{Shikoku Hachijūhachikasho Meguri}

--Back Home--

I love the henro trail because it reminds me how true these words are. Of course i can also see this while back home in Chicago, but the distractions common to all of us in our daily lives tend to overwhelm this awareness and drive it into the background. While on the trail, however, those distractions are absent. Materialism isn't part of your daily routine. Consumerism isn't what motivates you. Greediness is all but absent and, instead, you are offered generosity, kindness, and love. I/Me/Mine is minimized and We/Us/Ours is maximized. In other words, the clouds of delusion that normally obscure our eyes dissapate and the clear skies of wisdom are right there for us to see.

That's what Ryōkan is telling us. What's important to him, what makes life worth living, isn't what he owns. It isn't a big fancy temple. It isn't riches in the form of money. It isn't whether the townspeople think he is a big shot monk. What makes life interesting is the cherry blossoms blooming in the spring. What makes life interesting is the radiantly bright full moon in September. What makes life interesting is a game of kickball with the kids in town on his way home from begging. What makes life interesting is being alive and appreciating that fact.

Henry van Dyke is quoted as saying: "The best rose bush, after all, is not that which has the fewest thorns, but that which bears the finest roses." LIfe is like that. All roses have thorns. All people have problems. What decides if you have a good life is not the scarcity of problems, but the beauty of how you live with, around, and amongst the problems you have. Ryōkan's hut was robbed, completely cleaned out. But, instead of being angry, he felt sorry for the thief because that thief didn't realize that he didn't steal the most prized possession in the hut — the beautiful moon shining in through the window. Ryōkan got no food on his morning begging round, and had nothing to eat that day, but he wasn't angry, he didn't think life wasn't fair, he rejoiced because he had another day to see the cherry blossoms bloom.

When i walked the trail in '99, i met an American ex-pat from Michigan who was living in Okayama, Japan. Kevin was paying his bills by teaching English at the time, but his living was studying Shingon Buddhism. Before we met at Zentsuji, he had apparently been reading parts of my journal because while we ate lunch he gave me some calligraphy he had written for me that said "Don't search for the footprints of the men of old, search for what the men of old sought." It hangs on my wall at home to this day; on a wall that ensures that i see it several times each day.

Gomyo Daisho, as Kevin has since been renamed, is now a monk and well along that trail that countless "men of old" have walked prior to him. He translates Gomyo as 'Enlightenment Mystery,' but i rather fancy Mysterious Enlightenment instead. In either case, though, it's a good name for someone who's seeking that same mysterious raison d'etre that Kūkai was when he quit the university and headed home to Shikoku a little over 1,200 years ago.

For those that haven't read this on other pages of this site, Kūkai was of an aristocratic Shikoku family and was sent to the university so that he could serve the imperial court and reclaim the rights and privileges that his family had lost in recent years. While there, he spent his days studying Confucianism and the Confucian classics. What he did with his nights and time off, however, must have been completely different because within a few years he defied his family and all social norms and customs by dropping out of the university and leaving for the mountains of Shikoku where he began a life and death struggle to get to the heart of Buddhism.

That struggle didn't begin with a trip to the many large and famous temples in Nara. It didn't begin with a trip to the feet of the many Buddhist masters already living at those temples. It didn't begin with an immersion into the ancient sutras and commentaries stored in the Buddhist libraries. It didn't begin with a search for the men of old. It began, like it begins for everyone, with a search for what those men and women sought; with a focused struggle to find and maintain an awareness of this very moment. That moment that has no past, has no future, is neither hot nor cold, is neither sad nor happy, is neither alive nor dead. That moment that containes the entirety of what it means to be alive, that moment when we see the kite swoop to the sea, but before we label it as beautiful, that moment where the deep, sonorous waves of the temple bell wash over themselves as they sit on a cushion in the shade of a tree on an isolated mountain. That moment measured in units of a breath, some long and some short, but each fully alive and aware of what it means to be here, now.

And once he found that moment, he found that it held the key to the door into the most important gap in the universe. That gap that leads to freedom and peace and wisdom. Ryōkan found that key too. Gomyo may have found it, but certainly has seen glimpses of it in his search. I read recently "We must 'be' before we can 'do,' and we can 'do' only to the extent which we 'are,' and what we 'are' depends upon what we 'think.' (The Master Key System; Charles Haanel). This could have been written by any Buddhist, even though it wasn't. By controlling our thought, we determine who we are. Who you are determines what you do. And what you do determines the life that you live. But, this all starts with understanding what it means to 'be.' It all starts by looking for this very moment, and truly understanding that un unobstructed view of that is what lets you work with all the thorns you poke yourself with in all the other moments of your daily life.

James Allen says in his great little book As A Man Thinketh (read it !), "Only by much searching and mining are gold and diamonds obtained, and man can find every truth connected with his being if he will dig deep into the mine of his soul. That he is the maker of his character, the molder of his life, and the builder of his destiny, he may unerringly prove if he will watch, control, and alter his thoughts, tracing their effects upon himself, upon others, and upon his life and circumstances, linking cause and effect by patient practice and investigation. And utilizing his every experience, even the most trivial everyday occurence, as a means of obtaining that knowledge of himself which is understanding, wisdom, power. In this direction is the law of absolute that 'He that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.' For only by patience, practice, and ceaseless importunity can a man enter the door of the temple of knowledge."

That resonates exactly with so many passages in the Dhammapada, but i'll only copy one of them, from 'The Way' chapter: "Master your words. Master your thoughts. Never allow your body to do harm. Follow these three roads with purity and you will find yourself upon the one way, the way of wisdom." We can only do/say to the extent that we are, and what we are depends on what we think. It will take a lot of searching and mining to uncover the key, but once you have it, and once you dare to open the door it controls, and once you dare to turn your shoulders sideways and squeeze through the gap beyond, the cherry blossoms and the moon will never look the same again.

Except on Mondays when the alarm goes off an you wake up realizing that life includes having to go back to work again............

At which point you go back to "The best rose bush, after all, is not that which has the fewest thorns, but that which bears the finest roses."

And you go back to your breath.

And you smile.

And you remember the henro trail.

And you see that the beauty of the rose is much more important and much more meaningful than the pricklyness of the thorns.

And you see that spring has come again and cheery trees bloom in the mountains.

That's why i love Shikoku. Shikoku remindes me to make the effort to see that and to appreciate it. Shikoku gives me the ability to develop the skill to do so. Shikoku reminds me to love life.

Do i avoid the inevitable by not going to Shikoku next year and going somewhere else? I have never been to Kyūshū and need to go there someday. Do i go there next year and postpone the walk through Kagawa Prefecture until '09? Or do i go back and finish? The dilemma has me thinking about Shikoku even more than i usually do. It has me thinking about my relationship with the henro trail, in general and on Shikoku in particular. Which has, i imagine, The Holy Man laughing his butt off.

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

Return