Book review: Thank you and OK! (1994)

Do it yourself enlightenment

American Zen practitioner David Chadwick went to Japan in 1988, lived in a monastery for six weeks, taught English for two years, then went home and wrote a book. His description of monastic life is a fascinating account of a world about which little is written in English, the rest of his life less so. Chronicles of language teachers in Japan fill the cut-out bins of discount book sellers.

There have been some small changes in the twenty years since Chadwick trained at Shogoji, a Soto Zen temple in Kumamoto prefecture (which the author makes a thin attempt to veil by changing the name to Hogoji). A sodo (a dedicated mediation hall) and shuryo (study hall) have been added, and cooking is now done with gas instead of wood. But otherwise life on the mountain remains much the same. There is still no electricity, the kitchen is dangerously dark, poisonous centipedes are hunted with murderous intent, and practice remains remarkably sterile.

One of Chadwick's Zen mates, an American monk with a decade of Japanese Zen experience, confides that “the purpose of training in Japanese Zen temples isn't to help you along the path to enlightenment – it is to cultivate you into a refined and obedient Japanese priest for Japanese temples.” Having attended the 2008 training at Shogoji, this reviewer can verify that the purpose of the training remains precisely the same. (See my entries here on the 2008 Shogoji Ango.)

Chadwick's memory of an incident at the San Francisco Zen center is particularly revealing of the decline in Zen training. A gathering of senior American priests requested Katagiri-sensei, an important player in the introduction of Japanese Zen to the United States, teach them how to do dokusan, the practice of private interviews with students. Katagiri-sensei said he couldn't help them. That he had never been taught himself. That his teachers never taught dharma. They would have to figure it out for themselves, as he had.

There's certainly something to be said for being the source of your own enlightenment. The Buddha said as much in his parting message. But where, then, is the need for temples and priests?

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Shogoji 2008 International Ango: Pt 6

It was suggested that by leaving the ango early I was avoiding dealing with boredom.

When we arrived so much was new and different and only after a couple of weeks would I fall into the rhythm and pattern of life at the temple and begin to experience the frustration born from lack of fresh stimuli. It seems to me, though, that I don't need to hang out at a temple to deal with boredom. It's what I've spent the better part of life dealing with. In fact I'd guess that's what most of us deal with – putting up with our jobs, with our homes and all the routine work that goes into maintaining them, putting up with the places we live, the commute to work, the paperwork at the job, office politics, etc., etc. I've dealt with my boredom in some rather unskillful ways, but my experience at the temple suggested that we would not be introduced to a method for managing boredom, but would be left to find our own way. Which is exactly what I'm doing in my life outside the temple.

In the end I was asking myself, what is the purpose in staying? To say that I had completed the full ango? You don't need to finish a mediocre film or meal to know that it's not likely to get better. To fulfill an obligation to the other ango participants to practice as a group? I liked the people I was with and can understand that some might prefer I stay, but impermanence is after all one of the central tenets of Buddhism.

Someone compared the ango to a ship and the participants to a crew. Only working together can the crew sail the boat to its destination. What was left unsaid was that though the group may sail the boat to its destination, everyone must walk ashore on his own.

Thank you and OK!
Shogoji 2008 International Ango: Pt 5
Shogoji 2008 International Ango: Pt 4
Shogoji 2008 International Ango: Pt 3
Shogoji 2008 International Ango: Pt 2
Shogoji 2008 International Ango: Pt 1
Shogoji 2008 International Ango: Pt 0

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Shogoji 2008 International Ango: Pt 5

Our American Zen priest helped facilitate communication between the Japanese monks and the visiting foreigners. He kept us informed, made sure we knew where we were supposed to be and what we were to be doing. He was, in all practical respects, the engine that kept the ango moving. It seemed to some of us, though, that he sometimes tried too hard, that he was trying to be more Japanese than the Japanese themselves.

He set us up early for anxiety by stressing in his opening orientation that while Westerners tend to make allowances for beginners, Japanese expect perfection from day one. That may seem shocking to some of you. It was to me. But in a sense, he is correct. Japanese are anxious perfectionists. They'll go to great lengths, and worry to extremes, about getting it right – whatever “it” might be. But only the most insensitive parents, teachers, coaches or tutors expect their charges to be perfect from the very start. Japanese do make allowances. What is important is a proper attitude, to have sincere yaruki, to gambaru. It's not so much that you have to get it right the first time; you have to be seen to be making the effort to get it right.

Within the cultural and religious context, though, it wasn't my place to question or argue. Inside a week most of us were sleeping poorly after nights filled with anxiety laden dreams, nightmares in which we found ourselves called on to do something important for which we were not prepared. One of our number appeared to be something of a perfectionist and for a few days could be found walking with head down, snapping at us when communication was necessary. Another was subject to nocturnal communication, verbal manifestations of dreams about some of the stressful situations in which we found ourselves. One night he seemed to be making tea and wanted to know what to with the water. Another night he sat up and gave a self introduction.

The unrealistic level of expectation was exacerbated by an inadequate system of instruction, itself a product of having too many learners and too few teachers. The plan was for the first four days to pair the foreigners with a monk, who would teach each of us one job. The foreigners would thereafter be responsible for teaching each other. Normally new monks might not do these jobs for a year or two after entering a training monastery. They'd have ample to time to observe and absorb before being called on to perform, and there would be a large number of senior monks on whom they could call for instruction, revision and assistance. We had none of those advantages and after week two it became clear that the foreigners hadn't learned their jobs completely and were in many cases passing on erroneous information. The low point in the process was a lecture to the group in which we were admonished for not properly learning our jobs. The lack of feedback from monks was acknowledged, but we were nevertheless made to feel as if we were poor students for having not grasped our lessons properly from the outset. The delicious irony was that our instructors were each teaching from their own playbook. That very evening we gathered for a complete rehearsal of morning service only to find the monks contradicting and correcting each other. So much for getting it right the first time.

It seemed to me by week three that I might as well be practicing zazen at home in Fukuoka. I hadn't been with Mutsumi for more than 6 weeks of the previous 10 months and if what our teachers were telling us were true – that the practice of zazen is more than what takes place on the meditation cushion, that zazen is the daily practice of mindfulness in all things – then I thought I might as well be practicing at home with Mutsumi than with the men and women at Shogoji. I might as well be cooking and cleaning for her than for the monks. I might as well be practicing my thangka drawing and painting than tea ceremony. Living with Soto monks and sharing their daily routines was an interesting experience. I'm glad I did it and knowing what I do now I'd make the same decision. But I wouldn't chose to do it a second time. At least not under the same conditions.

Shogoji 2008 International Ango: Pt 6
Shogoji 2008 International Ango: Pt 4
Shogoji 2008 International Ango: Pt 3
Shogoji 2008 International Ango: Pt 2
Shogoji 2008 International Ango: Pt 1
Shogoji 2008 International Ango: Pt 0

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Shogoji 2008 International Ango: Pt 4

One of the more interesting aspects of the ango was having a chance to interact with Japanese monks. I studied and lived along side Tibetan and Bhutanese monks in Nepal, but in Japan I've only had the chance to see them in more formal settings.

It may come as a surprise to some, but monks are just like you and me. Some are monks because they want to, others because they were in some way compelled or coerced. The monk in his early 20's at Shogoji told us straight out one night in the bath, after asking him about his experience as a monk, that he hated Shogoji, he hated the food there, and he hated zazen. Then he asked us who was the stupider, Brittany or Paris? He himself preferred Paris, but Brittany was a close second.

This young man is still in training and he was feeling the stress of having to complete his own studies, prepare for two retreats following ours, plus support and assist in our ango. He took robes (as ordination is known) in order to be able to take over his family's business of running the neighborhood temple. Do to the circumstances of history, Japan's network of Buddhist temples served as a kind of national registry to which every family had to belong. The registry was abolished only after WWII, but the temples still exist, as do long-held ties of families to temples, which are run much like businesses and passed down from father to son. This young man said that when his father recently passed away, one of his first official religious duties was to preside at his funeral. It was, he said, the first time he was glad to have entered the monastery.

The other Japanese monk was about my age and less forthcoming on his reasons for leaving secular society, where he was an engineer as well as a school teacher in east Europe. He was the most organized and efficient person at the temple, the man to see if you had any important questions or something that needed to get done. While he put on a serious face when working, he enjoyed joking about. In the bath he would squirt water from his hands and teach the foreigners Japanese slang. There was for days afterwards on one such occasion jokes about practicing the shakuhachi. The smell from him each morning, though, was strong and worrisome. The foreigners marveled at how he was able to function after so much alcohol and so little sleep.

There was one other fellow I got to know a bit while sewing in Nagasaki. He was working in the kitchen, just behind the door where I sat with about two dozen grandmothers sewing robes and rakusu. During his free time, this friendly 30-something, a family temple priest with a wife and child, would plop down next to me and pass the minutes and sometimes hours chatting with the only foreigner in the room who could carry on a conversation in Japanese. We talked about everything and anything in no particular sequence, just whatever popped into his head. There were many questions about life at Shogoji; he seemed surprised we were living in such primitive conditions. He was most concerned at this time in being able to watch all the Indiana Jones movies on DVD before going off to the theater to see the newest release.

The other monks at the Nagasaki temple we didn't get to know so well. There were a lot more of them, which meant less time per person, and we didn't spend so many hours together. Most of them were busy supporting us, who were spending the days sewing. The one chance we had to socialize were the nightly after parties, which some of my Tibetan monastic friends would be amazed to attend. The range of alcoholic refreshments was ample: beer, happoshu, shochu, sake, umeshu, and wine. Like everything else at the temple, they were given a fixed time and slotted into the schedule. They didn't drag on, as these things often do, until you had to excuse yourself. Everyone still had to get up at 05:00 the next morning and so they ended fairly promptly by 23:00.

Shogoji 2008 International Ango: Pt 5
Shogoji 2008 International Ango: Pt 3
Shogoji 2008 International Ango: Pt 2
Shogoji 2008 International Ango: Pt 1
Shogoji 2008 International Ango: Pt 0

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Shogoji 2008 International Ango: Pt 3

It was in the third week that I first considered leaving the ango. Others might imagine the lifestyle difficult, but except for the daily grind of sitting seiza through ceremonies and meals, the schedule and the activities were not excessively challenging. Maybe its my age and I'm getting used to living with difficulties and inconveniences. A younger me could not have put up with a lot of the stuff that went on in a typical day at Shogoji. It may also be that seven months in Nepal and India, plus five weeks walking around Shikoku toughened me up a bit. The biggest challenge seemed to be finding meaning in what we were doing.

We sat zazen every morning, except for days ending in 4 and 9 when we got up at five instead of four and sat only a perfunctory 10 minutes. Many days this is all the zazen we sat. The rest of the day was taken up with rehearsing the morning, noon, and evening services; practicing how to eat formal meals; practicing tea ceremony; sewing robes; cleaning the temple and temple grounds; and attending lectures about how to sit zazen. The main focus of the ango seemed almost entirely on form – how to dress, how to sit, how to stand, how to enter and exit rooms, how to talk, how to eat, how to use the toilet, how to take a bath, how to sleep, how to clean, how to ring the bells and strike the drums. All of which is very interesting and especially useful for those planning to become - or thinking about becoming - monks. After a few weeks, though, it left me feeling empty.

I was completely compliant in the process. I took up every request gratefully. I never complained or pulled a disappointed face, even after poor management of the scheduling left me with kitchen duty for seven of the 22 days I was at Shogoji. (In fact I was told after announcing my intention to leave that I had been a positive influence on the ango.) It wasn't so much what we were doing or what I was asked to do that made me want to leave. It was the absence of context that left me feeling hollow, that left me feeling I was doing things only because that's the way they're done, not because doing them leads to anything more than doing things differently. There were no inspiring lectures about Bodhi-mind, compassion, or awakening the heart of a Bodhisattva. While there were hours of practice moving around the temple, ringing bells and banging drums, there was no explicit instruction in cultivating mindfulness. Perhaps that was intentional. Perhaps we were supposed to be able to come such understanding on our own. If so, then maybe I'm the fool for not having gotten it.

Shogoji 2008 International Ango: Pt 4

Shogoji 2008 International Ango: Pt 2
Shogoji 2008 International Ango: Pt 1
Shogoji 2008 International Ango: Pt 0

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Shogoji 2008 International Ango: Pt 2

The weather when we arrived at Shogoji was wonderful. Not too hot and little rain. But by week two we were living inside a cloud. Even when it wasn't raining it was wet and colonies of mold and mildew could be found growing on the cloth wrapping of our bowls.

Our day started at 04:00 with the beat of a drum and the ringing of a bell. We then had 15 minutes to put away our bedding and wash up before a 40 minute session of zazen. That was followed by morning service, breakfast, daily cleaning, and formal tea. There was often a short break before work, which took us up to the midday ceremony and then lunch, after which we had a longer break of about 90 minutes. More work in the afternoon broken up by an informal tea break, then evening service, dinner, bath, zazen, and lights out at 21:00.

The work hours, called samu, were intended as periods of outdoor labor, a kind of meditation-in-action during which we would be weeding, raking, pruning, or chopping wood. There were a couple of days of this, but because of bad weather and other events we spent most samu at lectures or sewing rakusu. The making of the symbol of the Buddha's robes is a special interest of our leader from Alaska, who scheduled us to participate in a three-day rakusu sewing circle in Nagasaki. In preparation, we spent about a week of samu getting a head-start on our projects so that we could complete them during the event.

We also practiced chanting and how to dress and carry ourselves for takahatsu, the traditional practice of begging for alms. Because Shogoji is located at the top of a mountain, a car is required to get from the temple to nearby towns and cities to practice takahatsu. This meant only a few of us could go at any one time and because of the poor weather takahatsu was canceled several days running. Three of us, including me, didn't have a chance to do takahatsu until we arrived in Nagasaki for our sewing event. I was a bit nervous to begin with but after a few moments lost myself in the rhythm of the chanting. I understood then, as I began to understand on the pilgrimage, one of the appeals of the clerical life - a tremendous level of respect from complete strangers.

Shogoji 2008 International Ango: Pt 3
Shogoji 2008 International Ango: Pt 1
Shogoji 2008 International Ango: Pt 0

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Shogoji 2008 International Ango: Pt 1

I returned to Fukuoka 26 June, thirteen days before the official end of the retreat. I'll explain why in a future post, but for now I thought I'd start with a bit of background.

I was the last foreign participant to arrive at Shogoji on the afternoon of 31 May. Altogether there were ten of us, two ordained monks and eight laity. The temple is currently home to three monks, two Japanese and one Spanish. (I should note, I suppose, that Japanese Buddhism is a bit confusing when it comes to distinguishing between monastics and priests. I will henceforth refer to all of them as monks, except in cases where I am sure they also function as priests. Please forgive the imprecise usage.)

We were there for an ango (literally, “peaceful dwelling”), the traditional rainy season retreat for monastics, a three month period of study, work and meditation. Shogoji's international ango has been shortened to forty days to accommodate the busy schedule of foreigners. Participants are accepted as full members and are expected to participate as if ordained.

Most of us arrived with experience of temple services and ceremonies, including those from the Anchorage (Alaska) Zen Community, where our leader for the ango, Koun Franz, is resident priest, as well as from Zen centers in the US midwest and Pacific northwest, and from South America. I believe I was the only who had to learn it all from scratch.

Our first ten days were set aside as a training period, during which time we learned how to live in the temple, from waking to sleeping and everything in between. We also began studying to take on temple roles, learning how to ring bells, beat drums, chant, and move about during services and ceremonies. There was a series of lectures on the practicalities of sitting zazen – preferred temperature and lighting, size specifications for cushions, how to fold your legs and hold your hands, how to get to and from the cushion, how to do walking zazen between bouts of sitting – in addition to another explicating the daily schedule of the monastic.

Besides learning the three daily services (morning, noon, and evening), we also rehearsed for a number of special ceremonies, such as the official opening of the ango, our first entrance into the sodo (where we would sleep and sit zazen), a special ceremony for one of the foreigners who would begin the process of full ordination at our ango, and a robe-taking ceremony for myself, in which I would be conferred with a rakusu, a bib-like robe, as well as a dharma name. (If you'd like to see a bit of the rakusu ceremony as performed at Shogoji, video from a previous ango has been posted here and here).

Shogoji 2008 International Ango: Pt 2
Shogoji 2008 International Ango: Pt 0

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What's next?

Now that my pilgrimage is complete, a few people have asked what I'll be doing next. You might not be terribly surprised that it doesn't involve English teaching.

Beginning May 31^st I'll be joining a meditation retreat at Shogoji temple in Kumamoto prefecture, right here on the island of Kyushu. The retreat is an annual event for overseas Zen students to practice in an authentic Japanese monastic setting. To learn most of what I know, you can have a look at the temple's English language web site here: http://www.shogoji.com.

Photo from Kumamoto prefecture website

I first learned about this retreat from one of the artists at our CD shop, Australian jazz pianist Tom Vincent, who visited with us for a day in Fukuoka on his way to Shogoji two years ago. While in Nepal I applied for a position, but as one of the requirements is a recommendation from a Zen teacher, and I don't have one, I wasn't really expecting a positive reply. I now count myself fortunate.

There appears to be little about the temple on the internet, in either Japanese or English. Two that I have found are here and here. The only other person I know of who will be in attendance is an American Zen priest, who appears to be acting as the guide for the foreign participants.

I won't be able to tell you much about my experience until after it's over. The temple apparently has limited electricity from solar collectors, so except for emergency phone calls, I'll be out of contact until mid-July.

It will be a bit of a change, from walking everyday to sitting everyday, but I'm looking forward to it, especially more hours of daily meditation and quiet mindfulness.

Enjoy the next few weeks. Remember me if you can. I'll be back here again in July.

_/|\_

gassho

Shogoji 2008 International Ango: Pt 1

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