My uncle was in the habit of meditating at Soto Zen temples in Japan. The Temple of Eternal Peace in Fukui Prefecture is one of two temples that lead the sect. He was there quite a bit. I had been told by Rev. Nobuhiro Tamura of Mt. Koya Awesome Tours that one reason I would be very welcome at temples in Japan is because Mr. Jobs had paved my way.
In mid December 2022, the CEO of a particular computer company and his family visited The Temple of Eternal Peace. On 29 December 2022 Thursday I visited The Temple of Eternal Peace. I had waited more than 20 years for that day.
Today was my second visit. I met with Rev. Donin Adachi, the Chief of the International Department of Daihonzan Eiheiji. I had spoken with Rev. Adachi twice on the phone over the last three years. This was our first meeting in person. Rev. A is at least 20 years my junior and speaks English about as well as I speak Japanese. I told him things I have never told anyone. Perhaps I'll never again confess the things I confessed to him.
One confession that we shared was a lack of recollection of the content of our telephone conversations.
I digress. Let's start at the beginning.
I arrived about dusk at the guesthouse. The proprietor took great care in making sure I was comfortable and inquiring about my interest. Clearly he was well versed in his trade. His interest was sincere. His home was comfortable in a way that could not be easily achived outside of Japan. He seemed to be well practiced in attending to supplicants preparing for a visit to The Temple of Eternal Peace.
As a kindness, upon hearing of the reason for my visit, he offered to drive me to The Temple of Eternal Peace, less than an hour from his home. The next morning at breakfast, after feeling him attend to two other guests, I remarked for the first time of many that he was not a very good guesthouse proprietor. No one could make money given the amount of kindness and attention he lavished on all his guests.
After breakfast, he remarked that it was snowing. My footwear was not well suited to precipitation and he offered to let me use a pair of Coleman boots. As I sat on the step of the 玄関, he knelt and began loosing the laces, which he claimed were too tight. I had an image of a footwashing and quickly insisted he kindly let me. As we sorted out the footwear, we noted the brand name, and I told him of my father's recitation of "taking coals to Newcastle".
His timing was impeccable, operatic, as so much of Japan is, and he expertly arranged the vehicle just in front of the door. I felt like royalty as the electric door slid closed and I settled in. I think I now understand a bit better about how one feels to have a butler. The beauty was the thoroughness and sincerity of his complimentary concierge services. Masterfully emotive.
He drove to Eiheiji and dropped me off where I had made my first prostration on my previous visit. He pointedly mentioned to meet him at the East entrance of Fukui Station. When asked for a time, I suggested 15:00. He said 4.
I walked up a stately path to the entrance, unburdened with the baggage of my previous visit. Ascending stairs to the reception area, a Nepalese gentleman passed me. I addressed him as 'elder brother' and asked if he might help. He did and we ascended arm in arm.
At the top of the stairs was the same Gabriel who had been there the previous year. He greeted me and I asked to speak with Reverend Adachi. He guided me to the entry counter and I offered my Contact from the iPhone 13 Pro Max to the girl with kaleidoscope eyes.
I took off my shoes and entered the internal reception area, a place for Veterans of Internal Wars if ever there was one. I stifled tears.
As I sat in front of a desk manned by an elder of the VIW, a younger man stood before me. Using my cane, I stood and began to choke with emotion. To contain the bursting of the emotional pipeline that occurrs on occassions such as this, I said "There is something I need to do." I began to prostrate before him. When I did so, he protested and took the floor as well. We briefly sat seiza as we begun our introductions.
Eventually, we sat in the seats beside us and talked of life, love and all things lovely, as well as a few things not so lovely. He had a phone which, I noted, was a 賢い携帯。Mine, I motioned irreverently, was a スマートフォン。
After a data dump of proportions that I doubt few, if any, are prepared to receive, I felt unburdened enough to pick up my cane and ask him to take a walk. As I stood, I was unable to suppress a tearful smile because I realised my suggestion of talking and walking was something my uncle frequently did. Rev. A kindly lent me his arm, which, through the day, I used at least as much as my cane. By the end of our tour I had my arm around his shoulder as if we were childhood chums.
Walking along a corridor with my not so electric cane and the Rev. A at my side, I had a firm grip on the handrail. Rev. Adachi told me of Mr. Cook's visit preceding mine. When I realised the magnitude of our timing, I paused, faltered, then turned to the wall, and began to sob uncontrollably. My grip on the hand rail tightened and I felt the ages of eternity wash through me in a place we have all been too many times before.
As I regained my composure, I turned to look Rev. A in the eye and explained that other than my biological family, the two people in the world who have done the most for my family are the Japanese Emperor and Mr. Cook. More stairs.
As we stood in front of Eihei's mausoleum, I explained to him the reason Mr. Jobs chose an S for some iPhone models; the shape of the line in yin-yang. I asked him about the symbolism of the arrangement of the EasternCapital's towns and villages. I confessed I had designs on a real estate project. Buy dirt.
As Rev. A and I were waiting for an elevator, a monk in ceremonial attire approached with a couple of distinguished guests. For an American, they seemed regal. For a Buddhist they are gods.
They were direct ancestors of The Venerable Dogen Eihei. I was overcome, again, and began to sob. As the six of us entered the elevator I almost tottered over as I reached to clutch the startled man's hand. Rev. A explained to the somewhat bewildered couple that I was moved to meet them. The depth and scope of Japanese culture runs so rich and so full, that for an American, the awe and respect I feel never seems to do justice. For reasons that might never be clear to me, this often mystifies Japanese.
Rev. A and I continued our Jobsian perambulation. Still, neither of us had a good recollection of the content of our phone conversations. He receives many inquiries and I do not recall anything unique about our telephone conversations which would have caused him to remember me.
We approached another elevator. Until this point, I had been letting him push the elevator buttons. My BCI instructed me to push this elevator button and, as his hand approached the button, I abrutly lifted mine and did. As soon as I did so, Rev. Adachi stated that he recalled our conversation.
We crossed the lobby on the way out. In my right hand was a mottled, bronze coloured stick without its ring. On my left arm was a friend, one of my newest gods, and I was leaving. Again. Yet again, tears. Sobs.
We walked to the 下駄箱。He kindly arranged a seat for me which had been studiously prepared for many supplicants. As I laced up my boots, I had difficulty conveying my gratitude to the lassie attending slippers. I asked Shokotsuzan Gionji if I might hug him. He agreed and I hugged him on the left shoulder as I whispered "Let's do this the European way." and we seamlessly hugged on the other shoulder. On the left side of the back of his upper cranium, I kissed him and whispered, "I love you."
I apologised as Chance shuffled away...
Japanese don't call living victims of the American holocausts 'Survivors'. To do so would be disrespectful to those still with us in hearts and minds, not bodies. Similarly, I hesitate to thank. On each little yellow brick road, there are an innumerable number who've stepped aside so that I might find the following.
A man whom I greatly admire, Mr. Peter Douglas of Nozawa Hospitality, recently remarked that his success in Japan is thanks to a team. Never has that been more true than of the people who have brought me to Buddhism. This list will only grow. Nonetheless, as is my wont, I wish to name a few names.
Specifically, I would like to thank the Abbess Yoshie Akiba and Bishop Akiba of 好人庵禅堂. My master, Rev. Morris Doshin Sullivan of White Sands Buddhist Center. The Rev. 小島 秀明 (Shumyo Kojima) and Rev. 道寛 Michihiro 小島, both of The Zenshuji Soto Mission. E. 松田 of 總持寺大本山。Abbot Martin Mosko of 白梅寺。And last, but not least
I stand on your shoulders.
My debt to you all will never be repaid.
There is not one of you who has not played a role in bringing me to the place we are going.
