No Instructions Necessary
I guess I was born a closet drama-king, destined to follow my own path no matter what. On the first day of kindergarten I didn't feel like hanging out with the other kids, so I just left the classroom. I took a walk down to the corner market, bought some candy, and sat on the curb to watch the cars go by. Eventually, the school called my mom to pick me up. It was definitely not a prolific start to my academic career.
Years later, as my 25th birthday approached, I decided that that would be the perfect day for me to take off for Japan. I had no goals, no job lined up, no friends there, only some vague notion of holing up in a zen temple somewhere. After a week of staying in a youth hostel, I set out to find a temple listed in a guide book as pretty "foreigner friendly." Just finding the temple was hard enough. The Japanese system of addresses makes absolutely no sense to anyone, even the Japanese themselves. I circled the neighborhood on foot, dragging my suitcase behind, for what seemed like hours. Most people either stared blankly or walked quickly away when I asked for directions in my broken Japanese. I guess it didn't help either that I was wearing typical California surfer boy clothes in a country where no one surfs. I must have looked very strange.
They were polite enough at the temple. They took out a mattress for me that probably hadn't been used in several years and plopped it on the tatami floor. Too tired to care, I dropped onto it and passed out. I awoke later, in the middle of the night, my lungs on fire with dust-fueled asthmatic spasms. I got up and went to the next room to see if someone had any medication. The poor guy I woke up spoke not a word of English. I still remember the look on his face and his palms held up quizzically in the air. I could tell he really wanted to help me, but in the end I gave up and decided it would be easier and take less time to go back to my room and die.
Promptly at four a.m., I was awakened by what sounded like a lunatic running through the temple hallways, ringing a large bell and shouting a wake-up call. Half asleep, I stumbled through the pitch-dark hallway (no lights allowed on) and found my way downstairs to the courtyard. Apparently, it was time for "morning calisthenics." Okay, this was new and interesting...
After exercises we filed into the dojo for zazen. No problem there. I had a nice long sit. Then we were assigned cleaning duties. Someone handed me a towel to clean the polished wooden floor with. I bent to the task, starting at a far corner of the very large room. A monk took the towel from me and simply said, "no." He got down on his hands and knees, towel held in front of him, lifted his butt in the air and ran from one end of the room to the other as if on rails. Now I was learning...
Now it was time for breakfast. After all the morning activity, I was starved. As servings were passed around, I let my hunger get the best of me and took large portions. After only about two minutes, I noticed that everyone else was already finishing their meal and preparing to collect their bowls up. The head priest banged his mallet on an oak stump and everyone bowed and filed out. They turned out the light, leaving me all alone in the dark to contemplate the comings and goings of a confused young mind.
Living and learning by your own wits is not the easy way to go, but in the zen life, it's the only way.
Years later, as my 25th birthday approached, I decided that that would be the perfect day for me to take off for Japan. I had no goals, no job lined up, no friends there, only some vague notion of holing up in a zen temple somewhere. After a week of staying in a youth hostel, I set out to find a temple listed in a guide book as pretty "foreigner friendly." Just finding the temple was hard enough. The Japanese system of addresses makes absolutely no sense to anyone, even the Japanese themselves. I circled the neighborhood on foot, dragging my suitcase behind, for what seemed like hours. Most people either stared blankly or walked quickly away when I asked for directions in my broken Japanese. I guess it didn't help either that I was wearing typical California surfer boy clothes in a country where no one surfs. I must have looked very strange.
They were polite enough at the temple. They took out a mattress for me that probably hadn't been used in several years and plopped it on the tatami floor. Too tired to care, I dropped onto it and passed out. I awoke later, in the middle of the night, my lungs on fire with dust-fueled asthmatic spasms. I got up and went to the next room to see if someone had any medication. The poor guy I woke up spoke not a word of English. I still remember the look on his face and his palms held up quizzically in the air. I could tell he really wanted to help me, but in the end I gave up and decided it would be easier and take less time to go back to my room and die.
Promptly at four a.m., I was awakened by what sounded like a lunatic running through the temple hallways, ringing a large bell and shouting a wake-up call. Half asleep, I stumbled through the pitch-dark hallway (no lights allowed on) and found my way downstairs to the courtyard. Apparently, it was time for "morning calisthenics." Okay, this was new and interesting...
After exercises we filed into the dojo for zazen. No problem there. I had a nice long sit. Then we were assigned cleaning duties. Someone handed me a towel to clean the polished wooden floor with. I bent to the task, starting at a far corner of the very large room. A monk took the towel from me and simply said, "no." He got down on his hands and knees, towel held in front of him, lifted his butt in the air and ran from one end of the room to the other as if on rails. Now I was learning...
Now it was time for breakfast. After all the morning activity, I was starved. As servings were passed around, I let my hunger get the best of me and took large portions. After only about two minutes, I noticed that everyone else was already finishing their meal and preparing to collect their bowls up. The head priest banged his mallet on an oak stump and everyone bowed and filed out. They turned out the light, leaving me all alone in the dark to contemplate the comings and goings of a confused young mind.
Living and learning by your own wits is not the easy way to go, but in the zen life, it's the only way.
posted by David H at 12:46 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home