Practice and Study in Japan
Rev. Issan Koyama continues to split his time between the US and Japan. When he is in Japan, there are opportunities for sangha members to join him, by invitation, to study, practice and visit sites related to Dōgen and his lineage.
Japan Tour Oct - Nov 2024
Rev. Issan Koyama spent part of Winter Ango (Winter Intensive Practice Period) in Japan. During this time, he took care of ecclesiastical responsibilities and attended private meetings at Eihei-ji 永平寺 and Sōji-ji 總持寺, the two main monasteries of the Soto Zen School of Japan.
Rev. Koyama spent time at temples where his dharma friends and colleagues reside to discuss future collaborations with NYZC for Dōgen Study.
These temples include: Myōkō-ji 明光寺 in Hakata (where Issan’s late teacher, Honda Tekifu Rōshi, presided as abbot), Ryūkoku-ji 龍国寺 in Fukuoka, Kashō-in 迦葉院 in SaitamaIssan. He also participated in study programs at Seishō-ji 青松寺 in Tokyo and at Tōdai-ji 東大寺 and Kōfuku-ji 興福寺 in Nara.
Rev. Koyama participated in sangha pilgrimage tours organized by three of our European dharma-sister organizations:
- Daishin-ji in Mons, Belgium, headed by Abbot Mokusho Depréay (https://shikantaza.be/)
- Demeure Sans Limites in Saint-Agrève, France, headed by Abbot Jokei Lambert (larbredeleveil.org/lademeuresanslimites/
- Anshin-ji in Rome, Italy headed by Abbots Doryu Cappalli and Gyoetsu Epifania (https://anshin.it/en/)
These sangha pilgrimage tours included visits to Buddhist and historic sites in Tokyo, Kyōto, Fukui, Matsumoto, Nara, Hiroshima, Kamakura and Kōfu. The itineraries of sangha groups from France and Belgium included sojourns in Aoyama Rōshi’s home temple, Muryō-ji 無量寺 in Nagano as well as Zuigaku-in 瑞岳院 in Yamanashi, the temple of the late Moriyama Rōshi.
Essay on Japan Tour October - November 2024 by Françoise Myōsen Leclercq
“In a manner that leaves the next person feeling good….”
"How is your post-Japan depression doing?" Anne's question took me by surprise.
"How do you know?” I asked.
"Because I know it all too well. I experience it every time I go to Japan,” she said.
Naturally, I expected to encounter culture shock when planning this trip to Japan. What I didn't expect was that it would hit me when I got home.
A few years ago, my first teacher, Joshin Sensei, a French Soto Zen nun and Dharma heir of Aoyama Shundo Rōshi, showed us this picture:
Its purpose is to teach Japanese children how to purify themselves before approaching a Shinto shrine or entering a temple. But that’s not all. It also tells them how to handle the wooden ladle "in a manner that leaves the next person feeling good".
I had never been to Japan back then, so I didn’t grasp the full extent to which this attitude is embedded in Japanese culture. But somehow the phrase stuck with me.
When I traveled to Japan for the first time last autumn, it struck me that it is really second nature for Japanese people. Everywhere and in every circumstance. Around temples and shrines, to be sure. But also on trains, in stations, in hot springs, in convenience stores, in shopping centers, in restaurants and on the streets…
Take an extremely busy place like the main train station in Tokyo - a veritable anthill, bustling with people rushing in every direction. And yet ... not once does anyone bump into you, or even as much as brush against you. The trains and subways are eerily quiet. Everywhere people stand calmly in orderly queues, waiting their turn – even on train platforms (which, by the way, are usually clearly marked so you know exactly where to stand for the car you are to board).
We personally experienced (far more often than our fair share) how far Japanese people will go way out of their way to help clueless tourists (like ourselves) who took a wrong turn and ended up totally lost. We encountered this discreet and considerate demeanor just about everywhere we went.
As we witnessed, this sense of mindful caring extends to objects as well as to places. Everything, everywhere is unbelievably clean and well-tended, with special attention paid to the slightest detail.
For an introvert like me, this felt like paradise. Needless to say, returning to Belgium was a rude awakening. It took me several weeks to readjust to the only culture I had known for 48 years prior to these three weeks in Japan.
Of course, I am very fully aware that this is probably a biased and limited view of things and that the caring attitude of the Japanese people might come at the cost of a great deal of social pressure that, if pushed to an extreme, could be alienating and burdensome for some people. But even so, this experience made me think….
Imagine how it would feel if every time we rush to be the first in line at the supermarket checkout because we're “in a hurry”, we slowed down or even stepped aside to let someone else go before us. How would it feel if even when doing things we are passionate about, we were mindful not to speak too loudly or make too much noise in public transportation or in public spaces? If, instead of struggling to obtain whatever it is we desire - whatever we think we need or even deserve to have - we just went with the flow and waited to see what happens? In short: what if we just relaxed a little and did our best not to be an obstacle for others and, in so doing, not be an obstacle to ourselves?
This made me think about how this view of things is deeply ingrained in our Buddhist practice — in the ambiguous distinction between sacred and ordinary, or the blurry division between self and other. And also in texts like Dōgen Zenji’s Tenzo Kyokun that describe how the work in a temple’s kitchen and the “three minds” of the tenzo (magnanimous mind, parental mind, and joyful mind) are opportunities to take care of others support the entire community. Taking care for each and every thing: be it a ladle, a pot or a single grain of rice. All being expressions of the Wondrous Dharma.
After a few weeks of vegetating in a state of shock, I realized that this was precisely what I had been failing to do. Instead, of caring for things around me, I was being an obstacle to myself and to others. By judging and creating divisions that were neither meaningful nor helpful, I was putting myself at odds with the world around me.
Jokei Sensei very aptly described this feeling in a talk during a recent retreat, comparing dukkha to a slightly bent wheel that isn’t quite able to rotate in harmony with the others. In other words, a wheel that is a little bit warped...
Upon realizing this, all my stress quickly dissipated and things magically eased up. I rolled up my sleeves, put my rakusu back on and went back to work.
What became of my post-Japan depression? It was instantly cured the day I had this epiphany:
"Be the Japan you want to see in your world. Try to act in a manner that leaves the next person – as well as yourself – feeling good".
I’m working on it……
Un essai sur la tournée au Japon, octobre - novembre 2024, par Françoise Myōsen Leclercq
« Pour que la personne suivante se sente bien »
« Ça va, ta dépression post-Japon ? » La question d’Anne m’a prise au dépourvu.
« Comment tu sais ? »
« Parce que je connais ça : ça me prend à chaque fois que je vais au Japon. »
Bien sûr, je m’attendais à être totalement dépaysée. Mais la surprise, c’est que ce choc, je l’ai eu au retour.
Il y a quelques années, ma première enseignante, Joshin Sensei, une nonne Zen Soto française, nous a montré cette illustration.
Elle sert à montrer aux enfants japonais comment se purifier avant d’approcher un Sanctuaire Shinto ou d’entrer dans un Temple. Mais ce n’est pas tout. Elle leur explique aussi comment manipuler la louche en bois « pour que la personne suivante se sente bien ».
Je n’étais encore jamais allée au Japon à l’époque. Je n’avais donc pas saisi à quel point cette attitude est enracinée dans la culture japonaise. Mais d’une manière ou d’une autre, cette phrase m’est restée.
Lorsque je me suis rendue au Japon pour la première fois à l’automne dernier, j’ai réalisé que c’était vraiment une deuxième nature pour les Japonais. Partout, en toutes circonstances. Près des temples et des sanctuaires, bien sûr. Mais aussi dans les trains, les gares, les onsens, les supérettes, les commerces, les restaurants, les rues.
Prenez un endroit extrêmement fréquenté comme la gare principale de Tokyo. C’est une véritable fourmilière. Et pourtant… pas une fois vous n’êtes bousculé, ni même frôlé. Les trains et les métros sont étrangement silencieux. Partout, les personnes font la queue calmement – même sur les quais de gare (où vous trouverez généralement des indications qui vous diront clairement où vous placer suivant le numéro de votre voiture). Nous avons aussi pu voir, plus souvent qu’à notre tour, comment les Japonais se mettent en quatre pour aider les touristes égarés (nous). Ce comportement discret et prévenant, nous l’avons rencontré à peu près partout où nous sommes allés. Comme nous avons pu constater que ce « prendre soin » s’étend aussi aux choses et aux lieux. Tout, partout, est incroyablement propre et soigné, avec une grande attention au moindre détail.
Pour une personne introvertie comme moi, c’est le paradis. Alors inutile de vous dire que le réveil a été rude quand nous sommes rentrés en Belgique. Il m’a fallu plusieurs semaines pour me réadapter à… eh bien… au seul type de société que j’avais connu avant ces trois semaines, en fait.
Bon d’accord : je suis très consciente que c’est probablement une vue des choses très biaisée, que cette attitude doit sans doute s’accompagner d’une pression sociale considérable et que, poussée à l’extrême, elle doit être aliénante et pesante pour un certain nombre de personnes. Mais quand même, cette expérience m’a fait réfléchir.
Imaginez comment seraient les choses si à chaque fois que nous accélérons pour arriver premier dans la file du supermarché parce que nous sommes « pressés », nous ralentissions ou faisions un pas de côté pour laisser passer une autre personne. Ou si, même lorsque nous sommes occupés à des choses qui suscitent notre enthousiasme, nous étions attentifs à ne pas parler trop fort ou à faire moins de bruit dans les transports en commun ou dans les espaces publics. Si au lieu de faire des pieds et des mains pour obtenir ce que nous désirons (ce dont nous avons besoin ? ce que nous méritons, peut-être même ?), nous nous laissions porter et attendions de voir ce qui va se passer. En bref : si nous nous détendions un peu et faisions de notre mieux pour ne pas faire obstacle aux autres et, partant, à nous-mêmes ?
J’ai aussi réalisé à quel point cette attitude est profondément ancrée dans notre pratique – par exemple dans la distinction « pas si tranchée que cela » entre sacré et ordinaire, dans la dichotomie « pas si claire que cela » entre soi et les autres ou encore dans des textes comme le Tenzo Kyokun de Maître Dōgen. Comment le travail dans la cuisine du Temple, et les Trois Esprits du Tenzo, sont une invitation à prendre soin des autres, à soutenir la Communauté. Mais aussi à prendre soin de chaque chose et de toute chose. Que ce soit une louche, une casserole ou un simple grain de riz. Tous étant des expressions du Dharma Sublime.
Tous étant des expressions du Dharma Sublime… Au bout de quelques semaines à végéter dans cet état de choc, je me suis rendu compte que… C’était pourtant précisément ce que j’étais en train de faire : faire obstacle à moi-même et aux autres. En jugeant, en créant des séparations qui n’avaient pas lieu d’être et qui, surtout, n’étaient pas « aidantes », en me mettant en porte-à-faux avec mon environnement. Jokei Sensei, disciple et héritière dans le Dharma de Aoyama Shundo Roshi a merveilleusement bien décrit cette sensation au cours d’une récente retraite, lorsqu’elle a défini « Dukkha » comme une roue qui ne tourne pas très rond, une roue un peu voilée en quelque sorte. Lorsque j’ai réalisé cela, toutes ces crispations se sont dissipées comme par miracle. J’ai relevé mes manches, passé mon Rakusu et je me suis mise au travail.
Ma dépression post-Japon ? Elle a été instantanément guérie le jour où j’ai eu cette révélation : « Sois le Japon que tu veux voir dans ton monde. Essaie de te comporter de façon à ce que la personne suivante – et toi-même, de manière égale – vous sentiez bien ». J’y travaille.
Japan Dōgen Pilgrimage Tour February 2024
These are some of the sites we visited: -Tokyo -Asuka Village: *Kitora Tumulus & Ishibutai Tumulus (Japan’s pre-Buddhist burial site) *Asuka-dera (Japan’s first Buddhist temple) -Nara *Tōdai-ji *Kōfuku-ji *Hōryū-ji -Kōya-san (overnight stay) Shingon School’s main monastery founded by Kúkai -Eihei-ji (overnight stay) Sōtō School’s main monastery founded by Dōgen -Kyoto *Ken-nin-ji founded by Yōsai where young Dōgen studied with Myōzen *Ryūan-ji with world renouned stone garden *Kōzan-ji founded by Myō-e of Avatamska School *Enryaku-ji, in Hiei-zan, main monastery of Tendai School where Dōgen was ordained *Kōshō-ji, Dōgen’s first temple (restored) *Byōdō-in – Pure Land/Tendai School temple -Fukuoka/Hakata *Myōkō-ji where Sawaki Roshi used to teach *Shōfuku-ji, Japan’s first Zen Temple built for Yōsai *Dazaifu, Japan’s ancient embarkment/dismemberment *Tenmangu Shrine -Nagasaki *Atomic Bomb Museum *Dejima Island -Kanazawa *Daijō-ji founded by Gikai.
Dōgen Pilgrimage Japan Tour 2024 - My Experience, by Michele Sevik
Maybe it’s not like this for all gaijin visiting Japan for the first time, but for me it was a bit like being born again. Like all those new to the world, one of the first things I had to learn was how to use a toilet. The first time I tried, jets of warm water shot up to the ceiling and rained down on my head like a baptism. After that, I had to learn how to bathe. The proper way to share a steaming cauldron of hot water with a group of new acquaintances is not something I had mastered in a previous life. I had to train unskilled fingers to grapple with unfamiliar utensils in order to eat. Capturing and transporting a beguiling variety of delicious shapes and textures all the way from bowl to mouth could be precarious and challenging. Trying to make myself understood while lost in the Kyoto train station with a microscopic repertoire of words and gestures was humbling as well.I hadn’t struggled with so many basic life skills in decades so for me being in Japan was like an unexpected re-birth.
The self image that functioned well enough in the mountains wasn’t always adept at responding to situations in Japan. This led to questioning old assumptions and considering new possibilities. The result was a surprising broadening of perspective in a very short period of time. Even though this was probably beneficial, it was not always a happy process….. The darkest hour occurred the night I returned to NY City from Tokyo. I couldn’t return to my place in the green mountains of Vermont until the next day so Catherine invited me to spend the night in her guest room in Brooklyn. I was very grateful because the room is often reserved months in advance. Catherine’s husband, Don, picked us up at JFK and I listened from the back seat as Catherine slowly reconnected to her “pre-Japan” life. Aside from telling her about the exploits of their cat, Che, Don spoke about his creative projects, events in the lives of their children, house renovations and the comings and goings of their many loved ones and human friends. It was clear to me that Catherine’s life was enriched by an astounding variety of living connections. I woke up at 3:30 AM and thought about how the only connections I was returning home to were with a dog and a cat.
Staring into the darkness, I felt like a spider who had failed to build a web. It was very bleak. For 14 years I have lived alone at the end of an unpaved dead-end road on top of a mountain in a place where even the postal service doesn’t deliver. I dress in rags, sleep with animals, grow beans, drink water from a well and heat the house with wood, the old-fashioned way. We all do. Around here, we only hang out with our neighbors when there’s a catastrophic natural disaster, like Hurricane Irene in 2011. That’s all the socializing we need. I have gone weeks without seeing anyone. And for a long long time I was OK with that. During a 7-hour trip home on an antique train the next day, I decided it might be time for me to stop living like a hermit and move back to New York City. This would be a radical turning point in my life that I hadn’t been expecting to make anytime soon. But it suddenly seemed right.
A few days later, talking with you and Catherine on zoom, I spoke about my plans to move back to the city and how I felt a new desire to make connections with members of my own species for the first time in many many many years. But even as the words were leaving my mouth, a little voice in my head had come up with a problem: If I was already connected to all beings throughout space and time as an integral part of Indra’s Net, wasn’t it ridiculous to think I needed to build a web of my own? How much more connected could I be? This bothered me and I worried that someone might question me and I wouldn’t know how to answer.
Then, out of the blue, the kōan at the end of Genjōkōan popped into my head. It was about a Zen master called Baoche on Mount Magu waving a fan. A monk approached Baoche and asked, “The nature of wind is ever present and permeates everywhere. Why are you waving a fan?” This seemed very similar to the question I was asking myself! If I am already part of Indra’s Net and connected interdependently with all other existences throughout space and time, why should I have to make an effort to build connections myself? Master Baoche replied to the monk’s question by saying, “You know only that the wind’s nature is ever present – you don’t know that it permeates everywhere.” The monk said, “How does wind permeate everywhere?” The master just continued waving the fan and the monk bowed deeply. I laughed because this was the answer to my question as well. Indra’s Net, with its innumerable connections, doesn’t exist apart from me in the same way that the wind doesn’t exist separately from Master Baoche’s fan. Even though everything in existence is part of Indra’s Net and I’m already connected with all beings throughout space and time, I still need to make and nurture connections with others if I want them to grow into relationships that are mutually interesting, enjoyable and beneficial. I can’t expect to enjoy those kinds of relationship if I keep waiting for them to come knocking at my my door in my current location. I must be a vehicle for connection. That’s how connections take place. Sometimes I focus on “form is emptiness” and forget the enormous significance of “emptiness is form”.
This is one of the most important things I’ve learned by studying Dōgen and his lineage with you and practicing with this Sangha for the past 3 years. Dōgen concludes Genjōkōan by describing the situation clearly: “To say we should not wave a fan because the nature of wind is ever present, and that we should feel the wind even when we don’t wave a fan, is to know neither ever-presence nor the wind’s nature. Since the wind’s nature is ever present, the wind of the Buddha’s family enables us to realize the gold of the great Earth and to transform the [water of] the long river into cream.” Because connections grow naturally between people, I can move to New York City and have the opportunity to participate in an endless variety of relationships. Instead of sitting in my rocker talking to the dog and cat for the rest of my life, I can participate in what’s going on between humans once again as well. It’s very exciting and inconvenient…..
Arigatō gozaimasu,
Michele. Gassho