I didn’t learn how to un-worry until I lived in Japan a few years and saw how the Japanese do it. Un-worry is not the same thing as not worrying, the get out of bed late, don’t give a damn about others self centered variety I found too much of in American life. Un-worry is do what you have to do and do your best for yourself and others at any given moment…but don’t worry about the outcome. It’s going to be what it’s going to be.
To that end I always find the Japanese cultural fine art of compartmentalization amazing and extremely useful. No matter what happens there’s enough dry disattachment to switch gears and do…something else, something constructive. It’s the Sho-ga-nai spirit that westerns see as negative that I see as positive gear shift. I secretly think it’s the thing that got Japan from WWII defeat to the world’s 2nd largest (recently 3rd largest) economy. I cannot imagine the American psyche suffering a similar sized defeat from the outside and sifting gears so adroitly, too much hanging on hysteria. Life is tough but it doesn’t have to be tough on you. Sho-ga-nai.
I’ve been wanting to see the hit Korean movie Parasite even since it won the Academy Award for best picture but am too distracted by COVID restrictions and the hassles of life interrupted. Parasite was a small hit in Japan but when combing comments on Japanese blogs and forums, it’s clear the movie resonates with older views much more than younger ones. In particular it’s the older viewers who grew up and came of age in the Showa era who appreciate the social tensions and dynamics at play. Younger viewers just scratch their heads.
This kind of Showa is brilliantly portrayed in the 1982 movie ‘Giwaku’ (Suspicion) and Kaori Momoi’s legendary award winning performance. The last scene of her pouring wine on the lawyer who saved her life, played by Shima Iwashita is often called ‘over the top’ by western reviewers, but it is not. People who lived in that era know that particular coveting creature: wanting someone else’s something but also wanting the worst for that someone, a spiritual poverty of measuring one’s happiness by a particular persons misfortune.
It’s the same dark side sometimes implied, but never directly expressed, in the Japanese expression ‘mura shakai’ (village society/村社会) being closed off from society. It’s almost gone but still survives in tiny pockets. It’s not physical isolation but isolation in the minds of groups who close themselves off. A Sado friend told me about a recent event in one small corner of the island know to be that way. A Japanese man retired there from outside the island. He was mistakenly diagnosed as infected with COVID-19 (PCR tests are only 40% accurate). Village locals discreetly harassed him and damaged his house to the point where it was inhabitable. Only after he was driven out did the local hospital say they made a mistake, that his test was negative. It played out in the dark, off the record, nobody acknowledging anything.
We may snicker as such human behavior and think our modern selves above it, but the parasite mind is alive and well on social media. When cultural warriors who are only happy when they destroy peoples reputation and remove them from public life, that’s the parasite mind at work. Meanwhile I keep telling myself that I’ll catch up and finally watch Parasite…when things calm down…if they ever do.
The Japanese Kanji and meaning for Kuyo (供養), apparently has no real direct equivalent in Chinese; I occasionally run across online questions from mainland Chinese exchange students in Japan asking what it means. The standard English translation, ‘memorial’, is worthless and does almost nothing to convey what Kuyo really is.
Kuyo is praying for the spirit of the deceased to be nourished by our earthly efforts so they attain enlightenment. In this way Kuyo is closer to the original ancient Indian Buddhist ceremonies and also elements of Vietnamese Buddhism which suggests that the culture traveled the southern trade routes to Japan.
In traditional Japanese Buddhism the 50th memorial year was the usual cutoff up through the Showa era, but these days the cutoff is the 33rd memorial since most of the people directly connected with the deceased aren’t around to do Kuyo for them, and it’s not the responsibility for later generations.
Japanese Buddhist practitioners say that forgetting is just as important in Kuyo as remembering. That sounds like a contradiction but it’s part of letting go of the past even as one honors it with Kuyo prayers; an important natural progression not only for the living, but also for the spirits of the deceased to leave past lives and become enlightened.
2020 marks the 75th anniversary of the end of the Pacific War. The annual Kuyo ceremony for all victims of the war and prayer for world peace was held on August 15 at the Chidorigafuchi National Cemetery. This years event was drastically scaled down because of COVID but I see it staying small as the number of people with direct connections with the war dwindles away.
When it disappears entirely I hope people will remember to forget, in the right way. I don’t believe that the people of the war generation wanted Kuyo to go on forever or burden future generations with the responsibility. They wanted them to be free from the past and lead happy lives, because that is the ultimate goal of Kuyo: happiness and enlightenment for all beings of the past, present and future.
Many festivals are canceled this year because of COVID but you can still go to a local shrine or temple and tie your Tanabata wish to the bamboo. It’s always fun to read what other people have wished for: good health, happy family or the very appropriate ‘go away COVID’.
In the old lunar calendar Tanabata and Obon came together, 7/7 and 7/13 respectively. The western calendar mixed things up in the Meiji era because both events herald the last hurrah of Japanese summer and fall during the western August when calculated by the lunar July. This is why the events are July in Tokyo and August in the countryside.
There are plenty of hot days after Obon but summer feels done, you can feel wisps of autumn in the night air. The Japanese enjoyment of seasons is never the full gaudy glory but in catching the first faint whispers of change.
My nephew passed away in January at the age of 36 from a diabetic coma. Ten years ago he came to Japan with his dad (my older brother), on a trip to Nagano where we visited several hot springs. After his son passed away, my brother said the trip had been a special memory for my nephew. I then promised to offer a memorial prayer when I climbed Shichimensan in the spring.
Then the COVID-19 crisis hit and going anywhere became a nightmare of hurdles: travel restrictions, reduced operating hours, limited transit schedules, getting enough face masks, hand sanitizer, and even toilet paper as those items became hard to obtain.
It turned out to be a memorable trip. This was not because the trip itself was difficult or long. Instead there was an otherworldly quality in attempting to do normal things in a world that just isn’t normal. Japanese authorities never enacted a “lockdown.” Instead, local governments requested self-restraint for businesses and the public in early April.
Throughout the month, wearing face masks at all times outside the home became routine while clear plastic barriers were put up at every store checkout. Cafes and restaurants reduced seats, then they closed altogether or switched to takeout only. Rush-hour trains and the Shinkansen started running empty. By Golden Week vacation, normally a peak time for travel and going out, city streets and major stations were nearly empty and looked like scenes from a science fiction movie.
Going to Shichimen seemed like it would be out of the question until I called Okunoin temple and discovered that travel restrictions were lifted at the end of Golden Week. The temple was open for pilgrimages, offered food and shelter, but the priest on the phone advised me to wear a mask when I was there, and to be careful of leeches on the lower parts of the trail. I decided to take the chance, packed extra masks and disinfectant, purchased a bus ticket online and made my way to Shinjuku bus terminal on a clear Saturday morning.
Anyone who has used Shinjuku bus terminal on a weekend knows how packed and hectic it is. However, on this Saturday morning, the terminal was empty except for the staff who checked and rechecked empty passenger lists. The bus to Minobu was empty, the expressway and rest areas were clear of cars and trucks. At Minobusan, the Kuonji morning service had just three local residents attended to by 20 priests.
And yet, things felt more normal in Minobu than anywhere else. People were running errands, schools were beginning to reopen, construction workers were busy. On the final taxi ride up to the Shichimensan Omotesando trail entrance, the driver pointed at the gravel road and said, “take a good look because this road is going up there soon.” He nodded up the hill where there was another road. “They need that road to remove rock as they bore the new Shinkansen tunnel.” The new linear maglev Chuo Shinkansen line from Tokyo to Nagoya will tunnel through the Southern Alps region very close to Mt. Shichimen.
I did a quick waterfall purification at Bentendo Temple along the Haruki River and then started to climb. There are five rest area “bo” on the climb up the South Sando pilgrimage trail. All of them were closed and quiet except for the sound of bees circling clumps of Rhododendron blossoms. There were also songbirds: wrens, flycatchers and robins. The month of May is the best time to hear them since they are so active.
Trail damage from two typhoons in the past two years was massive in places. Whole valley sides are missing along with pieces of the upper trail. There are new trail sections built around them. At the gate entrance to Keishiin Temple, I noticed something new. Deer had eaten away the bark of old trees seriously damaging them. Deer overpopulation is a big problem in Japanese mountains. Protecting high mountain forests and wildflowers is a growing challenge.
The next morning, the temple priest drummed and chanted the Odaimoku until the first rays of sun shot over the horizon. He then recited the famous Kenji Miyazawa poem “Ame ni mo Makezu,” “Not losing to the rain… Not fettered by desire.” I thought of the quote Nichiren Shonin included at the conclusion of Kanjin Honzon Sho, “When the sky is blue, the land is bright, those who know the Lotus Sutra can see the reasons for the occurrences in the world.”
After morning prayers were finished with a memorial toba for my nephew enshrined on the altar, I said goodbye to the priests and hiked down the North Sando pilgrimage trail. The forest on this side of Shichimensan was untouched by typhoon damage. Returning to Tokyo, I felt exhausted but also refreshed and grounded again. Nichiren Shonin lived in extremely challenging times, but now we are all living in our own challenging times, how comforting it is to follow in the wisdom of his footsteps.