16May09: Erin Dorso
Menace and Mediation:
An American account of a one-day pilgrimage
Most people stashed their bells away in their pockets or tucked them up under the strap of a sports bra to put an end to the incessant jingling. Despite my scant knowledge of Kukai, Buddhist practices, and the universe of spirituality in general, which indicates that the jangling soundtrack of our fair-haired party is of utmost importance in keeping our attention on the present rather than allowing our minds to wander to everything we should be doing instead of gallivanting around Japanese mountaintops, even I roped my bell down hard to my walking stick and when that didn't snuff it out, I walked with my thumb gently pressed against its brass throat.
As a typical North American overly ambitious woman, I have difficulty meditating or even attempting to keep my mind in the present even though research suggests simple meditation or exercise that acts to hold your attention on your own life in the here and now have both physical and psychological benefits that far outweigh the flurry of thoughts over next Tuesday night's dinner menu. Attention to one's present state aids with at least, stress anxiety, depression, and substance abuse (WebMD.com) and at most, our everlasting souls. The Henro walk reminded me of this chink, well, chasm, in my own personality as I struggled to enjoy the time I spent schlepping around that mountain and not only the act of reaching the ancient temple.
In my search for the present, I was reminded of a poem, which has pricked me like a sandspur in the ankle on so many occasions of learning of my own inadequacy, by Mary Oliver called "The Summer Day". In it, Oliver wonders about the use of time:
...I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?...
Oliver touches on one of the most profound truths which we may never find until we stop searching, which is the idea that happiness, true contentment, lies not in achieving a goal but paying attention to and enjoying the crooked path that leads one there.
Speaking generally, this is far too much for most Americans, myself included, to buy into. Because the United States is such a future-oriented culture, we scarcely pause to think about, let alone, feel and enjoy, the present. According to Paul Stapleton in Exploring Hidden Culture, North Americans are more future-oriented, and thus more goal-oriented than most Asian people. Succinctly, for us, "life has more purpose if [we] can achieve some future goal" (Stapleton, 2001). For Japanese, the process is often just as important as the product, as illustrated in the many arts that stress "do" or "the way" of doing something. This is not to say that one is better than the other. Certainly, with a goal-oriented mindset, more creative avenues are often explored; yet, the enjoyment derived from the journey may parallel that attention to the present many seek through meditation. However our cultures came to these stances, religion, agriculture, length of history, etc., the Henro pilgrimage on Shikoku embodies the meditative process, through a rigorous endurance trial, that we all seek.
I spoke with another American who had walked the Henro circuit. He said at first, every day was all about getting to the next temple to get the stamp or to rest or to bathe or to fill in the blank with another fabricated reason for walking. But, after days of beginning and ending goal-oriented journeys, he said that one must come to accept his new state of being: perpetual forward movement on foot in the circle (which inherently has no end goal) of the Henro challenge. Only then, did he notice his surroundings and begin to experience his pilgrimage as it was happening.
I'd like to say last Saturday, I succeeded in accomplishing my goal of no longer paying attention to the goal on our sampling of the Henro circuit, but even in setting that goal, I had already failed. I was tired. I was sweaty. My bell was annoying. My bamboo hat busted a splinter into my head. And, though I tried to listen to my breath and enjoy the spring flowers and insects who insensitively flaunted their own awareness of the present Nirvana all around me, all I could think about was when we'd arrive. I suppose one could say that my identifying the problem is a step in the right direction, and I would tend to agree. But, it's clear, for me anyway, the only way to look past goals and destinations and to wholly recognize myself in my own life in the present tense is to stop setting them, which is the undercurrent of walking the entire Henro pilgrimage. There is no destination in the circle of temples, and every person has a different reason for attempting it, but somehow, it seems that everyone who completes the entire pilgrimage picks up something in common along the way.
