The first i found in the book Kūkai The Universal: Scenes from His Life. When Kūkai (a name he gave himself later on Shikoku) was studying at the university the course of study he chose was the Confucian Classics, as this was the standard course of study for those destined to high rank in the imperial court. The author of the book points out that some students at the time found this too boring and opted, instead, to focus their studies on Literature and History. How did Kūkai deal with this boredom?
"...Kūkai seems to have had enough time and energy to learn some other subjects that were not required. One of them would have been spoken Chinese. ... Another subject would have been calligraphy. ... The other subject would have been literature which fascinated him throughout his life.
These extracurricular lessons he took would have been a sort of remedy he prescribed for himself to relieve the pain he had to suffer when his overflowing artistic talent was unduly restrained in the narrow range of the Confucian Classics Course. The brilliant reward he would gain by going through that purgatory was "success in life," as he was often told. But what if trial after trial in that purgatory were to lead him to have doubts about "success in life" and to carry him away into the mysteries of the universe? He would no longer feel like wasting his time with the Confucian classics in the Confucian society that now seemed to him a dull pageant of faded dolls, as he persistently argued in The Indications of the Three Teachings. Confucianism may enable one to master how to control society as a functionary of the ruler; but it will be of no use to one who is searching for the truth of the universe. Thus Kūkai had to abandon the university to quench his thirst for knowledge and wisdom, just as a parched traveler in the desert runs to an oasis."
What do you do when every fiber of your being begins to doubt the commonly accepted myths about the veracity of "success in life?" What do you do when your day-to-day life becomes nothing more than a "pageant of faded dolls," parading endlessly round and round through your life yet offering no color, no luminosity, no stimulation — nothing but bland monotony.
And if your being begins to see the sun shining brightly just over the hill, do you drop everything and follow your instincts, like the moth irrevocably drawn to the candle flame? When your lust for wisdom vastly outweighs your lust for "success in life," don't you have to choose the former if you want to keep your sanity? Apparently Kūkai thought so.
I have struggled with the following poem for a long, long time. I still don't really "get it," (which bugs me to unbelievable ends and i read it several times a week in the hopes of having something, someday, become clear), but at least the first half is very apropos to the question i was asking about Kūkai.
Sometimes A Man Stands Up During Supper
Sometimes a man stands up during supper
and walks outdoors, and keeps on walking,
because of a church that stands somewhere in the East.
And his children say blessings on him as if he were dead.
And another man, who remains inside his own house,
dies there, inside the dishes and in the glasses,
so that his children have to go far out into the world
toward that same church, which he forgot.
Rainer Maria Rilke
translated by Robert Bly
The "church in the east" isn't just one of the Asian religions that some people blindly chase after just for a change in their lives. Here, i think it is that "something" that you inner being has seen and come to understand so intimately that you no longer have a choice but to give up the life you are currently living in order to devote your "new" self to it. When that realization hits, whether that is during dinner or while sitting on your zafu or filling your car with gas, you don't think about the appropriate response, you just get up, walk outdoors, and continue walking.
For all intents and purposes, when this happens the "old" you is dead so it makes perfect sense for your loved ones to say blessings on your behalf. At the same time, it wouldn't be inappropriate for them to celebrate the birth of the "new" you.
And, this is exactly what happened to Kūkai. One day, maybe while he was eating dinner, he knew, intuitively, intimately, and completely, that where he was wasn't where he belonged; that who he was trying to be wasn't who he was; that what he was trying to become wasn't nearly all that he could become; that a life awaited him if he was only willing to sacrifice an existence.
At that point, i imagine him putting his chopsticks down, standing up, apologizing to those around him, ..... and walking out. Walking back the the mountains of Shikoku. Walking away from certain death to certain life.
What guts!
(Now if i could just get that last paragraph. I could say many things about it, but i'm just not sure any of them are on the mark.....)
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