10.10.13

I have officially entered the monastery. I am now living in a small Zen Buddhist temple in Obama, a small seaside town in the Fukui prefecture. Here, locals revere two figures: Barack and the Buddha. Bobbleheads of our American President line the windows of the quirky shops and restaurants of the two streets comprising “downtown.” Buddhist monasteries and Shinto shrines dot the town’s periphery, nestled within mountains. It is autumn, so the mountains are starting to turn color–auburns, crimsons, and golden rods are sweeping across. Within these mountains, monkeys find their home, frequently coming down to the monasteries to steal the Buddha’s offerings at the altar.

I now belong to a family of 7 old monks and live in a cute little temple built in 1508. The monks like to proclaim that it is older than America. Sometimes I feel like I am Snow White living with 7 dwarfs. Either that, or I joined a Zen fraternity! Let’s see, there is Genshu, Genpo, Ryoko, Kogen, Kogak, Dharma, and Dojo san. Each monk has his own distinctive personality trait. One is even always sleepy! During our meditation sessions, he always gets whacked with a wooden stick by the assigned sleep patrol of the day. Often the sleep patrol is Genpo san, a Polish monk who towers over the other monks by three feet. Despite their unique personality traits, they all have a special sweetness, a childlike sensibility, which exudes a lighthearted atmosphere to a place dedicated to such a serious practice and tradition.

My day begins at 3:50 am, when the senior monk rushes through the old wooden hallways, ringing a bell. Once a week, during bath days, I get to sleep in and wake up at 4:50 am. We have now begun the training period for the winter Rohatsu session, the most intense time of training of the year. Since it gets cold, real cold, outside, the monks do nothing but eat, sleep, and sit, barefoot, until the winter thaw. So I too sit on my round, black zafu cushion, facing the wall, focusing on my breath, one by one. For such a simple act, it is surprisingly difficult! Often, I find my mind wandering around, thinking about the future, trying to devise a concrete plan. Once, at 4 am, I even found myself thinking about powdered sugar doughnuts–the cheap kinds wrapped in cellophane sold at gas stations. So one thing I am learning is how wild and ridiculous the mind can be: how it is always grasping for answers, for certainty that could not be given to me now. As evidenced by the doughnut case, how the mind devises the silliest distractions to keep me from living in the beautiful present–where life takes place and the happiness of childhood is found.

Besides meditation, my days revolve around chanting and samu, or, daily work. Most of the time, samu comprises of cleaning, weeding, or koronaoshi: sifting through small pots of incense and flattening the ash down with delicate tools. Although these acts sound mundane, they are not chores. Rather, they are a form of Zen practice, to be done as mindfully as possible. Weeding is not the typical yank, pull, or herbicide spray. Rather, it’s picking each small shoot of clover one by one and feeling the snip snap of its roots loosening beneath the pebbles–hearing the soft “tuh tuh tuh” of their roots breaking through. Cleaning is not the quick vacuum or thoughtless swiffer wipe. Rather, it’s feeling each stroke of the broom sweep against the stone path, each stroke made with intention. In between morning and afternoon samu, I have a few breaks where I go hiking through the mountains or bike to the sea. Sometimes, I just chill over tea with the monks. The other day, I asked Genshu san, a monk of over twenty years and my best friend, “Do you know who Kate Middleton is?” He responded, “Who?”

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