Omori Sogen

by Hosokowa Dogen

  On October 2 of the same year, at the age of sixty-eight, Seisetsu Roshi passed away. His last words, “Teach the spirit of universal brotherhood,” became his dying wish to Omori Roshi. Believing in this and carrying out Seisetsu’s Roshi wish became Omori Roshi’s lifetime task.

  Hakko Ichiu was a phrase often used during the war. Its real meaning is that, from the beginning, everything and everyone has Buddha nature, and that with this view as a base, all people of the world can create “One World” peacefully.

  I was not there when Seisetsu Roshi died. When the end came in September of 1945, he called Bokuo Roshi and said, “I don’t have much longer to live. I will die soon.”

  Since Bokuo Roshi is the kind of person who insensitively says anything without thinking, he told Seisetsu Roshi, “Roshi, please die tomorrow (September 30). Then we can read the sutra for you at the memorial service for our founder (Muso Kokushi). We can kill two birds with one stone. We will have to read the sutra only once.”

  Smiling wryly, Seisetsu Roshi said, “Well, that probably won’t happen.”

  “But, please try to die tomorrow,” Bokuo Roshi persisted. Seisetsu Roshi, however, did not die on the 30th. On October 1, he said, “When I raise my hand, start chanting Shiku Seigan (The Four Vows of the Bodhisattva). Then, at the end, when you hit the inkin (small hand-held bell), I will stop breathing. Please do that.” Yamada Mumon Roshi and two others were at his bedside. When Seisetsu Roshi raised his hand, they began chanting, ”Shujo muhen sei gan do…” and at the end hit the inkin. When they did that, the doctor came flying in and gave Roshi an injection to stimulate his heart.

  Then, Seisetsu Roshi said, “Not today.” He added, “Tomorrow, when I raise my hand, you must not give me an injection,” and he forbade the doctor to give him a shot. On the night of October 2 when he raised his hand, they recited the Shiku Seigan sutra. The inkin was hit—“Chiinnn”—and he said, “Aaaaah,” with a big yawn and breathed his last breath. This was truly a magnificent last moment.7

  After the war because times were hard, the Tamaki’s had to sell the Jikishin Dojo property. Notification of the dissolution of the association was filed, and the Jikishin Dojo disappeared legally in August of 1945. In 1946 Roshi and his family went to live at Toji-in in Kyoto.

  Chapter 3

  Gogo No Shugyo

  Gogo No Shugyo: Endless Refinement to Totally Live One’s Enlightenment.

  1945–1994

  Seki Bokuo

  Seki Bokuo Roshi was the priest at Toji-in, living there with his wife, when Omori Roshi and his family moved into the guest room. In 1946, following the death of Seisetsu Roshi, Bokuo Roshi was nominated to be the next Archbishop at Tenryu-ji.

  Seki Bokuo, whose formal name was Shitta Shitsu, was born in Guma prefecture on April 15, 1903. In 1923 he entered Keio Medical school but withdrew after a few years. He was interested in the ideology of Mushanokoji Saneatsu’s “New Village,” which was a utopian community promoting ultra-individualism and lived there for several years. In 1928, he became a student of Okabe Koju of Zuigan-ji in Gifu prefecture and entered Myoshin-ji, but had to return to Zuigan-ji because of illness. In 1930, he entered Tenryu-ji. In 1937, he was appointed by Seisetsu Roshi to be the priest of Toji-in. In 1939, he became the Shike (Zen master in charge of training) of Tenryu-ji. From 1946, until his death in 1991, he was the Archbishop of Tenryu-ji.

  During his monastic training, Bokuo Roshi pushed himself severely. After the regular formal sitting, he sat in zazen from the 9:00 “lights out time,” till 12:00 and never missed a night.

  He could only sit in the half lotus position. Since one of his knees would not go down to the cushion, he put a rock on it. For that reason, in his later years, he suffered from backaches. Unless you experience this yourself, you cannot imagine how painful it is. To continue this kind of training is very difficult, but he trained relentlessly.

  He went through his koan training so quickly that his teacher, Seisetsu Roshi said, “It is too fast.” In only seven years, he finished training that normally took fifteen to twenty years.

  In addition, he was very intelligient. To answer his koan, he would present Chinese poems or parts of poems to his teacher. There is a book called A Zen Forest in which there are about 5,000 Chinese terms. He memorized this whole book. While doing zazen, he would turn the pages in his mind looking for an answer to give to his Zen master.

  Omori Roshi would often say this about Bokuo Roshi, “Whenever I heard the answers that he had given to his koan or the terms that he used, I always thought, ‘It is no wonder that Seisetsu Roshi chose him.’”

  He liked everything to be very clean. When he was the priest at Toji-in, Omori Roshi lived with him for awhile and saw this first-hand. He relates, “He was an earnest seeker of the Way and also liked everything to be clean. He especially liked to clean the roof. Holding a bamboo broom, that tall man would climb onto the roof and would sweep. There were many fallen leaves on the roof. If the leaves piled up, the rain gutter would rot. That is why he would go up onto the roof and sweep down the pine leaves.”

  1971, Seki Bokuo.

  As a Zen master Bokuo Roshi’s severity was unsurpassed. He says this of himself,

  Assuming the responsibilities of the former monastery Zen master Seisetsu Roshi, I had to take charge of the training of 20 or so monks. However, after examining the substance of each one, I found that there was not one who was satisfactory.

  When they came to sanzen, I hit them so severely that three monks immediately left. Somehow, Seisetsu Roshi heard of this and summoned me. In fear and dread, I went before my teacher. He admonished me carefully and minutely saying, “In order to cultivate your disciples, you must not be quick-tempered. You must have a fatherly attitude that an elderly shepherd feels for his cows or horses. You must have more patience and perseverence than those you train.

  In 1946 at the age of forty-two, Omori Roshi entered the Buddhist priesthood with Seki Bokuo as his teacher. He became a priest of the Tenryu-ji Branch of the Rinzai Zen Sect. Roshi says this about his entrance into the priesthood:

  The first half of my life ended when Japan lost the war. According to the samurai code, I became a Buddhist priest.

  When I became a priest, I did not know whether it would be all right to have a family or not. I asked Hisamatsu Shinichi for advice. Hisamatsu Sensei, a philosopher, former professor at Kyoto University, and a lay student of Nishida Kitaro, made a big contribution to the Zen world. One of his literary works is Toyoteki Mu (The Eastern Mu). Altogether, his works encompass eight volumes. I asked him, “Should I separate from my family and become a priest?”

  Sensei said, “From ancient times, there have been two ways: as a lay person, one could have a family; as a priest, one had to separate from one’s family. But there is another way. That is the ‘Great Vehicle (Mahayana).’ Even if you have a family, it is all right; if you separate from them, it is all right also.”

  I thought, “Good!” and decided to practice the Great Vehicle.

  Omori Roshi left his family at Toji-in and began his life as a Buddhist monk.

  After entering the monastery, I read the Emperor’s Imperial Proclamation of the end of the war many times. In accordance with the Emperor’s decision, Japan accepted an unconditional surrender. I pondered why the Emperor chose to end the war. Why did we accept the end of the war? What exactly is our fate from now on?

  In the Imperial Proclamation, it is written, “Banse no tame ni taihei o hiraku” (“We will open the way for peace for generations to come”). Then I understood why the Emperor resolved to end the war and realized that our job was to carry out the ideal of eternal peace to the world.

  As for sanzen, Omori Roshi had had a difficult time with his first koan, Mu, working it for eight years under Seisetsu Roshi. But when he finally broke through this, he passed 20 sessho (questions to check whether or not the student really understood the koan) at one time. From that time, he passed many koan under both Seisetsu and Boku
o Roshi as a lay student. With this background, if he entered the monastery as a full-time monk in the monastery, he could finish in a very short time time.

  He stayed at the monastery for about three years. In 1948, Bokuo Roshi told Omori Roshi to become the priest at Koho-in, a small temple in Tokyo.

  Koho-in

  In November, 1943, Koho-in was founded in Higashi-Nakano, Tokyo, five minutes from Shinjuku. Koho-in was a retreat for Seki Seisetsu when he visited Tokyo, but formerly it was the place where Yamaoka Tesshu Koji once had a home. The property had been donated by one of Seisetsu Roshi’s students. Omori Roshi had these first impressions of Koho-in:

  I was invited to the opening ceremony as a lay person and never thought that one day I would be living there. The gateway entrance was about 120 yards away from the main building. In front of the temple was a lake surrounded by a footpath. On the left was a dense pine forest. In front of this pine forest stood Koho-in on a slightly elevated area.

  I thought, “This is really a nice place. Can there really be such a place in Tokyo? I would like to stay in such a place for a night.” But I never thought that I, myself, would be living there.

  The pine forest and a grove of chestnut trees behind it were completely burned down in an air raid in 1944. Koho-in remained only because the lake protected it from the fire.

  At the opening ceremony as I walked through the parlor, I noticed a scroll hanging in the alcove. Since it was a little dark, I could not see clearly. I stood there looking at it for awhile. Behind me I heard a voice saying, “It’s Jiun Sonja.”1 When I looked up, I saw Seisetsu Roshi standing there, and he added, “If you are going to write calligraphy, you must strive to be at this level.”2

  Although the grounds of Koho-in were large, usually only the care-takers, a married couple, lived here. For some reason the property on which Koho-in stood and the building itself had only been given to Seisetsu Roshi verbally; it had never been formally registered. During the confusion that had occurred during the end of the war, a subordinate of Sasakawa Ryoichi (one of Japan’s richest and most influential men) evicted the caretakers and occupied the building and the land. There was no way to get it back so Bokuo Roshi said to Omori Roshi, “You are the only person that can resolve this problem. If you find a way to settle this matter, you can do what you want with Koho-in.” Omori Roshi went to Tokyo in accordance with Bokuo Roshi’s wish.

  He deliberated on this problem and had great difficulty with it. At that time, because Seisetsu Roshi had used Koho-in as a retirement retreat, it was very important to retain the place. Because Roshi had been concentrating on retaining the building, he had forgotten to negotiate for the pond that was right in front of it. In the end, this subordinate of Sasakawa Ryoichi acquired the rights to the lake. Later, he had it filled and sold the land in lots. Thus, Roshi’s life in Tokyo began.

  When I came to Tokyo, I got a list of the temple members. Over three hundred names of great men were on the list, including many generals and admirals. Representative of the members were such people as Tokutomi Soho (a famous writer) and the president of Kaizo Publishing Company. Seeing this register, I thought that if I went to read sutra at one house a day and received an offering, I could earn a decent livelihood.

  When I went to each house, all the generals and admirals were in Sugamo prison for war crimes. Mr. Tokutomi had retired and was living at the foot of Mt. Fuji at his villa on Lake Yamanaka. When I visited the rest, they said, “I only signed because Seisetsu Roshi asked me to.” In the end none of the three hundred influential people listed could help me. From that day, I had no means of livelihood.3

  When he got married, Omori Roshi had warned his wife of his commitment to the advice given him by Toyama Mitsuru and of the hardships life with him might bring:

  When I married at the age of 35, I told my wife that I had been told by a person that I respect absolutely, “Even if you starve and die, do the right thing.” I asked her if it was all right with her. She said, “If that’s what you say, it can’t be helped.” Though she was reluctant, I made her consent.

  Even though I felt that Mr. Toyama’s words were very severe, I have obeyed them to this day. I did not stray from the path. No matter how much money I was offered, if I thought it was wrong, I didn’t do it. Even if my life was threatened, I did not comply. We were sometimes so poor that even if we looked all over the house, we could not find one penny. That is how poor a life I caused my wife to have. At the longest we went for five days to one week without food, but we did not starve. If we drank only water, we could live.4

  Mrs. Omori recollects, “Even if we emptied every drawer of the chest of drawers, there was not even one forgotten penny. We could not even receive rations. We and the children had very empty stomachs.”

  Next to the pond which was a step lower than the site of Koho-in was the shack of Shimura Takeshi. He was a student of Daisetz Suzuki. He has since written many books, but this was during the days when he was unknown. On sunny mornings he would see me massaging myself with a cold towel. One day, for no particular reason, he came up to me and asked, “Mr. Omori. Are you a very rich man?”

  “Why” I asked.

  “These are hard times when people don’t know whether they will be able to eat or not. Yet, everyday, you nonchalantly chop wood and enjoy a leisurely life. You are in an envious position.”

  “What do you mean living leisurely? I’m doing this because there is nothing else I can do.” “That can’t be true. That’s stupid.”

  Athough from the outside, it seemed that we were living without any cares at all but, in truth, we were the epitomy of the floundering water bird. Though it seemed that we were happily playing, our feet had to be always moving for us to stay afloat.

  During this time the words of Toyama Mitsuru gave me support. I reminded my wife, “You remember what I told you when we got married, don’t you? I feel sorry for the children but be prepared.” However, strangely enough, a supporter appeared. A friend came and said, “You look as though you are having financial problems. So you don’t have money, huh? Then, let’s have sukiyaki.” He went to buy some meat and left some money when he went home. If he had not extended his helping hand, we would have fasted. I already knew we could get along without eating for a week simply because I had had that experience many times before.

  If one has a firm objective in life, that kind of thing is nothing. In our case my wife and I could put on ajirogasa (a monk’s straw hat), go out as begging priests, and make a minimal living. That is why when young people are poor, I tell them, “Don’t lose your head. Be calm and stay still. If you can stay still without scurrying around, you will sink to the bottom of the ocean. When your feet touch the bottom, if you push off from the ground, you will automatically come up and float. Until that time, you must endure it.”

  It is said, “Those who drown are those who grab at straws.” Because they grab at straws, they drown all the more. If you don’t grab at straws, you will sink quietly. When you reach the bottom, put a little strength into your feet and come up. That is my outlook on life. No matter what, if we have not done anything to be ashamed of, we can sink to any depth.

  There is a proverb: “If you are poor, your spirit is impoverished.” From my experience, the opposite is true. If your spirit is impoverished, you become poor. If you live like a miser, you will grab at straw or anything. If you do that, you will be poor and will sink (but will not come up). From my own experience in life, I can say that if your spirit does not become impoverished, you will never become poor.

  In life, what exactly is poverty? I think poverty is subjective to a great extent. Take clothing, shelter, and food for example. If clothes protect you from the cold, that should be enough; when it is hot, it is all right to be without clothes. As for shelter, we were very lucky to have the temple. It is a small temple, probably the smallest in Japan, but we were blessed because we did not have to pay rent. As for food, if we cultivated one or two tsubo (approximately four square
yards) and made a garden, we would have enough to eat.

  If our spirit is impoverished, however, we worry about appearance and display. Instead of that, you must live in order to fulfill the goal that you, yourself, have chosen to be your objective. If you eat, live, and clothe yourself in order to fulfill your purpose, you will not have to make such an exaggerated fuss and will somehow make ends meet. I did it. I probably caused the children to suffer, but I did not let them die of starvation. Even if you are poor, you can still do that much. Poverty is caused by spiritual poverty.

  As long as the spirit is not poor, the heart can be rich. Even if you are only living on bare essentials, you can still feel as if you are living like a king. You must not demean yourself and live in an obscure corner. You can have the vigorous feeling that you are living in the center of the universe. Since I started my training as a layman, I commuted for a long time from Tokyo to Kyoto’s Tenryu-ji. I spent nine days out of the month there. But even if there were not one penny in the house, I managed to get the one way fare and could attend sesshin. In Kyoto I somehow got the money for the return fare and came home. This effort continued for several years; it can be done. The reason was because my spirit was not impoverished. Had my will become miserable, and had I become a sneaky person; or had I made people feel sorry for me because I had to worry about travelling expenses and how my family would fare while I was away, eventually, no one would have given me the money. I am living, however, without being one cent in debt. That is because I have confidence that I am doing the right thing and because I openly asked for and accepted the money to go to Kyoto. If one is poor in spirit, one becomes sneaky and cannot say what one wants.