For a religion that frowns on intellectualization and reveres silence, Zen sure has a lot to say. Explaining the unexplainable has its particular charm and any Zen master worth his salt wants a crack. Some have succeeded more than others. Here’s a brief survey of some of the better books in the Zen canon:
Zen Buddhism: Selected Writings of D.T. Suzuki – If anyone is capable of illuminating the msterious, of making the incomprehensible at least cogent, it is D.T. Suzuki, the man largely credited with bringing Zen Buddhism to the West. Suzuki’s writings provide a balance between “Zen the unknowable” and practical Zen. The book points out a fundamental problem with humans–intellectualization–and explains how Zen solves this problem. Suzuki discusses koan and other Zen instruction methods, but won’t take you right onto the meditation cusion. This is a book about the nature and limitations of intellectual understanding.
The Three Pillars of Zen by Philip Kapleau – Meticulously practical, Kapleau’s classic takes the focus away from any mystical notions of Zen. The opening section tells the beginning Zen student how to breathe, sit and focus the mind during zazen practice. The next section describes Yasutani-roshi’s private conferences with ten Western Zen students. Yasutani is seen compassionately listening and advising these students rather than whacking them with a stick. The conversations reveal both the seriousness and confusion of these Zen practitioners.
The book talks much of satori–Zen students are urged on like race horses towards awakening. At times, however, it feels like the demystification of Zen and enlightnment has made it too ordinary, little more than a moment of “aha!” clarity, or a good idea.
Zen and the Birds of Appetite by Thomas Merton – Merton, a Trappist monk, manages to remain true to his Christian faith while providing keen insights into and appreciation for Zen. Nirvana, he writes, has been misunderstood by he West, leading many to see Buddhism as a world-denying religion. He does much to dispel this myth.
The book’s final section explains Zen in Japanese art. “In traditional Japanese art,” Merton writes, “we find no divorce between art and life or art and spirituality.” The Zen discipline of tea ceremony, for example, rather than involve stiff social formalities as many Westerners imagine, is actually a spiritual expression of art itself.
The Way of Zen – For many, Alan Watts’ classic is still the authoritative text of Zen by a Westerner. Watts emphasizes that Zen is a way and not a religion. His criticism of the dualistically trained mind is delivered clearly and forcefully. He explains that he West’s conception of mind is too limited and intellectual: The Chinese word hsin (kokoro in Japanese or “heart” in English) includes the totality of our psychic functioning.
The Japanese aesthetic is also explained. The true artist expresses the reality of sabi, aware and other moods with no fixed goal to accomplish. “The purposeful life,” Watts cryptically writes, “has no content, no point. It hurries on and on and misses everything.”
Zen and Comparative Studies by Masao Abe – Masao Abe, while not a Zen superstar, has put together a masterpiece for those with a serious interest in Buddhism. Abe provides a fair comparison betwen Buddhism and Western religions, explaining where they fundamentally differ and merge. His precise and learned explanations give the reader a deeper understanding and appreciation of Christianity as well. Abe cogently tackles good and evil, emptiness, the concept of self and God, lends clarity to these difficult topics, giving them historical relevance, practical value, and a context within Western thought.
Abe also places Buddhism in the context of Shintoism, and Zen in the context of Buddhism. “Japanese have traditionally esteemed the individual fact rather than the universal principle.” Abe’s historical and religious explanations illuminate much about Japanese people’s feelings about truth and God, as well as enhancing the reader’s understanding of Buddhism.
Zen Masters – John Stevens celebrates the lives of three Japanese Buddhis legends: Ikkyu, Hakuin and Ryokan. Once, legend goes, a mountain priest (yamabushi) performed a ritual to conjure Fudo Myo-o, a fierce diety. Crazy Ikkyu promptly put out the diety’s fire by urinating on it, proving that the body is the greater miracle.
Ryokan, who died in 1831, grew up in the “snow country” of present-day Niigata Prefecture. His mother was born on nearby Sado Island, famed for artists and eccentrics. Ryokan, like Hakuin and Ikkyu, took a vow of poverty and stuck to it. He begged for alms and ate whatever was offered. He shocked some by begging at brothels, and even played with the ladies when they weren’t busy. He so loved all creatures that he slept inside a mosquito net–but stuck his leg outside to provide food for mosquitoes. The book is well researched and informative, with numerous poems by the three masters.
Archive for the 'zen' Category
Big smiles, beautiful beaches, snorkeling and diving, full moon “raves,” hill tribe trekking… Thaliand is known for many travel delights. But what about a ten-day Buddhist retreat? A growing number of travelers are opting for spirtual Thailand.
“I want to give you the best of Thailand,” the abbot of Suan Mok told us several times, his kindness and goodwill obvious. For ten days the 130 or so interim monks–we even took vows–contemplated dharma talks, meditated while sitting or walking, ate and slept–all in silence–and did not much else.
The first challenge comes early, 4:30 am to be exact, when the bell ringer incessantly clangs the bell for wake up. He keeps at it for 15 minutes, building loudness, always with a touch of noisy creativity. I would stagger out of my “room”–more aptly called a cell for its barred-window, boarded-over concrete cot, and view of the courtyard–and in less mindful moments, made jingles to amuse myself:
“Woke up, got outta my cell Cursed the man who rang the bell Took a walk outside and had a sit The abbot spoke and I went into a trance… Ahhhhhahah…”
At that point my mind would, for some reason, “play” Genesis’ “Supper’s Ready” rather than a continuation of that Beatles classic.
The days passed from meditation session to meditation session. From a day one or day two perspective, ten days seemed a veritable mountain of time, a massive stretch of bleak, but potentially fascinating desert. Nothing but ten days of unstimulating sameness and the chatter of my own mind.
The abbot introduced “Anapanasati,” which can be translated, “to take one truth or reality of nature and then observe, investigate, and scrutinize it within the mind with every inhalation and exhalation.” The Anapanasati system is at once simple and profound. Certain concepts, like seeing the breath as a sort of body are difficult to grasp, but the main idea is for the practitioner to try. With ten days of unbroken silence the chance is there to find a space within that’s deeper and quieter than normal.
This ten-day retreat is a lighter version of Vipassana courses offered throughout the world, including one in Kyoto. Suan Mok has less required sitting, offers bananas at dinner time, and takes a more lenient view towards speaking. We certanily had time to rest evidence by the whopping 25 naps I snagged (yes, I counted). The naps were a natural consequence to mindfully laying down after meal times. Thus Suan Mok, while it provides a worthwhile challenge, is the best place for first time retreatants to start.
Suan Mok is not far from Koh Samui where many go to party. Like the mainland, these island paradises offer something for those inclined for spirituality or cleansing. Some travelers opt for sipping coconut juice on the beach while trying a one or two or even three week-long fast at the Healing Center. The Center is particulay popular with Kyoto’s foreigner community. Whether a traveler works these in between raves, or makes it his path, either way I’d say that spiritual Thailand is the very best of a great country.
Ten-day Anapanasati meditation retreats are offeed from the first of every month in the town of Chaiya.
“I want to give you the best of Thailand,” the abbot of Suan Mok told us several times, his kindness and goodwill obvious. For ten days the 130 or so interim monks–we even took vows–contemplated dharma talks, meditated while sitting or walking, ate and slept–all in silence–and did not much else.
The first challenge comes early, 4:30 am to be exact, when the bell ringer incessantly clangs the bell for wake up. He keeps at it for 15 minutes, building loudness, always with a touch of noisy creativity. I would stagger out of my “room”–more aptly called a cell for its barred-window, boarded-over concrete cot, and view of the courtyard–and in less mindful moments, made jingles to amuse myself:
“Woke up, got outta my cell Cursed the man who rang the bell Took a walk outside and had a sit The abbot spoke and I went into a trance… Ahhhhhahah…”
At that point my mind would, for some reason, “play” Genesis’ “Supper’s Ready” rather than a continuation of that Beatles classic.
The days passed from meditation session to meditation session. From a day one or day two perspective, ten days seemed a veritable mountain of time, a massive stretch of bleak, but potentially fascinating desert. Nothing but ten days of unstimulating sameness and the chatter of my own mind.
The abbot introduced “Anapanasati,” which can be translated, “to take one truth or reality of nature and then observe, investigate, and scrutinize it within the mind with every inhalation and exhalation.” The Anapanasati system is at once simple and profound. Certain concepts, like seeing the breath as a sort of body are difficult to grasp, but the main idea is for the practitioner to try. With ten days of unbroken silence the chance is there to find a space within that’s deeper and quieter than normal.
This ten-day retreat is a lighter version of Vipassana courses offered throughout the world, including one in Kyoto. Suan Mok has less required sitting, offers bananas at dinner time, and takes a more lenient view towards speaking. We certanily had time to rest evidence by the whopping 25 naps I snagged (yes, I counted). The naps were a natural consequence to mindfully laying down after meal times. Thus Suan Mok, while it provides a worthwhile challenge, is the best place for first time retreatants to start.
Suan Mok is not far from Koh Samui where many go to party. Like the mainland, these island paradises offer something for those inclined for spirituality or cleansing. Some travelers opt for sipping coconut juice on the beach while trying a one or two or even three week-long fast at the Healing Center. The Center is particulay popular with Kyoto’s foreigner community. Whether a traveler works these in between raves, or makes it his path, either way I’d say that spiritual Thailand is the very best of a great country.
Ten-day Anapanasati meditation retreats are offeed from the first of every month in the town of Chaiya.
‘This isn’t for everyone,’ John Cantor’s sensei informed him, referring to the ancient art of ninjutsu. But for a small group of men meeting weekly in Tsuruhashi, ninjutsu is more than a martial art. It is also a way to deal with the challenges of everyday life.
Ninjutsu, renowned for stealth, shrouded in mystery, steeped in legend and popularized with cartoon animation, may in fact be far more down to earth than most would imagine. Cantor explained the principles that ninjutsu practitioners should strive to live by:
Ninja, who were principally spies, often fought for their village, against the aristrocracy. Ninja were in fact the elite of elite, capable not only of enduring great pain, but also of using their bodies and ordinary objects in extraordinary ways. Training for would-be ninja began early, usually from around five years old, and included training for balance and endurance as well as ninjutsu techniques. Legends of ninja’s mystical powers can be tracd to antiquity in Japan. Many of the more fantastical claims about the ninja’s powers can be easily explained, says Cantor.
“Imagine you’re a proud samurai warrior,” Cantor suggests. “You’re riding horseback when you’re bushwhacked, overpowered and robbed by a man in black. What story are you going to tell when you return to the castle? Of course you’re going to describe a being of magical powers, one who changed form to overcome you. This way the warrior retained a semblance of face, and these stories multiplied over time.”
Ninjutsu practice differs from most martial arts in that it has no fighting matches for advancement–one aspect of ninjutsu that turned Cantor on to it some 13 years ago.
Hatsumi-sensei, who lives in Noda, Chiba Prefecture, is a Japanese “living treasure” for his knowledge and skill ninjutsu. Cantor has often had the opportunity to study with Hatsumi-sensei in Japan, and was encouraged by him to set up a dojo in Osaka in 1992.
The Bujinkan Kansai International Dojo is a branch of a worldwide organization with over 5,000 members. Australia, Europe and America all have a significant number of practitioners. Not surprisingly, ninjutsu is practised rather seriously in Israel as well.
Would-be practitioners must conentrate on technique until the movements flow naturally, without thought. During the Saturday morning practice, the class practiced various rolls, and striking and dodging techniques. The technique of ninjutsu, to a large extent, focuses on body knowledge. Cantor notes that mainly, ninja were not trained to fight, but to strike and run. Everthing practiced has an aim towads practicality, towards usage in actual combat situations rather than competition. Practicality, in fact, is a key principle for bujutsuka. The other four include individuality–following one’s own path fearlessly; versatility; achievement; and practicing for “the benefit of all concerned.”
Some of the ancient weaponry, like the collapsible bamboo poles for scaling walls (shinobikumade), the starlike objects thrown on the ground to injure a pursuer’s feet (makibishi), and the sicle-like object for binding and killing adversaries (shinobigama) are still practiced with today. While the weaponry is obviously archaic, the self-dfeense principles learned can be applied to everyday objects, like lampcords and combs.
The Saturday class achieved a level of relaxed concentration, with laughter occasionally breaking the intensity, and the more skilled practitioners squared off with newcomers.
As much as the bujutsuka’s art is physically demanding, in the end it’s the mental development–the warrior’s philosophy–that more deeply depicts the path of ninjutsu. Cantor explained that one studies ninjutsu in order to study the self, to live more naturally, to transform oneself. The group is introduced to meditation techniques in the dojo and are encouraged to practice at home. At the back of the training manual, in large letters, is a quote from the Japanese Edo warrior/philosopher Yusan reminding the Bujutsuka of their true aim:
“The idea most essential to the warrior is that of death, which he ought to hav before his mind day and night, night and day from dawn first day of the year until the last minute of the last day of it… Think of what a frail thing life is, especially that of a warrior. This being so, you will ome to consider every day of your life your last and dedicate it to the fulfilment of your obligations.”
It’s no wonder that approximately 95% of new students drop out in the first year. Bujutsuka in Japan are aware of–and thankful for–the improbability of actually applying their physical defense practices. Cantor stresses that ninjutsu is really about success in life. Rank in ninjutsu–which isn’t influenced by competition–not only involves mastery over an array of weapons, movements, and the study of strategy, but also of living a full, successful life. This ability to achieve success seapartes the ranks of practitioners at the level of 5th dan and above.
The perseverance needed in pursuing an art with the loftiest objectives clearly motivates Cantor. With all the profound quotes that Cantor has encountered, and that surround the art of ninjutsu, the simplest had the the greates impace on Cantor’s life. “John, keep going,” Hatsumi-sensei implored. “Keep going.”
Ninjutsu, renowned for stealth, shrouded in mystery, steeped in legend and popularized with cartoon animation, may in fact be far more down to earth than most would imagine. Cantor explained the principles that ninjutsu practitioners should strive to live by:
- Patience comes first. Stephen Hayes, the renownd ninjutsu expert, has noted that ninjutsu can be translated into “Even if you hold a blade over my heart, I will persevere. I will succeed.”
- The path of man comes from justice.
- Renounce avarice, idolatry and obstinacy.
- Experiencing sadness and worry is natural. The practitioner, however, seeks the “immovable heart.” One must make the heart and spirit clean; one must strive to comfort people.
- Ninjutsu practitioners–or “bujutsuka”, nowadays preferable to “ninja” for the many associations people make with the latter word–must not stray from the path of loyalty and brotherly love.
Ninja, who were principally spies, often fought for their village, against the aristrocracy. Ninja were in fact the elite of elite, capable not only of enduring great pain, but also of using their bodies and ordinary objects in extraordinary ways. Training for would-be ninja began early, usually from around five years old, and included training for balance and endurance as well as ninjutsu techniques. Legends of ninja’s mystical powers can be tracd to antiquity in Japan. Many of the more fantastical claims about the ninja’s powers can be easily explained, says Cantor.
“Imagine you’re a proud samurai warrior,” Cantor suggests. “You’re riding horseback when you’re bushwhacked, overpowered and robbed by a man in black. What story are you going to tell when you return to the castle? Of course you’re going to describe a being of magical powers, one who changed form to overcome you. This way the warrior retained a semblance of face, and these stories multiplied over time.”
Ninjutsu practice differs from most martial arts in that it has no fighting matches for advancement–one aspect of ninjutsu that turned Cantor on to it some 13 years ago.
Hatsumi-sensei, who lives in Noda, Chiba Prefecture, is a Japanese “living treasure” for his knowledge and skill ninjutsu. Cantor has often had the opportunity to study with Hatsumi-sensei in Japan, and was encouraged by him to set up a dojo in Osaka in 1992.
The Bujinkan Kansai International Dojo is a branch of a worldwide organization with over 5,000 members. Australia, Europe and America all have a significant number of practitioners. Not surprisingly, ninjutsu is practised rather seriously in Israel as well.
Would-be practitioners must conentrate on technique until the movements flow naturally, without thought. During the Saturday morning practice, the class practiced various rolls, and striking and dodging techniques. The technique of ninjutsu, to a large extent, focuses on body knowledge. Cantor notes that mainly, ninja were not trained to fight, but to strike and run. Everthing practiced has an aim towads practicality, towards usage in actual combat situations rather than competition. Practicality, in fact, is a key principle for bujutsuka. The other four include individuality–following one’s own path fearlessly; versatility; achievement; and practicing for “the benefit of all concerned.”
Some of the ancient weaponry, like the collapsible bamboo poles for scaling walls (shinobikumade), the starlike objects thrown on the ground to injure a pursuer’s feet (makibishi), and the sicle-like object for binding and killing adversaries (shinobigama) are still practiced with today. While the weaponry is obviously archaic, the self-dfeense principles learned can be applied to everyday objects, like lampcords and combs.
The Saturday class achieved a level of relaxed concentration, with laughter occasionally breaking the intensity, and the more skilled practitioners squared off with newcomers.
As much as the bujutsuka’s art is physically demanding, in the end it’s the mental development–the warrior’s philosophy–that more deeply depicts the path of ninjutsu. Cantor explained that one studies ninjutsu in order to study the self, to live more naturally, to transform oneself. The group is introduced to meditation techniques in the dojo and are encouraged to practice at home. At the back of the training manual, in large letters, is a quote from the Japanese Edo warrior/philosopher Yusan reminding the Bujutsuka of their true aim:
“The idea most essential to the warrior is that of death, which he ought to hav before his mind day and night, night and day from dawn first day of the year until the last minute of the last day of it… Think of what a frail thing life is, especially that of a warrior. This being so, you will ome to consider every day of your life your last and dedicate it to the fulfilment of your obligations.”
It’s no wonder that approximately 95% of new students drop out in the first year. Bujutsuka in Japan are aware of–and thankful for–the improbability of actually applying their physical defense practices. Cantor stresses that ninjutsu is really about success in life. Rank in ninjutsu–which isn’t influenced by competition–not only involves mastery over an array of weapons, movements, and the study of strategy, but also of living a full, successful life. This ability to achieve success seapartes the ranks of practitioners at the level of 5th dan and above.
The perseverance needed in pursuing an art with the loftiest objectives clearly motivates Cantor. With all the profound quotes that Cantor has encountered, and that surround the art of ninjutsu, the simplest had the the greates impace on Cantor’s life. “John, keep going,” Hatsumi-sensei implored. “Keep going.”
Once, in the presence of my friend Robert, I told a Japanese friend that I thought tai-chi wasn’t really a martial art. Robert’s eyes widened and he forced me to utilize my defense tacics to parry his verbal blows. Robert teaches tai-chi in California and knows there’s much more to this ancient art than the slow rhythmic movements that most people are exposed to.
For my part, I wasn’t just referring to second-hand knowledge. I had spent many weeks in America “grasping the sparrow’s tail” (the one move I still remember) and trying to gain fluidity, grace, and tune into the mysterious Chinese concept of “chi.” My sensei never even implied that I would ever be able to ward off an attacker or spar successfully with a Thai kick boxer, as I later saw Robert do. It all depends on your brand of tai-chi, and your teacher.
The comparatively recently developed Yang style tai-chi places the emphasis on slow, fluid movements to enhance the flow of chi, heal the body, and sharpen the mind. Practitioners are encouraged to relax, a key element of Yang style. For a beginner, it’s hard to shake cynical tendancies, the feeling that the moves are utterly ordinary–and for the biginner they probably are. One friend parodies tai-chi moves by doing it while snatching glances at his watch. But when you watch an accomplished teacher–like Kyoto’s Muranaka-sensei–gracefully flow through the movements, you know there’s profound learning for those willing to stay with the art.
Muranaka-sensei teaches Chen-style tai-chi. Chen-style, which is also referred to as “big style,” places more emphasis on stability, stretching and extending. Muranaka-sensei explains that the practice is not about copying movemnts, but about cultivating energy. Each person necessarily has a different experience and a different result.
Unlike many martial arts where practitioners seek the physical power and technique to defeat opponents, tai-chi is not about defeating your opponent, nor is it even about developing physical power. Tai-chi legend holds that about 800 years ago Zhang San Feng saw a magpie fight a snake. He marvelled at the fluidity and sofness that the animals displayed and, after retreating to a hermitage to experiement with forms, developed tai-chi chuan after several years. Thus, a modern tai-chi axiom states, “Use four ounces to deflect 1,000 pounds.” One should attack through yielding and use your opponent’s momentum and change its direction.
For those with a bent towards Eastern philosophy, there’s a treasury of profound thinking in this tradition. Chi, also known as prana, or in Japanese ki, is the primal force of the universe that is said to pervade everything. An advanced practitioner strives to cultivate the three treasure of Chi-kung: jing, chi and shen. Jing is the base energy, crudely stated as sperm or ovary energy. The advanced practitioner draws jing overflow up the spine, transforming it into chi. The transformative process peaks (but continues as a cycle, replenishing jing) when chi transforms into shen. Shen is intent, or divine energy, which brings the practitioners to another level of awareness. The practice of tai-chi, for the serious prationer, is not limited to the movements, but pervades every aspect of life.
To start, one plants one’s feet firmly on the ground, and breathes deep…
For my part, I wasn’t just referring to second-hand knowledge. I had spent many weeks in America “grasping the sparrow’s tail” (the one move I still remember) and trying to gain fluidity, grace, and tune into the mysterious Chinese concept of “chi.” My sensei never even implied that I would ever be able to ward off an attacker or spar successfully with a Thai kick boxer, as I later saw Robert do. It all depends on your brand of tai-chi, and your teacher.
The comparatively recently developed Yang style tai-chi places the emphasis on slow, fluid movements to enhance the flow of chi, heal the body, and sharpen the mind. Practitioners are encouraged to relax, a key element of Yang style. For a beginner, it’s hard to shake cynical tendancies, the feeling that the moves are utterly ordinary–and for the biginner they probably are. One friend parodies tai-chi moves by doing it while snatching glances at his watch. But when you watch an accomplished teacher–like Kyoto’s Muranaka-sensei–gracefully flow through the movements, you know there’s profound learning for those willing to stay with the art.
Muranaka-sensei teaches Chen-style tai-chi. Chen-style, which is also referred to as “big style,” places more emphasis on stability, stretching and extending. Muranaka-sensei explains that the practice is not about copying movemnts, but about cultivating energy. Each person necessarily has a different experience and a different result.
Unlike many martial arts where practitioners seek the physical power and technique to defeat opponents, tai-chi is not about defeating your opponent, nor is it even about developing physical power. Tai-chi legend holds that about 800 years ago Zhang San Feng saw a magpie fight a snake. He marvelled at the fluidity and sofness that the animals displayed and, after retreating to a hermitage to experiement with forms, developed tai-chi chuan after several years. Thus, a modern tai-chi axiom states, “Use four ounces to deflect 1,000 pounds.” One should attack through yielding and use your opponent’s momentum and change its direction.
For those with a bent towards Eastern philosophy, there’s a treasury of profound thinking in this tradition. Chi, also known as prana, or in Japanese ki, is the primal force of the universe that is said to pervade everything. An advanced practitioner strives to cultivate the three treasure of Chi-kung: jing, chi and shen. Jing is the base energy, crudely stated as sperm or ovary energy. The advanced practitioner draws jing overflow up the spine, transforming it into chi. The transformative process peaks (but continues as a cycle, replenishing jing) when chi transforms into shen. Shen is intent, or divine energy, which brings the practitioners to another level of awareness. The practice of tai-chi, for the serious prationer, is not limited to the movements, but pervades every aspect of life.
To start, one plants one’s feet firmly on the ground, and breathes deep…
You see them all around Kansai–O-jizo-sama statues-on street corners, in unlikely nooks and busy intersections, all decked out in red or yellow aprons. These stone statue are believed to protect children, as well as beings suffering in hell. O-jizo-sama, which has combined with ancient native deities, comes from the Sanskrit word ksitigarbha or ‘womb of the earth’. These boddhisattvas give Kansai cities a special feeling, putting spirit into what would otherwise be concrete dullness.
On the Path of Philosophy in Kyoto, a group of special o-jizo-sama, mizugo-jizo, make their home. These stone statues stand silently in a moving tribute to unborn children who, for whatever erason, were denied a chance at life. There’s a sadness in their gathering, for their garb gives the stones a child-like quality; their stillness and silence, their resemblance to tombstones, naturally remind the observer of mortality.
A pilgrimage of sorts awaits those with an affinity for stone Buddhas. Gohyaku Rakan, “Five Hundred Stone Buddhas”, about ten kilometers north of Himeji, is the home for about 500 stone buddhas–a legion of sacred stones, spirtually inspiring, emotionally moving, and artistically impressive.
The Five Hundred Rakans of Hojo–which actually number 454–stand in a quiet village that makes an ideal sidetrip on the way to Himeji Castle. Rakan comes from the Sanscrit word Arahat, or realized one. Austerity and disciplined practice brings the Arahat to buddha-nature.
Like the aura of mysery that surronds the temples and shrines of the area, the origin of these carved statuary is lost to history. Wakasugi Kei conjectures that the images were carved in the 6th century–although even that much isn’t known for certain.
Many disasters–your standard Japanese fare of earthquakes, wars and famines–befell the locals causing countless deaths. The stone buddhas are presumed to stand in memory of the dead. Besides 500 Rakans, the grounds host a shrine with three monkeys–famed in the West for seeing, hearing, and speaking no evil.
“Go to Gohayku Rakan to the west of Hojo to see parent” goes the Japanese saying. It might take a particularly good imagination–or an enlighened one–to see your parent’s face with any degree of clarity, but the interesting aspect of these buddhas is that each one, like the individual buddhas on a Mandala scroll, is different.
This gathering of buddhist statuary provides a fascinationg and uncomercialized look at Japanese buddhist history. They will easily impress buddhism buffs for both their number and for the fact that their style differs from that of the typical O-jizo-sama. Collectively, they form a stirring tribute to art, religion, life and death–the gamut of emotions that special places evoke.
On the Path of Philosophy in Kyoto, a group of special o-jizo-sama, mizugo-jizo, make their home. These stone statues stand silently in a moving tribute to unborn children who, for whatever erason, were denied a chance at life. There’s a sadness in their gathering, for their garb gives the stones a child-like quality; their stillness and silence, their resemblance to tombstones, naturally remind the observer of mortality.
A pilgrimage of sorts awaits those with an affinity for stone Buddhas. Gohyaku Rakan, “Five Hundred Stone Buddhas”, about ten kilometers north of Himeji, is the home for about 500 stone buddhas–a legion of sacred stones, spirtually inspiring, emotionally moving, and artistically impressive.
The Five Hundred Rakans of Hojo–which actually number 454–stand in a quiet village that makes an ideal sidetrip on the way to Himeji Castle. Rakan comes from the Sanscrit word Arahat, or realized one. Austerity and disciplined practice brings the Arahat to buddha-nature.
Like the aura of mysery that surronds the temples and shrines of the area, the origin of these carved statuary is lost to history. Wakasugi Kei conjectures that the images were carved in the 6th century–although even that much isn’t known for certain.
Many disasters–your standard Japanese fare of earthquakes, wars and famines–befell the locals causing countless deaths. The stone buddhas are presumed to stand in memory of the dead. Besides 500 Rakans, the grounds host a shrine with three monkeys–famed in the West for seeing, hearing, and speaking no evil.
“Go to Gohayku Rakan to the west of Hojo to see parent” goes the Japanese saying. It might take a particularly good imagination–or an enlighened one–to see your parent’s face with any degree of clarity, but the interesting aspect of these buddhas is that each one, like the individual buddhas on a Mandala scroll, is different.
This gathering of buddhist statuary provides a fascinationg and uncomercialized look at Japanese buddhist history. They will easily impress buddhism buffs for both their number and for the fact that their style differs from that of the typical O-jizo-sama. Collectively, they form a stirring tribute to art, religion, life and death–the gamut of emotions that special places evoke.
With an unshaven, untrimmed beard, and turban, Sada-Anand Singh Khalsa does not look like your average gaijin. What’s more, with a daily routine that begins with an hour of yoga and an hour of mantra recitation, and a home atop Ikoma Mountain, he doesn’t act the part either. Khalsa has brought the timeless teachings of Kundalini yoga, and Sikhism, to the Kansai. After a brief stay in Tokyo in 1969, Khalsa returned to Japan in 1989, living in Kobe. He taught yoga there until the earthquake hit, and a little afterwards. “We tried to offer rehabilitation classes, classes to balance the hemispheres of the brain after an earthquake. But really, people were just trying to figure out how to survive.”
Around that time Khalsa met his wife, Kudrat Kaur Khalsa, another rarity in Japan: she was and is a complete vegetarian. Kudrat Kaur, who was born in Yokohama, got involved in yoga and vegetarianism while living in Tokyo.
A big adjustment for Khalsa–and yoga teachers throughout Japan–came after the Aum cult incident. Overnight, yoga got a bad name and the number of practitioners declined, despite the non-divisive, non-violent teachings offered. “We lost many office workers, in particular girls whose parents wouldn’t allow them to cotinue.”
Khalsa, who has been a Sikh for 25 years, follows fairly strict regimen: besides not shaving (a beard serves as an antennae for energy, Khalsa explains), Khalsa doesn’t drink alcohol or smoke, and does two or more hours of yoga practice a day, which includes yoga postures, kundalini breathing exercises, mantra recitation, and meditation. A gentle and warm man, Khalsa makes clear that these are not fixed requirements for all yoga practitioners. Rather, this is merely what he personally sees as important to follow a spiritual path. “We are totally into people taking responsibility for themselves. Nobody has to do anything for some guru.”
Khalsa’s teacher is Yogi Bhajan. The teachings involve breath control and retention, and various locks to move Kundalini–which basically means ‘ki’ in Japanese–throughout the body. In addition, physical techniques, mental focus, and aims for stillness and balance are equally important. Most practitioners attest to its effectiveness for physical ails and stress, as well as spiritual development.
Khalsa’s group is affiliated with the 3HO Foundation–the three H’s referring to healthy, happy and holy, the body-mind-spirit connection. The Foundation is particularly strong in Europe and North America and also produces the popular ‘Yogi Tea’ herb teas. The foundation promotes yoga, health, nutrition and natural childbirth teachings. Kudrat Kaur, in fact, gave birth to her daughter ‘naturally’, with a midwife, and has taught natural childbirth classes.
When he was five, Khalsa survived a bout with polio, which he believes led him to a healing profession. He grew up near Chicago before moving to California where he grauated from Palo Alto University, majoring in Psychology. He began practicing yoga in 1972 in San Francisco.
Around that time Khalsa met his wife, Kudrat Kaur Khalsa, another rarity in Japan: she was and is a complete vegetarian. Kudrat Kaur, who was born in Yokohama, got involved in yoga and vegetarianism while living in Tokyo.
A big adjustment for Khalsa–and yoga teachers throughout Japan–came after the Aum cult incident. Overnight, yoga got a bad name and the number of practitioners declined, despite the non-divisive, non-violent teachings offered. “We lost many office workers, in particular girls whose parents wouldn’t allow them to cotinue.”
Khalsa, who has been a Sikh for 25 years, follows fairly strict regimen: besides not shaving (a beard serves as an antennae for energy, Khalsa explains), Khalsa doesn’t drink alcohol or smoke, and does two or more hours of yoga practice a day, which includes yoga postures, kundalini breathing exercises, mantra recitation, and meditation. A gentle and warm man, Khalsa makes clear that these are not fixed requirements for all yoga practitioners. Rather, this is merely what he personally sees as important to follow a spiritual path. “We are totally into people taking responsibility for themselves. Nobody has to do anything for some guru.”
Khalsa’s teacher is Yogi Bhajan. The teachings involve breath control and retention, and various locks to move Kundalini–which basically means ‘ki’ in Japanese–throughout the body. In addition, physical techniques, mental focus, and aims for stillness and balance are equally important. Most practitioners attest to its effectiveness for physical ails and stress, as well as spiritual development.
Khalsa’s group is affiliated with the 3HO Foundation–the three H’s referring to healthy, happy and holy, the body-mind-spirit connection. The Foundation is particularly strong in Europe and North America and also produces the popular ‘Yogi Tea’ herb teas. The foundation promotes yoga, health, nutrition and natural childbirth teachings. Kudrat Kaur, in fact, gave birth to her daughter ‘naturally’, with a midwife, and has taught natural childbirth classes.
When he was five, Khalsa survived a bout with polio, which he believes led him to a healing profession. He grew up near Chicago before moving to California where he grauated from Palo Alto University, majoring in Psychology. He began practicing yoga in 1972 in San Francisco.