May is Asian Pacific American Heritage Month, an opportunity to reflect on the vital contributions Asian Americans have made throughout the history of the United States—including the role Asian communities played in laying down the path for American Buddhism. Here are fifteen stories from our archives that touch upon the trials and triumphs of American Buddhists of Asian descent.

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Whose Corruption and Whose Compassion? by Russell Leong

A Buddhist temple in Los Angeles played a key role in a fundraising scheme for the 1996 presidential election. Chinese American author Russell Leong explores how xenophobia around both race and religion may have contributed to the media fallout.  

Who is the Angry Asian Buddhist? An interview by Emma Varvaloucas

The writer behind the “Angry Asian Buddhist” blog explains his frustration over the “two Buddhisms” framework, which distinguishes between “immigrant” and “American” Buddhism.  He argues that the tapestry of practitioners in the US is far more complex. In 2017, the blogger, Aaron Lee, who went by the pseudonym arunlikhati, died from cancer at age 34.

Real Refuge: Building Inclusive and Welcoming Sanghas by Mushim (Patricia) Ikeda-Nash

Building inclusive, welcoming sanghas necessitates “looking around the room and seeing who’s here and who isn’t here.” In this Dharma Talk series, Buddhist teacher and community activist Mushim (Patricia) Ikeda-Nash instructs us in “seeing the unseen,” a practice in examining our unconscious assumptions that binds us to racism, classism, or ableism.

Young Adult Novelist Emily X. R. Pan Didn’t Mean to Write a Buddhist Book by Lakshmi Gandhi

Author Emily X.R. Pan reflects on how writing a novel led her to discover a deeply ingrained personal Buddhism.

Brown Body, White Sangha by Atia Sattar

A mindfulness of the body meditation takes on a different meaning for a Pakistani practitioner in a mostly white sangha. “Nowhere does race blindness feel more hurtful,” writes Atia Sattar, “than in well-intentioned white sanghas presently striving for diversity and inclusion.”

Thus Have I Heard: An American Sutra by Duncan Ryuken Williams

Scholar and Zen priest Duncan Ryuken Williams pieces together the story of how Japanese internment camps gave birth to a uniquely American Buddhism. You can also listen to “When Buddhists Were a ‘National Security Threat’” on the Tricycle Talks podcast to hear Williams in conversation with Tricycle editor-in-chief James Shaheen.

Never Again Interview with Duncan Ryuken Williams by Ashoka Mukpo

New York City-based staff reporter for the American Civil Liberties Union Ashoka Mukpo interviews scholar and Zen priest Duncan Ryuken Williams on his work with Tsuru for Solidarity, a group of Japanese American activists who work to support immigrants and refugee communities, and what a Buddhist ethic of confronting that brutality might look like.

From “Just Culture” to a Just Culture by Reverend Cristina Moon

Hawaii-based Rinzai Zen priest Cristina Moon describes why embodying the cultures from which Buddhism came helps the dharma work on us from all angles.

Young. Asian. American. Buddhist: What These Words Cannot Say Chenxing Han in conversation with Ann Gleig

Writer and Buddhist chaplain Chenxing Han speaks with scholar Ann Gleig about why the next generation of practitioners is thinking about intersectionality, the problem with “two Buddhisms,” and how her research into identity inspired her book, Be the Refuge.

Bodhicitta in the Time of Asian Hate by Anthony Tshering

In the wake of a spike in hate crimes against Asian Americans, therapist and Asian American Buddhist Anthony Tshering embraces his emotions and opens his heart to help himself and others.

Planting the Spirit by Nikiko Masumoto

In this cross-post from the Inquiring Mind archive, a fourth-generation farmer illustrates how tending the earth is a practice of resilience.

Partial Equanimity Interview with Jay Caspian Kang by Chenxing Han

On the heels of his novel The Loneliest Americans, writer Jay Caspian Kang discusses Buddhism and identity, including a formative phase in his own life, with writer and Buddhist chaplain Chenxing Han. 

Listening to the Buddhists in Our Backyard by Caitlin Yoshiko Kandil

Reporter Caitlin Yoshiko Kandil spotlights an innovative new course called “Listening to the Buddhists in Our Backyard” at Phillips Academy in Andover, MA, which immersed high school seniors in local Buddhist communities just miles from their own campus.  

My True Home by Kim Thai

Writer, social justice advocate, and mindfulness teacher Kim Thai describes how  Thich Nhat Hanh helped her find refuge as a child of Vietnamese refugees.

Grief Is an Ancestor by Mimi Zhu

In this excerpt from Be Not Afraid of Love, writer Mimi Zhu explores how rituals around loss can transform deep grief into love.

This article was originally published on May 23, 2019, and has since been updated.

The post The Asian American Heritage of Buddhism in the United States appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

With another new year around the corner, I’ve been considering a koan from The Gateless Barrier, a collection of verses and stories compiled by Master Yunmen, a 9th century Zen master:

Ummon said, “See how vast and wide the world is! Why do you put on your robes at the sound of the bell?”

Bells have long been part of my New Year’s tradition. Every New Year’s Eve, I attend the Watch Night service at New York City’s Riverside Church. This church, located in Harlem, houses a seventy-four-bell carillon. It is the world’s largest carillon by weight, and its Bourdon Bell, which weighs 40,000 pounds, is the largest tuned bell in the world.

These bells play an important role in the church’s Watch Night service. Every year, hundreds of people gather to worship and contemplate poignant sermons focused on compassion, faith, and social justice. After the service ends, the parishioners sit in silence together until midnight. At that time, the church’s renowned bells ring out, marking this distinct shift from one year to the next.

In the United States, Watch Night services have a deep historic significance. These services remember the transition from December 31, 1862 to January 1, 1863, which is the moment Abraham Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation took effect and legally freed enslaved African Americans. Watch Night services also acknowledge that slavery, racism, and oppression are ongoing realities in our world, and inspire action toward collective freedom.

The sound of Riverside Church’s powerful bells offers me a profound moment of awareness. When I first hear the bells, I sit up tall and open my eyes. As the bells continue to ring, the vibrations from their enormous sound move down through the walls of the church, into the pews, and vibrate in my body. I hear the bells, and I also feel them ringing within me. In these moments I feel alert, present, and calm. 

In many Buddhist traditions, ringing bells not only capture people’s attention, but also remind them of the power of compassion as well as the potential for liberation. In Japan, Buddhist communities gather on New Years Eve for Joya no kane, a traditional bell-ringing ceremony. Monks ring bells 108 times, marking each of the 108 kleshas, or defilements, with aspirations to eventually transcend them. At the Plum Village Monastery in France, devotees of Thich Nhat Hanh come together every morning to sing The Great Bell Chant. This chant, intended to evoke attentiveness, reminds listeners that the sound of a bell can awaken them from states of forgetfulness and complacency. 

In Tibetan Buddhism, bells are among the most sacred of ritual objects. The bell, which symbolizes wisdom, is often paired with a vajra, which symbolizes compassion. Together, wisdom and compassion embody a union of dualities. Attaining both wisdom and compassion would help liberate a devotee from samsara, the cycle of death and rebirth, and achieve enlightenment.

In poetry, meanwhile, many references to bells symbolize a call to attention that results in some kind of inner transformation. In one 18th-century haiku, Japanese Zen poet Yosa Buson hints at a bell’s latent power to ring and awaken:

Clinging to the bell,
he dozes so peacefully,
this new butterfly

Other poems describe the lasting effects of a bell long after it has stopped ringing. In the following haiku, Japanese Zen poet Matsuo Basho describes how the sound of a bell can instill a deep echo that radiates from within:

The temple bell stops—
but the sound keeps coming
out of the flowers

Other texts capture the ways in which a bell sound can reflect a larger, more collective transition. I’ve long admired the 19th century poem “In Memoriam, [Ring out, wild bells],” by Alfred, Lord Tennyson. In this poem, the sound of bells on New Year’s Eve encourages us to honor death and practice letting go:

“Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light:
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.  

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go; 
Ring out the false, ring in the true.” 

Each time I revisit Master Yunmen’s koan, I wonder: What do I do when I hear a bell, and why do I do it? I also question how often I am motivated by external influences, like the sound of a bell, and which of my actions stem from a deeper internal desire. I do know that the latter feels more freeing. 

When I first hear the grand bells at Riverside Church, my desire to connect with people seems to rise from within. I want to feel seen, and I want others to know that I see them. I want people to know that I long for the same things they do. I want us all to feel a sense of comfort and peace.

As those wild bells ring out, I reach for the hand of the person next to me, smile, and wish them a Happy New Year.

The post Ring Out, Wild Bells appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

Ideally, the year-end holiday season is a time for reflection, gathering indoors, and spending quality time with our loved ones. But it can be hard to ignore the relentless slew of holiday marketing, assuring us that the best way to convey our affection is to buy, buy, buy. In most Buddhist traditions, the winter solstice is not a time for presents wrapped in paper with big bows on top. While there are Buddhist cultures with gift-giving conventions—such as in Japanese etiquette—the practice of donating alms or offerings is much more widespread. But for those of us living in the West, ’tis the season for trading tokens of gratitude. So how can we give gifts in a Buddhist way?

An article in Tricycle’s Winter 2007 issue, “Gifts That Keep Giving” by Joan Duncan Oliver, provides an answer: give compassionately. Oliver suggests that we purchase gifts that are ethically sourced, environmentally conscious, and help someone in need—in other words, they relieve suffering instead of creating it. 

One approach is to give to a charity in someone else’s name, and there are many excellent organizations to choose from (see below). But for those times when we’re expected to hand out gifts (at the annual office Secret Santa, for instance), here is a selection of ways to give in the Buddhist spirit.

Buy Nothing and Give More  

Do you have any household items collecting dust in a closet that could better serve someone else? Or, do you find yourself in need of something last minute, say an extra dining chair for guests or some mushy bananas for banana bread? Consider joining a Buy Nothing community, an international network of local gifting groups that offers people a way to give and receive, share, lend, and express gratitude for their neighbors. With over four million members and nearly seven thousand regional Buy Nothing communities, the project has attracted many due to its simple but effective rule: everything must be given freely. This holiday season, the project encourages people to give and ask from others in their local communities instead of buying gifts. You can find your local Buy Nothing group on the new BuyNothing app or through the project’s list of Facebook groups. And you can read more about Buy Nothing here, in the Summer 2022 issue of Tricycle magazine.

Get Crafty!

For a variety of ethical shopping needs, visit the online store Ten Thousand Villages, which as its name implies, offers ethically sourced crafts from developing countries around the world. The Pennsylvania-based nonprofit’s mission is to provide their artisans with fair, living wages and safe work conditions as well as to promote energy-efficient practices and the use of local and recycled materials. The organization, one of the oldest and largest fair-trade groups, started in 1946 and was based on the Mennonite principles of its founder, Edna Ruth Byler, but its shop includes several goods from Buddhist traditions. Check out its selection of singing bowls from Nepalese artists or pick up a patchwork meditation cushion made by female artisans in Vietnam. Or for non-Buddhist recipients, browse their selection of jewelry, home goods, and other handicrafts.

The Tibetan Nuns Project (TNP) is a more Buddhist-oriented alternative for handmade crafts. Known for their Sponsor a Nun program, TNP was created to help refugee nuns coming to India from Tibet, but it has expanded to “provide food, shelter, education, and health care to over 700 nuns of all traditions,” the group says. Their online shop supports these efforts by selling bags, malas, prayer flags, and other crafts that are made and blessed by nuns. You can also purchase pujas [prayers and rituals], which can be dedicate to a loved one.

Words to the Wise

For book lovers, there are a lot of options to choose from. Three of the largest publishers of Buddhist literature, Wisdom Publications, Shambhala Publications, and Sounds True, all boast environmental initiatives, and Wisdom’s Books for Prisoners programs and Sounds True’s Prison Library Project make Buddhist resources available to incarcerated populations. Need a book suggestion? Check out what we’re reading and our list of recommended Buddhist books for beginners.

Here are three new books to get you started: 

• New edition of Call Me By My True Names: The Collected Poems of Thich Nhat Hanh by Thich Nhat Hanh. First published in 1993 and reissued this year with a foreword by Buddhist poet Ocean Vuong, Call Me By My True Names is a collection of over a hundred poems by the late Vietnamese Zen master.   
• Let Your Light Shine: How Mindfulness Can Empower Children and Rebuild Communities by Ali Smith, Atman Smith, and Andres Gonzalez. In this book, Ali Smith, Atman Smith, and Andres Gonzalez of the Holistic Life Foundation share how mindfulness tools can help at-risk children and communities not only survive but thrive. They also teach the Tricycle online course Mindfulness for Kids and Parents to help families be happy and calm.
• The Myth of Normal: Trauma, Illness, and Healing in a Toxic Culture by Gabor Maté. Author and physician Gabor Maté helps readers understand personal suffering—both physical and emotional—and the roots and impacts of trauma. By drawing connections between the mind, body, and environment, Maté shows a pathway to healing by treating the whole being. 

If you’re looking for a book with a younger reader in mind, here is a selection of Buddhist children’s books to consider: 

• The Secret of the Sand Castles by Demi
• Lumi: Adventures in Kindness by Molly Coxe
• Buddhist Stories for Kids: Jataka Tales of Kindness, Friendship, and Forgiveness by Laura Burges
• The Hero of Compassion: How Lokeshvara Got One Thousand Arms by Harry Einhorn
• Sophie Learns to Be Brave by Joan Halifax
• The Monster Parade by Wendy O’Leary

Presents for Presence

One way to support the dharma with your gifts is to buy from shops that help fund meditation centers. Right livelihood is the guiding principle of the Monastery Store. The shop, which sells supplies for Buddhist practice, is staffed by residents and volunteers at the upstate New York-based Zen Mountain Monastery, where they are trained in “work practice” or “sacred labor” as part of the Mountains and Rivers Order founded by the late American Zen teacher John Daido Loori. The store also puts an emphasis on responsible environmental practices. Try the buckwheat zafu, or meditation seat, and their plush “bodhi seat” zabuton, which one former editor praised for helping him overcome the tendency for his left leg to fall asleep while sitting. They also have a wonderful selection of low-smoke incense for those who want to maintain an altar with a sensitive nose. But for gifts outside of the Zen tradition, shoppers will need to look elsewhere.

The Namse Bangdzo bookstore at the Karma Triyana Dharmachakra (KTD) in Woodstock, New York, also carries shrine and practice supplies, including meditation cushions, malas, and incense, as well as items that are specific to Tibetan Buddhism and might be harder to find, such as a bumpa ritual vase or a kapala, or skullcup, used in some Vajrayana practices.

Tea and Sympathy

Tea has been a symbol of enlightenment ever since 9th-century Zen master Joshu told his students, “Go drink tea!” But while there are a wide variety of fair-trade tea sellers to choose from, including some of the bigger distributors, many tea farmers around the world continue to be exploited and abused. A 2015 BBC report uncovered widespread abuses by British tea companies in India, although those companies claimed to have improved conditions. The group Ethical Consumer, which ranks UK-based tea suppliers, recommends that in addition to looking for fair trade and organic certification, buyers pick single-source teas over blends, which are harder to trace, and opt for loose tea over bags, which are rarely made from sustainable materials.

Mellow Monk only sells single estate tea from Japan’s Kumamoto region and places extra emphasis on being eco-friendly. Through the micro-lending site Kiva, they also support small farms in the area. For a broader range of tea options, the Oregon-based Strand Tea Company promises sustainable fair-trade practices and also donates proceeds to charities, including tiger conservation efforts in Tamil Nadu, India, and its local chapter of the League of Women’s Voters.

For some recipe ideas, you can check out Zen teacher Bo-Mi Choi’s guide to Korean tea remedies.

Wrapping Up

When wrapping your gift, consider alternatives to wasteful paper and scotch tape. One alternative is the Japanese method of wrapping gifts in reusable cloths called furoshiki (which literally translates to “bathmat” from its origins as a way to wrap up items at bathhouses). You can spend hours looking up different ways to tie the colorful wraps, which become part of the gift itself. If crafts aren’t your thing, reusable gift or tote bags are another great option.

Or you can wrap your gift in a scarf, adding another seasonable gift. You can purchase Tibetan yak-yarn scarves from the mYak for Social Good collection, which donates its proceeds to a mobile library project on the Tibetan Plateau that brings books to children in 50 villages.

Charitable Donations

Perhaps your loved ones have given up their attachment to material things—or have a hard enough time finding room for the stuff they already have—but you still want to let them know you are thinking of them. Donating to a charity in their name can be the perfect gift, and some people might even request it. While there are many worthy charities, here is a selection of some notable initiatives:

• The Buddhist Tzu Chi Charity Foundation provides humanitarian aid to vulnerable individuals, families, and communities. Since February 2022, Tzu Chi has provided aid to Ukrainian refugees in Poland fleeing the war.
• The Jamyang Foundation aids nuns in the most remote parts of the Himalayas.
• Nangchen Nuns helps Tsoknyi lineage nuns in Eastern Tibet.
• Ayya Yeshe’s Bodhicitta Foundation provides job training and education to women and children in India.
• Live to Love empowers the people of the Himalayas through initiatives in gender equality, education, animal care, and disaster relief. 
• Lotus Outreach supports young girls in India and Cambodia.
• The Lineage Project teaches mindful movement, meditation, breathwork, and conscious conversations to vulnerable young people in New York City. You can read an interview with the group’s executive director here.
• Pete’s Place is an interfaith homeless shelter in Sante Fe, New Mexico. You can find out about their work in this essay by a volunteer from Upaya Zen Center.
• Buddhist Global Relief, founded by Buddhist teacher and translator Bhikku Bodhi, seeks to combat chronic hunger and malnutrition worldwide through direct food relief, education initiatives, and promoting sustainable food production.
• Each year, The New York Times Neediest Cases Fund supports nine organizations that provide help for those in need.

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This article was adapted from Tricycle’s 2018 gift guide. 

The post Tricycle’s Buddhist Gift Guide 2022 appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

Obon season, the time when we celebrate our ancestors’ return to this world, has come. It is a time of honoring one’s ancestors by returning home; offering fruit, somen noodles, and other food to ancestors’ gravesites and their home altars; performing celebratory dances; and visiting temples to attend Obon services. But what does the holiday really mean? 

“Obon” is an abbreviation of “urabon,” a term that has three origin stories. The first and most widely credited theory is that urabon comes from the Sanskrit wordt ullambana or avalambana, which means “hanging upside down.” The second theory suggests the term comes from urvan, an ancient Iranian word from the Avestan language that means “spirit.” The third is that “bon” means “tray” and “ura” comes from odana or olaha, the Sanskrit words for “rice” and “food,” meaning that urabon is “a tray to serve food or rice to monks.” 

Looking to the Ullambana Sutra, which tells the story that inspires Obon, I believe all three theories could be right. 

The sutra tells a story of Sakyamuni Buddha, who lived in India about 2,500 years ago, and Moggallana, one of Buddha’s disciples and a chief master of supranormal power. One day Moggallana uses his supranormal power to visualize the whereabouts of his deceased mother. Searching all the realms, from the highest of the heavens to the lowest of the hells, he was surprised and horrified to find his mother suffering the torments of the realm of hungry ghosts.  Jealous and greedy beings are sent to this realm, and no one can eat or drink anything because food and drink turn into fire before they are consumed. So hungry ghosts are always skinny with swollen stomachs. When Moggallana tries to give some food to his mother, it turns into fire and carbonizes. Helpless in aiding his mother, he seeks help from the Buddha. 

The Buddha tells him, “Your mother was a greedy and envious person. You cannot save her by yourself. You need the combined help of all the monks to help your mother. Many monks are in summer retreat now. Bring them offerings of food and bedding.”

Following the Buddha’s instructions, Moggallana offers food and bedding to monks and his mother is freed from the realm of hungry ghosts, relieved of her suffering. Overjoyed, Moggallana claps his hands and dances. This is said to have been the beginning of bon odori, dances celebrating Obon. 

I have listened to this Obon story every year. While I feel relieved that Moggallana’s mother was saved, I also have questions. Why didn’t Sakyamuni Buddha directly save his mother? Why did Sakyamuni Buddha give Moggallana such a roundabout way of saving her: making offerings to the monks? Were there any direct ways to save his mother? 

Making offerings to monks is an important Buddhist deed called dana, one of the six paramitas that bodhisattvas practice to attain enlightenment. Practitioners receive virtue as a result of practicing dana. In this story of Moggallana, a son performed dana to save his mother, and he received virtue from his actions. 

When I think deeply about this story, I realize that Moggallana’s mother showed her son the torments of the hungry ghost realm because she wanted her son to practice dana and receive virtue. Sakyamuni Buddha understood her thoughts and advised Moggallana to make offerings to the monks. His mother must have been a bodhisattva who led Moggallana to walk the Buddhist path even after she died. When I understand this story in this way, it is not only talking about Moggallana saving his mother, but also about Moggallana’s mother giving her son an opportunity to practice dana and accumulate virtues to attain enlightenment. 

Many people understand the traditions and customs of Obon as an opportunity to make offerings to their ancestors (urvan). But this understanding of Obon is also upside-down (ullambana or avalambana). Our ancestors are actually giving us the opportunity to practice dana (odana or olaha) and observe Buddhist practice. They are guiding us to walk the Buddhist path. 

The post The Origin of Obon appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

These days, loving, attentive care is in high demand. Emerging from a global pandemic that remains a threat in certain communities and to certain people, we’re wounded and anxious. War rages in Ukraine, violence continues close to home, and the climate crisis looms large. Many of us may find ourselves reflecting on the people who have taken care of us in the past or continue to offer a loving presence in our lives, whether they are our mothers, grandmothers, aunts, or caregivers. There’s a Tibetan Buddhist teaching that describes how all beings have been our mothers at one point in the cycle of rebirth. This Mother’s Day, we practice seeing everyone we encounter as our mother.

As the following selection of articles and talks shows, there is no one right way to be a maternal caregiver. We hope their journeys and perspectives offer insight into a day that can be both joyous and difficult.

♦

The Buddhist Bet by Leslie Mancillas

Struggling with addiction and on the edge of suicide, a mother makes a final attempt at embracing life—and challenges her daughter to do the same. 

Mindful Parenting: Nurturing an Intentional, Compassionate Family with Sumi Loundon Kim 

Raising compassionate children means being a compassionate parent. Buddhist chaplain Sumi Loundon Kim offers a series of teachings and practices based on her experience as a mom. 

As If I Were Your Mother by Sarah Aceto 

What if we practiced the inverse of the mother teaching—what if we acted as if every being were our child?  

The Dismay of Motherhood by Mary Talbot 

Having children is often framed as a kind of spiritual liberation, but sometimes it can seem like a deeper entanglement in suffering. 

Healing from Miscarriage by Mindy Newman

Women who have miscarriages often feel alone in their grief. Buddhist teachings can provide context for understanding their experiences. 

Cycles of Motherhood by Barbara Gates

A writer reflects on her elderly mother’s uniquely challenging qualities.

How a Mother Would Tell the Buddha’s Story by Anne Cushman

Who was the Buddha’s mom? Writer Anne Cushman reimagines Queen Maya, mother of the Buddha, and offers a retelling of her son’s birth story. 

Strange Situation Interview with Bethany Saltman by Wendy Biddlecombe Agsar

Two mothers discuss Buddhist practice and attachment.

Mother of Tulkus by Alexander Gardner

The story of one Tibetan mother who refused to surrender her children to monastic life. 

The post 9 Stories That Offer Insight Into the Challenges and Joys of Being a Mother appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

Last October my husband, Patrick, and I went on vacation to San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, serendipitously arriving just as altars were being prepared to celebrate el Día de los Muertos, the Day of the Dead. I was new to Spanish, to Mexico and to Mexican festivals, but as a longtime follower of the Buddha Way, I was already a student of death. So in our daily one-on-one Spanish tutorials, while Patrick and his native tutor practiced grammar, my tutor, Oralia, and I conversed in Spanish about this holiday when the dead return for their yearly visit and the living make altars to share their food with the dead. Oralia and I sat at a little table in the garden of the Instituto—two women, one from Berkeley and one from San Miguel—discussing the symbolism of the offerings: of seeds and water, of candles, and dancing skeletons. To translate a point, Oralia leaned over my notebook and drew a little skull, then labeled it with the Spanish word calaverita. On the forehead, she wrote my name: BARBARA. Our eyes met and we both laughed. That’s when we connected—at the gritty junction where dark humor and truth converge.

Oralia sent me out into markets, squares and cemeteries to see for myself. Nose pressed against shop windows, I relished miniature dioramas of ordinary people—my favorite “the birth,” with the doctor, in surgical greens; the mother, legs spread; and the baby, emerging—all with tiny skull heads, all equally, whimsically, mortal. I immersed myself in the evolving imagery of el Día de los Muertos, dating all the way back to Coatlicue, the Aztec goddess of death and rebirth, who wears a necklace of human hearts, severed hands, and skulls.

Throughout the city, paths of marigold petals guided the returning souls of the dead to feast at the many colorful altars of fruit and gourds, hearkening back to festivals of the harvest. Playful public altars showcased a mocking Death, with his scythe and sombrero. More solemn altars in homes and cemeteries featured offerings tailored to the personal passions of deceased relatives—tamales, a gardening hoe, a bottle of tequila—and were more focused on grieving. Confused, I asked Oralia, “Is this festival of death alegre o triste (happy or sad)?”

“Más alegre!” she flashed. Mexicans, she told me, don’t take either death or life too seriously. That was an angle I hadn’t expected. It made me think.

I’ve always loved to laugh, but much in this wide world has felt heavy and dark—no room to joke. And in my own personal life, some things have felt just plain sad and unfair, particularly things having to do with my fathers. I told Oralia, “Mi padrastro (my stepfather) has Alzheimer’s. Mi padre is dead.”

For me, the celebrations of the dead in San Miguel called to mind these two men and brought up thoughts of their comings and goings—mostly their goings. I felt the huge weight I’ve given them both in my personal story. And I noticed that for most of my life I’ve blamed—and praised—these two weighty figures for just about everything. In fact, I realized, I’ve often thought that pain over my blood dad’s death when I was still in my twenties—that, and still-raw memories of how he’d left home when I was three—catapulted me into Buddhist practice.

Deluged by cartoon images posted in the Mexican squares—of heroes on skeleton steeds and flouncing ladies with skeleton tibia—I began to see my dads in caricature on the big screen of memory. My blood dad strode in, handsome in a white naval uniform, while my stepdad galloped past in blue jeans and Stetson hat. The White Knight, as my grandmother had dubbed my blood dad, took off for parts unknown, leaving a three-year-old me with a bereft mom; and she and I spent a year “recovering” in Rome, she painting and having an affair and I having tantrums. Hero Dad abandons ship. When we returned to the States, my stepdad, a giant Texan, arrived to save the day; he could wiggle his ears and raise and lower his furrowed brows—bing bong, bing bong—all to my delight. Cowboy to the rescue. But the Texan loved women and drink, and the White Knight did play his fatherly role from time to time—only to disappear once more. And so it went—each of the dads, Savior, Villain, then Savior again, with myself, Victim, Heroine, Victim—all moving through memory on these Days of the Dead.

In the year since our trip to San Miguel, my stepdad also died. On a second vacation in Mexico this coming fall, I will make altars for the two dads and perhaps dedicate a calaverita to each of them. I wonder what kinds of altars I can create for these men. I’d like to be playful, but that doesn’t come easily as I sort through occluded memories of the two. Over the years, when I’ve thought of my blood dad, it has felt so heavy and tragic: his erratic daddyhood, tormented marriages, cancer and a failed attempt to drive the car into a tree. His suffering, my loss—all of it. Little material here to suggest a whimsical offering. And as to my stepdad—yes, he was playful and tender, but he was also sometimes changed by alcohol into a stranger not to be trusted or withdrawn into his own brand of inner torments. Few lighthearted gifts come to my mind for his altar.

So what are these laughing altars about anyway? Are they dismissive, derisive, mean-spirited? Might they be seen as forgiving, accepting, recognizing our shared human frailty—thus fundamentally kind?

What I’ve really been trying to figure out is how best to hold the “hard stuff”—conflicts, failed understandings, sickness, inevitable loss, assured death. As I see it, this is what altars are for, and this is why I practice Buddhism—to find a way to hold experience. It can become a habit to either dismiss or indulge the painful (or the pleasant), but I am gradually finding the “middle way.” Years ago, I asked Zen teacher Tenzin Reb Anderson: “Some Buddhist teachings seem to be saying that nothing really matters. Doesn’t everything matter?” Reb smiled. “Nothing matters and everything matters.” When he said that, I wondered if this was a cop-out. Or was it a wise paradox pointing toward something mysteriously true? I recall now how among my college friends, when two seeming opposites converged, we used to quote a phrase from Shakespeare: “Both, both.”

I think again of Coatlicue, the Aztec goddess whose opposing qualities intersect—both dark and light, both destruction and creation, both death and life. So what about the altars? Can’t a serious altar and a laughing altar converge?

Another conversation with my tutor/translator suggested a possible answer. Over these weeks, as we’d discussed the Day of the Dead, we’d both hinted at the intimacies of our lives, at stories of women and men, of husbands and fathers, of love and heartbreak. On our last meeting, I tried to explain to Oralia that at age four I had lived in Italy with my mom, just my mom. “I went with my mother because my father se fue (had left us).”

I was stunned by what happened next. We both began to laugh. Who knew exactly why, but something felt unbearably funny. The typical unreliability of men? The imperfections of life? The failure of love?

As Oralia had often done for me, I drew stick figures in my notebook for her, and with her help I translated a little more of the story: “My father fell in love with otra mujer (another woman).” This time the laughter was uproarious. We were doubled over, the two of us rocking back and forth, tears flooding our faces. Each time our eyes met, we were overcome in a new crescendo of hilarity.

Afterwards, I realized that translating into another language is also translating into another way of understanding. It can truly reframe experience. Through my primitive Spanish and tears of laughter, I could now see my dad as a cad and a sweetheart, at once both and neither one. He was just an ordinary guy, and that seemed so funny. In fact, much of what I’d seen as extraordinarily sad or extraordinarily unfair in this father/hero story now seemed absurdly and comically ordinary. Maybe Oralia and I were laughing at the ways we humans endlessly goof up—and that made my own story even more hilarious. What a release it was to laugh at myself for having spent so many years feeling sorry for “me”: for the failure of ordinary life and an ordinary man to take care of me in the way I wanted.

In this “both, both” world I’ve explored through el Día de los Muertos, as I’ve translated my questions and memories into Spanish with Oralia, I’ve ended up with some of the very insights I’ve come to through Buddhism. Years of sitting on the cushion and watching my mind have allowed me to “translate” my experiences. I’ve changed the frame on what is happening, or what happened long ago, into a language of no-victim, of nonduality. Here rejoicing and grieving or forgiveness and accountability, like alegre and triste, coincide. In this way, translation into another tongue is not so different from translation into the language of Buddhism, each allowing a dynamic shift in perspective.

Last year in San Miguel I caught a glimpse of my blood dad—in translation—not as White Knight or Villain, but both and neither, as an ordinary guy. This year I’m going back to Mexico on the heels of my stepdad’s death; it’s his turn. As I think on it now, that complicated hombre whom I’d seen as so flamboyant in the extremes of his living seemed resonantly ordinary in his dying. In the last stages of pneumonia, lulled by morphine, with lungs filled with fluids, he took long, rasping, unpredictable breaths. As our family sat with him, the jagged rhythm of his breathing filled the room. I heard it like tides running over sand and found it unexpectedly calming. It felt to me like those tides were drawing us from the idiosyncratic to the ordinary—the universal ordinary, beyond praise and blame.

Early on the day before my stepdad died, his feet and hands turned gray and cold. By evening, his senses were shutting down one by one. When we put our faces right up in front of his, he no longer registered a response. Now, even when my mom held his hand, he couldn’t squeeze back. Except for irregular labored breathing, he was immobile. As I was leaving, I came up close by his face. He was pale and bony, his eyes blank, his eyebrows pronounced in dark tufts. I found myself saying to him, “You sure have the most amazing eyebrows!” There and then, to everyone’s shock, he raised and lowered, raised and lowered, those tufted brows. Bing bong, bing bong. Another ordinary guy, on his way, completely heartbreaking and completely playful. Both, both.

 Before going to Mexico, Barbara Gates’s only knowledge of Spanish was a poem on love by Bécquer and the song “Cielito Lindo.”

♦

Related Inquiring Mind articles on making friends with death:

Dying to Live Again

Interview with Yvonne Rand: The Critters Project    

Stories of Lives Lived and Now Ending  

The post Found in Translation appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

Once again we find ourselves in the month of September, facing the traditional Buddhist fall Ohigan observance, which we celebrate twice a year at the spring and fall equinox. Ohigan means the other shore of enlightenment or the Pure Land, which stands in opposition to this shore of samsara, or the world of delusion. Standing on that other shore is Amida Buddha, who is beckoning us to cross over. 

In the Jodo Shinshu tradition, Ohigan is also called Sanbutsu-e (讃仏偈), a gathering to praise the Buddha, and Buddhists choose to observe the holiday at the fall and spring equinox because it is a time when nature and the universe are in harmony. The sun rises directly in the East and sets directly in the West. The length of day and night are the same, and the weather is neither too hot nor too cold. It marks a passage of seasons. In the fall, we see the trees change colors and plants and animals prepare for the winter months. Nature begins to go to sleep starting in September. 

It is said that this harmonious time of year is the perfect time to contemplate the six paramitas. Paramita literally means “other shore” and the six practices are the tools that one uses to reach the other shore of enlightenment. They are: dana, selfless sharing; sila, correct behavior; ksanti, patience; virya, effort; dhyana, meditation; and prajna, wisdom.  

For Jodo Shinshu Buddhists, Amida Buddha has perfected these six paramitas for us, which is why we gather to praise the Buddha. 

As Shinran points out in his poem above, the name Namu Amida Butsu reaches across the shore to you and me as we reside in samsara. The Buddha’s concern for us is boundless and constant, like that of a parent for a child. Indeed, we sometimes refer to the Buddha as Oyasama (親様) or “great parent.” Because of his/her concern for us, she/he has completed the difficult practices of the six paramitas. Even when we resist, we are embraced by our great parent Amida Buddha. 

Shinran uses the term Sesshu fusha (摂取不捨) a term from the Meditation Sutra, or Sutra on the Contemplation of Buddha Amitayus, which means “to be embraced and never abandoned.” It means that all will be taken and none left behind. It can also mean that anyone who resists and runs away still will be embraced.  

Have you ever seen a squirming young child held by its mother? No matter how much the child arches its back, wriggles, twists, and turns, the mother securely holds the child.  The child has no fear of falling because of the trust between parent and child. This is an example of the relationship between Amida Buddha and us. No matter how hard we try to escape or wriggle free, Amida holds on and embraces us with compassionate arms. Ohigan, then, is a time to praise the Buddha for the constant and deep compassion for you and me.  

“The light emanating from Amida’s features illuminates all the worlds in the ten quarters, takes in all beings, and never abandons them.” — Meditation Sutra

The post Why We Celebrate Ohigan appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

Obon season is here again and unfortunately, due to the ongoing pandemic, we will not be able to hold our Bon Dance for another year. We all look forward to this annual ritual of remembrance for its fellowship, food, and fun. By gathering and dancing together, we make thinner the veil of separation between us and our departed loved ones, and we feel closer to them. Obon is truly a festival of joyful memory in which we celebrate life and our continuing relationship with those that have come before.

Not being able to celebrate Obon in the traditional way has made us realize how important rituals are in our lives. They can offer us connection, grounding, and healing. What makes rituals so special and powerful is that they are intentional. We consciously and mindfully undertake them so we can be reminded of what is truly meaningful in our lives.

In the Shin tradition, we believe that when someone dies, they become one with the Buddha. Therefore, while their physical form may pass from this world, the true essence of our loved one continues to live on in enlightenment, and the activity of enlightenment is always present in our lives. Our loved ones are always with us, embracing us, through the working of “Namo Amida Butsu,” [the recitation of the Buddha’s name, and Shin Buddhism’s central practice].

Obon reminds us of the great web of life—that our lives are made possible by countless causes and conditions that we should be grateful for. We are also reminded that we have a responsibility to create a meaningful life for future generations. While Obon is a festival of joyful memory, it is also a reminder that we are links between the past and the future. Obon teaches us how well we live in this present moment is the best way of honoring our departed loved ones.

Obon is truly a joyful gathering in which both the living and the dead rejoice in the universal embrace of the Buddha’s compassion. While our dancing is a physical act of remembrance for our loved ones, we also dance for ourselves. When we awaken to the timeless working of the Buddha’s vow in our lives, we can do nothing else but express our profound joy and gratitude. This is why we dance—because we realize our loved ones have become one with timeless reality that is never far from us.

But dancing during Obon is just one form of ritual that can connect us with our ancestors. 

When I moved to Kona [Hongwanji Buddhist Temple] several years ago, my dad drove over from Hilo to deliver my grandparent’s obutsudan, [a family altar], to me. I don’t know how old the altar is but I remember them always having it. What makes the altar so special is that it contains my grandparent’s Ihai or wooden Memorial Tablets. My grandparents were such a big part of my life, that to be able to care for their obutsudan is quite meaningful. Each morning, I start the day by lighting a candle, offering incense, and chanting a sutra. This daily ritual of self-reflection reminds me of how I am always connected to the working of limitless Light and Life. I am also able to greet my grandparents each morning to thank them for their continuing influence in my life. While I live alone, I am not alone because they are always with me in the dynamic activity of Namo Amida Butsu. They have become personal Buddhas who help me feel ever connected to the rhythms and cycles of life. This ritual of starting my day with them and the Buddha has been healing especially during this time of pandemic.

What personal rituals do you have that connect you to your loved ones? 

I know many people ohaka mairi, [the traditional custom of visiting the graves of ancestors, typically done during Obon], by cleaning and bringing flowers to family graves. Our temple columbarium and cemetery are always well kept and full of beautiful flowers. Besides flowers, people sometimes leave their favorite snacks and the occasional can of beer on special occasions.

These rituals have continued relatively uninterrupted during this pandemic. They remind us of our need for connection and how healing it is to be in relationship with our departed loved ones.

In the Amida Sutra, one of the three sacred scriptures of Shin Buddhism, we find the phrase kue issho. These beautiful words describe how we will all meet together in one place. It refers to how when we entrust in Amida’s vow and aspire for birth in the Pure Land, we will all meet together in the world of enlightenment.

In our tradition, it is customary to inscribe kue issho on headstones as a reminder of this sacred promise fulfilled by Amida Buddha’s great compassion. You might also find Namo Amida Butsu inscribed on many headstones. This is also customary because we continually meet our loved ones and experience kue issho in the dynamic activity of saying the Buddha’s honored name, or reciting the nembutsu. We meet our loved ones in the working of great wisdom and compassion that sustains our lives.

Not all rituals are necessarily religious, however. Do you make your mom’s favorite recipe for special family gatherings? Do you go to your grandfather’s favorite fishing spot? Do you pau hana, [a Hawaiian phrase for hanging out after work], with family and friends like your dad used to? Or do you simply tell your departed spouse good morning every day when you wake up? Think about the rituals you regularly perform that connect you to love.

These rituals of remembrance are truly about the life we continue to share with those who have gone before. They are life-giving and connect us to what is truly meaningful and real.

So while we cannot dance together again this year, we can all reflect on the ways our departed loved ones continue to enrich and influence our lives. This is the true spirit of Obon that we can always celebrate.

Namo Amida Butsu.

⧫

This post originally appeared here on Rev. Blayne Higa’s blog. Read more about Rev. Higa here in Tricycle magazine.

The post On Memory, Rituals, and the Spirit of Obon appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

Wednesday, May 26, 2021 marked a historic moment for Buddhists in the US. For the first time ever, the White House celebrated Vesak, the holiday that commemorates the Buddha’s birthday, death, and enlightenment.

Wangmo Dixey, Executive Director of Dharma College and President of the International Buddhist Association of America, coordinated the event with the offices of Mr. Shekar Narasimhan, President of the Dharma Into Action Foundation. The celebration included candle lighting with the Second Gentleman, Mr. Douglas Emhoff, and prayers by leaders from the three major Buddist traditions. The White House also released an official statement by President Biden:

Jill and I extend our warmest wishes to Buddhists in the United States and around the world as they celebrate Vesak, a day honoring the birth, enlightenment, and passing of the Buddha. The ceremonial lighting of a lamp, the symbol of this holiday that has been celebrated for over 2,500 years, reminds us of Buddhism’s teachings of compassion, humility, and selflessness that endure today. On this day, we also commemorate the many contributions of Buddhists in America who enrich our communities and our country as we all work together toward brighter days ahead.

Vice President Kamala Harris and Secretary Antony Blinken shared messages on Twitter honoring the holiday and Buddhists around the world. 

Dixey told Tricycle that the International Buddhist Association of America had been trying to establish a Vesak celebration in the White House since 2016. President Obama released a statement that year, but this was the first time a ceremony occurred. 

“We hope this is a beginning,” Dixey said, expressing her desire that this happen every year now, and that people around the country pay attention.

“I just think about these early Founding Fathers, who spoke about freedom and freedom of religion. That has such deep meaning. I just feel like this needs to be heard.”

Vesak is celebrated on different dates according to the country or Buddhist tradition, but it is often celebrated on the day of the full moon in May, as it was at the White House. Festivities, such as South Korea’s Yeon Deung Hoe, or lotus lantern festival, which was recently named a UNESCO event of Intangible Cultural Heritage, often take place out of the house. This year, however, many Buddhists celebrated at home, for the second year in a row, because of the pandemic. 

The White House’s ceremony was meaningful both because it was the first Vesak celebration held there, but also because it brought together three schools of Buddhism.

According to a press release from Dharma College, Dixey said, “It is wonderful that prayers were offered from all three great traditions of Buddhist practice here, at the heart of American democracy.”

The Most Venerable Uparatana represented the Theravada tradition; Rev. Marvin Harada represented the Mahayana tradition; and Venerable Tarthang Tulku Rinpoche, who is Dixey’s father and the founder of Dharma College, represented the Vajrayana tradition.

Dixey also shared with Tricycle the blessing she read during the ceremony, which specifically recognized the citizens of India, who are currently enduring the world’s worst surge in COVID-19 cases.

On behalf of the International Buddhist Association of America, the Dharma into Action Foundation, all American Buddhists, and the hundreds of millions of Buddhist people world-wide, we stand here together in lighting these lamps in honor of the Blessed One, the Buddha, whose life and teachings are an inspiration to us all. May the prayers we offer today on this auspicious occasion of his birth, enlightenment and passing away bring peace and healing to all peoples, particularly to our brothers and sisters in India, the heartland of the dharma, and may the light that radiates from here, the White House of America, bring wisdom and harmony to the whole world. May all beings be happy; may all beings avoid suffering; may all beings have the happiness that is free from suffering; may all beings enjoy immeasurable equanimity, free from attachment, aversion or indifference.

Dixey told Tricycle she is used to bringing together sanghas and she emphasized the importance of spreading the dharma, specifically the teachings on wisdom and compassion, with the four million Buddhists who live in the US. 

“But more than that, I think the after impact of this is the beginning,” she said. “I was watching Kamala Harris say, ‘I see you,’ and there’s this feeling that by lighting this lamp, ‘I see you.’”

♦

Read more about Vesak, and how it was developed to compete with Christianity.

The post For the First Time Ever, the White House Celebrates Vesak, the Buddha’s Birthday appeared first on Tricycle: The Buddhist Review.

The Vinaya, or collection of rules for Buddhist monks and nuns, requires celibacy—a commitment to following the Buddha’s path to enlightenment, free from the distractions of sexual relationships. But in honor of Valentine’s Day, a holiday that celebrates romance, we’re revisiting the legacies of three Buddhist Romeos who rejected a life of celibacy in favor of the pleasures of love.

These Buddhists fell short of monastic expectations by inviting sexual partners—and oftentimes multiple partners—into their practice. While some indulged in hedonism, others viewed sex not as a rebellious rejection of tradition, but an essential part of the human experience, even considering it compatible with the ultimate goal of liberation. Tricycle takes a look at a few Buddhists’ escapades in love. 

Genden Chopel (1903–1951)

One of the most colorful and controversial figures of the modern Tibetan Buddhist world, Genden Chopel is known for his lustful poetry and erotic writings. Born in 1903 in Amdo, Tibet, Chopel spent his early years studying in monasteries, quickly establishing himself as a scholar, artist, poet, and historian. 

A recognized tulku, or reincarnated lama, Chopel was a celibate monk until his early thirties. His life took a turn in 1934, when he left Tibet for India. Around this time Chopel seems to have abandoned his monastic vows, and he became intimate with not just one, but many women. From these encounters, he wrote the treatises on passion, which are perhaps the most famous works of erotica in Tibetan Buddhist literature. Drawing from classical Sanskrit texts and his own experiences of intimacy, Chopel writes about the spiritual and physical benefits of love-making, enumerates types of pleasure, and describes effective sex positions. In the following verse, Chopel describes the sensation of orgasmic bliss: 

The emerging essence made from one’s own indestructible elements, 
This honey-like taste born from one’s own self-arisen body, 
Experienced through the hundred thousand pores,
This is something not tasted even by the tongue of the gods in heaven.

(From The Passion Book: A Tibetan Guide to Love & Sex trans. by Donald S. Lopez Jr. and Thupten Jinpa)

Through his sexual encounters, Chopel charted his own path to liberation. He used his poetry to push back against conventional attitudes that regarded sex as a transgression. The ex-monk publicly criticized religious and secular laws for suppressing sexual desires, which he saw as natural. Chopel believed that all aspects of human experience, with the right motivation, had the potential to be expressions of the awakened state and thereby paths to enlightenment. 

Sixth Dalai Lama (1683–1706) 

The Sixth Dalai Lama, Tsangyang Gyatso, took no shame in worldly indulgences; he enjoyed drinking wine, singing, writing love poetry, and visiting brothels. His legacy is characterized by controversy, from his secretive birth to his lovesick youth and premature death at the age of 24. 

The Fifth Dalai Lama died in 1682, but news of his passing was kept secret for 15 years to prevent political instability while monks searched for his next incarnation. So, for the first 14 years of his life, Tsangyang Gyatso lived under what today amounts to house arrest. Perhaps it is unsurprising, then, that the young boy did not take well to his new life as the leader of Tibet. Disinterested in all the trappings of the position, Tsangyang Gyatso renounced his vows, opting instead to live as a layman—the only time a Dalai Lama has done so. 

Many tried to persuade him to at least keep his novice vows, but the Sixth Dalai Lama refused. After renouncing renunciation, Tsangyang Gyatso lived life how he pleased, which, it seemed, meant frequenting bars and picking up women. Though notorious for his playboy lifestyle—unbefitting for a Tibetan theocrat—the Sixth Dalai Lama is largely remembered as one of Tibet’s greatest poets. He wrote poems that were erotic and bittersweet, capturing the pains and pleasures of being in love: 

Doing what my lover wishes
I lose my chance for dharma.
But wandering in lonely mountain retreats
Opposes my lover’s wishes.

(From The Turquoise Bee: The Lovesongs of the Sixth Dalai Lama trans. by Rick Fields and Brian Cutillo)

Zen Master Ikkyu Sojun (1394–1481)

A roundup of Buddhist romantics is not complete without Ikkyu Sojun, the iconoclastic Japanese Zen monk and poet. Both a serious student of Zen and a master of erotic poetry, Ikkyu shook up the Zen establishment with his unorthodox ways. 

Ikkyu grew up in a Rinzai Zen temple, where he studied Buddhist scripture and Chinese poetry. As a youth, Ikkyu was precocious and opinionated. He showed immense talent in writing poetry, through which he would channel all his frustrations about temple life. Ikkyu often criticized the Zen political establishment for its corruption and complacency. He eventually grew so discouraged by the bureaucratic nature of Zen that he left temple life behind, becoming a vagabond at the age of 33.

Breaking all the taboos of a Zen monk, Ikkyu drank, frequented brothels, grew out his hair and beard, and wrote erotic poetry about his sexual exploits. In Ikkyu’s eyes, sex and Zen could happily coexist. He preached that sexual desire was an essential part of human nature, and to deny sexual desire was to go against the purpose of Zen—discovering one’s true nature. Later in his life, Ikkyu fell in love with a young blind singer named Mori, who became a frequent subject in his poems: 

With a young beauty, sporting in deep love play;
We sit in the pavilion, a pleasure girl and this Zen monk.
Enraptured by hugs and kisses.
I certainly don’t feel as if I am burning in hell.

(From Wild Ways: Zen Poems of Ikkyu trans. by John Stevens)

Ikkyu is unabashed about his status as both a Zen monk and lover, and he even went so far as to mock the idea that monastics would burn in hell if they engaged in sex. Adopting the epithet “Crazy Cloud,” Ikkyu wandered for several decades, devoting his life to the spirit of Zen and the joys of love play. 

Ten days in this temple and my mind is reeling!
Between my legs the red thread stretches and stretches.
If you come some other day and ask for me,
Better look in a fish stall, a sake shop, or a brothel.

(From Wild Ways: Zen Poems of Ikkyu trans. by John Stevens)

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