Each of you has come to see me, crossing the borders of more than ten provinces at the risk of your life, solely with the intent of asking about the path to birth in the land of bliss. But if you imagine in me some special knowledge of a path to birth other than the nembutsu or of scriptural writings that teach it, you are greatly mistaken. If that is the case, since there are many eminent scholars in the southern capital of Nara or on Mount Hiei to the north, you would do better to meet with them and inquire fully about the essentials for birth.
As for me, I simply accept and entrust myself to what my revered teacher told me, “Just say the nembutsu and be saved by Amida”; nothing else is involved.
I have no idea whether the nembutsu is truly the seed for my being born in the Pure Land or whether it is the karmic act for which I must fall into hell. Should I have been deceived by Master Honen and, saying the nembutsu, were to fall into hell, even then I would have no regrets.
The reason is, if I could attain Buddhahood by endeavoring in other practices, but said the nembutsu and so fell into hell, then I would feel regret at having been deceived. But I am incapable of any other practice, so hell is decidedly my abode whatever I do.
Tannisho Chapter two
The past week has been very interesting on my search for the Big E. Although it was a relatively short travel week, I was pretty relaxed after spending a few days with Carmela at Disney World.
Disney World is a model for how we will have to reopen after this pandemic allows us to. Everyone is masked both indoors and outdoors, social distancing is everywhere, the lines are marked for everything from drinking fountains to restaurant waiting rooms. The boats and buses were divided up into plastic-protected booths for small groups of 2 or 3 people. It was a nice break after having been on the road for a while. I lose track of time.
During the previous two weeks we had traveled through the heart of Dixie, an area of the United States I know very little about, yet have read and seen so much of second hand, from movies like “Gone with the Wind” and “To Kill a Mockingbird” (Atticus Finch, we could use you now) to William Faulkner novels and even the Andy Griffith Show.
Learning about the Civil War and the Civil Rights movement, and now actually visiting some of these locales, it was wonderful to see the actual places that these events happened, such as crossing the bridge in Selma and driving through to Montgomery Alabama and seeing the civil rights monument, created by a young Chinese American student. We stopped and stayed overnight in Rohwer, Arkansas where Japanese Americans had been imprisoned. Seeing the endless cotton fields, the trees with Spanish Moss hanging from them, I tried to imagine what it would have been like for Thurgood Marshall to drive on these backroads to come upon fellow African Americans, lynched and hanging from those trees. As I drove, as is my way, I listened to the book “The Good Lord Bird” by James McBride, which won the National Book Award for fiction. It is a story about a young teenage boy named Henry Shackleford, who was the only living survivor of John Brown’s raid at Harper’s Ferry in 1859.
Driving for hours and hours gives me lots of time to think. This week I realized I could never live in the South, not because of the systemic racism; in fact, the people I met there were much kinder than I imagined they would be. I could never live there because of the heat and humidity. It’s close to November and it is still hot and humid.
The stereotypes of Southerners as either very slow and easy going like Sheriff Andy Taylor or Uncle Jed Clampett from the Beverly Hillbillies, to the other extreme of running around half crazed like Barney Fife or Granny, I believe is the result of the weather. This kind of heat and humidity makes you either very slow or agitated and upset. I think I would probably lose my mind in this heat and humidity.
However, yesterday I learned a lot.
I had been anticipating for quite some time about going to Harper’s Ferry. Unfortunately, some directional miscalculations caused us to get there late. It should have been only about a thirty minute drive from where we were camped, but it ended up taking us a few hours of driving through John Denver’s “Country Roads” of West Virginia. Although not unpleasant, it was a bit challenging in a 26 foot RV. When we got close to Harper’s Ferry, we discovered how it was so crowded, with traffic backed up over a mile just to get to the site and the shuttle buses from the parking lots to the Harper’s Ferry monument area were jammed full. So we passed, going instead to the Visitors Center, stopped along one of the country roads, did a service for John Brown’s sacrifice and to all the people who have died in the name of equality and human rights.
Then my personal epiphany came as we were driving to our RV park in Delaware and stopped at a toll booth in Maryland. As I was driving, and listening to the Good Lord Bird about John Brown, a true religious fanatic, I thought about Shinran and the followers that walked ten provinces just to ask him about his faith and practice, as expressed in Chapter two of Tannisho, which I began this morning’s talk with. I think walking ten provinces, hundreds of miles, in medieval Japan, risking bandits and wild animals is a lot harder than driving a Mercedes RV across America.
As I was thinking about how I sure didn't like the South very much, and I was in Maryland en route to Delaware, to me it meant leaving the South, going into our 23rd State, almost half way through the 48 contiguous states. At this toll booth, in front of me was a car from South Carolina. I wasn’t too crazy about South Carolina, since it had so many Trump Signs and it felt oppressive. On the license plate of this car were the words, “In God We Trust.” I thought to myself, if it is in God they trust, what is it with this racism. As I was thinking these negative thoughts about this unknown person and state, I pulled up to the toll booth.
The attendant said, “Your toll has been paid.”
I said, “excuse me.” He had a mask on, so I thought I misunderstood, he explained, “That lady in front of you paid your toll. No charge.
At that moment, I realized, it is me that has all the bias and prejudice. It is me that is in hell. I am the one who creates this systemic racism. I have the problem of thinking so badly of unknown and unseen people. As Shinran said, “If I could attain Buddhahood by endeavoring in other practices, but said the nembutsu and so fell into hell, then I would feel regret at having been deceived. But I am incapable of any other practice, so hell is decidedly my abode whatever I do.”
This is where I am, who I am. But because of Amida Buddha, there is no charge, there is no need for anything but “Namo Amida Butsu.” To that lady, I say, “Thank you whoever you may be. Thank you for the lesson and the toll.”
Maybe the Big E is not so far and as I have been physically experiencing, by riding along in my RV, which has the license plate “Karuna,” Sanskrit for “compassion.” Yes, I am being carried along on the back of Compassion. This foolish, prejudiced, ignorant being is carried along by enlightenment and the search for the big E has been completed by Amida Buddha. I am carried by others, in spite of my ignorant self, to the other shore of the Big E.
I hope you have a good week, stay safe and be kind to one another. Wash your hands.
I would like to close in honor of the lady from South Carolina, with her state’s motto: “Dum Spiro Spero” which is translated from the Latin as, “While I Breathe, I hope.” Namo Amida Butsu.
Yes, I can breathe to say Namo Amida Butsu. Maybe our life is to work so others may breathe also.
~ J.K. Hirano