Mahayana scriptures can seem bewildering, garish, even fanciful to modern readers. They seem to be remote from our ultimate concern, from our search for truth, from our longing to see things as they really are. Among such texts are the three Pure Land scriptures, which tell of an ancient Buddha named Amitabha (“Infinite Light,” or Amida in Japan). While we cannot endorse such texts as historical records, neither should we dismiss them as simply false or as fiction; rather, they awaken our creative imagination. They speak the language of myth.

A myth is a symbolic narrative that communicates important truths that cannot properly be revealed in any other way. To understand a myth we have to enter into it. To enter into the myth of Amida is to immerse ourselves within an imaginative narrative, like living through a poem. This is to recognize that there is a deeper dimension to human consciousness that transcends the scheming will. This is to recognize that there is a source of infinite value, an indefatigable, compassionate impulse that is eternally reaching out to bless us and fulfill itself through us. We can embrace this impulse or, rather, allow it to embrace us. We can be “grasped never to be abandoned” by Amida’s compassion, to use a refrain of Shinran, the founder of Shin, or True Pure Land Buddhism. The myth of Amida and their forty-eight vows affirm that, in spite of the painful and sometimes tragic events that may mark our lives, there is a benevolent, existential current that seeks to well up within us and to flow through us.

In his book, Jesus Christ and Mythology (New York: Scribner’s Sons, 1958), theologian Rudolf Bultmann states, “myths give to the transcendent reality an immanent … worldly objectivity. Myths give worldly objectivity to that which is unworldly.” In other words, myths enable us to connect with the transcendent, the sacred dimension, the “great matter.” In Dynamics of Faith (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1957), another theologian, Paul Tillich, writes that “humankind’s ultimate concern must be expressed symbolically, because symbolic language alone is able to express the ultimate.” Symbols and myths, he argues, are the authentic language of religious life and the only way in which the sacred can reveal itself directly. A symbol can never be fully “translated” into other terms but must be approached through the symbol itself. Since a symbol has multiple levels of significance and depth, its meaning can never be exhausted. For this reason, understanding them is a process that is never finished, never complete.

When symbols are structured into narratives, they form myths. The Pure Land of Sukhavati and its presiding Buddha Amida are symbols, and the narrative of Dharmakara, or Amida, that we encounter in the Pure Land scriptures is a myth. This means that we should not subject them to a literal interpretation. So how can this myth be understood in a meaningful way? The story of Amida and the creation of the Pure Land offer a myth of deliverance or liberation. They offer the promise of reconciliation with ourselves by means of a dynamic state of transformative awareness that embraces both our undoubted impulse toward self-transcendence and our inescapable fallibility. Through entering into the drama of this mythic narrative, we may go deeper into its significance in our own lives. To take a myth literally is idolatry. To interpret a myth, on the other hand, unleashes its transformative potential. Understanding a myth is never complete but rather refreshed and renewed each time we immerse ourselves within its narrative.

According to Bultmann, through interpreting myths we enable for ourselves a more authentic mode of existence. Myths draw on images and themes that are familiar to us and that belong to the visible world, albeit their intention is to evoke realities that are not visible and that call to us from beyond the horizon of the known. Rather than offering a description or explanation of the visible, outer world, myth is concerned with interiority, with human imagination. Myths are poetry.

Bultmann developed an approach to interpreting myths that he called “demythologizing.” This process does not aim to deconstruct myths, nor does it simply translate them into other terms (which would then make them redundant), but consists of a never-finished exercise in creative interpretation, an exercise that is always transformative. Through the practice of demythologizing, we may harvest the existential riches latent within myths.

In approaching symbols and myths, we must commit to a kind of wager. In this case, we must wager on the fact that Amida’s myth has something significant to say to us about our existence and that through opening ourselves up to its significance, through entering into it, we will be recompensed with an enlarged self-understanding. While we remain outside the myth, as a spectator, it can never come alive for us as a world of living significance. We will never know what the ocean feels like until we plunge in. Understanding begins not by means of a bird’s-eye view (which is impossible), but from a particular and restricted standpoint. We may then go about the process of verifying the myth by saturating it with intelligibility. This results in a transformation of consciousness. Through their interpretation, symbols and myths assume the gravity of existential agents; they become means by which we can bring alive our understanding of what it means to be human and what is of maximum value to us.

What could it mean for us to demythologize, or deliteralize, the myth of Amida and the Pure Land? It would mean to understand it not as a narration of historical events that happened a long time ago but as revealing something about the nature and purpose of human existence and of the possibilities that may unfold within it. The Pure Land is life understood as a field of going for refuge. From our side, from the inside, the world manifests itself to us as infused with sacred meaning, as a call toward enlightenment. The world unfolds before us as a dimension that not only enables but also invites, and even enacts, liberation. The Pure Land is the present moment sacralized. The Pure Land is epiphany.

The Pure Land is not necessarily an external, material world, but rather a spiritual dimension that we can begin to inhabit as we open ourselves to the blessing of Amitabha. In The Collected Works of Shinran, the Shin founder offers a tantalizing reflection in relation to the inside-or-outsideness of the Pure Land when he writes: “Hence we know that when we reach the Buddha-land of happiness, we unfailingly disclose buddhanature.” Buddhanature is more commonly interpreted as a potential within us; something that can come alive as we become spiritually sensitized, like a seed that grows and then flowers. Yet Shinran appears to be saying that awakening to our buddhanature is in fact the same as being reborn in the Pure Land. We might say, perhaps, that the Pure Land is neither inside us nor outside but both; it discloses to us the sacred context of our lives. 

To offer a different perspective, the Pure Land might also be seen as a kind of cosmic sangha, which is inconceivably vast, and infinitely more refined, a field of blessing, saturated with value and significance. This suggests that, instead of being a place, the Pure Land articulates a relation, even the spirit of kalyāṇa mitratā, or spiritual friendship. The Vimalakīrti Nirdeśa declares that the Pure Land is this very world. We see it as impure owing to our distorting perceptions and afflictions. Amida and the Pure Land are not really separate from one another, neither are they separate from us. To enter the Pure Land is to enter into Amida’s body, even to be reconstituted by Amida as Amida. It means to be welcomed into Amida, but not in such a way that submerges or dismembers us. Rather, it entails recognizing more completely how we are intimately connected to others as we realize our solidarity with them, as we awaken to our shared cares, fears, and longings. In his Collected Works, Shinran articulates this sentiment: 

When a foolish being of delusion and defilement awakens shinjin [true entrusting], 
He realizes that birth-and-death is itself nirvana; 
Without fail he reaches the land of immeasurable light 
And universally guides sentient beings to enlightenment. 

Amida symbolizes the sacred world breaking in on us or erupting within us. Amida is a transcendent factor that works upon or through us but which never fully belongs to us. Better, it can never be appropriated by us. Nor can it in any way be manufactured or contrived. Amida is pure compassion reaching out to all beings through us. Amida’s infinite light eternally shines upon all without exception.

The myth of Amida and the Pure Land do not contradict historical or factual truth, but rather they enable us to wake up to the value and scope of our human existence.

The post Demythologizing Amida appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

We really could use someone to look up to these days. 

In Living Nembutsu: Applying Shinran’s Radically Engaged Buddhism in Life and Society, religious scholar Jeff Wilson presents us with a radical role model: Shinran Shonin (1173–1263). Shinran, who founded the Jodo Shinshu school of Pure Land Buddhism, lived during a time of social, political, and religious upheaval in medieval Japan, a time that produced fellow radical religious thinkers like Honen, who first advocated for chanting the nembutsu, and Nichiren. By rejecting mainstream Buddhism, with corrupt monks and monasteries, Shinran worked to create a Buddhism that was available to everyone regardless of their social and economic standing; all one has to do is put their faith in Amida Buddha and call his name to be born in the Pure Land. 

Living Nembutsu, published in March 2023 by Sumeru Press, includes chapters called “Queer Shinran” and “Refugee Shinran,” and explains how engaged Shin Buddhism and Shinran himself can inspire Pure Land practitioners and help us navigate today’s most pressing issues. Wilson, a Tricycle contributing editor, is professor of religious studies and East Asian studies for Renison University College at the University of Waterloo (Canada) and an ordained Jodo Shinshu minister. He recently spoke with Tricycle about how “radical Shinran” worked within the Buddhist tradition to once again make Buddhism’s liberatory potential available to everyone.  

What’s the story on how this book came to be? The project has been percolating for a long time. Jodo Shinshu has been my primary community of practice for the last twenty-five years or so. I went to graduate school and became a professor of Buddhism, and eventually I got ordained—I serve in a supporting ministerial role at the Toronto temple. And as part of all that, I’ve been asked to give dharma talks and participate in seminars for the past twenty years. When you’re a speaker, you talk about the things that you’re interested in, but people also start asking you things that you eventually start incorporating into your talks. And one thing that often comes up is the intersection of Buddhism and various social issues—the hot topics of the day. 

A lot of people wondered about the role of Jodo Shinshu in social, political, and environmental issues. There is a stereotype that Pure Land Buddhism has been passive, not engaged. I’m a historian and anthropologist in addition to being a practitioner, so from my research I know that actually many people, both historically and currently, have been involved. 

Shinran himself was very involved in the social issues of the day. We think of him as a religious reformer, but 800 years ago in Japan and everywhere else on the planet, there was no separation between the religious and secular. And Shinran was politically persecuted because he was teaching what we today might call a Buddhist liberation theology. If you’re trying to liberate people from the oppressive social order through religious means, the powers that be are not going to take kindly to that. He was a political prisoner, exile, and refugee. And so I thought, this is easily the most important single monk in Japanese history, the cultural impact of his teaching is larger than anyone else, his movement is the largest and has been deeply involved in politics for over 800 years. So why do we keep asking these questions about whether Jodo Shinshu has a history of social engagement? 

How did you first encounter Shinran: as an academic or practitioner? I first read Dr. Alfred Bloom’s book Shinran’s Gospel of Pure Grace (first published in 1965) in the mid-nineties when I was studying at Sarah Lawrence College. It was interesting, different, not at all like the other stuff about Buddhism I was reading in English at the time. And the “gospel of pure grace” seemed so Christian … he had to work within the language constraints of the time, when religious studies in North America were dominated by the study of Christianity. I was attending all sorts of different groups: Zen, Shambhala, Insight, in order to broaden my understanding of Buddhism to the greatest extent. And I started to steer more into Jodo Shinshu, especially as I became disillusioned with my time with Zen Buddhism. It wasn’t that Zen was bad; it had a tendency to pump up my own ego—the better I got at meditation or keeping the precepts or the more I could talk intelligently about koans, the more self-conceited I started to get. It wasn’t a good match. I was also concerned about how few Asian practitioners there were in many of these spaces. And then I began attending the New York Buddhist Church on the Upper West Side, and became more and more drawn in until Jodo Shinshu became the tradition that I was adopted by.

What was going on in Japan during Shinran’s lifetime that led him to such radical thinking? What I’ve tried to convey in my talks at Jodo Shinshu temples and in other situations is just how radical Shinran was. Jodo Shinshu grew to become the largest Buddhist school in Japan—one out of every three Japanese people’s family background is Jodo Shinshu—it’s all kind of very normal (at this point). I wanted to convey the really unique things about Shinran. 

Shinran was born into an ossified medieval social hierarchy, where Buddhism’s revolutionary potential was profoundly muted by social conditions that put the dharma and Buddhist practice out of the reach of all but the most privileged. Japan was wracked by constant civil war, environmental disasters, epidemics, the threat of foreign invasion, elite Buddhist monastic complexes that hoarded their power with armed monks, and a vast gulf between the lives of the enfranchised and the great mass of poor regular people. The old style of Buddhism, including the Tendai school he was trained in, was beautiful and true but no longer relevant. Worse yet, establishment Buddhism had become one of the primary obstacles between average people and Buddhahood. Shinran wanted to create a Buddhism focused on freeing those who had been excluded from the current Buddhism.

“Shinran drew on his own suffering, exile, downward mobility, and outlaw status to build a true solidarity with the people of Japan.”

Buddhism for the 99 percent. That’s right. Shinran turned to the Pure Land teaching of Honen (1133–1212), another radical monk, as a solution. Honen created a revolutionary sangha, sort of like a Pure Land ashram where men and women, monastics and laypeople, upper class and lower class all mingled freely as practitioners of the nembutsu. Their flouting of strict social standards that were designed to keep everyone in their carefully ordered place, and their insistence that the expensive and esoteric rituals of elite Buddhism were unnecessary due to the liberating power of Amida Buddha, earned them the enmity of the powerful monasteries. Honen and Shinran’s community was smashed and their Pure Land Buddhist teaching was made illegal. They were exiled as criminals, their ordination stripped by official censure. In those days, conditions in Kyoto were relatively better, and Shinran was thrown out into the “real” Japan. He was living among the peasants and fisherpeople, and this reinforced his idea that “these are the people that the Buddha cares about but that elite Buddhism doesn’t care about.” 

This unjust persecution helped to truly set Shinran free. It was clear to him that the powers that be would never support a Buddhism of universal liberation, regardless of their supposed commitment to Mahayana Buddhism. And with nothing left to lose, Shinran turned fully to preaching a Buddhism he felt was designed for his times. He drew on his own suffering, exile, downward mobility, and outlaw status to build a true solidarity with the people of Japan. He did so by teaching in the vernacular, offering dharma lessons that could be distributed and read out loud at gatherings for the benefit of the illiterate majority. He composed dharma hymns that could be memorized and performed in meetings or individually, without the need for scriptural study. He told the farmers, soldiers, and women who came to listen to him that there was a path designed for them, in their ordinary, toiling, oppressed lives, one that didn’t demand expensive dana payments, unrealistic moral precepts, or rejection of the family and community ties without which life was literally impossible in regular society. And he demonstrated this by eating meat, drinking alcohol, marrying, and raising a family, while still fulfilling the role of a monk through teaching, wearing robes, and performing rituals.

You write that Shinran transformed Buddhism by working within the existing framework, but it just seems to me that he was doing something completely different! If you take a look at The Collected Works of Shinran, which is a massive, two-volume set, and start reading through it, you’ll see he does a lot of proof texting and quoting from other sutras, and you might think to yourself, “oh, this guy is super traditional.”

He didn’t advocate abandoning the classic texts, nor did he critique the famous teachers. He used their words, images, and ideas constantly in his own preaching, but he reinvigorated them with readings and meanings that teased out the fundamental principle of Amida’s Buddha’s compassionate liberation of all beings, which he felt underlay all Buddhism. He continued to use the resources his forebears had preserved and transmitted to him—Amida Buddha, the Pure Land, the nembutsu, the Primal Vow, the way of the bodhisattva—but he ensured their continued vitality by applying them in different, sometimes opposite, ways from their uses in the past, so that they met the needs of the suffering disenfranchised classes rather than insisting those with the least agency somehow overhaul themselves according to demands of unobtainable social positions or ancient cultures impossibly distant from their own. He was comfortable talking about Amida, the Pure Land, and other aspects of Buddhism with literal, symbolic, and pedagogic approaches according to the needs of his listener, and inhabited all of these modes as a person liberated from the boundaries and boxes that society wished to impose and enforce.

This method of respect for the past, combined with attention to the needs of the present, remains an important model for Jodo Shinshu temples today. Our times and places are not those of Shinran any more than Shinran’s were those of Shakyamuni Buddha, so we have to navigate the breathtaking pace of social and technological change and find ways to keep the dharma stream flowing as a genuine source of life and support. And we have to avoid succumbing to the modern Western temptation to simply throw away the old and entrust in the salvific power of the latest cool thing. We’re fortunate to have a guide like Shinran, who showed how to focus on what truly matters: the liberation of all people, not as a theory but as a way of living together in inclusive sanghas that can transform suffering into gratitude and joy.

The book focuses on modern Jodo Shinshu communities and how they’ve served LGBTQ communities, among others. Can you talk a little bit about projects in your sangha? My temple is involved in refugee assistance, and an important previous minister, Rev. Newton Ishiura—this was before my time—was quite involved in Indigenous matters, helping First Nations and Inuit people push for rights in Canadian society. And over the last dozen years or so there’s been a growing push within Jodo Shinshu communities in North America and Hawaii to become educated and sensitive on LGBTQ+ inclusion. 

Jodo Shinshu is sangha-based, it’s not an individualistic, solo-meditator type of Buddhism. It’s family Buddhism, and so if someone comes out to their temple, they’re also coming out to their parents, aunties, grandparents, best friends—if you have difficulty being out to your family, you can’t be out at temple, because it’s the same people. We’re trying to highlight how Buddhism is supportive of LGBTQ+ people and that they’re an important part of the sangha. The nembutsu is precisely for those people whom our culture has labeled “evil” in the first place; when there’s more suffering, that is where Amida Buddha is rushing to. And if we can make our temples an inclusive, affirming, and empowering place, this will flow out to other places as well. Making it OK to be out as yourself at temple can then make it OK to be out at home, at work, on the street, etc.

“We’re fortunate to have a guide like Shinran, who showed how to focus on what truly matters: the liberation of all people.”

We have various LGBTQ+ affinity groups in some of the temples. Gardena Buddhist Church’s Ichi-Mi group just released a video called “A Profound Silence” that interviews various queer people and their allies about their experience as Buddhists and some of the challenges they face. 

This doesn’t mean that these spaces were always inclusive, not because there were reasons in Buddhism for noninclusivity but because people didn’t understand how to be inclusive. From both Japanese and North American culture we’ve inherited degrees of homophobia, sexism, racism, and other challenges that we’re working to eliminate so that we can fulfill the central vision of Pure Land Buddhism: a harmonious, inclusive, welcoming sangha that serves as an engine for liberation.

Organized religion is on the decline in favor of more individualistic forms of practice. Is this the case in Jodo Shinshu communities in North America? And how might Shinran’s message of acceptance and the community’s embrace of often-marginalized groups—like the LGBTQ+ community and immigrants—help keep a congregation strong and connected? Yes, many Jodo Shinshu temples have experienced a contraction in the past generation, just as other religious institutions have. Within all areas of life, our society is undergoing a profound shift from smaller, closely interconnected, local and intimate relationships to larger, loosely interconnected, dispersed networks. Of course that comes with all the advantages and drawbacks—such as freedom and loneliness—that result from such an unprecedented and rapid cultural change.

Those changes represent challenges and opportunities for Jodo Shinshu temples. We’re subject to the same socially corrosive, centrifugal forces as everyone else. But within and between our temples we have an inherently resilient web of intergenerational bonds which helps to mitigate those forces to some degree. Now we need to continue to foster awareness of and continue to activate the radical welcome at the heart of Jodo Shinshu Buddhism.

  As Shinran declares: 

In reflecting on the great ocean of shinjin (the awakened, trusting heart), I realize that there is no discrimination between noble and humble or monks and laypeople, no differentiation between men and women, old and young. The amount of evil one has committed isn’t considered; the duration of religious practices is of no concern. It is a matter of neither practice nor good acts, neither sudden nor gradual attainment, neither meditative nor non-meditative practice, neither right nor wrong contemplation, neither thought nor no-thought, neither daily life nor the moment of death, neither many-calling (of mantras) nor once-calling. It is simply shinjin that is inconceivable, inexplicable, and indescribable. It is like the medicine that eradicates all poisons. The medicine of the Tathagata’s Vow destroys the poisons of our wisdom and foolishness.

Shinran is saying here that Amida Buddha’s vow of universal liberation is a great warm ocean that floats all of us, no matter who we are or what we’ve done. It breaks down all distinctions we erect between our group and so-called others (our “wisdom,” which the Buddha reveals to be foolishness) and accepts everyone just as they are. Our sanghas are called to be part of this great ocean of shinjin, of total acceptance and embrace. The point isn’t to build membership numbers, but naturally when you do have a community that can welcome in those who aren’t given welcome elsewhere, and where people of whatever type feel supported and connected, that will be a place that people want to be. So if we live up to our central religious principles of inclusion and acceptance, that will have a positive effect on keeping the sangha healthy and continuing as an institution that is valued by the community.

A thread throughout the book is Shinran inverting a teaching to make it clearer, and something you wrote in your chapter on the environment really struck me: the Earth is sick without us. Can you speak about this? Some of this comes from the Buddhist experience, but other perspectives as well, such as Indigenous issues in the US and Canada and the Landback movement. There is this idea of nature with a capital “N” as something pristine that we are spoiling. This is a romantic fantasy based on European enlightenment ideas; it has literally never existed. 

And today, whether it’s about the rainforest or whatever is looking bad, we’re like, “oh no, poor Nature.” Even that creates an us and them situation. Everywhere you go, the Amazon, on top of mountains, and in caves and the deserts—there are people living there, and there have always been people living there. This idea that we’re destroying nature is a mental mistake, like when we draw a line around our skin and say, “this is me,” and beyond my skin is not me. Some people talk about getting rid of humans, like we’re a cancer or something. What we need is to slow down and develop a better relationship, better balance, so we stop destroying this thing that we ourselves are a part of. Shinran talks about the ability of the ocean to accept and purify even the most polluted rivers: it’s a metaphor for how Amida Buddha naturally transforms all beings into awakening. The Earth really does have amazing regenerative abilities, but we’re selfishly outstripping its capacity to handle our activities. We need to remember that our presence is part of what makes the land and water healthy, and lean into that role rather than ignorantly treating it all as “natural resources.” 

This attitude is developed by the EcoSangha movement in the mainland Jodo Shinshu temples, and the Green Hongwanji program in the Hawaiian temples. And we saw an example of this at the Jodo Shinshu temple in Winnipeg. They inducted an elm tree as a member of the temple. It’s a small act but a significant one: it recognizes that trees are part of the sangha with us and that we support one another. It’s a reflection of the Pure Land, which is described as a beautiful place where people, birds, trees, and waters all live in harmony and enable one another’s awakening. That’s the vision that animates our temples, and we need to apply it in all areas of life.

♦

The post Shinran’s Engaged Buddhism appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

You’d think it would be a piece of cake. I had been inspired to begin two bows a day—one at the beginning of the day and one at the end, in what the late Rev. Koyo Kubose called “Everyday Gassho.” The morning bow would be a “harmony gassho,” to mark my intention to help others and to play my small part in the symphony of the day ahead. The evening bow would be a “gratitude gassho.” For a Buddhist teacher who runs a temple, already bows multiple times a day, and prides herself in doing what she says she’s going to do, what could go wrong?

During week one, I failed to make a single Everyday Gassho. Once or twice I thought of my new bowing practice when I was outside the temple or lying in bed in the middle of the night: Oh, the gasshos! I had originally set my intention during a book group I was running, and if I hadn’t felt the need to report my progress to my students the week after, maybe I would have forgotten the whole project. I did report back, confessing my failure and vowing to try again.

The second week was marginally better. I managed two morning gasshos, but no evening gasshos. I started to get curious. What was going on? Why was it so difficult? Was I unconsciously rebelling? 

During discussion at the next book group, I thought I’d figured out why I was struggling so much with this seemingly simple practice. It was the word “harmony,” which Rev. Kubose used to describe the morning bow. The word just wasn’t inspiring me. One of the students was a harpist and loved the word, but to me it sounded weak somehow; it didn’t fire me up. I am a devotional Pure Land Buddhist and although I read devotion in between the lines of Rev. Kubose’s—and his father Rev. Gyomay Kubose’s—teachings, their mission was to bring Buddhism to America in a way that suited Americans. They often had a secular tang. How could I make this practice mine? 

I went back to reread what Rev. Kubose had written about the morning gassho. 

The underlying sentiment of the ‘harmony gassho’ is that you will try your best to have a spirit of cooperation with others, and always be as calm and patient as possible. The seed of this sentiment will gradually blossom into an understanding that can be called wisdom.

I got it. The morning’s gassho was offering ourselves to the Buddhas, to do their work. If I thought of my morning gassho as handing myself over to the safe hands of the Buddhas, of allowing the Buddhas to do what they wanted with me, then I felt fired up. Christians might say, “Your will, not mine.” Surrendering my small ego with its self-protective grasping to the unknown wisdom of the cosmos is something I can get behind. 

I decided to start again with this new understanding. Rather than referencing the word “harmony,” I thought of “handing myself over.” The following week I bowed more, and by the end of the week, I could acknowledge that the word “harmony” felt better to me than it had before. (I didn’t get to know Rev. Kubose very well before he died in March 2022, but from the time I did spend with him, I was pretty sure that he’d be chuckling fondly at me. “Look at her, making it so complicated! Just bow!”)

Finally, almost a month into the practice, I did just bow. I often did my harmony gassho to the big Buddha in the temple garden, before my morning nembutsu. Sometimes I forgot about the gratitude gassho until I got to the bedroom, but I have a shrine there too and so I often thank this small golden Buddha for everything I’ve received during the day. They are short moments, but they are poignant. 

I will be interested to see how this practice develops as I continue to incorporate it into my days. Here is what Rev. Kubose said about the gratitude gassho:

The underlying sentiment accompanying the Gratitude Gassho is an awareness of interdependency—that one is supported by nature, by other people, by everything. There is a feeling of “counting one’s blessings,” of “grace,” or of “how grateful I am.” The seed of this sentiment will naturally blossom and be expressed in compassionate ways.

This is certainly my experience of practice. As I put myself into good conditions, by having a short daily meditation or chanting practice, by making a conscious effort to spend time in nature, by getting together to practice with others a couple of times a week, these seeds will “naturally blossom.” As a result, I will be more able to be kind to the planet, to other living beings, and to myself. As we recite at the end of every practice session here at the temple: 

Blessed by Amitabha’s light
may we care for all living things
and the holy Earth. 

This morning I thought about the gasshos as “please” and “thank you.” In the morning I ask the Buddhas to help me live in harmony with others and our planet, and in the evening I say thank you for all I have received. I also think about them in the language of offerings: in the morning I offer my body, my unique qualities and my energy to be used to do good, and in the evening I take time to acknowledge the many offerings I have received in return. In breath, out breath. I am acknowledging the cycle of life that continues every day, every hour, and every second. I am connecting myself to something bigger. It feels good.

♦

Find Rev Koyo Kubose’s instructions for the Everyday Gassho here.

Read more about Satya Robyn here.

The post The Struggle of Everyday Gassho appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

At the heart of Shin Buddhism is contemplative practice, as is the case with most schools of Buddhism. But rather than seated meditation, like in Zen Buddhism, we do chanting. The main chant that we do in Shin Buddhism is called the name of Amida Buddha. In Japanese, it is pronounced namu amida butsu. Namu, the one who vows, vows because that person realizes that they have attachments, delusions, or what in Shin Buddhism we generally call blind passions that cause suffering. But they realize that because they’re illuminated by the deepest truth, the dharma. This truth is emptiness—oneness beyond words.

But just as emptiness is not something out there, Amida Buddha is not a being out there but our deepest, truest self, and our deepest, truest reality.  Because emptiness—the deep flow of oneness—is not static but dynamic, the more accurate translation for Amida Buddha is the dynamic awakening of infinite light. 

I’d like to explain this to you using a story from my own experience.

Many years ago, I was a graduate student studying Buddhist studies. My wife and I were living in the Bay Area in northern California. There are many temples, including many Shin Buddhist temples, in the area, so I started to get invited to give talks at local temples. One year, I was invited to give a talk in a Buddhist temple in San Luis Obispo, which is several hours down the coast of California. 

Being a poor graduate student, I had a very bad used car, which had broken down many times, so I decided to rent a car at San Jose airport. I had an upgrade coupon, so I got a nice new red Thunderbird. 

My wife was coming with me, and my cousin Scott, who also lived in the Bay Area, said he would also join us. The three of us got in this nice new red Thunderbird. We were driving down the freeway. Then, it started to get a little dark, so I turned on the headlights. 

I was trying to be particularly attentive on this trip because this was my first weekend seminar that I was giving at a Buddhist temple. I straightened up my posture, and I was paying special attention driving down the freeway. But as I was driving, I noticed that the cars coming from the opposite direction didn’t have their headlights on. 

I thought, “Ah, I know what it is. It’s rush hour. Everybody’s distracted. Some people are thinking, What’s on TV? Are the kids behaving? What’s for dinner? But not me. I’m not distracted.” My reaction was immediate: as soon as I’d noticed it was getting dark, I had turned on the headlights. 

I continued to drive for another 10 or 15 minutes, and then there was a tapping on my shoulder. It was my cousin Scott. 

He said “Mark, Mark, you can take off your sunglasses now.” 

I like to tell this story because it fits so well with this Shin Buddhist teaching of blind passions and boundless compassion. 

I had all the right ideas: “I should be prepared. I should be calm. I should be focused. I should be paying attention.” But really, what was going on was I was just full of myself, thinking, “I’m this upcoming scholar of Buddhism. I had been invited to a weekend seminar.” 

No, I was so blinded by my ego self-image of who I thought I was or should be that I literally could not see the sunglasses directly in front of my eyes.

I thought everybody else was deluded, whereas who was the deluded being? Who was the foolish being filled with blind passions? It was Mark Unno. 

And what brought me to that realization was my cousin Scott extending his hand of great compassion. […]

And so this is the dance of the foolish being and the awakening of infinite light, of blind passions and boundless compassion, in the Shin Buddhist tradition, which we realize in the contemplative practice of chanting namu amida butsu. I, this foolish being filled with blind passions, am illuminated, enveloped, and dissolved into the great flow of the oneness of reality, of the realization of emptiness, of the awakening of infinite light. 

♦

Adapted from Mark Unno’s Dharma Talk, Opening  the Heart of Great Compassion: The Path of Shin Buddhism

The post Blind Passions and Boundless Compassion appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

On May 8, 2006, a Japanese hiker named Tomomi Hanamure was stabbed to death while hiking to Havasu Falls in the Grand Canyon, a popular destination on the Havasupai Indian Reservation. She was murdered by an 18-year-old member of the tribe named Randy Wescogame. Reporting on the crime, Annette McGivney, a writer for Backpacker magazine, visited the reservation. The experience set in motion a chain of events that led to her own unraveling. As she learned more about the details of the murder and the abuse that Wescogame had endured, McGivney began to recall long-buried memories of the physical abuse she suffered at the hands of her father.

Reconciling with her past meant finding a new way forward. As McGivney continued to delve into the lives of Hanamure and her killer—which involved taking up Zen practice, traveling to Japan, and visiting Wescogame in prison—her own path to recovery from her past trauma became a part of the story. This journey culminated in her book Pure Land, which describes the conditions that resulted in Hanamure’s murder, and how the author’s struggle informed her grasp of it. It is a powerful story that explores the transformative powers of nature and asks how we can seek the “western land of peace and bliss” in a world full of suffering.

What prompted you to want to write about the murder of Tomomi Hanamure? Originally I was drawn to writing about Tomomi because I thought, as a journalist, that it was a great story. But I am also very committed to empowering people, especially women, to experience and connect with the outdoors, and to not be intimidated by sexist attitudes like “Women shouldn’t hike alone.” There was part of me that was very much into digging deeper to let the world know who Tomomi was as a person, and to honor her past in nature, and not to let her be known as just a woman hiking alone who got murdered. I also wanted to tell a broader story of the Havasupai tribe and the indigenous people of the Grand Canyon.

How did you realize your own experience would become such a pivotal part of the story? In order to understand Tomomi fully and to do a good job as a journalist, I needed to learn more about Buddhism. I was kind of ignorant about Japan and Buddhism coming into the topic. I assumed everyone in Japan was a Zen Buddhist, so as part of my research I joined a Zen meditation group in Flagstaff, Arizona, and I started meditating—and I thought, wow, this is good for me.

The first time when I actually stopped thinking—[Tibetan Buddhist nun] Pema Chödrön says, “It’s like when the ceiling fan stops”—I had the most horrible feeling. It was like someone dipped me in hot oil. I would later come to understand that I was having a flashback. It was the first flashback of many. I had no idea that I was a survivor of intense childhood trauma, but I also had no idea that meditation could take the lid off of that. That was the brick that fell out of the wall, and then all the other bricks started to collapse. That’s what started my breakdown.

Related: The Trauma Dharma

When I was going through all that I literally put the book aside. I was afraid of the book for awhile. It seemed toxic. But as I came to a better place emotionally and psychologically, I felt so connected to Tomomi and Randy and to finishing what I had started. Some of the principles of Buddhism that I’d been studying really helped me to understand that you can’t be attached to outcomes, and you have to go where the doors are opening for you. So I took the book up again and friends suggested that I should incorporate my own story. It was hard for me to believe that I should, but it seemed like the path was to share my journey as part of the book.

Where did you get the title Pure Land, and what does it mean to you? I am not an expert in Buddhism by any stretch, and it took me awhile to realize that the Hanamure family is actually Pure Land Buddhist. I started studying that and learned that Pure Land Buddhists pray for rebirth in the “western land of peace and bliss.”

For Tomomi, the Grand Canyon was her western paradise. That’s what Pure Land means to me. It is outdoors. I have always known this deep down, but researching the book has gifted me this as the guiding principle of my life. It is so much more to me than just a title.

Despite suffering deeply, you write that you felt “a profound and never-ceasing compassion that emanated from the natural world.” Do you feel a connection between contemplative practice and your experiences in nature? Yes, very much so. It was not until I began research for the book that I discovered how closely aligned Buddhist principles are with my love of nature. Rather than separating me from the earth, they support my desire to be one with it. For me, my contemplative practice is in nature. I do meditate indoors and practice breathing meditations when I wake and right before I go to bed. However, my true practice is on my daily hikes in the woods. Growing up in a state of fear shaped me as child, but the thing that transcended that was the compassion I felt from nature. When I walked through the woods I felt loved by the trees. I felt a warmth emanating from Mother Earth, as if I was being embraced by this unseen yet very powerful higher energy. When I hike outdoors now I continue to have a very strong connection to this energy, and I have a very primal need to plug into it. I spend about 1–2 hours a day wandering off-trail in the woods. This is my most joyful and restorative contemplative practice.

If the “fabled western land of peace and bliss” is actually one hike, or trail, or place in nature that you could choose to remain, where would your Pure Land be? I have hiked in so many spectacular wild locations. Yosemite is stunningly beautiful. The Grand Canyon has a very special place in my heart. I am also very connected to the San Francisco Peaks near Flagstaff, which is a sacred mountain to many Southwest indigenous tribes. However, I would say my Pure Land is in the Coconino National Forest, just a few blocks from my house where I hike every single day. There is part of me that is always up there with the trees. When I step off the road and into the woods, I feel instantly relieved, like I am entering my true home.

What advice do you have for others seeking to connect with the outdoors? In the same way that you take time to meditate by yourself in your house, you should take time to be alone in nature. Make a priority of that. It should be with no goal except to just be there and to connect with the outdoors and let it soak into your body. If you’re not sure how to do this, just follow the example of your dog. A dog is like, “Let’s go outdoors right now and let’s not do anything but be out here and enjoy it.” My dogs always help keep me straight and honest.  

The post Finding the Pure Land in Nature appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

This month at the New York Buddhist Church, a Pure Land Buddhist community in Manhattan, we will be observing the Japanese Buddhist holiday Ohigan. Ohigan—which coincides with the spring and autumnal equinoxes—gives us the opportunity to contemplate the reality of our existence and the vow of Amida Buddha [the buddha of pure light] to liberate us.

The weeklong holiday offers a period of personal reflection and remembrance, when many in Japan visit the graves of their ancestors to hold memorial services. Traditionally the time of transition between seasons is believed to bring the world of the living and the dead closer together. Practitioners customarily clean up the grave sites, leave offerings of food and flowers, pray, and recite sutras.

But Ohigan has another significance. Its name literally means “the other shore.” In early Buddhist teachings, the path to enlightenment is described as traveling from the near to the far shore. The term also evokes the dualism of our lives as well as the oneness of the totality of our existence. That’s because the other shore can be reached in this lifetime by entrusting in the Buddha’s vow.

The observance of Ohigan is a tradition said to have been inspired by Prince Shotoku (574–622), a semi-legendary figure who is considered the first great patron of Buddhism in Japan. The holiday is also based on the teachings and writings of the Chinese scholar and monk Shan Tao (613–681), or Zenda Daishi in Japanese. Shan Tao was one of the Seven Great Masters, or Seven Patriarchs (Jpn., Shichikousou), who helped develop Pure Land Buddhism. In the chant Shoshin Nembutsuge, Shinran Shonin, the founder of the Jodo Shinshu sect, expresses gratitude to the Seven Great Masters for helping him understand the universal vow to save all sentient beings. Shan Tao, the fifth master, was best known for discussing the virtues of reciting the name of Amida Buddha.

To help us understand the great vow, Shan Tao used a parable called the “The River of Fire and Water.” In this tale, a traveler suddenly discovers that he is being chased by vicious beasts and demons. The traveler runs as fast as he can, but soon encounters a river that blocks his escape. The only way to cross is to take a very narrow path where the water is shallow. On one side of the path there are rough waves and on the other side there are great leaping flames. The traveler is conflicted: to remain on this shore means certain death, but to go forward may mean a terrible end, too.

As he fearfully contemplates his fate, he hears a gentle voice encouraging him to go forward and telling him that there is nothing to fear. Still doubtful, he looks ahead at the other shore, where he sees the Amida Buddha with open arms beckoning him to come forward. To remain here on this shore means certain suffering and death; to go forward may mean suffering and death, but also provides hope. The traveler seizes the opportunity. Entrusting in the beckoning of Amida Buddha, he takes the first step, then the second. With each following step the narrow path miraculously widens, allowing the traveler to safely reach the other shore.

This parable demonstrates the meaning of Amida Buddha’s vow to save and free all of us from the endless cycle of birth and death. The traveler learns that doubt is what keeps us from seeing clearly, especial­ly our rebirth in Amida’s Land of Bliss. The beasts and demons in this story represent our fears, illusions, and delusions. The rough waves and river of fire are our hatred, insatiable desires, and ignorance. The path is hope and freedom from suffering. For Shao Tan, the way across the river was to call the Buddha’s name, Namo Amida Butsu, which he emphasized in numerous writings as the greatest practice that would lead to freedom from samsara (the beginningless cycle of rebirth). He is said to have recited Namo Amida Butsu thousands of times each day.

Shinran’s teacher, Honen Shonin (1113–1212), was deeply moved by Shan Tao’s thoughts and shared this practice for awakening to truth with his disciples as a way of showing his gratitude.

In order to reach the other shore, one does not have to wait for the end of one’s life. We can all reach the other shore right now by hearing and entrusting in the Buddha’s vows and allowing Buddha’s energy to fill our hearts and minds with wisdom, com­passion, and thoughts to help us transcend the ordinary.

Namu Amida Butsu.

The post Don’t Drown in Doubt appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

Shin Buddhist scholar Dr. Rev. Alfred Bloom, who taught at the Institute for Buddhist Studies in Berkeley, California, and the University of Hawaii, died last Friday. He was 91. Bloom passed away at St. Francis Hospice in Nuuanu, Hawaii, following heart problems, the Honolulu Star Advertiser reported.

“Al moved on to the next step of his journey the evening of August 25, 2017. Earlier in the day he was surrounded by his family and several close dharma friends; family was present at his passing. Al was comforted by the love of his community, who shared the nembutsu [ritual reciting of the Buddha’s name] together and assurance of the boundless compassion of Amitabha Buddha,” a family statement read, in part. “We are deeply saddened by our loss but are so filled with love and gratitude—for the life he gave us, for his presence in the world to share his thoughts, for the amazingly generous hearts who have shared this time with us in thought and action and prayer.”

Related: What is Pure Land Buddhism?

“The passing of Dr. Bloom is huge, though not unexpected, as he had health issues going back decades and in recent years his body and energy had significantly declined. He was one of the most important American Buddhists of the 20th century, and his legacy is both significant and enduring,” said author and Tricycle contributing editor Jeff Wilson. “My own journey into Pure Land Buddhism began with Dr. Bloom’s classic scholarly monograph, Shinran’s Gospel of Pure Grace, which I was assigned in college. Strategies for Modern Living—his commentary on the short Shin masterpiece Tannisho—has been a well of insight that I have returned to many times. His self-study curriculum, later collected and published as The Promise of Boundless Compassion, helped bridge the gap of my undergraduate and graduate studies. And I consult his reference volume The Essential Shinran frequently in my continuing study of the Pure Land way.” 

In 1995, Bloom wrote in Tricycle that Shin Buddhism, started by Japanese priest Shinran (1173-1268), has been compared to a watered down version of Buddhism “by those who believe meditation practice constitutes the core teaching of Buddhism.”

“However, comparisons with meditation actually miss the point of Shin Buddhism, which offers instead a discipline of the heart demanding deep self-reflection, constant awareness of one’s gratitude to the Buddha, and compassion for all beings,” Bloom wrote in “The Western Pureland.” We’ve made this article available to all readers to learn more about the history of Pure Land.

A visitation and memorial service were held on Sept. 2. 

The post Shin Buddhist Scholar Alfred Bloom Has Died appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

Recently, when I was staying at the Seabrook Buddhist Temple in the New Jersey countryside, I realized that when I wake up in the morning there, I feel very refreshed. Here in Manhattan, I get about the same number of hours of sleep but I often feel very tired when I arise. Last time at Seabrook, I awoke because I heard birds singing! I lay in bed listening to their beautiful song, which held the promise for a wonderful day. I spent a moment reflecting about how quiet the night before had been: no fire engines, trucks, ambulances. I hadn’t recognized the constant noise of the city until I was somewhere it didn’t exist. Did that mean I had stopped noticing even the simplest of things?

I alone am not able to sustain myself—I rely on all that surrounds me to sustain me. How amazing, I contemplated, that my path has brought me to a very large city where many invisible things energize and embrace me, continuously moving at a fast pace. It is wonderful that I also have the opportunity to go to a rural area like Seabrook. Although I live in the city, I was born in a rural community, and returning from there, I asked myself whether I’d forgotten all the things that have helped me to be me.

The nembutsu—Namu Amida Butsu—is like the sun, rain, wind, air, and other elements of nature. They just are. It is because they “just are” that they don’t cater to just one place or person but share their gifts with all. The birds that woke me, although I felt they were singing only for me, were singing for everyone. The birds were wishing everyone a good day. It was my ignorance and ego that made me think that they were singing their beautiful song only for me. Their song sustains and embraces us all. 

We all seek happiness, but I believe that we are already surrounded by happiness. The teachings of the Buddha have taught me that everything is neutral and perfect in its own way. If this is true, they why are we unhappy? It is because we all have excess baggage in the form of attachments. To put that into everyday language, we have developed our own expectations of what we perceive as being true and real. Unhappiness is created by want, anger, and illusion. Causes and conditions are caused by our body language, words, and mind. They are not physically tangible, but exist in our minds. When events or circumstances meet our expectations, or attachments, we are happy, but if they do not, we are distressed, and depending on the degree of disappointment, we can become very angry. With so much happening in the world, do we really need additional stress?

The teachings or vows of the Buddha are the means by which we may have a deeper understanding of who and what we are and the means by which we may separate from our attachments—the cause of our unhappiness or suffering. Listening to the truth, which Amida Buddha represents, and entrusting in the Buddha’s vows by answering the call of Namu Amida Butsu, will lead to understanding and eventually, acts of kindness. In this life, because there is Namu Amida Butsu, we are all embraced and accepted just as we are.

How sweet is the song of the birds, reminding us of Namu Amida Butsu.

The post The Bird’s Song appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

Foundations of Pure Land, Week 1: Other Power.
Foundations of Pure Land, Week 2: Honen’s Legacy.
Foundations of Pure Land, Week 3: Chanting the Nembutsu.
Foundations of Pure Land, Week 4: The Pure Land Take on Mindfulness.
Foundations of Pure Land, Week 5: Social Engagement.
Foundations of Pure Land, Week 6: Art and Tradition.

The post Foundations of the Pure Land – Week 7 appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

Week 7 »

The post Foundations of Pure Land – Week 6 appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.