Who Aren't You?

If anyone ever tells you that someone isn't a henro just because they walked the henro trail for the simple enjoyment of walking and didn't spend days on end in introspection, tell them to get a life. Tell them to mind their own business. Tell them to judge themselves, and to leave others lives to the care of those other people.

What nonsense to think that one person has the right to use his standards of what a henro ought to be to judge another person's actions. Poppycock! If someone even starts down this road with you, cut them off and tell them you don't want to hear it. Tell them that's not a road you have any intention of following. That the scenery along that road is of no interest to you.

Then, very slowly, and with as much patience as you can, try and get them to see it from another point of view. A henro is anyone who, for whatever reason, has chosen to spend some amount of time on all, or part of, the henro trail. If you walk all of it, you're a henro. If you walk from temple one to temple two and stop there, you were a henro for the amount of time it took to visit temple one, go to temple two, and visit there. If you travel on foot you're a henro. If you use a bicycle you're a henro. If you use a car, motorbike, taxi, bus, helicopter, or any other form of transportation — you are a henro. If you spend any amount of time on the henro trail you are a henro.

And why is that? Because the henro isn't the egoic person with two smelly feet laced inside a pair of boots, the person called Dave, or Fred, or Mary, or Sue, it's Life itself, using that person as a vehicle to get around. And since Life currently manifests itself through over six billion different human forms, each with its own distinct egoic filtering system, of course each time it walks the henro trail, it will appear to do so with different motives, different expectations, different experiences, different outcomes.

However, there is only one henro. Life. Life living through you, me, Fred, Mary, Sue, and all of the other people out there on the trail. It's not the egoic person who chose to do the walk. Life is using that person as another vehicle to work its way around the henro trail. Even if it's doing nothing more than simply enjoying the scenery, enjoying meeting people, enjoying drinking beer and telling stories at the minshuku each night, life is just doing what it does — living. And at that particular time, it happens to be doing it on the henro trail.

Looking at life through through your ego's eyes you separate yourself from everyone and everything else. Letting Life look at life through it's own eyes, the ones that happen to be located in your head, you would see that you aren't separate from others. You couldn't be separate from others. If you ever took the time to look into the eyes of someone else, deeply and with no thoughts, you'd be surprised to see that it was only you (i.e., Life) looking back at you smiling. As if you were looking in a mirror. But it shouldn't surprise you because you are Life, the other person is Life, everyone is nothing more, or less, than Life; each of us is nothing less than everything, manifesting in a different human body.

So, if one person spends all of her time on the henro trail in deep introspection, examining who and what she is, and someone else spends all of his time on the henro trail drinking beer and whooping it up ... what's the difference? Life is just doing what it needs to do at the time it needs doing and in the way it needs doing. But, in each case, Life is still the henro.

No, don't fall for those stories from people who try to say one henro is better than another because they follow a certain prescribed ritual on the trail. When you hear it, just tell yourself to shut up, plant your behind on your zafu, and let Life explain yourself to you. As many times as it takes to hear the message.

(...another point of view...)

Who are you?

I want to be short and to the point today. Just because you walked the henro trail does not mean that you are a henro anymore than having visited all 88 Buddhist temples means that you are a Buddhist. There are henro and there are tourists. There are Buddhists and there are spiritual tourists. Enter and look around here, run off and look around over there, then run off again and look around somewhere else, and on and on.

Being a henro is not something physical. It is psychological. It is emotional. It is spiritual. Being a henro means more than just doing the walk — anyone can accomplish this physical task. It means you also take on the mental task of examining your life, examining who you are, who it is that is walking in your boots, who it is that is so very happy on some days and so very frustrated on others, who it is that doesn't notice time for a week and then can't do anything but watch the clock when you're waiting for the cash station to open, who it is that walks in the rain for days without even noticing it and then gets angry when the waitress spills your water. Who is this person? Who are you?

Being a henro means making the effort to notice the gaps between your thoughts and trying to peek through to see what's on the other side. Being open to the vast expanse that appears when you do get a glimpse and instead of backing off in surprise, going back again and again and again for longer and longer looks. Until, after thousands of steps and hundreds of kilometers, you begin to feel more comfortable there than in the steady stream of irrelevant thoughts that used to stream through your mind all day, day after day. Until you feel happier in that expanse looking back out through the gaps than you were outside looking in. Who are you?

Being a henro means making the effort to notice the emotions that have habitually ruled your life. Noticing how they come and go of their own whim, without the slightest effort on your part to call them up or send them away. Coming to see that they are a hindrance to your efforts, an impediment to a full life, a life full of generosity, compassion, and love. A deterrent to hope, realized potential, and success. It means coming to understand that emotions can be controlled, can be trained. Who is that person?

A short but great book is The Holy Man by Susan Trott. I first wrote about it in my Shikoku journal back in 2001, two years after i walked the henro trail for the first time. The story line, as i wrote back then, is:

The Holy Man lives on the top of a mountain at the end of a single 10 mile trail. Every spring and summer thousands of people from all over the world trek up the mountain for the chance to meet him. Because of the overwhelming number of people making the trek up one single trail, though, they inevitably end up forming a line covering the entire length of the trail and find themselves standing in the line for a month or more before getting to the top and getting their chance to meet him.

Once a pilgrim reaches the head of the line the procedure is as quick as it is consistent. They knock on the front door, a man in simple robes answers and asks what he can do for them, at which point they answer "I've come to see the Holy Man."

Upon hearing this, the man asks them to follow him and leads them along a straight corridor directly to the back of the house, opens the back door, and tells them goodbye. Flabbergasted and shocked, almost every pilgrim stutters a reminder that they have come to see the Holy Man — at which point the Holy Man says "You have seen me" ... and closes the door.

As you walk the henro trail, are you aware that the Holy Man is with you each step of the way, each breath of the way? Or, do you find yourself asking for him again and again at each temple when you stop to get your Nōkyōchō stamped and signed? As you make your way up yet another mountain trail, do you hear the Holy Man speaking to you? As the wind blows through the trees in the bamboo grove, as the waves roll up on the beach, as the kite swoops down to eat something only it can see, as the sun claws its way over the horizon in the morning, as the moon slowly sets each night, ....... in every instant of every day, do you hear the Holy Man offering his teachings? Do you see him showing you who and what you are?

Who are you? Are you a henro?

Existence vs. Life

There's two ways to look at it....

I love traveling because i love looking down that road where i have never been before, looking out at new things, looking forward to new experiences, new viewpoints, new perspectives. Meeting new people. Looking for new challenges, new goals. New ways to look at life, new ways to see how my existence matters. I love the adrenaline rush of anticipation. I love that slight fear of uncertainty as you approach the impending unknown.

Or, i love traveling because it provides new ways to avoid accepting my life as it is. New ways to distract myself for what is in my life. New ways to ignore that my life isn't working as is. New ways to change the subject.

I do understand this dichotomy, even though it may not seem obvious. As i said in a previous post, the reason i have always been attracted to Mt. Everest...no, fascinated by Mt. Everest...is because of the obviously inherent challenge of climbing it. Everest represents, for me, the ultimate challenge --- one of the places where you actually put your life on the line, where you accept the ultimate challenge. Some people say it is all about ego, and while i might agree when thinking about before or after the climb, during the climb, i imagine that it is about anything but the ego.

I imagine that during the climb it is about the climb and nothing else. It's not about you and it's not about the mountain. It's the climb, which encompasses you, the mountain, the weather, time, ... everything. For the last half day, or so, it's about nothing less than everything. For a half day, you give up your narrow ego-centric existence for a life that is no bigger or smaller than all of Life itself.

But, i have gotten off track. I started writing because having just trekked to Everest Base Camp made me stop and think. It was a fascinating trip. Everything, and more, than i expected. But, when it was over and the time came to go back to work, my guts revolted. Everything in my body cried No, don't do it.

I gave my notice at work on Friday. It's time to admit that i have already died but have refused to admit it. I had sold my soul for a good salary and 5 weeks vacation each year. Even though i commute back and forth to the office each day, and therefore *look* to be among the living, i am no longer alive between vacations.

The short way to say this is that life is too short. The longer version is that you never know when it's going to be over and until that day, it's a crime to spend your time doing something you don't enjoy. Or worse. What matters isn't how much money you make each year or how many weeks of vacation you get. What matters is how much you LIVE. How alive you are each day. As i have probably said a hundred times in other writings, there is a universe of difference between "existing" and "living," and i have been doing a whole lot of the former, and very little of the later these past few years.

Shakespeare had it right --- "To be or not to be, that is the question." That's really the only question for people like me. Are you alive in the fullest sense of the word, or aren't you? That is the question i ask myself each and every morning when the alarm clock goes off. That's the question everyone should ask themselves each and every morning of their lives. If you are, good for you. If you aren't, shouldn't you do something about it?

"Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing, end them." No, of course i'm not advocating taking up arms and putting an end to my sea of troubles, but i am arguing that sooner or later one must accept it when your fortune is outrageous as is and oppose it. Is it nobler to simply take a deep breath every time another wave crashes over your head and continue to ride out the storms in the wild hopes that sooner or later "fortune" will somehow, someway, wash you close enough to shore that you can scramble to safety? Or, is it nobler to take arms and oppose that fortune?

I have traveled a lot in this life. My guess is that i have traveled a lot in all of my lives. I have seen a lot. Done a lot. More than most people. And for that reason, many people say i have led a blessed life. I would agree, i suppose, but when the sun sets tomorrow, will my life be better served knowing that i go to bed with health insurance and a growing savings account, or knowing that even though i don't have either of those, at least i lived for 24 hours without selling my soul.

Shut up, will ya....

Willfully disregarding every sense of propriety, he chatted on, and on, and on, and on, and on. He just would.not.shut.up. Raging like a wild summer squall, i was sure everyone on the train must have been able to hear him. I demanded silence and counted to 10 and was ignored. I tried to stare him down and was ignored. I pleaded and was ignored. So, after about 20 minutes of reading the same page over and over, unable to concentrate or remember even one paragraph, i had finally had enough. I put my foot down.

Unfortunately, all that gave me was a sore foot. It wasn't until i surrendered, put my book away, and just relaxed into the scenery passing by outside that my mind stopped, allowing peace and quiet to settle like a pleasant summer breeze.

I

Born in fifty three.
How much longer after that,
before I was born?

---or---

Born in fifty three.
But I came sometime later.
Where did you come from?

Mt. Everest

The week after next i go on another pilgrimage of sorts. I have always, for as long as i can remember, wanted to climb Mt. Everest and i'm finally heading to the mountain. I don't get to actually climb it, that's far too expensive for me, but i'm going on a two week trek to Everest Base Camp.

Mt. Everest has always been, for me, a symbol of man's ability (need?) to stretch himself (or herself), explore his boundaries, push himself to new levels, to expand the envelope he lives in. Too many people live their lives in safe and secure cocoons, never exploring the limits of what they are capable of, never probing the depths of what life has to offer, never demanding of themselves a life fully lived. Why?

I know there are a great many people who would disagree with those comments and who say you don't have to push your limits in order to live a good life. And i can't disagree with them. If that's the life you want to live, you have that right. But, i will always believe that T.S. Eliot got it right when he said, "Only those who risk going too far can possibly find out how far they can go." If you never attempt to go past your limits, you will never know where your limits lie.

And, if you don't know were your limits are, you don't know all that life has to offer. That is as equally true in your hiking boots on Mt. Everest as it is barefoot on your zafu. One tests your physical limits and the other tests your mental limits. One exposes you to the wonders of the physical world and the other exposes you to the wonders of the mind.

So, for the next several weeks, i'm going to climb off Mt. Zafu and walk to Mt. Everest. And while i may not ever get to climb it, in this life, at least, i will finally get to put my foot on it's base and take some pictures.

The Path

Approximately two days before the beginning of eternity and at least five kilometers past the far edges of infinity, there once lived a wise old coot. Now before you roll your eyes and say that's impossible, let me assure you that he was, in fact, wise. There is documented evidence in existence, although i admit i haven't seen it.

The story as i heard it is that early one morning, just as the temperatures started to climb, the old man woke from an amazing dream to find that his head had exploded during the night. The part of this predicament that he found amusing was that he didn't really care. As hard as it was for him to imagine, he just wasn't bothered in the least. Fine, no head, he thought in passing, as he got up and put away the branches and leaves he had slept under.

Luckily for him, his morning rituals were so completely ingrained that he didn't have to have a head to remember what to do or how to do it. So, without a thought, he faced the sun, pressed his hands together in thanks for another day, chanted "the" verse until he disappeared, and began his daily pilgrimage around the lone grain of sand lying in the center of the clearing. It didn't take long to make one circle around, but he would continue, around and around, until the sun had risen high enough for the shadows to disappear and the heat of the sun to warm his skin.

It was during these daily circumambulations that he felt most alive, energized and full of life. He had come to worship this grain of sand for it's ability to transport him completely beyond time and space, completely beyond existence, completely beyond "beyond," with the implied limits that come with that comparison to "here." In this place beyond limits he simply was. Step. Breath. Step. Breath. Step. Breath. Step. Breath. No more than that. No less than that. Life reduced to the simplest of simplicities mysteriously expanded being to the unimaginable and inexplicable.

When had he first learned this? How had he stumbled on it? This one grain of sand — how had it become the focus of his life?

As his skin began to warm, later that morning, he slowly began to reappear. With sweat dripping from every pore of his body he left the center of the clearing and sat in the shade of a tree to eat a little and drink as much as his body would hold. The next session would be harder, it always was, and he would need the liquids to fight off the heat from the rising sun. But even though it was harder, the second session of the day was always the most fruitful, taking him so deep into the circle that he became that grain of sand.

He remembered the first time he had come across the clearing those many, many decades ago. While resting under this very same tree, he noticed what appeared to be a well trod path in the shape of a very small circle right in the middle of the clearing. Odd, he thought to himself, as he got up to investigate. The path had obviously been walked often and the earth was packed rock hard all the way around. But, it couldn't be more than seven or eight steps in all each time around. What could it possibly be? Who could have possibly made it? For what reason?

Without even thinking about it he made his first trip around the path right then and there, but it wasn't until years later that he first noticed the grain of sand.

For the first few days after he stumbled onto this strange path, he wasn't really sure what he was doing. It turned out to be exactly seven steps, heel to toe, around the path, and to do that he had to walk slower then he ever thought possible. But for reasons he didn't understand, he was compelled to continue, hour after hour, day after day. Typically he would walk for a few hours and then rest in the shade of one of the large trees on the edge of the clearing. Then, after a break he went back and walked some more — always hoping the the reason (or reasons) for the path's existence would become clear.

One thing soon became obvious to him, even if it wasn't why the path was there. During his late afternoon walks, he began to notice that his mind was much quieter, almost calmer, than it was when he began his walks first thing in the morning. When he first noticed that, he was shocked. It had never occurred to him how busy his mind had always been. But, now that he noticed the short periods of silence, it made the morning periods feel like feeding time in the monkey cage at a zoo. And as the periods of calm lengthened and became more numerous, he started to grow very attached to them. Very, very attached. So much so that he soon couldn't imagine doing anything with his day other than walking around and around and around his path.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, he settled into a routine and his ability to maintain long hours of silence grew.

not finished yet...