{Shikoku Hachijūhachikasho Meguri}

--Thoughts after finishing the pilgrimage
and returning home--

I almost feel as if i have fallen into some kind of time warp since returning. On one hand, as i slide further and further back into the office routine each day it feels more and more like i was never gone. Or, at least, like i was there so very long ago. Yet, on the other hand, it seems like just a few short weeks ago that i was standing at Temple 1, on day one, and wondering about what was to come - what i would find, what experiences i might have, who i might meet, and what discoveries i might make at each of the 108 temples. It is hard to believe that i was asking those questions more than two months ago.

As i mentioned on numerous occasions in my journal, throughout the trip time, and how it was perceived, was one of the experiences that continually brought itself to my attention. Not surprisingly, i have brought those perceptions home with me and i think i look at time differently now. Not in any far-sighted or philosophical way, but in the more immediate and pragmatic "What are you doing with your time right now" type of way.

I am more aware of time now than i was when i left for Japan in late March. More aware of its presence and my immersion in it. More aware of how i interact with it and how i use it (or, all to sadly, how i don't use it sometimes). It is common sense that we only live in that one split instant called now. We don't live in the past and we don't live in the future. Those two things are just words we have developed to explain chemical memories of that now that has already past and chemical imaginings of that now yet to come.

I've read about that distinction on numerous occasions, but for the first time in my life, i was privileged to spend an entire two months really living in the now. Living now from instant to instant, all day long, day after day, week after week, for two months. And for me it was a powerful experience. If you do it, you come to understand that we as humans truly abuse the short time we are given to live.

To offer a crude analogy, compare the total time allotted to each of us in this life to a large sum of cash. At birth we are given the cash and told we can do with it as we please (within certain lenient rules, of course). If we really went out and spent the money wisely we could buy countless wonderful things, go to countless fascinating places, and help countless needy people. It is unimaginable all the great things we could do if we concentrated our efforts and tried to spend all the money and to spend it wisely.

What most of us are doing, though, is spending the vast majority of our time looking through past transactions in our bank book and recalling what a wonderful time (or rotten time) we had when we spent this money and that money. Then we waste more time dreaming about how we might spend more in the future in this way and that. But, in the end, we really aren't spending much of the money allotted to us. We are so busy recalling past transactions and dreaming about what we would do if..., that we have no time left over to actually go out and spend much of the cash that is sitting in our pockets.

Most of us are treating the time allotted to us in exactly the same manner. What we should be doing, however, is concentrating on how we spend each second of our lives right now, right this instant, as each instant occurs. I'm not sure i can imagine how much better this world would be if each and every one of us were able to do that. The possibilities are probably endless.

Because i had too much time on my hands (i'm sure some would phrase it like that) i did spend a lot of time on this trip wondering about those typical questions like who i am, where i am, and where i am going. I'm not at all sure, though, that i came up with any new answers to them. Even before leaving i already had a fairly good handle on the first two; it's the last of the three that always blocks the road.

Surprisingly, one of the lessons i didn't learn during the walk was that of perseverance. Before starting i wondered if i would find myself faced with the task of forcing myself to continue each day even though i wanted to stop. However, i found that i never once woke up and had to force myself to continue. I never didn't want to walk. The entire trip was never reduced to a continuous series of "just one more day." I enjoyed the walking aspect of this trip from day one and enjoyed it no less when i finished on day 54. If it weren't for the pain in my feet, i could easily have continued around the circle and kept walking instead of stopping at Temple 1 when i did.

No, i learn more about perseverance each week here in Chicago. I deal with that issue every day, every week, and every month as i force myself to continue my Japanese language classes. It is a rare month that i don't want to quit and throw in the towel. It is a rare month that i don't wonder why i continue and why i put myself through the stress and headaches of nightly studying. What's the use? I don't use it. It provides no benefits and is a lot of work and frustration.

But, each year, while i'm in Japan on vacation, i appreciate the results of those efforts. As my ability to communicate increases and my ability to do more, see more, and understand more increases year after year, i see very clearly why i continue and why i will have to continue continuing for many more years to come. You get from life what you put into it. The more you invest, the more you get back. By investing my time and energies in these studies, Japan gives me back ten-fold the rewards in return. Maybe even one hundred-fold.

I would still like to study the history and culture of the temples some day. I would still like the chance to talk to the head priest at each of the temples to see how the pilgrimage has changed since Oliver Statler did the same thing over 20 years ago. But that is something i did not learn on this trip.

No, i'm not sure if i learned any new lessons. What i did do, though, was to have several old lessons reemphasized. Lessons that i learned long ago but have started to forget as i live the comfortable, American, hurry-up-and-get-there, take-what-you-can-when-you-can, he-who-dies-with-the-most-toys-wins life in a large US city.

Am i a better person for having accomplished what i did? I don't think so. I'm probably still the same old goof that i always have been.

I have, however, made new friends and am, therefore, a richer person than i was before starting this endeavor. I met some fascinating people during my walk and that has strengthened my faith in mankind. I met kind, generous, warm, and caring people every day of the walk and this has encouraged me.

I have also accrued a large debt for the generosity that was given to me. It would be wrong, in my mind, to have accepted that generosity and not to try and repay it in some way. There is no way i can repay it to the thousands of anonymous people that i met on Shikoku so i will have to repay it to others that i meet.

I would like to think that i have been a henro for a lot longer than just the past two months. I would like to believe that even with all the stumbling and tripping over my own feet i have been following the general direction of the path for a good many years now. But, on Shikoku, a henro is a special person. A person above the everyday fray and therefore expected to be and do more than the average person. Did i live up to the expectations? When i received settai, when i was greeted on the street, when i was invited into people's homes, when i was asked for my opinions in conversation, did i uphold the henro tradition? I'll never know. But i do know that i was who i am, each and every time. I can only hope that that was enough.

Comments, criticisms, questions, and the like are always welcome. In fact, i would love to receive them. (Contact Information). Have a good day.

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