MURYOKO
'Infinite Light'
Journal of Shin Buddhism
Marcus Cumberlege
- SHORT JOURNEY
- LOTUS FLOWERS
- GOOD NIGHT!
- ON THE REWARDS OF DOING NOTHING
- KILLING A SLEEPLESS NIGHT
- ANNUAL VISIT
- LETTING GO
- THE PRIMAL VOW
- BUDDHA
- BUDDIES
- IN A NUTSHELL
- LINES TO AMIDA
- NEMBUTSU WEBSITE
- OTHER POWER
- TO KUAN YIN
- CERTAINTY
- NIRVANA DAYS
- PERFECTLY NORMAL DAY
- PROSTRATION
- MOPPING A TABLE
- MID-DAY MEDITATION
- ON THE FLOOR
- HO ON KO
New Work now in PDF format:-
SHORT JOURNEY
This day has not yet dawned, but I already feel your
powerful presence here beside me in the room.
Sipping my early morning tea and gradually coming to
life, I raise my soul towards the light, giving thanks
for the night that is past.
With you in my heart I will never know the meaning of
loneliness. With my little hand safely clasped in your
big one we will make the short journey together from
now until another night.
No task will be too boring or difficult to undertake, no
challenge insurmountable, for your supportive love
encourages me and buoys me up.
I believe. I have a faith that works. I trust in your great
wisdom. I am embraced by your compassion, never to
be abandoned.
Look upon your children, grant us your guidance,
willingness and strength. And if things become too
much, carry us in the palm of your hand.
LOTUS FLOWERS
You who are all goodness and outgoing love beyond
human comprehension, shine your light into my
troubled mind and dispel the gloom with which my day
has begun.
Even as I utter this prayer I start to feel the warmth
of your compassion coursing through my veins. Years,
months, days, hours and moments of devotion to you
and your buddha dharma now pay off their dividend.
With firm composure I stand here, both feet on the
ground, looking up at the early morning sky. This has all
the makings of a day like no other, for out of the
mudpool of suffering the lotus flowers of joy and
gratitude now bloom.
GOOD NIGHT!
Thank you, Amida, for another day of happy sobriety.
Thank you for all the people in my life and especially ...
Thank you also for 101 little ways in which you have
done for me what I could not have done for myself.
I hope to “wake up and get up” with your Name on my
lips, grateful for the gift of a new day.
Let me quickly overcome any discomfort the morning
may bring and always seek to do your will in a spirit of
true humility.
May all my yesterdays be dreams of happiness and all
my tomorrows visions of hope.
On awakening, I will take the bull by the horns,
knowing that you have wonderful things in store for me.
ON THE REWARDS OF DOING NOTHING
Do only that to which you feel impelled; for the rest, remain quiescent.
Into the unenlightened mind of dawn Amida pours nembutsu.
All other mornings than this are long-forgotten foreign history.
Empty the mind completely. There can be no better way of acting.
Action is permissible, but only in an empty-minded way.
Time spent uselessly is time well spent. Do nothing at all and be blessed.
Time spent doing nothing, "wasted time" in fact, is the best time of all.
Everything's all right. There is no need for panic. My head is screwed on.
I will not relapse into apathy or defeatism today.
My spiritual life begins and ends with the calling of nembutsu.
During the night two orchid petals fell into my nenju.
Apart from breathing nearly all activity is a waste of time.
Nothing is as pleasant as doing nothing – even when you're busy.
I have done nothing in my whole life to deserve this mug of hot tea.
A wee bit of washing-up never did anybody any harm.
Amida won't do it for you, but he'll help you if you think of him.
For this Shin Buddhist a softly murmured nembutsu says everything.
Meditating or not, as the case may be, I sit and do nothing.
This sham world of fear and disappointment is where I met Amida.
I am tired of judging myself. Why should I begin to judge others?
Empty the mind of hatred. Empty the mind of desire. Empty it.
I believe with all my heart that I can make this change for the better.
Just by reciting nembutsu I escape the six delusive worlds.
I want to be a cheerful person upon whom others can rely.
Waking and getting up - supreme moments of absolute uselessness.
Waking up is being born again - a baby in a hostile world.
Grey meaningless fuzz - what am I supposed to make of these beginnings?
O joy! I relish my inability to pull my finger out.
Life on earth has no particular purpose - do as little as you need.
First word in the morning, last word at night - Namo Amida Butsu.
KILLING A SLEEPLESS NIGHT
(thoughts running through my head like mice in an attic)
Give without any thought of purpose or reward. Give because you must.
It's not a question of "If there is somebody up above" - there is.
Do not fear or be alarmed. The man of God has everything he needs.
Unless my nenju is in my hand, I feel I'm waiting for something.
I now trust completely, and no longer need to count my nembutsus.
Someone has put a sea of energy into my gratitude stone.
My friend the barman finally realized the importance of himself.
I too must carefully nurture the love that has been entrusted me.
The hours of early morning should not be spent in wild speculation.
Brew yourself another pot of My Tea and creep back into your shell.
The 'people, places and things' in my life are part of Amida's plan.
The path to hell is paved with good intentions. Poems I want to send.
I have a list as long as my arm of things to do before breakfast
… but will limit myself, if necessary, to a few nembutsus.
Grant me the wisdom to survive until morning without going nuts.
If I flop out long enough, Amida will show me what to do next.
After reading Confucius on family life, there's not much more to say.
Only when we purify our thoughts will the world be wisely governed.
Some Chinaman said that about five hundred years before Jesus Christ.
My store of knowledge is minimal. I am barely able to write.
Stretched at your feet on the floor, I beg for the gift of humility.
Namo Amida Butsu: in happy expectation of a birth.
In one kalpa (immeasureable quantity of time): daylight!
Front door open. It's pissing. Plenty of water for coffee and tea.
Aiding each other, let us endeavour to work for the good of all.
I draw the curtains, thinking: how lucky not to have slept on the streets.
ANNUAL VISIT
(hopefully)
One centimetre forwards on the path of bliss. Early morning streets
I no longer care to see take me to the doctor for my check-up.
This has to happen in winter, when the waiting-room is full of germs.
(How beautiful you were an hour ago, coming out of your shower).
Nembutsu people are always protected, according to Honen.
Unexpected death on the blind corners of this mad morning city
pretending to be none other than the lazy Venice of the North
is deleted by my practice from the scenario of fact.
Namo Amida Butsu, Namo Amida Butsu, on and on
I mumble, while an electric saw chews up a tough piece of cement
and, from behind me, a Herculean motorbike goes roaring past.
(I write on damp window-sills, like a thief, half way to the surgery).
Reverend Sasaki e-mails me that Kyoto is filling up
with Shin Buddhists from all over Japan to celebrate Ho-on-ko -
the Shonin's birth, enlightenment or death, a thousand kalpas ago.
I'm far away from that, in the bright window of a photograph shop,
wondering if my PSA is low enough to save me from cancer
and how to negotiate this Thursday on a minimum of pills.
Two hundred more peaceful and relaxed nembutsus on the final stretch,
to the rhythm of an ambulance rushing someone to hospital.
This is the world I live in and love. Sakyamuni was a doctor
himself, for the ills of the human race, and only lived to eighty.
The first spots of rain are falling on the pavement as I push the door
and sit down with the meek band of foreign women in the waiting-room.
Luckily there's a copy of Shinran's major work in my satchel.
LETTING GO
Namo Amida Butsu.
I stand in front of my altar
in the middle of the night
with nothing left to say.
Buddha has done the thinking!
All that remains for this bombu
is to keep reciting the Name
as soon as it comes to mind.
Namo Amida Butsu.
The benefits are enormous,
my life has not yet begun
in every sense of the word.
There's so much unfinished business.
There are so many unread sutras,
talks not given, neglected friends.
None of it is important.
Do I have the Settled Mind
Rennyo often writes about?
Have I the wits to penetrate
into the meaning of the Vow?
Kuan Yin the compassionate lady
comes into the room where I am
and gently takes me by the sleeve:
Come, let's go to the Pure Land.
23 July 14
THE PRIMAL VOW
"If, when I become a Buddha,
all sentient beings in the worlds
who trust me with unwavering faith,
hearts filled with joy and gratitude,
longing to be born in my Land
and calling my Name just ten times
do not obtain that blissful birth,
may I not be fully enlightened."
This was Amida's Primal Vow.
And now? Namo Amida Butsu
rises constantly to our lips
as we cross samsara's ocean
on comfortable passenger ships.
21 July 14
BUDDHA
Buddha, another word for life,
A name for everything that moves -
The cobbles dancing underfoot,
A piece of heaven in the mind.
The time to lean upon a bridge
And watch the shadow of a tree,
Poised like a dancer in full flight,
Caress the beautiful canal.
Another step. The utter lack
Of business needing to be done,
Women to please, papers to sign,
Anything resembling a clock.
Buddha, under his warm clothing
A person at peace with himself
Sailing homewards to his dinner
Blessed with feelings of gratitude.
BUDDIES
On the blank page of today I enter
The names of those I love but will not see.
Yours first, my faithful and forgiving friend
Who admire the man behind his poetry.
Don't we all sometimes need a helping hand
To raise our spirits from despondency?
Night can be cruel, daylight comes too late,
Are we not prisoners craving to be free?
Despite some tiny differences of taste
On one tremendous fact we do agree:
That we are bound together for a Land
Beyond the Ocean of Infinity.
IN A NUTSHELL
This is 'the easier path'.
Just by saying nembutsu
We enter the Gateless Gate
Set up by the patriarchs.
Amida solemnly vows
Not to enter nirvana
Before he has saved the life
Of every sentient being.
This Primal Vow reminds us
To trust in Other Power,
Simply uttering the Name
Namu Amida Butsu.
LINES TO AMIDA
I need to be reminded constantly
That you are with me, working in my heart,
To wander in your footsteps faithfully
With whatever friend, to whatever part.
Not only do I need your compassion
To make life simpler and to ease the pain
Which I and others feel in our fashion,
But I need to learn again and again
To let go and surrender to your will,
To yield to the smile on a loved one's face
Gracefully swallowing the bitter pill
Of ignorance, dropping out of the race.
I need self-confidence, courage to change
For the better, leaving my guilt behind.
I need you, Amida - does it sound strange? -
To help and to heal me in body and mind.
NEMBUTSU WEBSITE
Ten 'seventeeners' by Marcus Cumberlege
Every thought should be directed towards
Namu Amida Butsu
Five kalpas Amida sat for me -
Five minutes I will sit for him
A Shinran gets to the Pure Land -
how much more so a bombu like me
A dead butterfly
crushed by motorway traffic -
surely a buddha
A poet in Australia might be writing
these very words now
Amida is as real as the table
on which I write these words
Come, just as you are -
Amida's waiting for you
in the Land of Bliss
We are karmically connected
with everybody on this planet
To have stumbled upon a priceless gem -
that was my fortune in life
My voice and Amida's voice are one voice -
Namu Amida Butsu
OTHER POWER
Cold water flows from the tap,
Simple but miraculous.
Enough light to watch my hands.
Enough strength to wash dishes.
Enough Mozart sonatas
To last fifty-nine minutes.
Emotion recollected
On a town bench in the shade.
Rosebuds on a half-wild bush,
Quinces soon to turn yellow.
Such is my Other Power
And I am grateful for it.
TO KUAN YIN
I pray to you in my bedroom,
I think of you in the street.
I put you into my poems.
I lay my life at your feet.
You are my cosmic lover,
You are my closest friend.
You were at the dawn of time,
You will be there at the end.
Bodhisattva of compassion,
Helper of humankind,
In all your maiden beauty
You are pictured in my mind.
You are an incarnation
Of this goddess carved in stone.
You are the greatest blessing
I have ever known.
CERTAINTY
I am certain Amida wants me
to be at this exact spot
at this precise moment in time,
doing what I am doing
and thinking what I am thinking.
I am precious, special and unique,
a child of the universe
imbued with a sacred destiny
and blessed with a sense of purpose.
Although my love and respect
for my fellow men and women
is of paramount importance,
actually what I think of other people
and what other people think of me
are two things I think about less and less.
At times when I find life confusing
and my friends difficult to get on with
I can always say Namo Amida Butsu
with a trusting heart.
NIRVANA DAYS
Bruges – Southampton – Bruges
Friday 15th – Tuesday 19th February '13.
Buddha's departure
A good hot strong Belgian coffee
waiting for the Eurostar to leave.
People. Passengers reading papers.
My nearly finished Dharma talk
and other stuff in the black bag.
Trust grows as the moment approaches
to hit the rails for London.
Maria is probably getting up now
after making me muesli & sandwiches
and retiring to bed with a headache.
Gautama dies. Marcus is on the train.
A pleasant underwater journey,
a crosswise leap, awaits this passenger
blessed with an empty seat beside him.
The buffet car will not be needed,
his bladder should last out till Waterloo.
Peacefully, in his eightieth year,
the Great Teacher passes away
from this world of weary travellers.
We glide out of the smoky city
just as a nice-looking chap sits down
with a laptop at my side. Brussels.
One more grey splotch on the map.
Emptiness – a pile of wrinkled skin and bones
wrapped in the customary orange rags
to be collected by the crowd of arhats
who have come to see him off.
There are no big deals, says Daniel Flynn.
Whether or not he has entered nirvana
is left to each man's imagination.
In countries like Thailand and Vietnam
where the sun is probably shining
harder than here ( a pallid disc
bobbing in and out of the clouds
as we speed through frosty countryside)
villagers are returning from processions
which focus on nothing – an old man
kicking the proverbial bucket,
a teacher's nose rubbed in his own
lesson. My head leans back on the seat
in a bath of welcome sunshine.
To have tramped all over India
promoting birth in the Land of Bliss!
Lille. All passengers are reminded
not to leave their luggage behind.
As we glide into a sea of concrete
I see the word Carrefour on a glass building
and then the window is plunged into darkness.
I can hear a baby complaining about
the enforced discomfort of existence
in this saha world it may not have chosen
to make its home in. No conclusions drawn.
Poets are sometimes tape recorders
forgotten in doctors' waiting-rooms,
nature reserves, seaports, cathedrals
and cars. They too are known to complain:
of asthma in childhood, of smoke,
of getting up in the morning and
of incurable cramps in the writing hand.
Things will go better in Amida's Land.
Entrusting
As we disappear under the sea
for twenty minutes, with no guarantee
of reappearing alive, I digest the lunch
my good lady has prepared for me
and sink into a form of meditation.
Balanced in a comfy hammock
of swaying motion, no thought in mind,
I stare at the silver wedding ring
on my finger. The collapsible table
supports my hand, with my bag, and this.
Let not thy divining heart, wrote Donne,
forethink me any ill …
We are out of the tunnel. England!
Enlightened at last, I pick up my pen
to praise the Founder, who must have seen
the fear of death lurking in our hearts
when faced by any danger or ill health.
The “glorious sun of York” now shining
through this window revives my spirits.
Inconceivable to feeble minds
like ours, my friend, for we are bombus
ignorant as sin, that's his Primal Vow
to save all beings who recite the Name.
I like that baffling all-embracing word
for after battering our brains on life's hard walls
we do emerge into a brave undreamed-of world.
The Underground ticket they gave me
will get me safely across London
to the Southampton train. That's the least
of my conspicuously absent worries.
My bags are light, apart from all the pills.
No reading matter. The Kukodan shelves
will be stacked with religious books.
I see priest Gary standing on the platform.
Now take a step backwards, Master Marcus
as the kitchen girls called you in County Cork,
and contemplate the human race
unfolding before your foolish bearded face
in London and its busy bustling stations.
Realize that nobody dreams of hurting you,
entrust that all are there for a damn good reason!
Be compassionate with yourself. Let go.
It's eleven fifty-eight local time and you've been
on this train two hours. As it enters Saint Pancras
we wish you an enjoyable afternoon. No further
poetry gets written on the way to Waterloo.
The transit is effected with immaculate precision.
Getting there
Farnborough. Fleet. Basingstoke to Poole
with a dozen small stations in between.
I'm on the right train. It's going fast.
I glanced at the board and sprinted for it.
The kind black ticket lady let me through.
I jumped aboard just as the whistle blew,
saving myself an hour. Winchester coming up,
Southampton Airport next, four flights a day
to Düsseldorf. What luck – I'm almost there.
The art gallery
(The Shin Buddhist sangha of Southampton
had invited me to give a short dharma talk
at their annual round-up, while preparing
for a major conference to be held there next year).
Van der Weyden - Saint Catherine.
Emperor Napoleon in full regalia.
Renoir's “Mühlfeld portrait”.
Pissarro. Monet. Delvaux:
“A Siren in Full Moonlight”,
Stanley Spencer's “Resurrection”.
Sickert, Grant and Steer.
A mind-blowing representative collection
of fairly modern British masters
in the handsome building over the library
where I picked up leaflets for Maria
and chatted with the lady at the Help desk.
That Andy Warhol postcard I nearly sent,
to Anabel, who prayed for me in Prague.
I think everybody should like everybody.
The girl at the desk has the voice of a sparrow.
Southcliff & London roads
A terrible amount is lost in this report.
I did not use my notebook in Southampton,
lived intensely from moment to moment,
from scintillating conversation, to cup
after cup of green tea amid the well-weighed words
of heavily smoking priests. Meals were grabbed.
In the atmospheric cemetery on the common
I discussed my funeral and epitaph with Fons,
our man from Antwerp. One huge pink rhododendron
in glorious bloom, snowdrops along the way.
Kuan Yin, hearer of cries, Amida's handmaiden,
on practically every mantelpiece of the house.
A comfortable fold out bed in a room at the back
with Buddhas watching me switch out the light.
Hilarious dreams, with sexual undertones
shared at breakfast with Frank. The dojo, or hondo
as Gary now calls it, distancing himself a little
from Tai Chi, Taoism and Zen: a room at the top
focussed upon the screen with Zuiken's nembutsu
calligraphed against the window's pervasive light.
A charming detail: their family shrine in one corner.
This is where sixteen people come together to chant
at the service prepared with so much love for months
in advance. This at least is recorded on celluloid.
My dharma talk, written with help from my friends
seems to have gone down well. The spiritual angle
is strongly emphasized from start to finish.
What follows are notes jotted down occasionally
on my outings to London Road for postcards and stamps
and crumpets and lemon and ginger tea for Maria.
I have not attempted to order them into poetry, prefer
to let them speak for themselves, just as they are.
Uranus is on my Ascendant. I shower but do not shave.
A table and chair in the library close to a window.
Spacious and sunny. Asians put away books as I write.
No pressures at all. The Co-op: a nice piece of cheddar.
Wonderful Oxfam bookshop, the assistant tells me
they've given up selling Third World produce,
I purchase second-hand views of Sri Lanka, admire
two whole long shelves crammed with English poetry.
Soil Mates, a comical gardening card Kris will like.
Others for Adam's wedding and Julia, not forgotten.
I had asked the way from a raggedy man on a crutch.
Conference.centre@solent.ac.uk I still have the tab
she gave me, the Black Lady in the red top I approached
(on Gary's behalf!) to ask a few questions. Whaw!
My Nat West pin code is wrong: no access to the 250
pounds remaining on my account in the UK, better
perhaps. She asked me not to come home with bric-à-brac.
I left Bruges wearing two sweaters, but now use one.
The gloves and bonnet are in the house. Mild and sunny.
I sit in the park and think what I'll send The Kids,
what Isabel must be doing, and Johan and Pieter as well.
The Fat Fig, a friendly looking taverna I'd noticed
yesterday claims my attention for lunch. I'll bring
the gang back here this evening, instead of that
boozy dump which our host suggested. My approach
is planned. “I'd like a houmus and a glass of water”.
That's what I get, with Greek bread, and it's great.
A perfect view of the street. You can stare at a tree
for five minutes before you actually notice it. Yes!
Eight o'clock Monday morning. The priests have gone
and Mary is still in bed. We had talked about visiting
the tombstone outside Winchester Cathedral, only
half an hour's drive. He refers to “nudging life
in a certain direction”, an interesting variant on
Marcus' total surrender to Other Power, stressed
in his speech to the sangha. Everything Gary says
on religious subjects carries considerable weight.
We opt for the docks and a run about in the car
to the shorelines outside the city. We see the remains
of the hospital where the soldiers wounded in Africa
(that war which Churchill fought in!) were brought home
to fester. I pick up a gratitude stone on the beach.
Kukodan
Meaning “the heart” in Japanese. The name that Gary's given
to his home in Southcliff Road, which houses the temple
where they celebrate that other Name on Thursday nights.
My kukodan went out to a young psychologist called Judith
who showed an interest in my poetry. Gary has Reflections,
but I have promised I will send her one. She had some questions
about the way I turn the negative to positive, possibly
thinking my ideas on that might help her patients. She also works
in conference planning, will be involved with ESC fourteen.
I'm grateful to her for the talks we had in the crowded lounge
and later in the park (“the Great Art, as I see it, is feeling good
when you really feel bad”) and then beside me in the restaurant.
I may have appealed, in a way, to her hungry Hungarian soul.
For Tina's desk at Jetair, Bruges: Thanks for the cool organization
of this British railtrip. The window seats were much appreciated.
Also the Underground tickets which worked in the machines
and sent me speeding on my way to Waterloo. Only one comment:
leave more time for the connections! My Brussels train ran late
to catch the Eurostar and but for being a weathered city rat
and someone who never hesitates to ask for help, I might
have left poor Gary standing on the platform. Well done, anyway.
It's Tuesday. Mary brings the car back and kisses me goodbye.
She was the perfect hostess – with migraine and depression,
coping with Gary's stress and all hell to pay at work. My heart
went out to her as well. We showed each other our Kuan Yins,
and talked about them passionately, hearing each other's cries.
Mary came to the docks and to the pebbled beach with us,
took our photographs there and in the hondo. Mary was great.
And now I'm at Saint Pancras once again with half an hour,
perfectly timed, to kill before I check in for the Brussels train.
Le Pain Quotidien. In Bruges a groovy indoor tearoom, here
an inviting little table on the thoroughfare, plenty to watch,
a chance to catch up with my notebook (alias mobile phone),
and a waiter who reads my mind. Women on either side of me.
This nice American lady engages quickly in conversation,
which pleases me immensely and gets my kukodan beating.
She's come from Brussels, where she's lived for twenty years,
folds up her laptop, agrees this makes the perfect waiting room.
Works for McLaren, a name I've heard of, in suspension, has
to leave and catch up with some colleagues who are lost.
Time to think of those I love: time for some spiritual vitamins:
you, Maria, Gary, Kris, Julia and Company down in France.
Half an hour into the journey back to mainland Europe.
Sunny, satisfying, smooth. A free seat next to me to put my bag
or is it for Kuan Yin the invisible? Bottle of lime flavoured water.
Across the way a distinguished elderly gentleman, also
with an empty seat beside him, perhaps for a Greek goddess,
unwraps his bento lunch, eating it with a glass of wine.
Funnily enough, I had just started thinking about mine -
a BLT sandwich (breakfast lunch tea? bacon lettuce tomato?)
but thought I'd leave it till we got to Lille. You'll soon be home
from the quilt group. (Was I to know that you were sick in bed?)
Just for today I'll refuse the fatal glass, drink water instead.
In and out of the tunnel
Reflections in the window, black outside:
figures dancing on a laptop screen, seen
in the seat in front. A woman giggling,
our loud hum as we go through under
the Channel to the continental side
of European Shin. Priests Fons and Frank
have blazed the trail in front of me.
The speckled blue sweater we chose
for me to look fairly smart in
rises and falls on my chest as I breathe
smokeless underwater crosswise air
heading for the bourgeois life of Bruges,
without a Buddhist temple of its own,
thinking of Kopje Troost, clutching my gratitude stone.
Namo Amida Butsu to you all.
Perhaps you'd like to know what else I did
in Southampton's funny sunny city.
Nothing! In the true Buddhist sense of the word.
The ubiquitous clocks went round and round,
people came into the rooms, then left,
Nembutsu was uttered about a million times
by arahats and non-arahats alike (the service
gates were thrown wide open to the populace).
Like Yeats we climbed the narrow stair to the hondo
where we photographed the priests. Fellowship was
the word to describe our togetherness downstairs
in Mary's smoky room, watched by sweet Kuan Yin.
We're out! The wide flat fields of France
stretch sunlit to the horizon. Disneyland
tickets are on sale in the bar, we weave our path
out of samsara into the Pure Land and back …..
Say what you like about this marvellous weekend,
it's great to be going home to Maria. Kuan Yin
in my pocket will have lots to tell Amida -
the jizo on my desk. She'll love the Easter biscuits
Gary bought by mistake and gave to me. Ah well,
there's a reason for everything. Positive thinking!
Fleecy clouds float on the afternoon sky
like the stray thoughts of a meditator.
France is at peace with herself.
A farm – one of dozens – shelters
from the wind behind a row of poplars.
The black girl behind me is getting out
at Lille. A van negotiates a country road.
You might see some meaning in all this.
Your next trains are to Nantes and Rennes -
for Marseille and Lyon at six-twenty.
Time for that sandwich and a sanitary stop,
as Lieven Boutens called it on the coach
to La Coupole with Martin, seven years ago.
Goodbye for ever, cousins getting off at Lille.
Approaching joy
Shin Buddhism in daily life – how easy
is it in practice? Must one meditate or simply
"say the Name"? Both are possible but the
Great Masters all agree the Name works best.
And what about the “problems of existence”
that are constantly thrown up in our faces
due to bad karma earned in former lives?
That's the topic of next year's Conference
down in Southampton in the heart of Europe.
That's what will keep us all busy for a year
or more, coping with our computers,
our partners' temperamental outbursts,
plus the proverbial “slings and arrows”
that pierce the heart and mortify the soul.
I'm back in Belgium – Brussels is
five minutes away – I'm ready to dash
for the rush-hour train to Bruges.
In gratitude I murmur my Nembutsu,
in gratitude, and in approaching joy.
Smartphones galore
Dusk. A breath of cold in the evening air.
Not many people waiting for this train.
A funny old woman with two red bags.
Just in time for the last available seat,
luggage perched on my shoulder and my knee,
a girl with frizzy hair crouched on the steps,
only one voice, laptops, smartphones, documents,
books. Bruges and Ghent after a day at work,
back to the dog & cat, the warmed-up dinner,
back to the box, too late for the meeting,
while I sit still in Southampton listening
to the Triple Refuge chanted loud and clear:
In the Buddha I take my refuge,
In the Dharma I take my refuge,
In the Sangha I take my refuge.
How many good atmospheric poems
like the first page of Dostoievsky's Idiot
have you read about crowded stuffy trains
creeping and creaking through a winter night?
Facing me, a handsome girl of forty,
touch of olive in her skin, a Greek nose,
perfect dark eyes she seems to want to close.
Gets out, like nearly everyone, at Ghent
leaving me again beside the window – black
by now, and filled with young reflections.
(She was too beautiful and sad for marriage).
Now I'm back where I started on Friday
five days ago – loaded with karmic vitamins.
This time, my memory camera has functioned.
Not tomorrow, next week or the whole spring
will delete the marvellously beautiful
images imprinted on my roving heart
of a Belgian ambassador abroad.
I have put my arms round the First Quarter
moon and drawn her to me, Tai Chi-wise.
Prince, take these lines, intended as a gift.
The young couple opposite fall asleep
over their mobiles. This notebook is mine.
Tell her I'm coming back. A million N.A.B's.
19.2.13, 19.26.
PERFECTLY NORMAL DAYS
Namo Amida Butsu
Namo Amida Butsu
Namo Amida Butsu
I have reserved a place for you
in the heart of my Pure Land.
Everything I do today
will be meaningful and loving.
Gratitude will be the keynote.
I depend upon Amida
as one hand depends on the other.
Don't worry, be happy, was the song:
Well, Amida is the singer.
Slowly the interference
in my head begins to fade:
I listen to him and am healed.
PROSTRATION
I dedicate this day to you, Amida
and to your handmaiden Kuan Yin.
No other dharma equals or excels
that of your wisdom and compassion.
Even the plants and trees listen to you.
Grant me the blessings of satori and
sobriety as I prostrate before you, an
acolyte lost in the mists of illusion.
Take away my doubt and hesitation
and make this an Amida-minded day!
MOPPING A TABLE
It's a perfectly normal, sunny
Tuesday morning in October
with Autumn sunlight glinting
on the peaceful, ordered traffic
in the square outside the café.
My Cola Zero froths in the glass.
I'm not writing for the papers.
The King and Queen will be here
on Friday, to take care of that.
My souvenir-shop ballpoint
marked "Brugge" (with 3 photos)
decides what I'm going to say.
If anything. Outside the Post
I bumped into a haikuist
who wants to do a book with me
.
This has gone on for three years.
The waitress looks away from me,
knowing damn well who I am.
Kicking off insomnia all night
on the computer to Australia
and a man after my own heart
I had to get out of the house,
muttering mouthfuls of nembutsu,
utterly empty, nervous and sad.
My daughter is in hospital.
Hers flies down to the S. of France
this week, to be with her granny.
From behind the Belfry & a flag
Laura gives me a kiss on the cheek.
It might turn out to be a good week.
Laura: popular Flemish name for the sun.
MID-DAY MEDITATION
Thank God there's a pile of washing-up
and a haunting aria from Il Trovatore?
(I saw it with a friend last Monday)
with Rosalind Plowright as the soprano.
The valerian seems to be working
as I toss the spatula and cooking knives
into the soapy hot water and unwind,
after abandoning attempts at proper Zazen
on my knees in front of the wood stove.
I utter my nembutsu a dozen times.
The lighting is as good as the music
and I can "see what the hands are doing".
Fighting off thoughts of tea with Anabel
and Cristo's seven o'clock meeting,
"First Things First" I keep whispering,
"Make it to your wedding anniversary
(forty years happily spliced with Maria)
on the 9th of November. You could drop dead
in the street after lunch or get your other
elbow smashed by a lunatic cyclist."
Five past one. The pan the sauce was cooked in
surrenders gracefully. There is no Radio One
to tell me how many people were killed
in Syria. So I can have my meal in peace.
Tuesday (my day off) 15 October 13
ON THE FLOOR
to jan vernieuwe
and his band of zen people
knowing
I am going
to the Pure Land
after this
flea-bitten
life
I just
say my
nembutsu
and hope
for the
best -
the rest
is in
His hands.
Tuesday 10 December 13, 08.43.
HO ON KO
"The wish to save all beings" in the present
Salvation for oneself and others -
Based on a manuscript of Professor Hoyu Ishida.
The wish to save all beings and share the benefits of salvation with others is absolutely inherent in your invitation to Eko-Haus for this seminar, dear Professor Aoyama and Reverend Jan-Marc Nottelmann. Your concern for our spiritual welfare, development and progress towards the Land of Supreme Bliss is uppermost in your minds. In this sense you immediately embody the title chosen by Professor Hoyu Ishida for his essay. We do not come here, by difficult journeys across land and water, merely for our own personal benefit, although this plays an important role in our motivation.
We would not have decided to come, had we not wanted to enjoy the blessings of being members of this sangha, the company and fellowship of fellow aspirants. We are here to enlarge our perspectives by learning from one another, and to share our experience and ideas with receptive and understanding audiences. In all these ways we are putting Professor Ishida's thoughts into practice.
The wish to save is the keynote of all five gatherings here in Eko-Haus this weekend. The cost of our travel tickets to Dusseldorf is a small preliminary instalment, if only a symbolic one, on our eventual journey to the Pure Land. We could easily have stayed at home, little pratekya Buddhas in our private living quarters, missing out on a unique opportunity to grow in the spirit and pass on some of the truths we have learned hitherto. The opportunity is also there to test some of our beliefs in the context of the papers being delivered as well as in conversations with sangha members outside the conference rooms.
Did not the Exalted One himself, Sakyamuni Buddha, convene gatherings where he could expound his teaching to the many, wishing, as he did, to save all beings from the endless cycle of birth and death? In coming together like this, we follow in the footsteps of the Buddha. We can pass on our views about the meaning of salvation and its attainment without exposing ourselves unnecessarily to hostile criticism. Our Shin masters warn us against entering into debate on religious issues with outsiders. Here we are in a safe and protected environment. Without the Buddha's teaching, there could have been no Buddhism.
Professor Hoyu Ishida's presentation examines what "becoming a Buddha" means in the context of "salvation", which is generally understood by Buddhists to mean "liberation” or "enlightenment" in addition to deliverance from disease, misfortune, unhappiness and other forms of pain and suffering in this samsaric world. Personal experience and self-examination are essential on the path to "salvation". Let us remember Shinran having said that Amida's Primal Vow was made for him alone. We must work out our own "salvation" with diligence, in Sakyamuni Buddha's dying words, but this is not the whole story, for it suggests a self-benefiting activity which is only half the aim of Mahayana Buddhism.
In fact, the Bodhisattva or "Buddha-to-be" seeks by his or her efforts on the spiritual path to obtain the deliverance of all. This unselfish goal takes into account the idea of interdependence, whereby the individual is intimately related to the whole, and all actions are interconnected. In the brief experience of enlightenment known as "satori", which may occur on any square of any town at any time, all the people there present join in and benefit from the exalted mood of the person in question.
In the school of Buddhism known as Jodo Shinshu "salvation" comes in the first place with the "saying of the Name" recommended in the 18th Vow, as a result of which the devotee is united with Amida and, by virtue of his entrusting heart, is embraced by the Tathagata, never to be abandoned. Honen, the Pure Land Master par excellence, describes it in The Covenant as follows:- "To attain birth in the Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss of Amida Buddha requires nothing but implicit faith that mere recitation of Namo Amida Butsu ensures attainment of birth in the Pure Land. The teachings of the threefold devotional heart and the four modes of exercise are encompassed by the firm belief that birth in the Pure Land is assured by the recitation of Namo Amida Butsu. If I further expound on any thought other than this, I would be excluded from the compassionate mercy of the Two Honoured Ones and be at odds with the essential vow of Amida Buddha."
Single-minded entrusting and irreversible faith in the working of Amida's Vow is known as "shinjin" and it is said to be diamond-hard. In his essay Professor Ishida describes it as "one's awareness or realization of the working of Amida Buddha". I would add a personal note and suggest that, when we recite our nembutsu, which is so simple and yet so complete, we are conscious of other practicers all over the world, doing the same thing, day and night. This is just one way in which the continual practice of nembutsu is anything but a lonely individual activity. We are united with one another, as well as with Amida. There are no five or six different nembutsus.
For us Shin Buddhists, Namo Amida Butsu is the one true, reliable, sensible and incontestable statement in a highly complex and deceptive world, where every truth is open to interpretation and disappointments lurk at every corner. It brings us back time and time again to Amida's Vow to save all sentient beings, repeating the simple truth that salvation is available to one and all. The active Shin Buddhist who, like the Founder Shinran, is deeply and sometimes painfully aware of his character defects and shortcomings, nevertheless accepts Amida's invitation to "come just as he is". Amida makes no distinction between the virtuous person and the wrong-doer. The gate to Amida's Land is open for one and all. The baffling simplicity of this so-called "Simple Path" confers upon it the allures of a world religion within anybody's comprehension. In their writings the Shin Masters, and Honen in particular, often refer to Shan-tao and the need to distinguish between the Gate of Sages (the difficult path of Self Power) and the Pure Land Gate (the simple path of Other Power).
Our Masters maintain that it is almost impossible to achieve realization by one's own efforts, and we are therefore driven to surrender and fall back on the Power of Amida's Vow. Other Power, contrasting with the use of the unbridled will, can be felt in many ways, big and small. The Other Power person feels "guided" in his or her actions, to some extent going with the flow, and grateful for opportunities which arise of themselves. In Shin Buddhism this is known as 'the unhindered path'. You know when you are on it, for you are protected by countless Buddhas and Bodhisattvas, and you know when you have wandered off it, for your little "I" starts getting mixed up in conflicts. Namo Amida Butsu is sometimes called the nembutsu of Other Power.
Shan-tao declares that "one saying of the Name eliminates one's entire karmic evil". If this is so, then it is likely that anyone who sees, hears or utters the nembutsu once is on the path to salvation. It is not for us to judge. Inadvertently, in the course of an everyday conversation, we may sow the seed of Buddhahood. For the rest, we should perhaps follow Rennyo's advice, at the end of many of his letters, where he advises us to fulfil our social obligations and simply recite nembutsu unconcerned about our karmic evil. This is the natural way which Shin strives for. With a little wisdom and compassion we will be on the way to taking everyone in our own world with us through the Pure Land Gate.
Namo Amida Butsu.