I caught the earliest train to Tatsue Station after a somewhat sleepless night. The dry autumn air parched my eyes, enhancing the sensation of sleepiness. I knew the long walk from Tatsue-ji (T19) to Kakurin-ji (T20) then down toward the shrine called Omatsu Daigongen, would take time. Sleepy and feeling the pressure of a long day in the mountains ahead, I stumbled mindlessly toward Tatsue-ji. I hadn't dressed for the cold morning. The whole situation put me in a bad mood.
I think she called to me a few times before I realized she was talking to me. "Ohenro-san!" I turned to find the smiling face of an older woman, her hand waving me over to her. She pressed a bag of sweets into my hand. "How about a coffee at our house after you finish at the temple? It's just over there." Knowing the day would be tight, I nearly refused, but I told her I would be back after my prayers.
After I prayed at Tatsue-ji I returned to find her waiting outside the house for me. She and her husband made me at home for almost a half hour, making sure I had everything I needed. The mother of the house had made knitting a hobby, and gave me a pair of handknit gloves. The visit was exactly what I needed: coffee to wake me up, gloves to keep me warm, and warm conversation to remind me that the pilgrimage is not about rushing from temple to temple, it is about creating opportunities for encountering the Buddhas, whether at temples, in the beauty of nature, or in the generosity and compassion of others.
An old Japanese expression, used when something has happened at just the right time, goes "it's like meeting a Buddha in hell!" Hell, in Buddhism, is a mental state characterized by intense suffering caused by the effect of impressing unwholesome habits of thought on our minds by repeated unwholesome action. Though this mental state may seem to go on for ages, it is as flimsy and impermanent as any other state of existence. Thus Buddhism teaches that even one moment of calling a Buddha to mind, that is, recalling their awesome compassion and kindness, is enough to save someone from hell.
It's astonishing, living near and traveling the Henro, how often this phrase could be used. In the midst of anxiety, confusion, and pain, chance encounters with people who provide us with what we need in exactly the proportion necessary to take the next steps on the path, seem to always come in the nick of time. Such stories are enshrined in the legends of Kōbō Daishi that pepper the island of Shikoku.
The two unnumbered sacred sites on the path to Shōsan-ji (T12) both have such legends as their origins. At Chōdo-an, a traveler had badly injured his leg and was no doubt feeling hellish anxiety about the wolves and bears that populated the mountains in those days. Just at the right time, a wandering monk, Kūkai in one of his periods of asceticism, came along and healed the traveler's knee by the power of the Buddhas. On another occasion further down the road, a pilgrim collapsed of dehydration and was on death's door. Just as he was about to give up the ghost, Kūkai came along and struck the ground with a willow brand. The water that miraculously sprung forth saved the pilgrim's life, and gave the site its current name, "Ryūsui-an," "the Willow-Water Hermitage."
Other legends across Japan put Kūkai himself in dire straits especially as he suffered from hunger and thirst during his long periods of ascetic wandering. One story from as far afield as Saitama says that a thirsty Kūkai came to a drought-plagued area and asked a young woman for a drink. She went to fetch water, but didn't come back for hours. When she finally did she was clearly exhausted. Kūkai asked her what took her so long, and she said because of the water shortage in the area she had to walk miles to the nearest well. The monk took a long drink, tapped his staff on the ground in three places, said, "You might try digging here," and then wandered on. When the villagers dug in the places he recommended, they soon hit water. One can still visit these wells in Nishitokorozawa, Saitama.
The likelihood that Kūkai ever went to Saitama is very slim, and surely many of the legends of the Henro are tall tales. Even so, I think these stories give us a hint about the true meaning of the iconic pilgrimage slogan dogyō ninin, "Same practice, two people." Our job is the same as Kūkai's: to save those we meet in the ways they need and the ways we can. Walking the pilgrimage we become both the savior and the saved; we become the Buddha others meet in hell, all while putting ourselves in challenging circumstances where the Buddhas may pull us out as well.
One of my favorite expressions on the pilgrimage is jinsei soku henro, "life is exactly the pilgrimage." These things we practice with the costumes, rosaries, rituals, and fellow travelers as reminders of our purpose are meaningless without application in our everyday lives. Practicing simple simple kindness and generosity, even things as simple as a kind word or a cup of coffee, may make you the Buddha someone meets in hell.
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