Eihei-ji

Night at Eihei-ji. Full moon. Zazen silence, stillness. Chanting morning service with shaven-headed monks. Steady beat of mokugyo. Large bell sound. Small bell sound. Large drum sound. Incense offering. My wife I thought of as I touched the offering to my forehead before dropping it on the burner. Sweet sacred fragrance rising into old rafters.

Meals in silence from small lacquered bowls. Forgetting – points of chopsticks to right or left? Wondering what these dishes were that I was eating or trying to eat. Salted plum I hope I will not have to eat again. Why would a plum be salted anyway?

Memories of old Dogen floating in the air. Long scroll of the Fukan zazengi, brushed by the Master himself. This, my most memorable sight.

Ancient and sacred corridors, steps, gnarled trees, fountains, river rush, stone, Buddhas and Bodhosatvas meandering. Gorgeous, wonderfully diverse forests rising in every direction, swallowing up Eihei-ji as a dragon would any mindless creature.

Thoughts as I sit with coffee before boarding the bus leaving Eihei-ji.