Seiobo There Below

3. THE PRESERVATION OF A BUDDHA

Inazawa knows everything, but Inazawa is manifestly an industrial city, where the presence of a monastery hardly ever visited by tourists is of no importance whatever, and this morning it is closed, that is to say the gates are not being opened, so that the monks, in a supposedly secret ritual, may bid farewell to one of their Buddhas; a statue that — in the opinion of the committee in charge of the cultural heritage of the prefecture — bears particular value, yet its condition has, in the course of the centuries, greatly deteriorated, and the restoration — as the abbot and the leadership of the five main rinzai temples have decided — can be delayed no longer; Inazawa simply isn’t interested, not even in the slightest, in what is occurring in this Zen monastery somewhat secluded from the city; it is only the most extravagant spectacles that arouse any interest: for example the yearly Hadaka Matsuri, in which men, almost completely naked except for their fundoshi — that is to say a small loincloth — carouse drunkenly on the streets along the path of the Naked Man; following a tradition now completely empty, every February the residents have to reach out and touch them, to preserve the city from Evil; yes, that is needed here, this Shintō circus, this entertainment, because that is the single event that is not only inundated with tourists, but also followed even by the NHK in Tokyo, broadcasting at these times a crowded scene for several long minutes; no, the imagination of the residents of Inazawa is not moved by an insignificant rinzai temple, and especially not this one, this Zengen-ji — if they have any imagination at all, for even their brains are now used to the industrial grayness; life here, and anything that could be imagined about it, is monotonous — the Zengen-ji, really, is just as gray and lifeless as everything else here, people shrug at the textile factories or the assembly lines, and it will remain like that, this general lack of interest, even in the very last week, no curiosity whatsoever arises; yet there inside, in the monastery, the excitement is palpable, at last something is going to happen, the monks — understandably excluded from the Hadaka Matsuri — are thinking to themselves, at last an end to these monotonous days, to the weeks and the months if not years, a sudden and extraordinary change is coming — for this can after all be called sudden and extraordinary, taking the view from the inside, if the Amida statue of the Zengen-ji, which according to the expert opinion and the temple clerisy, is of far greater worth than that claimed in the documents issued by the prefecture committee, after long procrastination, the decisive reason for which is the torturously difficult procurement of the enormous restoration costs, as well as the delivery arrangements, which proved to be similarly complicated, and to a lesser extent that they are not happy to move the most sacred of sacredness from its place; in short, this treasure, exceeding its estimated and presumed worth many times over, would simply be picked up and moved, well, this really counts as an extraordinary event, although understandably even the wisest among them did not reach this decision willingly, indeed, certain individuals, seeking a suitable date between the summer and the winter ango, explicitly delayed the transportation, for truly such an occurrence as this was so rare — they shook their heads — here in the monasteries of Aichi prefecture, no one could recall any such event, and in truth even the abbot — himself of wide-ranging experience — and the most respected monks did not know for a while what the ritual requirements actually would be; whatever was needed to be done they would of course do; one thing was certain, it took months for the leading authorities to acquaint themselves with the ritual stipulations prescribed for such circumstances, and it must be acknowledged that they were prepared for a difficult task, demanding great caution, but not for one so exhausting, complicated, and intricate; one that in addition required practice; that is to say that all of the monastery residents had to be trained so that everything would follow according to plan, the authorities had to expand upon the tiniest details in their explanations; even if in terms of the lesser-ranking monks, they had to explain who should do what, and when; it wasn’t even worthwhile to deal with the question of the essence of the ceremony as well as its variegated details, it was good enough, the abbot indicated to the leader of the temple administration, if they correctly chanted the sūtras and recited the mantras, if the musicians knew exactly when to bang away and when to stay quiet, and in general it would be enough if everyone clearly understood the structure of the ritual awaiting them, and if the components of it could be carried out faultlessly, that would really be enough; well, that is — the abbot rubbed his shorn pate, as the designated day approached — well, that is a lot too, for he could surely see that here lay precisely the hard part: there could be no errors, by no one, from the rōshi to the deshi, nothing that was not allowed, their coming and going, standing and kneeling, to begin and end the sacred chant when necessary — that was the hardest part, the abbot said, vexedly rubbing his itchy skull once more; he had already seen much and he knew that it wouldn’t work, it would not be perfect, someone always makes a mistake, standing up too late, or kneeling down too late; even he was unclear at times, either beginning a little too slowly than was necessary, or too quickly, or being uncertain for a moment: where to now, the left? — or maybe even. . to the right? oh no, groaned the abbot on the evening before the appointed day, when the special moving van ordered here for delivery by the Bijutsu-in — that is the National Treasure Institute for the Restoration of Wooden Statues — had already arrived from Kyōto, and the driver, after the measurements of the statue had been taken and the large kiri-wood transit crate had been made, was happily snoring away in one of the guestrooms, oh no, what now, how are we going to fulfill our obligations properly, the abbot rubbed his shaven scalp worriedly, but then he quelled the anxiety within himself; if he could not, on that day, completely suppress his excitement, in any case when he arose the next day, that is today, at four in the morning to the sound of the great bell, the ogane, and quickly washed, he felt neither anxiety nor any kind of excitement, only the obligation to carry out the tasks that awaited him, just the order of things to be done: the first, then the second, so that simply no time remained to reflect on such matters as how, being the jushoku — that is, the abbot of the temple — or simply a Zen monk, how could he even have been anxious or excited in the past weeks and days, because now that the whole thing was beginning, he couldn’t pay attention to anything else but taking the very next step, then the next after that and so on, and so it is and so it would be proper, in this way, for the day to begin by simultaneously giving the order to close — that is not to open — the gates; to check the day’s events, affixed to the kiku-board, making sure that everything was written out correctly, to see if the work was going on in the kitchen and at the spot designated for packing up the statue next to the van; to see if the monks had begun their procession with the jikijitsu at the front into the zendō; to see if the musicians had been asked for the last time if they knew the exact sequence of events; all of these orders had to be given at once, and at the same time they had to be supervised: first the closing, that is the non-opening of the gates — in this matter he wished to see it with his own eyes — that is first to go to the Sanmon, the main gate, then to seek out the others in turn, even nudging them with his hand, were they really closed, only this would convince him, only in this way would he believe that yes, the monastery was closed, and still it was hardly half past four, or maybe a quarter to five in the morning, and the monastery was hermetically sealed, no way to get in, no way to get out, the abbot notes to himself, everyone remaining on the temple grounds knows this, all who could, as well as those who had to remain inside, are aware, but it is felt by those, too, who attempt to follow the so-called secret events from without, because there are, for that reason, a few standing around out there on the street by one of the gates, trying to listen, to figure out, somehow, what is going on inside, smaller groupings of lay believers, recruited by happenstance simply from local elderly insomniacs, standing at the monastery gates that are positioned according to the four directions; or there are those who aren’t too sluggish to get dressed and come here at the crack of dawn, so gnawed by curiosity — surely nothing like this had ever happened before, they mutter in front of the gates, instead of opening the gates they’ve shut them, or rather the gates are closed — and there they stand, and they would not be willing to move from there for any sum of money, they try to capture some sense from the half-audible voices of what is going on in there right now, well, and even if something like that emerges, they can’t get too far with such sounds, even if they hear from a distance the silent shuffling coming from inside, as the monks, after the chanting of the sūtras filters out, walk in procession, to the rhythm of the mokugyo and the handbells, from the zendō to somewhere, indeed, as they largely agree at each gate, they are most likely walking toward the Buddha Hall, the hondō, and even if they hear that, even if they can agree that yes, it’s the Buddha Hall, they can only be going toward the Great Hall where the Amida Buddha is located, they know nothing of the ceremony itself, and that is really how it is, for here the listeners, at all of the gates, are mistaken when it comes to this, for the entire monastic collective, after the recitation of the sūtras in the zendō, are really not proceeding toward the Great Hall of the Buddha, but in the opposite direction, away from it, the farthest possible distance from the Hall of the Buddha, in actuality, to their own quarters, to seclude themselves and to wait: since during the so-called secret ceremony, beginning with the truly secret rituals of its commencement, no one else may be present, only the jushoku and two older rōshi, as well as the jikijitsu and three jōkei in all — these being three assistant monks chosen for the occasion who handle the instruments of the Buddha Hall — only them, seven in total, so that not only the curious crowd outside, but even they, the resident members of the order, listen in vain to the sounds of the keisu, the rin, or the mokugyo filtering out from time to time, in vain does a seemingly familiar phrase from one of the sūtras strike their ears, they haven’t the slightest notion of the secret part of the ceremony nor will they ever, and they could never even form any notion of it, for only the following sections of the Hakken Kuyo ritual, coming after this truly secretive beginning, concern them, only then can they take part, and for all that they must do so with great devotion and a great sense of duty, when they gather again, emerging from their quarters, and proceeding together in the same direction, toward the hondō, because then their shuffling truly means that they are proceeding to the sound of the densho, the great drum, proceeding to the hondō, into the Great Hall where the Buddha sits — and as they, the monks, the residents of Zengen-ji, take their places before the Buddha’s infinitely radiating gaze, something irrevocable has happened.

Something has happened to it, immediately they sense this, as they sit down in their respective places in the Great Hall facing the lotus throne, but of course it doesn’t pass through their minds that this infinitely diffusing gaze is no longer here, they don’t think about that at all, not even because they don’t dare to look at it; their heads are bowed, everyone concentrates solely on not treading on the feet of the monk in front of him, or not bumping into someone else when that monk suddenly comes to a stop in front, or on concluding a movement — albeit in general if moderate confusion — exactly when it must be concluded, the heads always bowed down, every movement as silent as possible; the monastery is used to this already, and already knows especially how to change places without a sound, to rise and to kneel, to step forward and step backward, to stand in a disciplined manner, to sit in a disciplined manner and walk in a disciplined manner when necessary, while their discipline, as always, extends not only to this, but to their not posing questions to themselves, because even if they think about the fact that something has happened, they do not, in any way, ask what, not even in their innermost thoughts; at the very most, the new arrivals, the little novice deshis, ask themselves, for example, if the deepest meaning of the Hakken Kuyo ritual, that is the temporary removal, departure, diversion of the Light radiating from the Buddha’s eyes, has already occurred within the framework of the secret ceremony — as they had been previously instructed, that this, the ceremony enabling the Sacred Statue to be moved at all, would occur as they waited in their quarters; so what then is the ceremony that follows upon it, or more childishly, what is the point of the whole hocus-pocus afterward, to be completed by all of them, the entire Zengen-ji gathered here in the hondō, the temple-apprentices still ask themselves this, but then somehow in the general silence and devotion the question dies out even within them too, for along with the others, it is surely enough for their little souls, they are permeated with the consciousness of how uplifting it is even just to take part in the ceremony, for them to be able to assume their role in the Hakken Kuyo, and this is enough — the ones outside cannot, in the end, experience this, the profane curiosity-seekers up at dawn outside the gates, they only hear the sounds filtering out; one of them loudly and with great pride announcing to the others that this was now the Incense-Lighting Hymn or the Amida-kyō, now the Invocation, now the Triple Vow, now the greeting of the Zengen-ji Bodhisattva, now the Prayer of the Sangharama, come on, that’s enough already, the others hiss him down, we can see that you really know what’s going on in there, they jeer at him, but we’ve heard enough already, so that the speaker retreats into wounded silence; just the sounds of the great drum and the rin, then the keisu, which is the gong and the mokugyo filter out beyond the gates; and morning has not yet come, they still stand around in the darkness, they stand around and try to listen, patiently, however, like people who are waiting for something, but just don’t know what it is they are waiting for; some of them, chiefly those who live nearby, drift away for a while, to drink a cup of hot tea because in mid-March it is still chilly at dawn, it could be warmer, but this year, somehow, it’s taking longer than usual for spring to arrive, only the huge pale pink-tinted flowers of the magnolia have bloomed so far to indicate that winter has definitely come to an end — a sip or two of hot tea, then they come back, those who just now disappeared from the group standing around in front of the gate; they shall not, however, be any the wiser, for from outside only the sounds of sūtras, fading away, filter out through the gates, then not even that, there shall be a great silence inside, a long motionless silence, during which the ones outside wait for a newer sound or movement, but in vain, for absolutely nothing can be heard, as everyone inside the hondō is now turning toward the Amida Buddha, then kneeling once, getting up, kneeling a second time and getting up again, and kneeling a third time and at last getting up, concluding thus the ceremony taking place within, the Hakken Kuyo has achieved its goal, the statue may be moved from the lotus throne, even if it is not moved immediately, for the monks first need to leave the space of the hall, and it is only then, only when the last one reaches the courtyard and all of them, at the signaling of meal-time, direct their steps to the jikidō, when only the abbot, the two rōshi and the jikijitsu remain inside and four strong young jōkei, selected in advance, then the jushoku motions to the youths who, approaching the statue and after bowing three times, lift up Amida with great caution from the lotus throne, taking tiny steps under the enormous weight, they take the statue out from the hondō to the designated spot next to the moving van, and from that point on, everything plays out quickly, the kiri-crate, already tied up, appears, the bottom of it is covered with silicone gel, acid-free paper, and fabric, the body of the statue in turn is tightly wrapped in thick moisture-absorbing cambric, the entire wrapping is carefully fastened, and then the Buddha is lowered into the crate; they begin to fill the empty space between the body of the statue and the walls of the crate with even more deliberation than before, so that — while the monastery is finishing breakfast in the jikidō — the Zengen-ji Amida Buddha is already inside the storage compartment of the moving van, expertly tethered, immobile, and nothing remains but to give the signal to the driver to start now for Kyōto, and then to return to the hondō for a bit, and temporarily cover the vacant space where the Buddha was with an orange-red embroidered silk cloth, that is all; and the abbot can at least say to himself that the Hakken Kuyo has been completed, the Hakken Kuyo proceeded as it should have, and that now one just has to wait, to wait like this for eleven or twelve months for the Buddha to return in renewed form, for the rest is up to the driver, who at this moment is cautiously pulling out through the circle of fortunate curiosity-seekers by the western gate of the Zengen-ji, and turning into the street leading out of the city, so as to quickly reach the highway toward Ichinomiya, and from there to merge onto the Meishin Expressway, because he truly feels confident there, on this highway in the colossal traffic heading toward Kyōto, he feels as if it were not himself driving the van, but as if it were being driven by some kind of higher force, together with the billowing tide of innumerable cars on the Meishin Expressway, he feels confident indeed, here in this crazily dense traffic heading in one direction; he knows his precious consignment to be utterly safe, though there is hardly any cause for concern anyway, it’s not the first time that he’s transporting something like this, this is his job, he’s no beginner, he’s made trips with items said to be of extraordinary national value in the enclosed platform perhaps hundreds of times before, yet still despite that, this time, as always, he feels a little excitement as he passes the distance markers, or rather a kind of pleasurable tension, which will only come to an end — as he already knows from experience — when the consignment will be taken from him in Kyōto; up till then, well, there was just still the Sekigahara exit, then Maibara and Hikone, the entire route of 170 kilometers until Otsu, because in Otsu he feels like he’s home already, from that point on everything is familiar, to drive into the city, taking a short cut, and after Fujinomori, through the Fukakusa district right up to the Takeda intersection, because there he has to turn right, at exactly a 90-degree angle, onto the Takeda Kaido, from which it usually takes a mere half-hour — for at this hour the traffic is moving — to reach the large gate beside the National Museum by the Sanjūsangen-dō, and wave to the gatekeeper, who is already leaping up and opening the gate; he can come to a stop already in front of the Bijutsu-in delivery entrance, because from there on it’s no longer any of his business, he has the papers signed, hands it over, and the rest is for the workers of the Bijutsu-in, with that his work here is done, he can pick up the next consignment, the workers are taking down the crate, then put it into the elevator and take it up to the mezzanine where later on, the unpacking of the crate will take place, but not today, there is no time for that today, the Bijutsu-in has so much work that the Inazawa material, as it is called from this day on, remains unopened for days; there it sits in the enormous space of the Bijutsu-in with its open galleries running along each floor, put aside in a corner, and for the time being only the statue itself knows that it is one meter, thirty-seven centimeters, and two millimeters tall, made of hinoki cyprus, known as jōseki-zukuri — that is, assembled from many parts, structured with a hollow interior, held together by small iron nails and reinforced by pieces of lacquer-soaked fabric — the statue presumably dates from the beginning of the Kamakura era, and one could enumerate where the diadems are individually placed into the head, where they can also be accordingly individually removed from the head, as well as both the ears and the chest, all of that; and the harmonious body sits in the lotus position, covered by folds of fabric, carved with miraculous sensitivity, although of course the most precious thing of all in the statue are the eyes, and this is also what makes it so celebrated in the opinion of experts — the half-lowered eyelids or, put another way, the only half-opened eyes, miraculous, astounding; they give the statue and every Amida statue, as its essence, the infinite suggestion of one immortal gaze, the influence of which one cannot avoid; it is a question all in all, of that one single gaze; so that the sculptor, sometime around the year 1367, wished to depict, to capture with his own unfathomable genius of artistic technique that one single gaze, and this depiction and this capturing, even in the most restrained sense of the word, was successful — there it sits in the corner, and it is the dreaded master of the restorers of the Bijutsu-in — the forever ill-tempered, forever irritable and dissatisfied and grumbling and gloomy and dry and humorless, Fujimori Seiichi — who will decide, which means no peeking out of curiosity; the statue will remain wrapped up in the cambric until he gives an explicit instruction; no one can mess with it, that is no one can look at it; later if the time will come, Master Fujimori wrinkles his thick eyebrows, just keep yourselves busy with the work that is in front of you now, there are deadlines to be met here, he paces up and down among the various component parts of Fugan-ji, Manjushri, and Shakyamuni statues piled up on the floor and on the tables, as well as among the restorers, their faces masks of discipline, they appear to be slightly amused — but there are urgent deadlines all the same; he stares fixedly at the craftsmen from beneath his thick eyebrows, and the deadlines must be met and your work completed, and there should not be any messing around with that Zengen-ji statue, no matter how famous, how tempting, it stays in the corner, he repeats again, so that after this no one in this spacious lofty hall of the workshop has any desire to break the prohibition, in any event the time really will come, the restorers note among themselves quietly, as it does come in actuality, for in less than two weeks, as they are all finishing their own portion of work, one day, after breakfast, the master of the workshop, his expression even more gloomy than usual, nervously fixing the side part in his thinning hair, says, well, let’s take off the cambric now, and everyone knows that he’s thinking of the Zengen-ji Amida Buddha, let’s take it down, Master Fujimori repeats and that means — that let’s take it down — that they should take it down, his subordinates should take off the cambric, because Fujimori Seiichi always speaks in the first-person plural, but thinks in the imperative mood; so they take it off, carefully, almost thread by thread, warp by woof, lest a scrap of pigmentation or fragment of wood clinging to the surface, if there is any such thing, should fall off, here every individual piece counts, here nothing can be lost, not even a tiny speck of dust, for — as the workshop-master never tires of repeating during the dreaded and dreadfully boring weekly meeting sessions — even that speck of dust may date from the Heian period, and a speck of dust from the Heian period is worth more — the master at this point, during the meeting sessions, raises his voice — than you yourselves, that is to say the restorers in this workshop taken all together, and so, well, of course they know that he observes them in this spirit too, so the level of caution is particularly high, a caution that is sustained even in his absence, for all of the restorers in this workshop are blessed with a special quality of conscience, all are from the nation’s most important workshops for restoration of ancient statuary, craftsmen with specific talents and specific training, who know full well, without any prompting, the significance of a speck of Heian dust.

The administration must exceptionally and immediately — so that they hardly have time to look and see what is beneath the layers of cambric — create a description of the statue’s general state for the so-called Blue Dossier, they must create a description of practically everything they perceive about it, concerning the possibly most minute details, circumstances, and even impressions; following, however, the sequence specified by the Office of Cultural Properties so that even at the very first, they must provide an account of the material from which the work is created and its structure, the measurements within a hair’s breadth of accuracy, whether the traces of previous restoration work can be discerned, what specific damage has occurred, so as to formulate a plan for its later rectification, and finally what all of this will approximately cost; but then they have to give an account of the delivery process as well, which they simply take from the shared notations of the driver and the abbot of the Zengen-ji, while making note at the same time in what year, on what day, at what hour and at what minute they took possession of the statue, with what protective measures, from whom, and with what designated goal, then follows the notation of the year, month, day, hour, and minute of the unpacking of the crate, Master Fujimori is in his element, he knows this very well, this obligatory administrative sequence, so that his words come sputtering out — questions here, statements there — it all goes into the Blue Dossier, the work-book treated and venerated almost as much as if it were a sacred sūtra, for it is this, precisely this Blue Dossier, which — if, in agreement with a pre-designated schedule, a so-called supervisory inspection is carried out — the highly respected and even more powerful Office of Cultural Properties may examine as the single real evidence of the work that is taking place here, for certainly the Tokyo authorities do not, or at least hardly ever, have any encounter with the work itself; it is only through an acquaintance with the contents of the Blue Dossier that they can form an expert opinion as to what is going on here, if things are proceeding as they should, exclusively from the Blue Dossier, the significance of which is, accordingly, huge; and Master Fujimori knows this better than anyone else, it all depends on this, what is in the Blue Dossier, on what the special committee — they are methodical and of the highest authority — reads from the Blue Dossier; no wonder, then, if the description of the circumstances of the interventions taking place here are nearly laughable in their painstaking minuteness; Master Fujimori dictates, or asks questions; or he asks questions while making statements, or makes statements while asking questions, while the others — crouched and circled around him and the statue, now placed on the floor — very quickly nod, one after the other, in agreement, and mumble and approve, and always in chorus, as they are now, saying yes, absolutely, of course, the most serious traces of exterior damage are visible at first glance on the right side of the chest, on the throat, the arms, the back of the skull, in the figure’s lap, and on the statue’s base, that is true, they all say yes and firmly nod, the restorers in chorus; this must be noted down and this too is noted down in the Blue Dossier; and hours pass, however unbelievable it may seem, literally hours, until they have finished recording this administrative reception in the Blue Dossier, for the diagnosis must determine not only the symptoms but the presumed causes, it is almost noon already when the statue is carefully lifted up and placed onto the hydraulic table, and the restorers set about photographing the statue from every conceivable angle; this too will be part of the obligatory documentation: how the work of art appeared — in its entirety — when it was taken in for restoration; then the procedure is completed, the photographing, for safety’s sake a second camera is used as well, and then with the greatest caution they lift the statue down from the hydraulic table, and take it directly into the fumigation chamber, where the Amida Buddha receives his first so-called general defumigation, devised especially for such cases, for always or nearly always this is actually the first order of business, if a wooden statue is brought into the Bijutsu-in, if even merely for the protection of the hordes of national treasures already undergoing restoration here, because no one can recall even a single case in which damage by vermin was not a factor — at times decisive — in a statue’s material disintegration; insects and bacteria are always a factor, centuries have gone by here, most often the objects in need of rescue brought here date from the Edo or alternately the early Kamakura dynasty; since this is a rescue, it has to be gassed, and with that, after the Inspection, the Registration of the Current State, and the Photographic Documentation of the entire statue, the Operation proper begins, so that just as is mandated by the letter and the spirit of law no. 318 — the Act for the Protection of Cultural Goods introduced on December 24, 1951, and amended or supplemented every year or two up to the present day — give it strong methyl bromide, comes the command from Master Fujimori, when the statue is placed in the fumigation chamber, as it was clear even after the first examination that here, as in so many cases, they are faced with the so-called dry-rot insects of the Lyctidae, Bostrichidae, Anobiidae, and Cerambycidae families, and before anything it needs a good shower of gas, as the fumigation in the chamber is called, first the whole at once; then follows the procedure, in fact the most delicate part, in which they disassemble the Amida Buddha from the Zengen-ji into its minutest components on the hydraulic table, separating the tiniest possible parts from the rest, so that, disassembled pell-mell, the damage to the details thus exposed can be examined and determined, and at the same time specifying — collectively, always with the entire group of restorers, but of course under the supervision of the workshop’s master — the methods, materials, sequence, and timing of the repairs of the damage, always following the letter and the spirit of the law of December 24, 1951, that is to say, never losing sight of the fact that their task here in the Bijutstu-in is not the restoration of carefully guarded national treasures, but their material conservation, not RESTORATION but CONSERVATION; Master Fujimori takes this section of the law from 1951 so seriously that when he pronounces it, he essentially screams; his subordinates are convinced the reason why is that he fears this word; it is not our task to repair mistakes, Master Fujimori states, his voice, at such times, already rising, but rather to secure the current extant state, this is our task, and here he repeats it, he repeats it a few times, placing so much stress on every syllable that the syllables nearly falter in the stresses, just like the restorers themselves, and there lying strewn about all in pieces on the hydraulic table is Amida Buddha, as above their heads the just-shouted MATERIAL CONSERVATION fades away; they lean over the hydraulic table and everyone picks up one single piece, or in the more delicate cases, leans down very close to examine and decide what kind of damage has occurred here, and what should be done about it; that is to say, the wondrous gaze of the Amida Buddha lies in pieces on the hydraulic table, this is a very delicate point, and always is a very delicate point in the life of a restorer, an Amida Buddha so nicely laid out, just like this one from the Zengen-ji is now, nicely arranged on the large surface, so that it can all be nicely differentiated, nicely discernable in the photo documentation to come, and so where is that renowned gaze? — that is the sensitive question; to which of course Fujimori-san has an answer, namely that it is nowhere else, and nowhere else during the entire course of the restoration, but within the souls of the restorers; fine, comes their reply, because even if they can sense that, and they actually do sense there is something in their souls when they glimpse it for the first time, and the unquestionable respect felt in their souls does not cease during the entire course of the work up to its completion, but. . when the whole lies here in tiny pieces, it can hardly be said that the whole of it is there, that is to say the whole, gathered here in pieces isn’t there, only the pieces are there, and the whole isn’t anywhere, so that as always, there is a certain unease in the matter, as they complete the disassembly and the carefully separated parts are documented, that is, photographed from above by a camera mounted on tracks and therefore easily adjustable, on the upper floor, as well of course by employing the lifting mechanism of the hydraulic table, they take, that is, a full overview shot from above, clearly showing each individual piece, because in the Blue Dossier every individual component part has to be marked with the appropriate symbol and designated so that at the end — after reassembly — they will be able to demonstrate, with fresh photographic documentation as well as drawings of the internal structure, where the pieces have been, and what condition they are in; there is, accordingly, disquiet, some discomposure, in the soul, the place, in other words, where, according to Fujimori Seiichi, Amida Buddha would be; everything goes smoothly, restorers are not chatty people, they are used to silence, and even if a talkative sort happens to turn up among them, he too becomes used to no conversation after a year or two; the work, the entire process of taking apart the statue occurs in nearly total silence, and the same goes for the automated photographing of the statue from above; and then, the various disassembled components are carried again in small groupings into the gas chamber, and these groupings of components are given a second gas-shower, the intensity and quantity of which is measured specifically for them, respectively, until the various specialists begin to carry away the individual pieces to their own work tables, and until the specialized restoration of the individual components thus begins — up until this point, there is a touch of disquiet in their souls, if they happen to glance at each other, a mild discomposure; somehow, though, when Master Fujimori designates the specific tasks, it is obscured, and everyone can at last withdraw with their own piece of the statue to the worktable, because from that point on the only interest lies in the task at hand: to establish the extent of the fissures, the cracks, the internal structural damage caused by the borings of the vermin, the amount of paint that has peeled off, to decide — of course after having reached agreement with the Director of the workshop — what is the best course of action for the restor. . for the preservation of the statue, would it be more efficient to introduce the mugi-urushi or the various synthetic resins and emulsions by injection, or work them into the fissures of this or that smaller or larger cavity with a small thin-bladed knife; or should we now strip off the Edo-period veneer from the surface and retain the original Kamakura one; should we use funori or another kind of animal-based adhesive for gluing or keep the Edo-period glue and stabilize that; in a word, it has begun, and everything goes smoothly, and Master Fujimori — to the extent that his soul, tensed in continual readiness, permits at all — notes with a certain satisfaction that work has commenced, and that it is proceeding in its own order and way, life goes on in the Bijutsu-in, and of course more and more statues are brought, meaning that the attention of the workshop must be divided among various activities, but this does not in the least concern Master Fujimori, every statue that is brought here receives its own warranted attention, and the work proceeds in parallel, summer passes and then autumn, a mild winter coming in December, only January and February are unusually chill, the chill lasts a long time, they note at the end of one day or another as they step out from the Bijutsu-in building into the courtyard, once again winter has lasted too long, it wasn’t like this in the old times, they mutter to each other as a few set off, going part of the way together, toward bus number 206 or 208; in the old days not only were the magnolias already blooming in mid-February but the plum-trees as well, not to mention that at this time of year — in the old days — a jacket was sufficient and not a coat like today, somehow everything is going to the dogs, the restorers mutter to each other in the cold wind as they head toward the bus stop; if at such times some of them head out together after a typical day, no one is thinking that at the same time they are carrying, as they get into the bus and go home, according to the original consensus, the soul of the Amida Buddha in their own souls, which they then take home, give it something to eat for dinner, sit down with it in front of the TV, then lie down to rest with it and finally the next day bring it back to the Bijutsu-in, continuing their meticulous work on the section that has been entrusted to them; for example, the restorer with the magnifying glass strapped to his head, whose task it is to preserve and protect the carved hand making the gesture of “Mida no jōin,” thinks exactly that, and that is how he explains it to his seven-year-old son at home, of course the boy starts to make cheeky remarks and ask silly questions which are impossible to answer, so that the restorer grows annoyed, shoos the child away, and continues to work away industriously in the Bijutsu-in, so that the quality of the carved hand making the gesture of “Mida no jōin,” will be clearly discernible, because there is exactly where the problem lies: the borders of the fingertips touching each other, and the contours of the back of the hand, are completely blurred, so that you can hardly tell what mudra the hand is posed in; this is especially important in a statue of the Amida Buddha, Master Fujimori mentions on such occasions — three or four times a day — standing behind the back of the restorer, which is of course incredibly irritating, because he has to keep looking away from the magnifying glass in order to look back at the Workshop Director, and not only that, but keep nodding in agreement with the strap on his forehead, which can fall off at any moment, because for a while now he hasn’t been able to properly pull the strap tight enough; but still his situation is a happy one; it’s that young restorer, a certain Koinomi Shunzo, that Master Fujimori torments most of all, the one who has been entrusted with the restoration of the statue’s eyes, as one of the undoubtedly most talented — well, this Koinomi’s nerves can hardly hold up, in December, it is already plain to see that he cannot withstand the constant badgering, the continual supervision, the eternal reminders and anxiety-provoking remarks, and even more so, that Master Fujimori is somehow capable of moving around, of being in the workshop, in such a way that no matter where he is, he gives the impression that it is he, Koinomi, who is the perpetual focus of his attention: if he is by the gas chamber because he has something to do there at that moment, it’s as if he’s watching from there; if he is by the courtyard window, then from there; indeed, this Koinomi has the sense that if Fujimori-san goes out of the workshop to do something on the second or third floor, or if he goes over to the administrative manager of the Bijutsu-in, he still somehow leaves himself behind; Koinomi can hardly focus on his work, he continually blinks at the thick sliding door of the workshop, at the handle, waiting for it to turn in the next moment and the workshop head to return, that is to say that he cannot relax even if Fujimori leaves him to his work by going out for a bit, but only if Fujimori does not go out at all, because at least then he cannot delude himself by saying he isn’t here, at last he can breathe a sigh of relief, for the possibility that he can return at any moment is far worse than when he is here, strolling among them with his hands behind his back, so that it is this Koinomi who suffers the most, although he is completing his task — a born eye-specialist is what they call him — with extraordinary skill, and that is just what is so necessary, as everyone knows full well the significance of what will happen to the eyes of the Amida Buddha here in the workshop, because on the day of arrival, the renowned gaze, if examined up close, seemed just a little faded; the entire workshop expects a great deal from Koinomi, exactly what, would be difficult for them to formulate in words, but it is a lot, that’s what they even tell him as a form of encouragement, if he heads home with them on the way to the 206 or 208 bus stop, but in any case, not within earshot of the director of the workshop, that is to say they would never dare to risk allowing Master Fujimori to overhear such encouragement, because then it would somehow seem as if the workers of the atelier were openly defying him, whereas such defiance, especially openly, cannot be expressed; we’re not living in America, one colleague raises his voice at one point, definitely not, they all nod in agreement, not a word is spoken and everything remains as before, that is to say that on the one hand Koinomi’s colleagues all work on the basis of an anticipatory, encouraging trust, on the other hand among the eternally dissatisfied, critical, wounding, confidence-destroying, and degrading comments from the Workshop Director; just one thing is certain: one day, toward the end of February, when Koinomi states to the workshop that he’s finished and Fujimori immediately appears there behind him, ready to snarl, with a shake of his head, what impudence to say that one has finished, given such a task, it is he, Master Fujimori, who will decide if it is finished; the only problem is that when Master Fujimori stands behind the back of the young restorer and leans forward above his shoulder to examine the head and the two eyes, the words choke in his throat; the eyes, that is, really are finished, there can be no doubt to an expert, as Fujimori is himself, that his subordinate spoke correctly, the restoration of the two eyes is complete; it is, however, difficult to say exactly how this can be known, yet in any event, it is sufficient merely to look at the head of the Buddha affixed to Koinomi’s worktable, the diadems are still not screwed back into place, as someone else at another table is stabilizing their surface; it is enough to cast one glance to know perfectly that Koinomi is speaking the truth — the gaze is exactly what it should be, as it might have been originally in that year, sometime around 1367, when an unknown artist sought out by the Zengen-ji or recommended to them carved it; someone standing near the back formulates this thought in a muted voice when, at Koinomi’s announcement, everyone gathers around Koinomi and the workshop director: the gaze has “returned” and everyone is visibly in agreement; indeed, captivated, they stare at this gaze, this look that ascends from below the two half-closed eyes, the gaze of this looking, for these are experts, outstanding experts if not some of the most outstanding anywhere, they don’t need, for example to screw the diadems back onto the head, have no need to complete the painting of the face, i.e. the fixation of the former hues, to see that the gaze is finished, and with that too, they sense that the most decisive part of the restoration has been completed, and that is not so much of an exaggeration, because somehow after this, everything in the workshop speeds up, if it is the Zengen-ji Amida we are speaking of, all the parts end up back in place more quickly than before, the fastening and adhesive substances, largely prepared from urushi, are spread more rapidly onto the surfaces than before, and Master Fujimori states quite soon that the workshop is now ready to put all the disassembled components back together, so now the workers are already hurrying to the hydraulic table, already the red and saffron nails which will replace the rusted originals have been gathered up, and in the meantime they nearly forget to photograph the seperate, now restored components for the Blue Dossier — but only, of course, if Master Fujimori weren’t there, who of course is there for this occasion as well, keeping a keen eye on things and reminding the restorers of the necessary sequence of their work, repeating over and over in rebuking tones that to disregard law no. 318, the Act for the Protection of Cultural Goods, effective as of December 24, 1951, is not customary, as he terms it, in this institution — and so, in a word, the pieces are photographed one by one; then there comes at last the great day when the restored components are re-assembled, in the afternoon; the promised date of delivery is now drawing near when it is placed on the hydraulic table in its original radiance, and once again whole, the statue of Amida Buddha from the Zengen-ji, and its own gaze of unutterable strength, broadly scourging, sweeps across the entire staff of the Bijutsu-in, as if they had been struck by a windstorm, and even Fujimori Seiichi feels it, for the first time now he bends his head before the statue, lowering his eyes, for a time unable to withstand that tranquility — immense, ponderous, terrifying, and enigmatic — the likes of which here, even he, a workshop director at the Bijutsu-in, who has seen so much, has never yet encountered.

Winter has come to an end in the monastery, the cold is for the most part behind them: the uplifting memory of the ango meditation lasting three and a half months, but also that of their eternal daily torments, the biting cold, the heavy snowfalls, the numbing frosts, the icy winds; their hearts are filled with joy, they can now stand in between the choka at dawn and the peal of the evening bells, immersed in the beauty of the enormous magnolia tree behind the hondō, they can see how life begins to take shape on the early-blossoming trees, as the first buds appear on the plum-tree’s branches, how the morning is ever more bounteous, if they open their windows upon rising, with the humming of birds — in short, the Zengen-ji is replete with a sense of relief and happy excitement, and the children, the jishas, run around during the rare pauses more freely, although they feel in their souls, after the trials of the winter, a somewhat more serious hue, and the food in the jikadō tastes better, and the afternoon work in the monastery’s vegetable gardens is more appealing, and everything, but everything is filled with ever more hope that it shall be, it shall come, that spring is nearly here, when the abbot makes the announcement that word has come from Kyōto, the work has been completed, and hence they request the monastery to decide which day, before the beginning of the springtime ango, should be designated as the precise date of delivery, the beginning of March, they write back, there is not much time for reflection, a group of the most eminent monks immediately sit down together and even contest the authority of the abbot over what day would be the best, essentially everything has been prepared, everything has been studied and memorized, they know nearly every element — by heart, interjects the abbot, by heart! — of the great ceremony, the kaigen shiki, that awaits them, says the shikaryo; we’ll see about that, says the abbot, shaking his head; but later on, even he has to recognize that they have done all they could, the invitations to the two guest abbots and many other illustrious guests were sent off long ago, now only the specific date has to be announced to the citizens of Inazawa, from whence — with regard to the spectacular nature of the ceremony — a larger mass of visitors (and perhaps of donations as well!) can be expected; the determination of the exact conditions for delivery is child’s play, for it is exactly the same, the abbot notes, only in reverse order; it’s only that — for a moment he falls silent — it’s only that, he continues, shaking his freshly shaven pate again, there is a problem with preparing the kaigen shiki beforehand, in his view the monks are prepared only in their heads, that is to say as for the actual practice in how to proceed in this ceremony without error — well, he shakes his head again, they are doing pretty badly with the concluding section of the kaigen shiki, that is the ceremonial preparation for the return of the Buddha, because — the abbot rubs his bald head forward and backward — they don’t know the sequence of the kaigen shiki well enough when practicing it; it’s one thing to have something in your head and entirely another thing for it to work out in reality, he will have to see, because it’s difficult, he shakes his head, of course he knows full well this ceremony is difficult and complicated, indeed much, much more difficult than the Hakken Kuyo a year ago, difficult, he repeats, and that doesn’t mean that it can be treated in such an undisciplined manner, because in his view there is simply not enough rigor in the Zengen-ji, and that can be seen when, during their practice of the kaigen shiki, the monks all make mistakes, on every occasion they make mistakes, either they don’t know the sequence or one of the musicians comes in at the wrong place, not to speak of themselves, to begin with themselves first and foremost, since even they, yes, precisely they, the foremost monks of the monastery, with he himself the foremost of the foremost of the continually uncertain: either there is a problem with the memorization of the texts — used less and less or even not at all — of the sacred sūtras and dhāranīs, or accordingly, during this or that point in the ceremony, even knowing where their place is, and even more, grumbles the abbot, for everyone to know where they should stand and where they should go often causes problems, it can’t be like this; he raises his voice with a bit of irritation, he requests, starting tomorrow, greater discipline from everyone, and they will have to explain this to the rest as well, but first and foremost they themselves should fully understand that the kaigen shiki is a public ceremony, and there could be many attendees, the abbot of Nanzen-ji monastery will be here, and the abbot of Tōfuku-ji monastery, and quite a few lay people, they have to be ready for that, and they have to prepare for it — this is true, the shikaryo interrupts, but so much has already happened, let us not forget, the shikaryo says, slightly offended, how much has been done already, particularly under his, the shikaryo’s guidance, because please kindly consider, esteemed abbot, all of the countless invitations, writing them out, putting them in the envelopes, sealing them, addressing them, mailing them, then all the planning: who will receive the guests, where will they be accommodated, which monks will be receiving visitors; then the memorization, here the jikijitsu decorously takes up the thread of the discussion, teaching them sūtras they’ve never even heard before, beating the dhāranīs into their heads, drilling them on who has to go where and when, how many times have I myself tried with them as well, sighs the jikijitsu, how many times — fine, says the abbot with a conciliatory expression, but then scratches his freshly shaven head again; all of this is fine, but everyone clearly agrees that things are not proceeding without error; time is pressing, so he has no desire for any more fruitless chatter on this question, let us begin from tomorrow, everyone with his own task, with redoubled zeal; and that is how they leave it, with redoubled zeal, all of the monks taking part in the discussions accept this, it’s just that from the next day onward the abbot somehow does not sense that redoubled zeal, or it does not somehow appear at all that the zeal of anyone entrusted with drilling the monks in a given task has been redoubled, the abbot walks through the monastery rooms, he hears the monks reciting the sūtras, he watches attentively when a jikijitsu or a rōshi holds a rehearsal in the hondō, and he sees what he sees, he just rubs and ever more nervously rubs his skull, which, as the hair begins to grow in again, is ever more itchy, because he hears, he sees, he senses that not only is it not flawless, not only is it not yet correct, let alone perfect, but it will never ever be so, given the material in the Zengen-ji that they are able to summon forth; it will never be any better than this; he paces back and forth from the western gate to the eastern gate, from the northern gate to the Sanmon, and then one day he is suddenly filled with tranquility, for he senses that he has accepted, somehow, in the course of things he has reconciled to this: that they are what they are and not any better, he has given in: that put together like this, from the rōshi to the battan, the shikaryo to the kakuryoosha, from the jushoku to the ensuryo, they are altogether capable of this much, and this perception for once does not fill him with sadness, or more nervousness and dissatisfaction, but rather with tranquility, it’s the intention, he says to himself in the evening before retiring, if the intention is correct, then there is nothing else to wish for, so that the next day, summoning the monastic leadership for a discussion, the exact date and time of the delivery, and also that of the kaigen shiki, is determined, the letter has already been dispatched to Kyōto, and the responses are already coming back from the invited expressing how wonderful it is, the date — mid-March — is perfect, they will be here, everything is proceeding impeccably, and the time has already come for the monks to proceed to the samu, that is they begin to clean and tidy in a manner that has never been seen before, far out-stripping the usual tidying up, they set to work on cleaning the buildings from within, they set to cleaning the monastery from without, a broom and a floor mop make their appearance in every corner, outside, in the courtyard and the back courtyard and the rear-most courtyard, not a single square meter remains where a rake and a broom have not made their presence felt, the fever is general, it has infected everyone by now, the great day is coming, they take out and survey yet again their attire to ensure that between the koromos and the obis, the kesas and the kimonos, everything is in order, that they are clean enough, ironed, undamaged, that they are suitable for the great ceremony of the kaigen shiki; and everyone finds, that somehow. . everything is ready, it’s strange, but along with the shared and gratifying excitement, there will also be, growing ever stronger amidst the entire monastic community, an inner certitude that during the forthcoming ceremony everything will be fine, everything will proceed with decorum, as the great day approaches, ever fewer disquieted countenances are seen, a deshi, a battan, or a jisha running about here and there, and on every face there is joyful anticipation, so that when the news arrives, late in the morning one day, almost around the same time as the day’s first meal in the monastery, that a special delivery van with their Buddha has set off, the monks signal with joyful eyes that they have understood, it has begun, although according to general agreement the kaigen shiki is actually not supposed to begin here in the hondō as they file in, but when the special delivery van from far-off Kyōto turns out of the gates of the Bijutsu-in, traversing the still sleeping city, reaching the Takeda Kaido, cutting southward up to the Takeda intersection, and there turning ninety-degrees to the left onto the Meishin Expressway, making the one hundred and seventy kilometers from Ōtsu past Hikone and Maibara to Sekigahara without stopping, as is happening right now, and after a half-hour the competent driver turns off at the designated exit from the Meishin Expressway and even if he is moving now a little more slowly than on the freeway, he still, despite all the twists and turns and tiny little villages, reaches Ikinomiya in good time, and without hesitation finds the road to Inazawa, and in the Zengen-ji, as if they sensed exactly where he is, the western gate, just when he appears at the end of the street leading up to it, is opened by chance, and no one bothers himself about the fact that even before the driver’s arrival they kept opening up the gates again and again, peeking outside to see if he was here already, we opened the gates just by chance exactly at the moment when he appeared at the end of the street, the deshis waiting at the western gate later recount, so we just left it open, really, as they then relate further, it just so happened that the shikaryo gave us the order right then to open up all of the gates, and we opened them, as actually did occur, because in reality, according to the original plan devised by the abbot and the others during the final planning sessions, they are the ones who were meant to open the monastery gates, not at the usual hour, but rather at the time of the arrival of the van, that is of the Amida Buddha, they opened the western, the eastern, and the northern gates, and even the Sanmon, and it is actually with this, the opening of the Sanmon, that the monks of the Zengen-ji inform the residents of Inazawa that they are joyfully welcome upon this illustrious day as, within the context of a rare ceremony, their most sacred of sacredness, now restored, shall be returned to its rightful place, and to the same extent that the citizens of Inazawa, one year earlier, had been unmoved by the news of the secret farewell ceremony, now with the Festival of the Return of the Buddha, moved by the possibility of seeing today a colorful, unique, and rare event, they go to the Zengen-ji, the word spreads everywhere, this time it really is worthwhile, and so the city sets off from the textile mills and the rows of machine works, already at around seven in the morning several hundred have gathered in the temple courtyard across from the Hall of Buddha; there are at least three hundred of them, one of the young monks, his eyes glittering, but fearful of exaggeration, whispers with cautious appraisal into the ear of the jushoku; three hundred, repeats the abbot dumbfounded; yes, at the very least, repeats the boy a little uncertainly, not knowing if this is a little or a lot, and huddling up, he does not move from the abbot’s side, as if to say that perhaps he is wrong, but how could he tell for sure how many there are, that is, he couldn’t take any responsibility for his words; three hundred, the abbot murmurs to himself once again, ill-temperedly, and signals to the boy that there is no problem, it is not the boy’s words that he doubts, and it is not because of them that he is in a bad mood, but rather, how are we going to be able to move around in here, he says aloud, so the boy hears it, and the boy’s anxiety subsides — so many won’t be able to fit into the hondō; he spreads his arms apart to the boy, who, of course, grows concerned as well, for the abbot himself is speaking of such fateful questions with him, but at the same time sad ones too, for the news that he has brought has made the abbot sad, well, no matter, he waves his hand, he smiles at the deshi, and sends him somewhere on a task and already he has come out of his quarters to look for the two illustrious guests, the two abbots from Kyōto, with whom he will lead the ceremony of the kaigen shiki — as all the same it is most auspicious, the answer to his query having arrived from Kyōto months earlier, it is the most auspicious to conduct the ceremony is in the presence of three abbots — and the abbots have slept well, they say, and you can see from their plump cheerful faces as they enter — he steps toward them, greeting them with three deep bows — that they slept well indeed, sweetly, like the sleep of children, they repeat; following the prescribed ritual, they receive the greeting of the host, then together they proceed out of the building, the crowd opening before them, in front walks the abbot of Nanzen-ji with two monks accompanying him, and in his wake the abbot of Tōfuku-ji with two accompanying monks as well, and at the end walks the host-abbot among his own jishas, they proceed thus across the middle of the wide courtyard, where by now there may be even a thousand, and they step, in the same order, into the hondō, where on the right side, in the prescribed order, are the elder monks, on the left side the younger unsuis, the deshis, the battans, and so on, all facing each other, and to the back, next to the main entrance are the jikijitsu and the musicians, so that they can be observed by the lay public, the merely curious and the tourists, then in the silence the high clangorous peal of the shokei resounds, and the congregation with the three abbots facing the altar of the Buddha in front kneels down, then another musician beats the hokku, the large drum, at which point the abbots stand up; all of this is performed three times in a row: the ringing sound of the shokei, the kneeling, the thumping of the hokku; getting up, shokei, kneeling down, the great drum; getting up — and then the same thing for the last time, and then the jikijitsu is already striking the large drum, the mokugyo sounds forth as well, and the gathering place their hands in the gesture of gasho-in — as does the abbot, who now turning to the left takes two and a half steps, then turning to the right steps over to the incense stand, then kneels and gets up, so as to bow to the altar where the Buddha is to be placed, then he kneels down, gets up, again steps before the incense stand, takes with his right hand a stick of incense from his assistant, holding it horizontally with both hands between his thumbs and index fingers, and raises it up to his eyebrows, then he kneels down with it and gets up; with his left hand he plants it into a vase filled with ashes, and then he does the same with another stick of incense on the right-hand side of the vase, and then with a third stick of incense; it seems that the essence of the matter is that he always takes it with his right hand, then raises it with both at once to hold it horizontally, and with his left hand he places it into the ashes, while his gaze passes all around the incense-stand, then he bows to the altar, places his hands together, takes two and a half steps to the right, then once again moves to the right, and with that he returns to his place, then turning to the left he makes two and a half steps again, and stands before the main prayer bench, which has been placed between the three abbots and the altar, but by then the recitation of the first great sūtra has long since begun to resound to the rhythm of the mokugyo — the Sacred Water-Prayer, addressed to the Mahasattva Bodhisattva, followed by the brief three-line invocation to Avalokiteśvara, so that the ceremony then goes beyond the boundaries of prayerful activity, that is, while the entire gathering in resounding chorus, under the direction of the voice of the jikijitsu, chants in special unison: all that is unclean and foul and decayed and impure is now being made pure here; the abbot slowly bows toward the altar, then raises a tiny water bowl prepared in advance, in which one single tiny tree-branch is blossoming, he raises the little branch with the middle and index fingers of his left hand, then with the middle and index fingers of his right hand he bends it into a ring, so that the bottom of the stem passes through it, tying the ring into itself, exactly at the point when the sūtra, in the voice of the jikijitsu, as it rises out of the chorus, indicates that this entire hall and the whole of this place are being purified by this moment of the ritual and the prayers, the voice of the jikijitsu soars above the chorus of monks, which at times seems to resound with higher ascendancies in some distant, ever so distant rapport — then, along with the clang of the gong dying out, the enchantment of this purification dies away, and from that point on, for quite a while and without the jikijitsu, only the congregation has the word, the word which is understood by no one now, or perhaps was never understood by anyone, as the gathering now recites in broken Sanskrit:

NA MO HO LA TA NO TO LA YEH YEH

NA MO A LI YEH P’O LU CHIE TI SHUO

PO LA YEH P’U T’I SA TO P’O YEH MO

HO SA TO P’O YEH MO HO CHIA LU NI. .

and the mokugyo beats in the same rhythm as the words, and at times the large gong sounds, the gathering visibly recites with confidence that of which no one understands one single word, but they know that the kinhin is to follow, that is from this point on, they move from their places and in single file, one nicely after the other, they circumambulate the great hall, with the jikijitsu in front, after him the mokugyo-beaters, and only then the monks, according to rank, age, authority, and prescribed order, they go in circles, they pronounce the sacred dhāranīs, resounding in a tongue incomprehensible to them; last to come are the women and at the very end are the three abbots with their accompanying monks, they just circle and circle around and around along the walls of the hall, away before the altar; and so that the procession can finally come to an end, the host-abbot stops his colleagues when they reach the spot in front of the altar, in an arc, then taking up their original places — and the congregation too returns to its original place — the jikijitsu stands again by the front entrance, from where he directs the ceremony, he raises his voice and in this raised voice recites the last words of the dhāranī, according to which:

LA TA NO TO LA YEH YEH NA MO A

LI YEH P’O LU CHI TI SHUO P’O LA YEH

SO P’O HO AN HSI TIEH TU MAN TO LA

PO T’O YEH SO P’O Ho

so that here, his voice, descending at the very last line, slows down and expands like a river flowing into the ocean, and he begins already the recitation of the Hannya Shingyō — the Heart Sūtra — then the Mahāprajñāpāramitā, then the praise of Avalokiteśvara, then the Song of Parināmanā, and at last the Triple Vow, after which the entire gathering bows three times before the altar, each time to the clashing of the great gong, in the knowledge that the altar-place has been purified, so that the first chapter of this particular coming together and return has been concluded, and now the next may commence, in which, as an invocation, the four strong, young monks who one year ago took the Buddha out now bring in, underneath a golden brocade, and with small cautious steps, the Amida Buddha of the Zengen-ji, raise it to the altar, someone pulls away the silk cloth that had been covering the Buddha’s seat, and they place Him there, Him whom they have awaited for so long, and for whose gaze so many hundreds of pairs of eyes, in the crowded hondō, are now contending.

The leader of the ceremony, the jikijitsu, strikes the gong three times; according to precept the large drum then sounds too, and in the space of the hondō above the gathering a greater ceremoniousness than before can be felt, leading the less well-informed among them to think, well, at least now they’re finally going to take the brocade off and we can finally get to see the Buddha; but no, they are wrong, the time for that has not yet come, now it is time for the three abbots to pray together; after what is known as the purification of the lotus throne, the emphasis of the ritual in this crucial second part shifts onto the abbots, and there are more offerings made with the incense, then the recitation of the sacred names, and after the three abbots kneel down together, the congregation, under the leadership of the jikijitsu, begins to sing the Amida-kyō, in which the sūtra, with miraculous power and at length, venerates the Amida Buddha and the inconceivable greatness, timelessness, harmony, and fragrances of the Pure Land; then there comes the time to acknowledge defilements, where one must kneel down at the end of every sentence, even the three abbots kneel, and recite with them, and all those taking part in the ceremony kneel down at the end of each sentence as well, we have produced hellish karmas, they all murmur — the mokugyo sharply cracks underneath the thin stick — through desire, through hatred, and through impatience we bring them forth and sustain them in time, the source of what we all are is our mere bodies, our mere words, and our mere minds, and we deplore this greatly now; this is what they murmur, they sing this in a louder, unifying harmony, then everyone rises and now, somehow, the emphasis shifts to where it should be; the three abbots, that is, again take up the direction of the ceremony, so that from this point on they are the ones who grant permission to speak, and they grant it right away: three times in order, the wish is chanted that glory may come to the monastery, to the Three Jewels of Mahāyāna, and now the eldest and most respected monk, having earlier been prepared, is called forward to go to the incense stand to complete the ritual of incense-purification; then when the jikijitsu causes the gong to sound, and during its long reverberation the document called the Announcement of Explication is placed in the monk’s hands, the smoke snakes upward, entwines around the old man and the document as well, and he begins, his head trembling, in a tremulous voice, to read aloud that here and now appears the Body of the Buddha, here illuminates the karma that brings happiness to all living beings, and the magnificent Form, in its own boundlessness, is unmoving, and this place is now the hall of the Exaltation of the Light, that we, within the Eastern Realm, are on the island known as Japan, where this monastery belonging to the Rinzai lineage is located, the old monk reads in his tremulous voice that now here they have sung a few sacred sentences with the gathering, with which the Dharma is protected, and pure faith remains preserved; he then lowers the document, for the next few sentences no paper is needed, and he announces that the monastery has collected every donation it possibly could in order to protect the sacred statue of the Amida Buddha from the harm of centuries, and now the day has come when, this protection ensured, they have received Him back, and He shall be placed back there, from whence He was earlier taken, so He has arrived, murmurs the old monk, behold the auspicious, happy, great day, and they have gathered in this hall, which is the space of contemplation, that is to say of the soul, and they have come here together, because for them both this space and this soul are of the utmost necessity, and he leans once again over the text, and reads out that the return of the Amida was the heart’s desire of the faithful, and the hope of those who await from it the renewal of their faith, to receive, in the barren, ruinous heat, the cool relief of the tree of Dharma, may the garden wreathed in gold again be tended for the prayers to come, for they are now making a vow, he says, looking up from the document, and they make this vow with great joy, and they make this vow precisely today, in the year 2050 on the fourteenth day of the third month in between the morning hours of nine and ten o’clock, they make a vow, and they have set the lotus throne back in its place once again, and once again they survey the entire magnificent Form, truly complete, and they trust that once again they shall see the Precious Light and they supplicate and, bowing their heads, they utter the profound wish that this treasure-laden throne shall be resplendent until the end of time, when the body itself shall vanish, and that the light between the Buddha’s eyebrows may once again issue forth, and that one ray of this light may spread across the entire Realm of Dharma; I, says the old monk showing his hands folded in prayer, and bowing his head, I bow my head, and I fold my hands in prayer, and everything good shall like a tree take root, the utterance of the feelings arising in our hearts, the feelings drawn in by the happiness and wisdom emanating from the altar, we supplicate in gratitude and thanks, he continues, movingly, wishing tranquility and peace for the Son of the Sun and the people, we wish for the Dharma once again to be majestic among us, and we wish for the wise and beautiful path to come to the Zengen-ji monastery of Inazawa; today, he says, we have recited sūtras, and the melody, the song of this gathering, is like the brocade upon Him here in the center of the Altarplace; later on, it shall fall away and beneath it the eye shall see what it has been awaiting, and then the old man begins to say, as he lowers the document for the final time, that through the Explication just uttered he supplicates the Three Jewels to create the certainty that this Buddha statue is now perfect and without flaw, for the sacred statue of the Amida Buddha has been rectified and placed back on its base, and all of this has taken place within the framework of the ceremony conducted by jikijitsu Zhushan on the fourteenth day of the third month of the year 2050 according to the Buddhist calendar, in the presence and with the cooperation of the abbots Nanzenji-san and Tōfukuji-san; from the mouth of the monk Shooshin, he says, and he withdraws; and already the assistants have set three small tables in place of the prayer benches in front of the abbots, a piece of yellow silk is placed on each table, and finally in the center of each table a flower-stalk is placed, and already the sacred deities are being invoked in the sūtra recited by the gathering, and the abbots take up the three flower-stalks, they raise them and hold them aloft, as first the Nanzen-ji abbot joins the congregation and sings that the abbot of Nanzen-ji beholds this flower, and he holds it aloft, and supplicates with all of his heart, he calls the Lord of the World, the Master Shakyāmuni Buddha, he supplicates the Lord of Faith of the Eastern Realm, Dainichi Nyorai, who is the Tathāgata of crystal light, he supplicates and calls the Lord of Faith of the Western Realm, Amida Buddha, and the Buddha of the World to Come, Maitreya, Miroku Bosatsu, and every Buddha who can penetrate the Realm of Dharma through the air, he says, and he bows his head, adding softly that he only wishes never to break his own vows, that now, with a humble and full heart, he wishes that He for whom it is fitting should take His place upon the lotus throne, but the entire last part of his words referring to his vows is sung by the gathering as well — each person pronouncing his or her own name — and then something happens which has not happened yet, that is to say silence, and in this silence the three abbots place the three flower-stalks back onto the little tables, the sound of the hand-held gong reverberates, the congregation kneels and prostrates before the Buddha, then the shokei sings out again, everyone rises, and in the sustained silence the jikijitsu asks the participants of the ritual to call forth the Amida Buddha within their own selves, to look at the contours discernable underneath the brocade on the lotus throne, and to let millions of Amidas appear in their imaginations, this is what they must invoke, this is what they must think about, the jikijitsu’s words sound out in the silence, and with this it is the turn of the host-abbot, who lifts the single flower once again into the air and says: may the Amida fill the entire world, and look upon all the living beings, so that he and everyone present here may avoid suffering arising from Origination, and, finally, may the throne on the altar truly become a throne, but at this point the entire gathering, led by the jikijitsu, is singing, so as to invoke, with their individual and their shared strength, the Mañjuśrī Buddha, in all aspects perfected, the Samanthabhadra, the Bodhisattva Avalokiteśvara of great compassion, in all deeds accomplished, the Ksitigarbha Bodhisattva, who realizes every desire, the Bodhisattvas of the ten world-directions, the Mahāsattva Bodhisattva, and their only wish — here the sūtra comes to a close, the unity of the singing enriched by a lower fifth — is never to break their vows, and that the Buddha, compassionate to all sentient beings, may appear and take His place upon the lotus throne, which stands before them covered in brocade, and when, at the last word, the shokei again is struck, everyone kneels, then they arise, for it all to be repeated first by the shikaryo, then the jikijitsu, and finally by the entire gathering, for everything to be repeated, but at the same time, somehow, everything begins to rise in the midst of this repeating, there is something now in the Hall which is difficult to put into words, but everyone present can sense it, a sweet weight in the soul, a sublime devotion in the air, as if someone were here, and it is most evident on the faces of the non-believers, the merely curious, the tourists, in a word the faces of those who are indifferent, it can be seen that they are genuinely surprised, because it can be felt that something is happening, or has happened, or is going to happen, the expectation is nearly tangible, although everyone knows exactly what it is that is happening, or is going to happen, no one has any doubt at all that perhaps there will be another, and then still another, and then still yet another sūtra, another supplication, another prayer, another vow, and they will yank the covering off the statue, and everyone will finally see the Amida, but that is precisely the curious thing: everyone knows what will follow, and of course when it will follow, still everyone stands dumbfounded, and looks, looks until it ensues that the host-abbot arises, holding aloft a stick of incense, kneels, rises, the gong is heard, and the abbot recites: Revered One of the Returning World, of whom there is none higher, today, according to the teachings, I venerate your throne, I only wish that you might kindly receive it, that every Buddha and Bodhisattva now present here in this room may see and feel that there are no more obstacles, this place has been blessed through the tranquility of an unnameable peace; the abbot speaks and speaks without error and everyone hears precisely what is being said, but from here on the general attentiveness becomes somehow so diffused in expectation that the individual components of the ceremony fall apart, the gathering at one point pays attention to the abbot’s words, as he is just now stating that Amida’s body is golden, His eyes illuminating the four seas, the light streaming forth from them circling Mount Sumeru five times, and at another point the jikijitsu strikes the gong; here, a few people on the left-hand side of the hall bow down, then a few voices are raised again, and then those standing on the right-hand side bow down; then the eloquent voice of the Nanzen-ji abbot can be heard, as he speaks of his wish to be reborn in the Pure Land of the Western Realm, for nine different kinds of lotus flowers to be his mother and his father, that as these flowers open may he glimpse the Buddha, and that he may awaken to the great truth of non-birth, words that nearly dissolve into the ones spoken by the Tōfuku-ji abbot to the right of the host-abbot, saying, namely, may every single Buddha appear in the world, because of one single great thing, and may the entire consciousness of the thus enlightened Buddha, he supplicates, be present here, and may all Buddhas and Bodhisattvas have mercy upon all living beings, may their causes be perceived and may they be led to the Dharma, may they receive enlightenment as to the non-self-evidence of knowledge, for knowledge lies within the baneful obscuration of the cause of suffering, and that is why we are here, who, upon this day, in the year 2050 on the eleventh day of the third month, have come here to consecrate the statue of the Amida Buddha, for him to make us understand, says the abbot of Tōfuku-ji, that this statue before us is knowledge given form, but it is not knowledge itself; at that point, however, a kind of disorder begins to arise in the hondō, some kind of confusion in the devotion, or more precisely it is the confusion of the devotion itself, as the strength begins to seep out of the words, they blur into each other, no longer is each word built upon the next, but the words begin to mean the same thing one after the other, this confusion is significant, as is obvious, significant, as it, so to speak, indicates the path upon which the gathering has been lead by the words, to that point where only the consummation of the final moment is necessary, and then truly everything is taking place in this spirit; it could not be stated that the gathering is really concentrating on the most essential elements of the ceremony; they do not notice, for example — or it may be that in the crowd of people they cannot see — that the abbots, before their words just uttered, have each taken up a mirror from the tables placed before them, wiping it with a fine cloth, and then all three have turned the mirrors toward the Buddha; the gathering — at least most of them — are gaping here and there, most of them can only hear what the host-abbot is saying, for right at this moment he is saying that we who consecrate the Buddha are in no way identical with the consecration, we only now do, in the name of the Buddha, what is required, it is not we who can approach Him, but rather that He penetrates us completely with His wisdom, He, the Buddha, who is present here, the imperceptible and supreme Form in its own infinite radiance, that if we speak, the abbot’s veiled, weary voice is heard, if we recite sūtras, through these utterances the light of the Buddha illuminates billions and billions of worlds; that much is heard, then their attention is led by the gong and the great drum, so that they no longer can make out the words of the abbot of the monastery as he says that the wisdom of the Buddha, at the same time, finds a means within us, having taken physical form, returns back to each one of us — that already goes unheard, only the clanging of the gong, and the deep thumping of the drum, but by now it is so hard to pay attention to anything at all, the gathering has by now been here for hours, legs, backs, heads ache; and the scene is swimming before their eyes, nonetheless, at such times, who can say what is essential and what isn’t — one thing is certain: whether there is tiredness here or there, no one wants to miss out on the essence, so that the great majority of them shift their heads back and forth, now trying to listen attentively, now trying to see what is going on, the boundary, in a word, between the important and the less important begins to blur; this has not been, up until now, a cause for concern, but from this point on the monks themselves are not even certain that they are taking in the most essential elements of what is happening in the hondō; all, however, monks and visitors alike, are certain that the ceremony is moving forward, intensely, in strained expectation, where then, in this strained expectation, in this intensity, the abbot of Tōfuku-ji slowly, very slowly, circumambulates with the mirror held aloft, yet in such a way that the light from the mirror illuminates, with a flickering, trembling beam, around the entire hall, and then he places the mirror back onto the table, then taking up from it a paintbrush (with his right hand) and a tiny jar (with his left hand), he dips the brush into the jar, in which there is paint of a vermilion hue, then he raises the brush full of paint toward the presumed direction of the eyes of the Buddha statue, searching with the tip of the brush the height of the eyes, and then two young monks, who had been positioned on either side of the altar quite a while ago, step toward the statue, cautiously remove the brocade covering, step to one side with it, and the crowd holds its breath and just stares to see what has become of the Amida Buddha in far-off Kyōto, the abbot locates the proper height, and the brush is at the same height as the Buddha’s eyes, with utmost exactitude, it is held there for a bit, motionless, the silence is complete, then he shouts out in the silence to OPEN, at which point of course the gathering can no longer restrain itself and, breaching the ritual’s ceremonial rigor, then cry out, the gong sounds, the drum sounds, the shokei and all of the instruments on either side of the main entrance sound out, but by that point the jikijitsu has begun to recite the sūtra of the Opening of the Light, the gathering, mesmerized, joins in and they recite, sing, and murmur the words of the sūtra, but they cannot bear to look away from Amida, for most of the believers remember very well how the statue looked across the decades, a dark shadow on the altar, with almost no contour, almost no light, yet now it is truly resplendent, resplendent in the wondrous face the wondrous eyes, but this pair of eyes, if even touching lightly upon them, does not see them but looks onto a further place, onto a distance that no one here is able to conceive, everyone senses that, and the tension is extinguished in one blow, on every face great joy can be seen, no matter the tiredness, no matter the exhaustion, now it is as if their gaze were reflecting something of that radiance that comes from the altar, they recite, happy and relieved, after the jikijitsu that they now are making a vow to the Buddha, wishing for every being to find the path, that this unsurpassable wish may be fulfilled, and they make a vow to the Dharma, they recite, and they wish that all living beings may penetrate into the wisdom of the sūtras like the ocean, and they make a vow to the Sangha, they announce last of all together, and ask that every being in the gathering may be protected, and all misfortunes averted, and that they may reach that redoubtably distant, beautiful pure land onto which the returned Amida Buddha now gazes.

He waves for a long time as the elegant, sparkling black cars wind out of the western gates, then for yet a long time, as the two abbots from Kyōto disappear into the traffic in the street leading away from the monastery, he waves, and he feels unspeakable relief that at last, at the end, after they discussed every possibility, they too have departed, and that generally everything had gone well yesterday, and the kaigen shiki came to an end with no greater problems, and he slowly strolls back to his quarters; however — for he is somehow very tired and feels even much older than his years — he decides that he will not take part in the daily morning meditation in the zendō, but will, exceptionally, take a nap, so that as he saunters in the chill wind on the narrow paths of smoothly raked white stones between the gardens, he thinks: Exalted Buddha, how fallible they were, how unworthy, how many mistakes, how many errors, how many times they faltered in the texts, how often the great drum beat at the wrong time, and above all how many wrong steps before the altar, how many uncertain and perplexed moments, from which they could not free themselves, and all the same, they did it, they were capable of that much, they had not fallen short of their abilities, he strolls in the chilly, early spring wind, to remain apart a little while, still hearing the voices led by the jikijitsu, reciting the sūtra in the zendō, he looks all around at the beautiful order and the tranquil pavilions of the monastery, and then suddenly an idea springs to mind, or well it really isn’t an idea, but rather just that. . he slows down, comes to a standstill, then turns around, heading back toward the zendō, he walks in front of it, again hearing the monks’ sūtras, and the rhythmic thumps of the mokugyo, and suddenly he finds himself in front of the hondō, and then comes to his senses, as if he were about to ask himself what he was doing here, and why he wasn’t he going to take a rest already — then he forgets what he even wanted to inquire about within himself, and slips out of his sandals and straightens his robes, as if he were about to go into the main entrance; but he doesn’t head up the steps that would take him there, instead — he himself doesn’t even know how — he stands on one of the lower steps, he looks around, no one is in sight, everyone is in the zendō, so he sits down on one of the steps and he remains there, the early spring sun shines on him, at times he shivers in a stronger breeze of the chill air, but he doesn’t move from there, he just sits on the step, leaning forward a bit with his elbows pressed onto his knees, looking ahead, and now at last he is able to pose the question to himself: what in the world was he doing here, he is able to ask himself, he just can’t find the answer, or rather he cannot understand: even if what he hears there within his soul does exist, it all adds up to just this much: nothing, he is doing nothing at all in the entire world, he just sat down here because he felt like it, to sit here and know that, there inside the hondō, Amida Buddha is now enthroned upon the altar, and he sees what no one else but himself can see, only and exclusively he, he sits there on the steps, his stomach growls, he scratches his bald head, he stares into space, onto the steps below, the steps of dried-out old hinoki cypress, and in one of the cracks he now notices a tiny ant, well, and from that point on he only watches that ant as it goes about on its funny little legs, climbing, hurrying and then slowing down in this crack, as it starts forward, then stops, then turns around and lifting up its little ball of a head, hurries off again, but once more it comes to a dead halt, climbing out from the crack, but only to crawl right back into it, and starts off again, then after a while coming to a halt again, it stops, turns around, and just as sprightly as it can, goes again backward in the crack, and all the while the early spring sun shines on it, at times a draft of the wind strikes it, you can see the ant struggling not to be carried off by the wind, little ant, says the abbot, shaking his head, little ant in the deep crack of the step, forever.