, but is not that high. The forest is too deep to have a sense of where I am. I feel the forest, its protection, its nurturing power, its guidance. I lay prostrate for a moment longer, feeling the spirit of place flow through my outstretched fingers, up my arms, and into my heart and mind. Then I move to the back where I can sit cross-legged and rest my back on a pillar, and make a longer prayer. As I pray I feel the scattering of cherry blossoms turning into the words of the Buddha, into gems of wishes for alleviation of suffering, into the faces of those I love, of those I know are suffering, of those causing the suffering, of those I do not know who are suffering, scattering like petals through the sky, as the wind blows, endlessly, continuing on and on and on. I enter into a space that seems insensitive to gravity, although my whole body is tingling and I my spirit is within it, somehow at the same time I too am the blossoms, scattering across the sky, across the universe.

This feeling is broken by the arrival of a group of a couple of dozen pilgrims. They come in commenting on the beauty of the place, on its size, and soon form a group and begin to chant the Heart Sutra. I mouth the words along with them, silently. Then they chant the goeika (hymn) for the temple.

Come a great distance,
when you climb Mt. Shosha
you notice the wind --
it not its sound through the trees
also the Law of the Buddha?

After they leave, and it is quiet again, I return to my prayers. A deep sense of peace fills me, and with it a desire for a more deeper union with Kannon.

Here, longing for you
your laugh echoes in the breeze
smiles everywhere
filling me with the love you
have for all who are suffering.

The temple was burned down in 1472, and from the place where the spirit tree had stood a spring appeared. The guardians of this Nyoirin Kannon are the four guardian kings. The young lay people working in the temple shop in the corner are very happy to answer my questions about it, and give me a packet of postcards showing the four guardian kings (the packet is slightly damaged, so it can't be sold, they explain). I go over to pray again, bow, and then leave the temple to start exploring the rest of the temple grounds. It is a very large area, probably at least as big as Miidera. Passing various smaller temples, and the graves of the families of the lords of Himeji castle, I come to the three main buildings at the central portion of the whole temple compound. They formed, at one time, the heart of the monastery complex -- with a lecture hall and a dining hall. This is said to be the second of the three most sacred parts of the mountain. The first is the temple to Kannon, and the third, the shrine on the peak. I feel it calling to me, as I have ever since my visit began. But I must see this place, and two places a bit past it -- a memorial to Izumi Shikibu, and a temple to the founder. I will see these, and then make my way to the peak of Mt. Shosha. I pause longest at the monument to Izumi Shikibu.

One of the most famous poets of the Heian period, her diary is a major classic. As might be expected, there are numerous legends about her. She was also known to have a profound interest in Buddhism. Edwin A Cranston's translation of the diary was so highly considered that he was offered a job at Harvard University. In the introduction to his translation, he includes a poem that he says is "probably Izumi's most famous":

Kuraki yori Kuraki michi ni zo Irinubeki
Haruka ni terase Yama no ha no tsuki. (from the Shuiwakashu)

Cranston's translation:

Composed and sent to Shoku Shonin:

From darkness
Into the depths of darkness
Must I enter:
Shine upon me from afar,
O moon above the mountain crest. (The Izumi Shikibu Diary; A Romance of the Heian Court, Translated with an Introduction, by Eduwin A Cranston, Harvard UP, 1969, p.6)

Cranston notes, in part, "Darkness is symbolic of the ignorance of the mundane world; the moon, of Buddhist enlightenment. " (p.200, note 30.)

My own translation:

I must go
from darkness into darkness
on down the road,
shine, moon, from so far away
on the crest of the mountain.

(The legend behind the poem is that Izumi Shikibu, a Lady in Waiting, had accompanied her mistress on a trip to Engyo-ji to see Saint Shoku. He had refused to see them (women were not allowed on the mountain), and as they made ready to depart, Izumi Shikibu sent this poem to Saint Shoku. (The mountain is Mt. Shosha, and the moon is St. Shoku.) He was so impressed that he agreed to see them.)

Izumi Shikibu is also the central character in a Noh play named Toboku. There is a translation of this play in The Noh Drama, Ten Plays From The Japanese, translated by the Nippon Gakujutsu Shinkokai (Tuttle, 1973, first published in 1955) This play is based in part on the legend that Izumi Shikibu attained enlightenment through her poetry, and became a Bodhisattva of Song and Dance in the Pure Land. The play also focuses on the Lotus Sutra, and a poem said to have been written by her on one of the parables of that sutra. The Nippon Gakujutsu Shinkokai translation of that poem:

"When without the gate
I hear the 'Wheel of the Law' rolling by,
From the 'Burning House'
I too am set free."
(p. 85)

The "wheel of the Law" refers to the Law of Buddhism, and the 'burning house' to the world of desire.

There are also medieval tales (otogizoshi) which feature Izumi Shikibu. One of them is called "Izumi Shikibu." In the story, Izumi Shikibu is a young courtesan who falls in love with a young man. As a result she gives birth to a boy which she is unable to take care of. She leaves him by a bridge, with a poem and short sword. He is found by a couple who look after him and then send him to Mt. Hiei to become a monk. He becomes a brilliant monk, and a popular lecturer on Buddhism, and one day Izumi Shikibu happens to hear him. Not realizing that the young monk is her son, she falls in love with him, and he with her. They spend the night together, and she asks him about his past. As he tells her, she realizes that he is her son. She is so shocked by what she has done that she goes to Mt. Shosha where she becomes a nun. At that time she writes this poem:

Kuraki yori Kuraki yamiji ni Umarekite
Sayaka ni terase Yama no ha no tsuki

Cranston translates this poem (which is similar to the quoted above) as follows:

From out of the dark
Into the Path of Darkness
Was I born:
Shine on me clearly,
Moon of the mountain crest." (Cranston, p. 21)

My own translation:

From darkness
into the roads of darkness
was I born,
shine brightly, oh moon
on the crest of the mountain.

Walking up the path to the top of the mountain, my mind goes back over two incidents in the life of Saint Shoku. He seems to have been a brilliant and charismatic man.

The first is concerned with his relationship with the Retired Emperor Kazan, so important to the Saikoku pilgriimage. It was Saint Shoku who encouraged Kazan to go on the Saikoku Pilgrimage, and this suggestion changed Kazan's life. I think of the Retired Emperor Kazan, who probably walked along the same path that I am on now, over a thousand years ago. A young man then, just starting his life as a priest, undoubtedly still struggling with the attachments of the world, and yet determined to break free of their bonds and attain enlightenment.

As for the second, there is a legend in which Saint Shoku prays to Kannon that he may be able to see Fugen Bosatsu. A summary of this legend is contained in the introduction to a translation of the famous Noh play "Eguchi." "One night, in a dream, he was told to go to Eguchi in Settsu Province and to seek out the courtesan known as the Lady of Eguchi. On reaching the place he found her in a boat on the river with other courtesans making merry. As the Shonin closed his eyes, the murmurming waters seemed like voices sweetly chanting versts from the Holy Sutra. Suddenly the glorious vision of Bodhisattva Fugen attended by a host of remale rasetsu appeared before him, and he knew that his prayer had been answered. When he again opened his eyes there was the Lady of Eguchi in her human sorm as before." (Nippon Gakujutsu Shinkokai, p. 110)

As walk slowly up the path to the top of the mountain, with no sounds except for the wind in the trees and the occasional cry of a kite, I think about how this last legend illustrates the Perfect Teaching known as Engyo -- that a courtesan may in fact be a bodhisattva -- that anyone, no matter what their gender or their occupation, may be enlightened. I think about the Noh play Eguchi, in which the famous poet Saigyo visits the Lady Eguchi and asks to spend the night. She refuses, and he basically accuses her of being prejudiced against him. She responds that she has not let him in for the good of his own soul, and encourages him to rise above earthly temptations.

The afternoon is growing late when I reach the top of Mt. Shosha, the third of the three especially sacred places on Mt. Shosha.

Basic information about the temple:
Temple Number 27 on the Saikoku pilgrimage.
The name of the mountain the temple is on is Shosha-zan, and the temple is often called by that name.
The name of the temple complex is Enkyo-ji).
Location: Mt. Shosha, Himeji City, Hyogo Prefecture.
Main deity worshipped: Nyoirin-Kanzeon Bosatsu (hidden, shown January 18)
Founded by: Shoukuu Shonin
Date founded: 966
Present sect of Buddhism: Tendai
Admission charge: yes

mountain view

2007-02-06T16:41:00.000+09:00

Mt. Fuji
Originally uploaded by pilgrim02.

.

Mt. Fuji
deeply etched into the sky
poised
with sacred clarity
this train racing from fog to fog.

Pilgrimage 75 - Pausing by Himeji Castle

2007-01-28T08:14:00.000+09:00

Standing across the broad avenue by the moat and staring up at the magnificent presence of Himeji Castle rising before me in the center of the city, I try to imagine what a pilgrim of the eighteenth or nineteenth century may have felt looking at it. The land of Japan at peace, at one, again. Business going fairly well. Then my mind goes back further, as I try to place my self back in the fifteenth or sixteenth centuries, and a dark clouds settles over my mind. (The castle is one of the most magnificent in Japan, and has been the setting of several famous movies.)

The plum are just beginning to bloom on the tree by the bench where I sit, as it occurs to me that I need do no more than compare the situation then with that in Iraq or Afghanistan today.

On the plum
dew glimmers on the small buds
on branches linking
the hills and the castle,
old bark cradling new birth.

Imagine, I say to myself, being a Saikoku Pilgrim during this period. It would be like trying to make a pilgrimage to famous temples in Iraq today. Imagine being a pilgrim in the seventeenth or eighteenth centuries, and thinking back to that waring period, the warring powers that were involved, and what had happened to them in the end.

I did a quick survey of the temples of the Saikoku Pilgrimage, and discovered that no single guidebook regularly mentions the influence of the Onin War on the temples of the pilgrimage. All refer to it at several points, but the temples selected for the reference are not always the same. Here is very incomplete data, which will I hope nonetheless help to begin to paint a picture of the extent of the destruction.
Temple 1. Seiganto-ji, the Norindo was rebuilt in 1589 at the request of Toyotomi Hideyoshi.
Temple 4. Sefuku-ji. Burned down by Oda Nobunaka, rebuilt by Toyotomi Hideyoshi.
Temple 5. Fujii-dera. Burned by troops in 1493; rebuilt by Toyotomi Hideyoshi.
(The Saikoku-related temples of Kyoto are not included because the city was so much destroyed during that time.)
Temple 20. Yoshimine-dera - damaged in Oino War.
Temple 22. Soji-ji - burned by troops of Oda Nobunaga.
Temple 29. Mtsuo-ji - burned by Oda Nobunaga, said to have been rebuilt by Hosokawa in 1581.
Temple 31. Chomei-ji. Burned in a military conflict in 1516.
Temple 32. Kannonsho-ji. Relocated turing the military disturbances, because a castle was needed there (it was close to Oda Nobunaga's Azuchi Castle, and the location was strategic); returned to the mountain top in 1597.

Wikipedia begins its entry on the Onin War with this,

"The Ōnin War (応仁の乱 Ōnin no Ran) was a civil war from 1467 to 1477 during the Muromachi period in Japan. A dispute between Hosokawa Katsumoto and Yamana Souzen escalated into a nationwide war involving the Ashikaga shogunate and various daimyo.
The war initiated the Sengoku jidai, "the Warring States Period". This period was a long, drawn-out struggle for domination by individual daimyo, resulting in a mass power-struggle between the various houses to dominate the whole of Japan. It was during this time, though, that there would emerge three individuals who would later be considered the three great daimyo of the Sengoku Period, and who would eventually unite Japan under one clan; they were Oda Nobunaga, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, and Tokugawa Ieyasu."

I've added a few more quotes from the article, as well as a link to it, at the end of this post.

For now, however, I sit in the chilly morning as the buds on the plum slowly begin to reach for the sun, stare at the castle, and write a few poems:

Weary of the world,
an egret poised for take off,
this castle stands
gleaming in the morning sun,
still fearful of the ways of men.

This high castle
a military symbol
of mans greatness?
Why, deep within its vastness,
are those who oppose enchained?

So many years
this land torn in civil strife,
now this high castle,
testament to the firm hand
that brought the country to peace.

Behind you,
oh high and mighty castle,
rises Mt. Shosha--
and better way to curb
desires which invade our minds.

Across the way,
past city and past castle,
through those valleys,
the path I have come extends--
yet I must go on and on.

On a bush
by the ice covered moat
a small butterfly
lounges in the morning sun--
a welcome companion.

Other snippets from the article:

"By July 1467 the fighting had become serious, and this was when the Ōnin War officially started. By September, Kyoto's northern parts were in ruins, and everyone who could flee from Kyoto did."

"It was by 1477, some ten years after the fighting had begun, that Kyoto was now nothing more than a place for mobs to loot and move in to take what was left."

"But the most important development to come out of the Ōnin War was the ceaseless civil war that ignited outside the capital city."

"From the close of the Ōnin War, this type of civil strife, either vassals striving to conquer their daimyo or succession disputes drawing in outside daimyo , was endemic all throughout Japan."

"The cost for the individual daimyo was tremendous, and a century of conflict would so weaken the bulk of Japanese warlords, that the three great figures of Japanese unification, beginning with Oda Nobunaga, would find it easier to militarily assert a single, unified military government."

("Onin War - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia" http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Onin_War Accessed January 28, 2007.)

Also: The Wikipedia entry has a good picture and good description, and a link to a site in English with a virtual tour. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Himeji_castle "Himeji Castle - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia)

Though a rock

2006-11-19T17:18:00.000+09:00

Though a rock
Originally uploaded by pilgrim02.

Though a rock
may split the stream in two,
briefly,
it soon comes together again--
so it is with our love.

(Adaptatin of a poem from the Hyakunin Isshu,
an anthology of classical Japanese poetry.)

Pilgrimage 73 - Ichijo-ji, Part 2

2006-11-09T02:11:00.000+09:00

After praying a little longer, I climbed up the steps to the next level. To the right is a three-tiered pagoda, a national treasure, to the left a small temple building used to keep sacred texts.

In front of me another flight of steps, leading up to the main temple building. There is a barrier across the steps, because the building is being renovated. I take the steps leading down into the valley, to the right. My destination is the temple dedicated to founder, the priest from India who came here so long ago and made this place his home.

Dark and still,
in shades of green as shadows
beckon
water glistens on the path
higher into the valley.

Coming down the steps I see to my right a small pond with a little temple in the middle--to Benzai-ten (Sarasvati) no doubt. I bow in respect. Along the pathway by me and further down small shrines--most probably 33 of them, one for each of the Saikoku pilgrimage temples. Across the pond a pathway leads into a grove of bamboo sprinkled with cedar and birth. I remember from an earlier visit that this leads to a Kumano shrine, beside which is an area for lighting a small fire and performing the necessary rituals associated with the Kumano ascetic tradition. Today I go to the left, further up the valley.

Your hand in mine,
the breeze wafting the mists,
as a bird's call
echoes through the trees
we walk over slippery stones.

Up another flight of steps is the Oku no In (literally, the temple at the back, or the temple in the recesses), the small temple building that has been set aside for worship of Houdou Sennin (Hermit of the Way of the Law), the founder of this and several other temples in the area.

A lone crane
flies across land and ocean
searching
for pure sweet water,
a place to settle, and teach.

Beyond the Oku no In, to the right, is a path. I wonder if it leads down to the other temple, the one dedicated to the worship of Jizo Bosatsu (Kshitigarbha Bodhisattva, the Earth Store Bodhisattva), but decide instead to take the steps that lead up behind the Oku no In to the left. There is a sign pose that says the path leads to Sai no Kawara.

The rain has not stopped but I do not bother with an umbrella. The cedars provide enough shelter and at first the pathway is made of stones large enough to serve as steps. But then they stop. Ahead of me, for perhaps as much as fifty feet, the valley floor rises to an abrupt end. I go up slowly. The stones are much smaller, but pathway indistinct. To left and right are little piles of stones -- maybe six, maybe a dozen piled one on top of the other. Here and there, beside them, maybe a pair of baby shoes, some candy (still wrapped up), miniature cars (the wind-up variety), a little plastic doll . . . . and at the end of the valley a slightly overhanging wall of stone, at the center of which, on the ground, was a small altar. "Homage to Jizo Bosatsu," I whispered when I saw it.

Sitting on the stones, I let the place fill me. Anguish. Crying. Pain. Whispers of peace, of encouragement, eyes of gentle love. Anger. Fear. A whirlwind of emotions. A rainbow of hope, a shadows of despair. I prayed for the babies and children whose souls I felt, and for their parents. I prayed that their suffering would be relieved, and that they would find peace.

Still lost
a baby crawls on and on
through the mists
his mother calls after it,
then the darkness covers all.

At that time, I was not really very familiar with Jizo Bosatsu. Oh, I knew he was one of the most popular figures in Buddhism, along with Kannon Bosatsu, and that he was the protector of children, pilgrims, and travellers, but I had not sat down with the sutras on Jizo, or read at any length about him. I knew that Sai no Kawara was a place by the river between the worlds of life and death, where babies and young children go after they die. A kind of purgatory, in that they are sent there as punishment for some "sin" they have committed. I realized it was time to learn.

Far down the valley
a bird begins to sing again.
Looking up
I see that the rain has stopped,
sunlight filters through the trees.

As I walked back down the Sai no Kawara part of the little valley, I prayed again and again for the suffering of small children, and of their parents and loved ones. The suffering of children is especially sad and painful, because they are so blameless, so pure, so loving.

When I came to the Benzaiten, I bowed and prayed that the pure waters would continue to flow here, and that I might receive the words to continue to tell the story of the Saikoku Pilgrimage. Then I head towards the temple beside Ichijo-ji which is devoted to the worship of Jizo Bosatsu. On the way I discovered a Kumano shrine, beside which is a space for performing the esoteric rituals associated with that tradition. Then I reached the temple and prayed to Jizo Bosatsu. I learned that the mantra for him is "On kakaka bisanmaei sowaka," and repeated it along with the other mantras which I say regularly.

"Suffer the children
to come unto me," He said
so long ago;
within the smile of Jizo
the eyes of the Holy Shepard.

A dragonfly
waits on the pink daisy
observing me
as I walk slowly by,
then lands briefly on my shoulder.

After getting lunch at the little restaurant across the road from the temples, I set out for Enkyo-ji, Shoshazan, the next of the temples of the Saikoku Pilgrimage, with my new companion. I have a feeling that I will come to love Jizo as much as Kannon; they are, after all, both manifestations of the teaching of Buddhism. As you will see from the long note below, what I learned was that Jizo Bosatsu came to me there, slipped up beside me, right through the defenses I had built to keep out Kannon because of my guilt. Came right up to me, gave me safe haven, and nudged me back towards the right direction. Amazing.

Your voice
in the wind through the leaves
in the rain
your smile in the mists,
as I walk along the road.

Note:
Later I discovered that there is a hymn which describes the Sai no Kawara and what takes place there, called the Sai no Kawara Jizo Wasan. There are several different versions of the hymn, one, which was translated by Lafcadio Hearn in Glimpses of an Unfamiliar Japan, is available on the internet [ http://www.onmarkproductions.com/html/sai-no-kawara.html "Jizo, Sai no Kawara & Judges of Hell (Underworld). Japanese Buddhism A-to-Z Photo Dictionary Project" ] There page is a branch of the main entry on Jizo Bosatsu, http://www.onmarkproductions.com/html/jizo1.shtml "Jizo Bodhisattva (Bosatsu) Savior from Torments of Hell, Patron of Expectant Mothers, Protector of Children & Aborted Souls, Others," last updated August 2006.] An English translation of one of the sutras pertaining to Jizo Bosatsu, the "Sutra of the Past Vows of Earth Store Bodhisattva," is available at http://www.drba.org/dharma/earthstore.pdf ]

The half dozen or so versions of the hymn which I have read all describe basically the same situation. Children of three or four, under ten or eleven, have died are in a kind of purgatory (some say "limbo"). They miss their parents, and their families greatly, and pile up stones one on top of another, making little towers by which to build up merit which they want to transfer to their loved ones in the world of the living, to ease their suffering there. They work very hard at this, cutting their hands and feet in the process. Devils (in some cases an old hag) come and deride them, saying that the towers are too poorly built to deserve any merit, and proceed to knock them down. The children cry out and fall down with grief. Jizo Bosatsu appears and gives the children protection and comfort, and the devils flee.

The Sutra of the Past Vows of Earth Store Boddhisattva explains that in an earlier incarnation, Jizo was a young woman who was a devout Buddhist. She grieved for her mother, who was not and who, in addition, committed various sins. As a result of this, when her mother died she was sent to hell. The woman goes searching for her mother, to try to save her from the terrible suffering she is experiencing. Eventually she reaches the place where he mother is supposed to be, only to learn that the woman's virtue and faith have caused a change in her mother, who has repented, and as a result has been admitted to one of the many Buddhist heavens. (Jizo Bodhisattva seems to be primarily a woman in the Sanskrit and Chinese traditions, but in Japan is usually (but not always) a man.) Jizo (literally earth storehouse, from the Sanskrit for earth womb) thus also has a deep concern with those who are suffering for sins that they have committed, exhausting all resources possible to help them find the path from their suffering to peace.

Pilgrimage 72 - Ichijo-ji, Part 1

2006-10-24T23:25:00.000+09:00

Buddha and Child
Originally uploaded by pilgrim02.

Walking through the wooden temple gate, I seem to pass into the present, off the ancient pilgrim's road onto a modern if very rural highway winding through low hills and valleys.

From there it is about a ten minute walk to the precincts of the temple. First of all there is the overflow parking lot, now filled with weeds. Then a temple honoring Jizo Bosatsu, which shares a parking lot with Ichijo-ji. To the right of the road a public toilet and restaurant, then a couple of small temples, one a nunnery.

Ichijo-ji itself has no large temple gate as do most of the thirty-three temples of the Saikoku Pilgrimage. Simple granite markers announce its presence, behind which are a metal lamp, the booth for buying tickets to enter the temple, and a long flight of steps up to the level of the first temple. It is on the side of a small valley, the floor of which is to the right, between the temple honoring Jizo Bosatsu and this one, which worships Kannon Bosatsu. Tempted to go up through the valley, I postpone that to go up the flight of steps.

At the first rise is what now serves as the "hondo" or main temple, while the "real" hondo is undergoing renovation. A simple temporary prefabricated structure with a floor of unpainted boards has been built at the entrance to what is actually the training temple. The whole temple precincts have an aura of poverty, something which is most impressive after the affluence of the last few temples. It makes me think about the idea of wealth, and of the purity and simplicity of poverty.

The form of Kannon worshipped here is the non-esoteric "true" form, Sho-kannon. The main statue is said to have been brought (perhaps from China) by the founder in the seventh century AD--Houdou Sennin (Hermit of the Way of the Law) a priest who came from India and is said to have possessed magical powers. He also founded the Banshu Kiyomizu temple and Kazan-in temple. A fellow foreigner, I think, knowing how he must have felt at times here, so far away from his native land. It is a "secret" or "hidden" statue which is not often put on display for the public. Those who have seen it say that it is not large. A beautiful austere replica stands in front of the closed case housing the original.

Praying, I confess my sins and weaknesses, confess the suffering I have caused loved ones, and acknowledge the suffering that it has brought to me as well. I ask for the blessing of the peace and compassion of Kannon on all of those who are suffering, but still feel the barrier that prevents me from accepting that blessing myself. Please allow a brief digression, to explain.

When I was an undergraduate, I studied Vedanta under one Indian teacher and Buddhism under another. These two great masters were friends, although their own spiritual paths were quite different. I later learned that they never discussed philosophy or religion, and were actually quite ignorant of each other's chosen paths. The Buddhist master became my own in the spring of 1969, when I was accepted as his disciple. The Vedanta remained a friend. He passed away recently, and I posted a poem and notice of his death at that time.

One day when I was visiting the Vedanta master, Raja Rao, in his office at the University of Texas at Austin, we were talking about the importance of meditation. I mentioned casually that it seemed to me that the historical Buddha had never stopped meditating, because sutras so often started with something like, "The Buddha, after having spent the day in the forest in meditation, took his seat and called his followers together and said to them...." He said I was wrong, because someone who had achieved enlightenment never needed to meditate after that. It was illogical, he said--once you've reached the top you don't need to climb any more. I didn't argue with him, but later asked my Buddhist master about it. He agreed that I was right, "Vedanta and Buddhism are not the same," he said with a smile, "According to Buddhist thinking, any attainment, no matter how great, can be lost in a flash."

I don't have any claim at all to any special accomplishments when it comes to meditation or any of the special abilities that some sacred texts say come along with reaching this or that stage of enlightenment, but I do know beyond the slightest doubt that it is indeed possible to have all one has thought one has learned washed away, in not much longer than it takes a thrust of the incoming tide to wash away a sand castle. This is what has happened to me. I feel that I have had to start my meditation practice all over again, from the very beginning.

The great Bhakti texts of India, the sublimely beautiful poets of both north and south, speak with great fear and grief at no longer standing in the presence of the god or goddess they worship. I had not been able to imagine how intense this grief could be, until now.

It is said that the love and compassion of Kannon is always available to all, and I have never for a moment in the last thirty-six years doubted that. But it is possible that the intensity of the shame and guilt one feels at what one has done can become a wall of separation between oneself and Kannon. I had always believed that my love of Kannon was true and pure, but something happened which caused me to lose confidence in that belief, and there is now a barrier between us. Forgiveness. It must come from the injured, and from Kannon, and from oneself.

Standing now in front of the statue of Kannon at Ichijo-ji, I accept that the time has not yet come when I can forgive myself. I bow again before Kannon, and pray that all of those who are suffering may find some relief, that those who have caused suffering may become aware of it, and cease. That those who observe others suffering may help relieve it, that waves of compassion may spread among the billions suffering in countries spread around the globe, and bring enlightenment and relief, understanding and love, and forgiveness; and that healing may take place, that peace will grow, and smiles spread, and love bloom and grow and glow in the hearts of all living beings.

It is raining, and a statue of the Buddha holding a small child shines in the rain.

Xyj_guanshiyin

2006-10-04T00:41:00.000+09:00

Xyj_guanshiyin
Originally uploaded by WuShufei.

a beautiful picture.

Pilgrimage 71 - Approaching Ichijo-ji

2006-09-16T16:50:00.000+09:00

Blue the mists hovering in the distance,
blue the mists hovering in the distance,
seen briefly through the trees
of the foothill-hugging forest,
the trail cool,
dew glistening on the low bamboo gass,
as I slowly walk on and on.

Not reborn,
yet not alive as before,
in limbo
as the mists before me
are neither dew nor clouds.

Rounding a corner following the path along the edge of the forest, by the full green rice fields, I see an old wooden temple gate far ahead of me. Reaching it, I see it is the outer gate of Ichijo-ji, the 26th temple of the Saikoku pilgrimage. Founded in 649 by Houdou Sennin, who also founded the previous two temples, Ichijo-ji's main object of veneration is Sho-kannon, or Kannon in revealed non-esoteric form. The statue of Kannon is not open to the public. The attendants are Bishamonten and Fudo Myo-o.

There is not yet sign of the temple, however, and I continue along the trail.

On hearing of the death of a friend

2006-07-21T20:07:00.000+09:00

Hanging motionless
the sun turns the sky molten,
I just watch
then walk among the fields,
a startled egret flies westward.

http://books.guardian.co.uk/obituaries/story/0,,1822076,00.html?gusrc=rss

Pilgrimage 70 - Banshu Kiyomizu-dera 播州　清水寺

2006-07-05T02:47:00.000+09:00

Pilgrimage 70 -Banshu Kiyomizu-dera
Leisurely
dawn spreads across
the morning sky,
and wakes as birds sing
fluttering fresh green branches.

So long I've been here. But let me explain. Banshu is not your ordinary temple. This afternoon I feel as though I've spnt moths here.

Listening
my mind wanders across clouds
there your face
lingers above me and i pray
Kannon, oh, your mercy.

Today my wife and I walk around the area, both of us taking my little jaunts here and thre. I wander down along the ancient pilgrimage path, with her way up above me (in terms of mountain elevation) taking pictures.

It is so important for us to be together, as my mind strays back through the centuries.

Above
the stretch of hillside
you stand,
capturing beauty
among echoes of history.

This temple was first founded on the order of the Empress Suiko (r. 592-628 AD) in 627 by Houdou Sennin, a priest from India, who worshipped an eleven-headed Kannon there, with Bishamon-ten and Kissho-ten in attendance. I think of him, of how he may have found this place, far up a mountain side, along a valley that lies one "lane" behind that facing the inland sea, and Osaka Bay. According to the guide books, views of the inland sea are here on clear days, but the trees have grown so much I doubt even then it would be possible to see the Inland Sea.

The Indian Priest, whose name means Hermit of the Way of the Law, prayed found a pure spring far up a hill side and built his temple not far from it. Thus the name "Kiyomizu" - "Pure Water." The name of Sakanue no Tamuramaro, a famous general whose name is associated with the founding of the other Kiyomizu-dera on the Saikoku pilgrimage (temple number 16), has also long been associated with this temple.

Your sweet water
clings to me as mists rise
welcoming dawn
you turn and lift your leg against mine
snuggle, then fall asleep again.

In 725 AD, the Emperor Shomu (r. 724-749) ordered a very famous priest named Gyoki to build a lecture/sutra/training hall there, and Gyoki had a thousand-armed thousand-eyed Kannon installed as the main object of worship, attended by Bishamon-ten and Jizo Bosatsu. So today if you visit the temple, you will find two temples dedicated to Kannon. The first one you come to, the Koudo, or "Lecture Hall," is today the main place of worship. Destroyed again and again throughtout its over 1000-year history, this hall today holds a relativly new statue of Kannon Bosatsu that is usually open to the public.

My wife and I sit down in front of it, there are 6 - 8 people around us. "Namo Kazeon-bosatsu," I repeat (I take refuge in Bodhisattva Avalokiteshvara) . The words have no effect. It is not enough. There is more here. I must find it.

My wife gets up and goes out to to take pictures.

I sit, mind wandering through the place. I feel drawn to the other "main" temple, up a series of steps and across a short space. I go, enter, bow, pray, and can sit on the straw matting (tatami), then go further down into the inner sanctum. There are steps down to the earthen floor, in the old Tendai fashion.

Breathing in
your dawn spreads across my sky
smiling
the birds greet the mists rising
into a new summer day.

As though re-entering the womb, I stand still. It is an almost eternal stillness. My knees weaken and I sink against the wall and slide down to the floor. There is no need to hurry. The great Womb Mandala of esoteric Buddhism is on one side of me, but a tiny metal statue of bodhisattva is on the other. Although it is in a glass case, I smile and merely sit. There is a wonderful warmth here, and I have no desire to leave. The voice in my mind repeats the mantra, over and over. A peace spreads through me, but at the same time a sense of the horrors of this place. I let those feelings, and images, fill me, and pass on. What repains is the spirituality of place.

I feel I've been born once again. My mind goes back to Ishiyama-dera, and to what happened there.

Praying
that you may finally find peace
o errant warrior
who strayed beyond the pale,
I pray you repent of your sin.

A dragonfly
lifts off the lily petal
and heads towards
the sun as clouds come closer
it returns, and loooks at me.

Coming out of the "womb" as though again reborn, I walk around the temple grounds. The remains of a pagoda, destroyed by a terrible typhoon. Now just a few rocks mark the foundation.

A few steps down a forrested path there is a well. Amazing how these wells appear high up hillsides or mountainsides. I peer into its depths, and offer a prayer tha those who come here to worship may find what they are looking for.

This is a protected area--undoubtedly the spring was what drew the Indian priest here. I wonder if he was from Northern or Southern India, and the ragas of those regions fill me as I pray.

But there is a strange feeling here I feel I must track down. I'm not sure what it is, and so return to the "main temple." As usual there are several people there, some of them praying very devoutly to the pretty new wooden statue. A beautiful Kannon, with a peaceful smile tha fills me at the same time I begin to get visions of horror.

You prayed
body weak now against the storm
week agiainst anything
so long without food, or love--
lonely soldier.

A face fills me. Becomes me. Running for my life, with a few retainers. I know those long valleys, the way messages are passed so fast by the enemy. Ah. The pain fills me.

Here. This is the end.

I feel myself sitting down, pulling out my robe to expose the skin.
Taking out my sword
I look at the way the light shines off it
think of my wife and children
pray to Kannon for Mercy
then thrust quickly deeply
with all my might
into my gut
stab, pause, and then move to the right.
The blade is sharp enough to shave by.

The pain is intense, but that intensity only serves to encourage me.

(There is indeed an historical marker to the samurai and his retainers who committed "ritual sucide" here centuries ago.)

Oh Lord
your swift movements
astonish me--
lotus flower blooming
as the sun climbs into view.

I have been here so long. How many months? Winter has changed to spring. The cold winds have hit me, too, have blurred and numbed my senses till I have been unable to move at all.

So important is to feel this place, to let it fill me,
I see even now the slit gut the poured out intestines,
mirrored
by the young man in Iraq
(I will not say if he is in the US army or a young Iraqi the same age as my son
I will not value one over the other,
I will merely sit and watch
meditate
as the tears fall down from my eyes
along my cheeks.

Breathing in, breathing out
to retain composure,

I realize it is time to go.

The path along the right side of the temple (as you look out towards the Inland Sea) goes down the steps and reaches a broad fork. It is the right side that leads on to the next temple.

It is the fourth of July. As an American I remember the four of my father's ancestors who fought in the Revolutonary War for the 13 Colonies, and the 1 who sided with te British. I remember another of his ancestors who fought for the North during the Civil War, and the cousin who fought for the south at the same time. I pray for their souls, as my mind travels the many, many steps that lie before me.

A slight wind
saunters across the field
as though to greet me,
then spreads across the river
and up into the foothills.

So long still
your voice remains before me
as I start out
there is no time i do not hear you,
yet my ego still blocks your voice.

I find my wife, and we head home together.
The next temple is further down the valley.

Reaching Banshu Kiyomizu

2006-04-21T00:28:00.000+09:00

Banshu Kiyomizu
Originally uploaded by pilgrim02.

Melodious chanting
refreshes the pilgrim's soul,
the forest-dark path
left behind, the temple
appears as the sun's rays reach him.

Nearing Banshu Kiyomizu temple

2006-04-20T23:41:00.000+09:00

The Old Pilgrim's Trail
Originally uploaded by pilgrim02.

Softly fallen
footsteps tred upon the path
through the dark forest,
the sounds of the monks chanting
still distant, and yet so clear.

In meditation 興福寺にて

2006-04-15T23:43:00.000+09:00

In meditation 興福寺にて
Originally uploaded by pilgrim02.

The weary pilgrim
pauses along the way
to sit and meditate,
as the cherry blossoms fall
the warmth of spring goes stronger.

The Pilgrim's Trail

2006-03-17T02:21:00.000+09:00

The path less taken
upon the leaves of ages,
the fragrance of spring
comes on this morning's breezes
as I start out once again.

The Pilgrim's Trail
Originally uploaded by pilgrim02.

2006-03-05T00:15:00.000+09:00

Pilgrimage 69 - On to Kiyomizu-dera, part 2

Granite and sandstone
formed into hills and valleys
covered with pines
silhouetted by the sun
rising through their wind-stretched shapes.

Faintly in the air
is the fragrance of pine trees,
as the dawn breaks
there on a distant hilltop
glows the roof of a temple.

Pausing on the road
to watch the flowing river,
there among the rocks
a small purple flower has bloomed
and sways in the gentle wind.

Soft the old dirt path
that heads into the valley
and up the mountain,
so different from the hard asphalt
of the country highway.

Boulders sparkle
in the sunlight after the rain,
along the path
tiny rivulets gather
bits of glitter into smiles.

The Goeika (hymn) for this temple:

The Great Compassion!
Around every corner
and every place
there is nothing it misses-
the waves of this pure water.

2006-02-06T00:55:00.000+09:00

Pilgrimage 68 - On to Kiyomizu-dera

Leaves now gone,
the branches sway in the breeze
as the winds rise
birds settle on them briefly,
glance around quickly, then fly on.

The road on to the Twenty-fifth temple of the Saikoku Pilgrimage is a blessing thinly disguised.

Rather than double back a ways, I decide to go on down Route 49, and then follow the map carefully to walk along the lake, get to Route 309, then from there to 141 and finally to get on Route 311, which will take me to the pathway on up to the temple. At first, the road reminds me of the hills, lakes, and river in the hills around Austin, Texas. There is a sandstone quality about the dirt, and something about the level of the lake, about the size of the summer cabins that people have built there, some with boat ramps leading down to the lake that makes me feel a bit like I was back in Texas.

To reach Kiyomizu-dera is a good day's walk, through low hills and along long valleys. In the early fall the fields not only of rice but also of vegetables, especially black soy beans, a speciality of this area. In addition to that, the area is famous for its pottery, and every once in a while there is a pottery shop along the road, or a potter's kiln attached to a house set back away from the road a bit, nudging agianst the foothills.

As I walk my mind is filled with a Noh play that I have recently seen. Called "Mutsura," (and attributed to Komparu Zenchiku) it's main character is the spirit of a maple tree. The story begins with a priest who is travelling to the province of Sagami, to visit a temple named Shomyo-ji in order to see a maple tree the leaves of which do not change color in the autumn.

Arriving at the temple, he meets a young woman and begins talking with her. She explains the legend associated with the tree. When Fujiwara Tamesuke, a famous poet and the grandson of the Master Poet Fujiwara Teika, visited the temple he composed this 31-syllable tanka poem,

Itani shite / Kono hito moto ni / shigureken / yama ni sakidatsu / niwa no momijiba

which roughly translates as follows:

How is it a shower
has fallen only on this tree?
The maple leaves in
the garden have changed color
before those in the mountains.

(The poet expresses surprise that the autumn leaves on the maple have changed color before those in the mountains, and wonders whether or not it may have been due to a shower of rain. )

The woman explains that from the moment the spirit of the tree heard the poem, its leaves stopped changing color, remaining green, like the leaves of a fur tree. The priest is amazed at the power of the poem, which he compares to an offering to the gods. The woman agrees that the poem is indeed that. Then she goes on to explain that the spirit of the tree made the connection between this poem and a line from the Taoist classic, the Tao Te Ching. The line is at the end of the ninth section of that wonderful classic, and of course has been translated various ways.

"He who withdraws after achieving success and performing duty adheres to the Tao of heaven." (translated by Paul Lin, who adds this line of commentary by the famous Han period commentator Wang P'i (226-249), "The four seasons evolve in turn, each completing its role and then moving on." [A Translation of Lao Tzu's Tao Te Ching and Wang Pi's Commentary, by Paul J. Lin. MMCS 30 (Ann Arbor: Center for Chinese Studies Publications, University of Michigan, 1977) page 16.]**

The priest is very impressed by the story, and comments at how beautifully it illustrates the Buddhist doctrine that all living beings may attain enlightenment--which of course includes trees. The woman then reveals to the priest that she is in fact the spirit of the very maple tree they have been talking about. She asks him to return that evening and explain the teachings of the Buddha to her, and promises to reveal her true self to him at that time. When evening comes she does indeed return, and dances a beautiful slow dance for him. As she does she and the chorus take turns explaining the four seasons, and some of the natural changes that take place during each.

The Noh play has stayed with me since I saw it performed recently in Kyoto because has impressed upon me once again the fact that trees are really alive--that is, have consciousness, as do birds, flowers, . . . . and people. This is something I've always believed myself, and I can still remember the day I when I was in my mid-twenties when I discovered a thin yellow book in the library titled something like The Buddha's Law Among the Birds. It was the English translation of a Buddhist sutra which taught that both birds and trees can attain enlightenment just like people can. However, reading over the text of the Noh play after having seen it, and realizing the connection not only with the Tao Te Ching but also with one of the two earliest extant commentaries on that most basic of Taoist texts, I've also been struck anew at the integration of Buddhism, Taoism, and Shinto thought.

Walking through along these country roads thinking about nature and human beings, about how wasteful and careless we are with both, my mind turns to concern for the suffering of all living beings. The traffic light and the winter wind cold, and my mind wanders, my lips repeatedly mouth the mantra of Kannon slowly and easily to the beat of my feet against the pavement. Time passes by without my noticing it. Unfortunately, i also take a wrong turn and end up heading back towards Sanda. (My wife will quickly tell you I'm a great one for getting directions confused.)

Afternoon light falls
across the harvested fields
making sparklers
where the ice has not melted,
pauses, and then passes on.

As mists rise
a lone white egret inches
up the shallows;
finally he disappears
among the greys of evening.

Realizng that it will be impossible to reach the temple before it closes, I decide to find a place in Sanda to spend the night, and then get an early start in the morning.

As shadows grow
a figure looms from the field
long ago harvested--
then the clouds clear briefly, and
the moon and a haystack greet me.

** Some other translations,
Arthur Waley translates these lines as, "When your work is done, then withdraw! / Shuch is Heaven's Way!" [from the bilingual edition, titled Tao Te Ching, published by the press of Peking University of Foreign Studies, 1998, p. 18]
John C. H. Wu translates them as, "Here is the Way of Heaven: When you have done your work, retire!" [Tao Teh Ching. Boston: Shambala, 1990, p. 12.]
Ursula K. Le Guin's English version is, "To do good, work well, and lie low / is the way of the blessing." [Lao Tzu - Tao Te Ching - A Book About the Way and the Power of the Way. Boston: Shambala, 1998, p. 12.

2005-12-18T01:03:00.000+09:00

Pilgrimage 67 - Toko-zan Kazan-in Bodai-ji (東光山花山院菩提寺）

Wilderness derived,
these hills retain mystery.
Going up the path,
red and yellow glimmer from trees
where bush warbler sang, in spring.

Bodai-ji, a temple founded in the seventh century near the crest of Mt. Amida, about 400 meters (roughly 1300 ft) above sea level. The main object of worship is the Medicine Buddha (Yakushi Nyorai 薬師如来), although beside the small temple housing a statue of that buddha there is a Kannon-do, which is said to house a statue of a sitting eleven-headed Kannon （十一面観音）and a statue of the cloistered ex-emperor Kazan （花山法皇）more commonly known as Kazan-in (花山院).

From Nakayama-dera, Kazan-in is a good day's walk. Following highway 176 on to the west, then at Sanda branching off on route 37 and then 49, one is taken further and farther into the country. The roads narrow, approach the foothills, follow along rivers, valleysides, fields, houses. The one of the lakes around Kazan-in, especially, is developing as a place for people to build bungalos for summer retreats from the city. Central to this backcountry is a small mountain named Arima, called "Arima Mt. Fuji" because it resembles that famous mountain. From Kazan-in there is a beautiful view of this mountain, the lake to the left of it, and the range of hills in the distance.

Kazan-in is said to have lived here during the latter part of his life, and thus it's connection with the Saikoku Pilgrimage. It is the third of the three "extra" temples on the route. Kazan-in is said to have been followed here by a number of his ladies-in-waiting. Not allowed to go up the mountain to the temple, they lived as nuns at the base of it. The graves of eleven of them, and a monument to the woman whose death was instrumental in his decision to give up the throne, are located there, in a place now called "Inji," "nun's temple." It is said that on occasion these women would be allowed to go part way up the mountain and play the koto for the ex-emperor, and this place became known as "Koto saka," or Koto Slope. He is said never to have gone down to be with them.

Viens of valleys
as though an ancient handprint
left on a beach,
now filled with hesitant mists
waiting for the rain to come.

A small grove of trees
shelters small, ancient grave stones--
while through the pines
in the whisper of the wind
comes the echo of a harp.

By the tall reeds
where the river's water whitens,
a grey heron
hunched down against winter winds
motionlessly watches the flow.

One maple tree
protected by the others
is still green--
among falls brilliance
the calm glow of spring.

When the rain stops
and the fog begins to clear,
suddenly
Mt. Arima emerges
above an ocean of clouds.

Absorbed,
my mind becomes a compass
drawing an arc
soaring high as a brown hawk
then gliding across the landscape.

An inlet of clouds
with a few mountain islands
begins to shimmer--
both the past and the future
fade as the sun reappears.

Leaving the narrow highway and heading up the road to the temple, my mind goes back over Kazan-in (968-1008), and his life. There is a connection with my own in that he was closely associated with the first classical poet whose works I studied in some detail -- Fujiwara no Kinto (966-1041). That was thirty years ago, and at that time I was more interested in Kinto's use of waka as an aid to meditation than I was in Kazan-in and the pilgrimage. The weather is grey, and I am worried that it may rain.

Arriving at the temple precincts, I purify myself by pouring water over my hands and rinsing out my mouth, then go on through the gate and up the steps to the area where the temple buildings are. First, I go over to the small temple dedicated to the worship of Kannon, take off my shoes, and go up to pray. Noticing that the sliding door to the inner shrine is partly open, I go inside, sit down on the straw mats, and pray. My mind fills with images of this place, of Kazan-in, and of Kannon. As an incredible warmth fills me, I pray for all those who are suffering, that they may find peace. While I am in there the rain starts.

After waiting for a bit, I decide to go on out and look around. To the right of the temple is a small pond, in which is a tiny temple--no doubt to Benzai Ten (Sarasvati, worshipped in Japan as the protector of pure water), and further to the right the main temple, which is dedicated to the worship of Yakushi Nyorai. I pray there as well, also for the relief of suffering. Then I go over to the tall monument and collection of smaller monuments or grave stones. The tall one is dedicated to Kazan-in, who is said to have died at this temple. I pray there as well, and then go back to the Kannon temple and head to the left, past several shrines, to the priest's quarters and another temple building. From this small complex the view must be spectacular. The rain is falling harder now, and I lean against the steps up to the veranda of the temple building, in order to keep out of the rain. The warmth which I felt when praying at the Kannon temple has stayed with me. Indeed, the intensity of the spirituality of the place continues to grow in me. I feel that if someone were to invite me to stay there I would immediately say yes.

Standing looking out into the vast emptiness of space that I know is there but which is now completely enveloped in fog, an image of the ex-emperor Kazan comes clearly to mind. I see him there, looking out into the fog as I am now, day after day, season after season. He died when he was 41, as did my brother. I pray for his peace, and for that of my brother, and his three daughters. I pray again for those who are suffering, for those who have caused suffering, both knowingly and unknowingly. For a brief period of about fifteen minutes the rain stops and the sky partially clears. Mt. Arima emerges, an island above an ocean of clouds. (In fact, the Japanese call these clouds "unkai" -- cloud ocean, so I'm merely translating, not making up a nice image. :) ) The view is breathtaking. I feel an attachment to this place unlike any of the temples I have visited so far. I let it grow on me, absorb it into me, feel it entering not merely my soul but my whole being, and know it will stay with me when leave.

When the rain lets up again I head down the hill, but by the time I reach the highway the rain is falling harder than before. Close by there is a bus stop with a small shelter, and I sit on the bench out of the rain and wait for it to let up. Adjusting my posture, I begin to meditate, and continue my prayers.

It is late afternoon when the rain lets up and I can continue on my journey to the next temple on the pilgrimage route, temple 25, Kiyomizu-dera (Mitake-san). This temple was founded by Hodo Sennin, the same man said to have founded Kazan-in Bodai-ji.

For pictures of Kazan-in Bodai-ji and Mt. Arima (which has a height of 374 meters, or 1227 ft. ), see 秋の花山院（２）[= Kazan-in in Autumn (2) ]
http://www.mars.dti.ne.jp/~osami/inpaku/photo/photo018.html
(I haven't been able to determine the name of the photographer, but it may be Osami)
or 番外　花山院　("Unnumbered," or "Extra" Kazan-in)
http://www.kansaihokenlife.co.jp/part/saigoku33/kazanin.htm

For a picture of a modern koto, with the names of the various parts of the instrument given in both Japanese and English, see
http://www.geocities.jp/futamiya_gakki/kototisiki.html
Exactly what kind of koto these ladies would have been playing in the eleventh century is a matter of some dispute. There were several differnt kinds of koto -- of varing lengths, with varying numbers of strings.