The Bishop's Birthday
On most of my adventures, I don't pick up a friend of Tokyo Rose.
The book was tale of a Buddhist's path through war, brutality, conspiracy and betrayal, torment and enlightenment. Nichijo was deeply scarred by the events chronicled therein. Yet to spend time with him in all his various haunts around Hilo and Puna, when it wasn't about Buddhism, it was about laughter and the enjoyment of present company.
Throughout the 2500-year history of Buddhism, its community of adherents, the sangha, grew and partitioned into many sects. Different orders emphasized a particular Sutra and manifestations were hybridized by the indigenous beliefs of far-flung regions of Asia: India, Nepal, Tibet, Burma, Thailand, Cambodia, China, Korea, Japan; each with their own flavor.
Nichijo explored the different sects that were offering instruction in San Francisco of the 1930's; Soto, Zen and the Shin sect he was initially ordained in. He finally found resonance and welcoming in the Nichiren Shoshu sect, which focused on the Lotus Sutra. After years of instruction and finally ordination in America, he was allowed to join the ancient monastery at Mt. Minobu where Nichiren began his teaching in the 13th century. The Lotus perspective is to attain Buddhahood in one's present form in this lifetime.
Now, remember back in 1964 when I was comically "kidnapped" by some Soka Gakkai Buddhists in Isla Vista. Their movement was a mid twentieth century product of Japanese pop culture. They were promoting Buddhism through their adopted use of the Nichiren's 700 year old Gohonzon scroll and Daimoku chant: Nam-Myoho-Renge-Kyo.
In the Bodhisattva vow, there are 84,000 gateways to the true law. "84,000 Gateways" is a poetic reference to the idea that anything and everything is a door to enlightenment. Some monastic traditions are ancient, austere and ascetic; some hold to a pantheon of saints, demons and demi-gods; some of them are adorned, as in this case, with neon lights and fireworks and magical incantations. They all lead to the same place...of course they do. To quote Thadeus Golas, "Enlightenment doesn't care how you get there".
So on the auspicious authority of one who scaled the metaphysical heights on Mt. Minobu in the Arai Gyodo ritual, Nam-Myoho-Renge-Kyo is translated as: "Praise to the Lotus Sutra and the mysterious perfection of everything, just as it is." Try it. It won't hurt you.
The Arai Gyodo is "100 Days in Winter", a purification ritual open to the most advanced monks. As Nichijo described it in the book we collaborated on:
"Finally, the Lord Abbot informed me that I would be allowed to participate in the Arai Gyodo beginning in the middle of November. There had been snow on the ground for several weeks and the crisp mountain air cut through our usual robes, but the clothing for the Arai Gyodo was to be a single cotton garment, and no shoes at all. The regular meals at Minobu had been Spartan, but for the monks of the Arai Gyodo, there would be a cup of rice and soup once a day, and a cup of tea at another time. I believed that I could survive on this ration for three months: I had lived for years on less.
"There is a big difference, however, in what one must endure and what one chooses to endure. Imposed discipline is easier in a way than self discipline; and those participating in the Arai Gyodo could leave whenever they wanted, though it would mean they would have to leave Minobu in disgrace.
"Many old monks were taking part this time, some of whom had taken the purification as many as fifteen times before. At least four masters participated in order to conduct the training.
"The day begins with a pre-dawn ice water bath, and the chanting begins, as the monks walk around and around in a circle, barefoot in the snow. Each hour we stop for an ice water bath, then return to our chanting and their circular procession in the snow. Twenty-one ice water baths a day, three hours sleep, one hundred days; this is the Arai Gyodo, a "purification place", "One Hundred Days in Winter."
"In a few days I felt like I wasn't going to make it. It was much more difficult than I had anticipated. Food, warmth and sleep were just outside the temple gate. Our feet became cracked and bloody, and our path, a red circle in the white snow. There was a vat of warm sake from which we could drink whenever we wanted, but the old timers cautioned me to avoid it. Likewise there was a choice of a warm bath every two weeks, but the old ones told me I would be better off without that as well.
"We chanted "Namu Myoho-renge-kyo", "Adoration to the Lotus, to the mysterious perfection of everything, just as it is." The sound of our voices became hoarse and cracked and the source of the tones moved to deep inside, so that the chanting took on a guttural resonation. The voices from stomachs became a communal heartbeat fusing our bodies and spirits into one. I began to experience my body disappearing, or rather, revealing its etheric true nature, an illusion as insubstantial as my own individual identity, my "self": a puppet's fantasy. My being became centered and calm ...and "here". I knew that I would make it.
"The others had reached this plane as well, and our combined states of mind and our constant chanting was creating a spiritual vortex. The energy of each monk in the circle seemed combined with the rest, the group becoming one being, the individuals as the fingers of one hand, one mind.
"After three-quarters of the hundred days had elapsed, I had reached the state of mind that I wanted this to go on forever, and I could understand why the old ones had come again and again. One old monk died during the ritual, and I could see what a sublime death it was, and we were certain that the old monk had been happy to have ended that way.
"Having been prepared in this manner, the participants were ready to receive the highest teachings of the order. The attendant masters delivered occult training in the healing arts based on the 16th Chapter of the Lotus Sutra. The teachings of the Arai Gyodo are secret and are not described to outsiders.
"Finally, the Hundred Days in Winter have passed and it is over; but for the others, and myself it is too soon. How to leave such a state? It is customarily arranged that some strong supporter of the priest's teaching is there to greet him as he emerges. For me, it was Ralph Lindquist, the man with the Karate Dojo in Pennsylvania, who had been instrumental in my return to teaching Buddhism.
"Shortly after completing the Arai Gyodo, I was raised in rank to something on the order of Bishop, with the authority to ordain priests. I was given the name Nichijo Shaka. Nichijo means "sun-vehicle", and Shaka is the Japanese spelling of the name of the clan from which emerged the original historic Buddha, the Sakya clan.
"Following my ordination ceremony, I walked down to the village of Minobu's outer gate, to make the traditional procession up through the winding main street of Minobu chanting "Namu Myoho-renge-kyo".
"I was known to everyone in the village, and today, wearing my new insignia of high rank, I was honored and congratulated by all. The proprietors of every shop and inn asked me to stop and chant a sutra before each of their shrines. It was a triumphant procession, Minobu's version of a ticker tape parade. After some hours, I reached the huge Sammon Gate, entrance to the temple grounds, and retired to my quarters".
From the ascetic ritual in the snow at Mount Minobu, to a grand fireworks show in San Diego, all the fingers point to the same moon, as all waters return to the sea.
By August 6, 1984, his 67th birthday, we knew each other pretty well. I was giving him a ride to his birthday celebration at a restaurant in Hilo. I picked him up at his dojo behind Pahoa and we stopped at the Pahoa Cash and Carry so that he could purchase a half pint of brandy. By the time we reached Keaau 8 miles later, the Bishop required another half pint from Akiyama Store. And one more stop before we continued on to Hilo, the Hongwanji, across the street and a few doors down. "It's my birthday, and I must honor my parents!"
Hongwanji is a popular form of Buddhism and most of the Japanese people in the Hawaiian Islands are so affiliated, and many attend Sunday services. A Hongwanji has the same layout as a Christian church. There are pews with an aisle down the middle, an altar at the front, a lectern from which the priest would expound the topic of the week and a raised choir box on the right. Except for the substitution the Amida Buddha for Jesus; a Baptist, Presbyterian or Catholic would feel right at home in this building.
He invited me to go in with him. I reached the doors first and started to open one when I stopped. "Nichijo, there's already some kind of service going on in there!" He nodded, reached into his robe and pulled out a string of ojuzu beads. He said some words in Japanese, and then placed the beads around my neck. "It's all right," he said, "We are Buddhist priests!" We entered, walked to the front and sat down in the first row. After a few minutes sitting in respectful silence, he got up, approached the altar, lit some incense and paid homage to his parents in Japanese. So that was my comic ordination. We soon left and were on our way to Hilo. I have never passed myself off as a Buddhist priest, or even a Buddhist, but I treasure the beads and the story of how I got them. I'm not not a Buddhist either.
As in most of the arenas of his life, Nichijo had earned a broad spectrum of reputations in East Hawaii in the 1980's. Many of my friends had encountered him in a variety of venues, and most of them had an outrageous story to tell about this complex character. Some people had a distaste of him, for one reason or another. To those of us who spent any time with him; he was funny, emotional, entertaining, histrionic, mercurial, uproarious, flamboyant, sometimes drunk, theatrical, problematic and fearless. And as zany as he could be at times, he was a serious Buddhist scholar and priest. At a public event commemorating the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki at the Hilo Civic Center, Nichijo was standing in full robes on the platform with other robed clerics and local dignitaries. It was he that delivered the lead-off invocation that day. Apparently, he was the highest-ranking Buddhist Bishop in the Hawaiian Islands. He could get the island Mayor on the phone. He could get the Governor on the phone. He could get somebody out of jail on just his say-so. And like I described earlier, he could get his way at the Social Security Office.
Concerning other mysteries, my theories would only be slightly more informed than anyone who had read the book. The full story of the POW broadcast program has not been told. The mysterious roles of Americans Ince and Cousens and their Japanese government handlers Ikeda and Domoto, has not been told. Were Iva Toguri and John Provoo responsible for what occurred at Radio Tokyo? Of course not, but they were the only ones punished. Was there a conspiracy to obscure the true facts? Obviously, but I don't know the who, the what, or the why.
I was just a scribe in this telling. I was following the blueprint left for me by this departed friend. I am a carpenter who picked up a hitchhiker one day in rural Hawaii. And as we drove around country roads in my old pickup truck, I listened to his stories, and I wrote them down. He wanted to make sure that the unique thread of history he had witnessed was not lost, and I promised to bring it to light after he was gone.
There's one last thing that Nichijo told me that I want to share, and then I'll just leave it at that. I'm not even sure it's a Buddhist idea. Perhaps some reader can enlighten me. In my studies, I had never heard it before. He said, "Your life is allegorical. It's telling you a story."
Copyright © 2022 John Oliver
All Rights Reserved
mail@unclejohnsweb.com
The book was tale of a Buddhist's path through war, brutality, conspiracy and betrayal, torment and enlightenment. Nichijo was deeply scarred by the events chronicled therein. Yet to spend time with him in all his various haunts around Hilo and Puna, when it wasn't about Buddhism, it was about laughter and the enjoyment of present company.
Throughout the 2500-year history of Buddhism, its community of adherents, the sangha, grew and partitioned into many sects. Different orders emphasized a particular Sutra and manifestations were hybridized by the indigenous beliefs of far-flung regions of Asia: India, Nepal, Tibet, Burma, Thailand, Cambodia, China, Korea, Japan; each with their own flavor.
Nichijo explored the different sects that were offering instruction in San Francisco of the 1930's; Soto, Zen and the Shin sect he was initially ordained in. He finally found resonance and welcoming in the Nichiren Shoshu sect, which focused on the Lotus Sutra. After years of instruction and finally ordination in America, he was allowed to join the ancient monastery at Mt. Minobu where Nichiren began his teaching in the 13th century. The Lotus perspective is to attain Buddhahood in one's present form in this lifetime.
Now, remember back in 1964 when I was comically "kidnapped" by some Soka Gakkai Buddhists in Isla Vista. Their movement was a mid twentieth century product of Japanese pop culture. They were promoting Buddhism through their adopted use of the Nichiren's 700 year old Gohonzon scroll and Daimoku chant: Nam-Myoho-Renge-Kyo.
In the Bodhisattva vow, there are 84,000 gateways to the true law. "84,000 Gateways" is a poetic reference to the idea that anything and everything is a door to enlightenment. Some monastic traditions are ancient, austere and ascetic; some hold to a pantheon of saints, demons and demi-gods; some of them are adorned, as in this case, with neon lights and fireworks and magical incantations. They all lead to the same place...of course they do. To quote Thadeus Golas, "Enlightenment doesn't care how you get there".
So on the auspicious authority of one who scaled the metaphysical heights on Mt. Minobu in the Arai Gyodo ritual, Nam-Myoho-Renge-Kyo is translated as: "Praise to the Lotus Sutra and the mysterious perfection of everything, just as it is." Try it. It won't hurt you.
The Arai Gyodo is "100 Days in Winter", a purification ritual open to the most advanced monks. As Nichijo described it in the book we collaborated on:
"Finally, the Lord Abbot informed me that I would be allowed to participate in the Arai Gyodo beginning in the middle of November. There had been snow on the ground for several weeks and the crisp mountain air cut through our usual robes, but the clothing for the Arai Gyodo was to be a single cotton garment, and no shoes at all. The regular meals at Minobu had been Spartan, but for the monks of the Arai Gyodo, there would be a cup of rice and soup once a day, and a cup of tea at another time. I believed that I could survive on this ration for three months: I had lived for years on less.
"There is a big difference, however, in what one must endure and what one chooses to endure. Imposed discipline is easier in a way than self discipline; and those participating in the Arai Gyodo could leave whenever they wanted, though it would mean they would have to leave Minobu in disgrace.
"Many old monks were taking part this time, some of whom had taken the purification as many as fifteen times before. At least four masters participated in order to conduct the training.
"The day begins with a pre-dawn ice water bath, and the chanting begins, as the monks walk around and around in a circle, barefoot in the snow. Each hour we stop for an ice water bath, then return to our chanting and their circular procession in the snow. Twenty-one ice water baths a day, three hours sleep, one hundred days; this is the Arai Gyodo, a "purification place", "One Hundred Days in Winter."
"In a few days I felt like I wasn't going to make it. It was much more difficult than I had anticipated. Food, warmth and sleep were just outside the temple gate. Our feet became cracked and bloody, and our path, a red circle in the white snow. There was a vat of warm sake from which we could drink whenever we wanted, but the old timers cautioned me to avoid it. Likewise there was a choice of a warm bath every two weeks, but the old ones told me I would be better off without that as well.
"We chanted "Namu Myoho-renge-kyo", "Adoration to the Lotus, to the mysterious perfection of everything, just as it is." The sound of our voices became hoarse and cracked and the source of the tones moved to deep inside, so that the chanting took on a guttural resonation. The voices from stomachs became a communal heartbeat fusing our bodies and spirits into one. I began to experience my body disappearing, or rather, revealing its etheric true nature, an illusion as insubstantial as my own individual identity, my "self": a puppet's fantasy. My being became centered and calm ...and "here". I knew that I would make it.
"The others had reached this plane as well, and our combined states of mind and our constant chanting was creating a spiritual vortex. The energy of each monk in the circle seemed combined with the rest, the group becoming one being, the individuals as the fingers of one hand, one mind.
"After three-quarters of the hundred days had elapsed, I had reached the state of mind that I wanted this to go on forever, and I could understand why the old ones had come again and again. One old monk died during the ritual, and I could see what a sublime death it was, and we were certain that the old monk had been happy to have ended that way.
"Having been prepared in this manner, the participants were ready to receive the highest teachings of the order. The attendant masters delivered occult training in the healing arts based on the 16th Chapter of the Lotus Sutra. The teachings of the Arai Gyodo are secret and are not described to outsiders.
"Finally, the Hundred Days in Winter have passed and it is over; but for the others, and myself it is too soon. How to leave such a state? It is customarily arranged that some strong supporter of the priest's teaching is there to greet him as he emerges. For me, it was Ralph Lindquist, the man with the Karate Dojo in Pennsylvania, who had been instrumental in my return to teaching Buddhism.
"Shortly after completing the Arai Gyodo, I was raised in rank to something on the order of Bishop, with the authority to ordain priests. I was given the name Nichijo Shaka. Nichijo means "sun-vehicle", and Shaka is the Japanese spelling of the name of the clan from which emerged the original historic Buddha, the Sakya clan.
"Following my ordination ceremony, I walked down to the village of Minobu's outer gate, to make the traditional procession up through the winding main street of Minobu chanting "Namu Myoho-renge-kyo".
"I was known to everyone in the village, and today, wearing my new insignia of high rank, I was honored and congratulated by all. The proprietors of every shop and inn asked me to stop and chant a sutra before each of their shrines. It was a triumphant procession, Minobu's version of a ticker tape parade. After some hours, I reached the huge Sammon Gate, entrance to the temple grounds, and retired to my quarters".
From the ascetic ritual in the snow at Mount Minobu, to a grand fireworks show in San Diego, all the fingers point to the same moon, as all waters return to the sea.
By August 6, 1984, his 67th birthday, we knew each other pretty well. I was giving him a ride to his birthday celebration at a restaurant in Hilo. I picked him up at his dojo behind Pahoa and we stopped at the Pahoa Cash and Carry so that he could purchase a half pint of brandy. By the time we reached Keaau 8 miles later, the Bishop required another half pint from Akiyama Store. And one more stop before we continued on to Hilo, the Hongwanji, across the street and a few doors down. "It's my birthday, and I must honor my parents!"
Hongwanji is a popular form of Buddhism and most of the Japanese people in the Hawaiian Islands are so affiliated, and many attend Sunday services. A Hongwanji has the same layout as a Christian church. There are pews with an aisle down the middle, an altar at the front, a lectern from which the priest would expound the topic of the week and a raised choir box on the right. Except for the substitution the Amida Buddha for Jesus; a Baptist, Presbyterian or Catholic would feel right at home in this building.
He invited me to go in with him. I reached the doors first and started to open one when I stopped. "Nichijo, there's already some kind of service going on in there!" He nodded, reached into his robe and pulled out a string of ojuzu beads. He said some words in Japanese, and then placed the beads around my neck. "It's all right," he said, "We are Buddhist priests!" We entered, walked to the front and sat down in the first row. After a few minutes sitting in respectful silence, he got up, approached the altar, lit some incense and paid homage to his parents in Japanese. So that was my comic ordination. We soon left and were on our way to Hilo. I have never passed myself off as a Buddhist priest, or even a Buddhist, but I treasure the beads and the story of how I got them. I'm not not a Buddhist either.
As in most of the arenas of his life, Nichijo had earned a broad spectrum of reputations in East Hawaii in the 1980's. Many of my friends had encountered him in a variety of venues, and most of them had an outrageous story to tell about this complex character. Some people had a distaste of him, for one reason or another. To those of us who spent any time with him; he was funny, emotional, entertaining, histrionic, mercurial, uproarious, flamboyant, sometimes drunk, theatrical, problematic and fearless. And as zany as he could be at times, he was a serious Buddhist scholar and priest. At a public event commemorating the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki at the Hilo Civic Center, Nichijo was standing in full robes on the platform with other robed clerics and local dignitaries. It was he that delivered the lead-off invocation that day. Apparently, he was the highest-ranking Buddhist Bishop in the Hawaiian Islands. He could get the island Mayor on the phone. He could get the Governor on the phone. He could get somebody out of jail on just his say-so. And like I described earlier, he could get his way at the Social Security Office.
Concerning other mysteries, my theories would only be slightly more informed than anyone who had read the book. The full story of the POW broadcast program has not been told. The mysterious roles of Americans Ince and Cousens and their Japanese government handlers Ikeda and Domoto, has not been told. Were Iva Toguri and John Provoo responsible for what occurred at Radio Tokyo? Of course not, but they were the only ones punished. Was there a conspiracy to obscure the true facts? Obviously, but I don't know the who, the what, or the why.
I was just a scribe in this telling. I was following the blueprint left for me by this departed friend. I am a carpenter who picked up a hitchhiker one day in rural Hawaii. And as we drove around country roads in my old pickup truck, I listened to his stories, and I wrote them down. He wanted to make sure that the unique thread of history he had witnessed was not lost, and I promised to bring it to light after he was gone.
There's one last thing that Nichijo told me that I want to share, and then I'll just leave it at that. I'm not even sure it's a Buddhist idea. Perhaps some reader can enlighten me. In my studies, I had never heard it before. He said, "Your life is allegorical. It's telling you a story."
Copyright © 2022 John Oliver
All Rights Reserved
mail@unclejohnsweb.com
All Rights Reserved
mail@unclejohnsweb.com