| Articles from the August 1998 Buddhist Temple of Chicago (BTC) Bulletin | |
| Shi-jiki: Thought for Food Rev. Yukei Ashikaga Translated by Rev. Patti Nakai  Translator’s Note: I chose to translate this article written for the Japanese section of the August 1981 Bulletin because of Rev. Ashikaga’s reflections on the occasion of O-Bon. As in the past translations (appearing in print), I inserted passages indicated by brackets [ ] to offer some explanation to English-speaking readers who may not be that familiar with terms which Rev. Ashikaga felt the Japanese readers would already understand. In the electronic version, these references are links to a glossary page. AS O-BON APPROACHES, I realize this is the Hatsubon not only for many Temple members, but for quite a few dear Dharma friends. To think of their passing made my heart ache for their families, and I wished I could find something to say that would ease their sorrow at this Hatsubon. Finally, I thought of the passage from the Kusha-ron by Vasubandhu where he describes a mother sea turtle who lays her eggs on the beach, then covers them over with sand to protect them from predators. When the eggs are ready to hatch, she must remember to return to the exact spot where she buried them. If for some reason she forgot where she laid the eggs and could not find them, the buried eggs would rot away without the mother to aid in their hatching. It is the mother’s mindfulness of her eggs that makes it possible for the baby turtles to be born into the world, so Vasubandhu uses the term shi-jiki, “thought-food,” to characterize the mother turtle’s thoughts as the nourishment for her offspring. Vasubandhu uses the sea turtle to illustrate the power of thought in Buddhist practice, to portray the Buddhist as one who “feeds” all sentient beings by keeping them in mind.  To those of you observing Hatsubon in your families this month, since the memories of your loved ones are still poignantly fresh, I would say, “Make those thoughts your spiritual food.” Your dearly departed father or mother, sister or brother, spouse or child--they have been keeping you in their thoughts, providing you with nourishment for your spiritual selfIn Tannisho, Section Five, Shinran says:
I, Shinran, have never called the Nembutsu, not even once, out of filial piety for my deceased parents. The reason is that through karmic relations during numberless rebirths, all sentient beings are or have been my parents or kinsmen. So we should attain Buddhahood in the next life [go on to our new life living as our True Self] and then we shall be able to bring deliverance [from the narrow ego self] to all other beings ... * In this passage, Shinran wants to clear up the misunderstanding that reciting “Namu Amida Butsu” is something you do to benefit your loved ones. Filial piety (oya-ko-ko) is usually thought of as what we must do for our parents out of obligation, but our acts of filial love should really be coming out of the increasing awareness of what our parents have done and are doing for us. Shinran, in recognizing that not only his birth parents, but so many various living beings have made his life possible, demonstrates that the real Nembutsu is the expression of deep gratitude toward all of life. Rather than an act of self-power, it is an act of the Power Beyond Self.The Tathagata is continually sending us shi-jiki, “thought-food.” In honoring our loved ones at O-Bon time, we can find much shi-jiki in our memories of them. And the unpleasant memories serve to lead us to the Teachings as effectively as the pleasant memories. In coming to appreciate the nourishment we receive from their mindfulness of us, we cannot help but say, “Namu Amida Butsu” in gratefulness to them and to all of life.* From Bando S, Stewart H, trans. Tannisho: Passages Deploring Deviations of Faith. Berkeley, CA: Numata Center; 1996; p 6. Back to top of page |
The Imaginary Mailman Calvin Manshio HAVE YOU EVER WONDERED how abstract concepts like duty and honor are passed from one generation to the next? I suppose a definition of either term would help, but for purposes of this article, honor and duty in the abstract will work. If you need more of a definition, think in terms of mission and commitment. No matter if it rains or shines, the mail must go through.Reading the Little Golden Book to my grandkids brought back memories for me. The dedication of mailmen (today it is more politically correct to use “letter carrier,” but I grew up with a story about seven guys. So just substitute letter carrier wherever you see postman in this story), to their profession and their mission of delivering the mail comes across very clear. In spite of rain, snow, sleet, or hail, postmen, so the story goes, are endowed with a commitment to deliver the mail because people depended upon them. The story is simple enough. A child’s message to Grandma is written and then mailed. The letter goes from the mailbox to a truck to the post office onto a plane in time to catch a train and then by car and carrier to Grandma’s hands. Despite its simplicity, the story teaches a sense of duty and honor exhibited by each postman in the delivery of the mail. When I grew older, this message of service to others always remained in my mind. Later, I would spend hours emulating the postman’s task when I delivered newspapers after school.Although the story has been read to most children, its message has changed with time. Postmen, today, are not seen as possessing the same sense of honor and duty. Everyone can identify with late mail, and letter carriers do not all seem to possess the same sense of pride as exhibited by the storybook. This can be expected. Times change, attitudes shift, and different interpretations may arise, but the lessons of duty and honor remain.It is with this lesson of duty and honor that I once volunteered to participate in a BTC mailing. Mailing the Bulletin is, after all, a precursor to actually delivering the mail. It’s the closest I could get to being a letter carrier, today. So when volunteers were sought for a large mailing, I took up the challenge. I arrived at the Temple foyer early, in fact, and engaged in small talk with my fellow volunteers. The comradeship among the 20 of us was broken by a clear voice that I thought sounded like a drill sergeant.We were told to settle down, and rookies (like me) were advised to sit next to a veteran, presumably to avoid mistakes. I waited with anticipation as the instructions continued.“This mailing is special. It consists of more than a Bulletin. It has four additional parts. Each part must be placed into the envelope with the Bulletin. The five parts include: a Bulletin, an acknowledgment sheet, two flyers, a cover letter, and the calendar,” our task master stated. She looked familiar and upon closer examination, I found the authoritarian figure to be Jeri Tsurusaki.I was impressed by her take-charge presence and command of the process as she explained the role each of us played in the mailing. Earlier, I had become acquainted with the similar role she played on a daily basis, helping in the Temple’s office with correspondence and telephone calls. She and certain other members have an operational expertise essential to the running of the Temple.Soon I was handling the intermingling of Bulletins, calendars, and flyers like a pro. As my tempo increased, the Nisei next to me cast a careful eye, lest my work quality diminish. “Watch out for paper cuts,” he advised. Finally, we were done; all the fillers were in the envelopes. As I rose to leave, full of self satisfaction, “Sergeant” Tsurusaki cleared her throat as she distributed adhesive labels. “The labels go on the envelopes,” she stated. As I sank back into my chair, I lifted a label (sorted by zip codes) from the contact sheet to the first envelope.After about half an hour, the tables were filled with stacks of envelopes in piles by zip codes. 60640 was the biggest pile. Each pile was divided into stacks of 20 envelopes, which were double-banded into a cross. Then the piles were moved to a staging area where stickers were distributed for certain piles: “green 3,” “pink A,” “red D.” As I relaxed, I thought Jeri said, “Nice job, rookie.”When I was a child, the lesson of the Seven Little Postmen was powerful. Do your job like a mission because people depend upon you. In the abstract, the lesson is clear; the execution in real life, however, is more difficult.Every day many BTC members do countless tasks to make the Temple work. They are possessed by pride and commitment to service for the Temple. Members are not paid for such dedication, but assume a role because they possess the same sense of duty and honor possessed by the legendary postmen. Imagine the cost if we had to pay for people to pour tea, fold tables, or set chairs. The reason BTC works is because each of us has a commitment to the Temple. The commitment many vary over time or by individual because of personal and professional demands, but it continues. The important thing is to have a cadre of highly motivated people like Jeri Tsurusaki, who can let us rookies know what to do. Without such people who possess the mission of the imaginary postmen, BTC would only be a memory.Jeri Tsurusaki is recovering from a series of strokes. Please send your get-well wishes to her at ManorCare Health Services, 9401 S. Kostner Ave., Oak Lawn, IL 60453. Resume reading article. Back to top of page |
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