RecentWords2025

Hello, this is the head priest.

In today's world, often called the era of the "AI Revolution," the speed of change can be overwhelming. Some of you may feel anxious, thinking, "I must learn something new immediately," or feel rushing to keep up.

This month, I would like to share a quote by the late Shigehiko Toyama(外山 滋比古 1923-2020). In Japan, he is celebrated as the author of The Science of Thinking, a long-selling book considered the "Bible of Intellect."

In his book, Toyama references the proverb, "A watched pot never boils." Just as a pot won't boil if you keep opening the lid to check it, obsessing over a single thing can actually stop progress.

When it comes to AI, our human strength lies in "creativity." While AI excels at processing massive amounts of data, it is said to struggle with combining two completely unrelated things to create a new idea.

Toyama, who seemed to predict the AI era, taught that to enhance human creativity, we must let our thoughts "sleep"—in other words, "forget them for a while." He even recommended taking naps, saying, "That is also part of studying." This connects directly to the words on our bulletin board this month.

When you are trapped in worries or anxiety and can't get out of a loop of negative thoughts, don't try to force yourself to escape or forget. Instead, simply stop and set those thoughts aside for a moment. By doing so, you can view things objectively and gain a fresh perspective.

This approach applies to faith as well. Even if we pray with intense focus or strive in meditation, things may not go as we hope, or our minds may remain turbulent.

Nenbutsu (reciting the name of the Buddha) is not an act of making wishes. Nor is it necessary to force yourself to clear your mind completely. We simply recite, "Namu Amida Butsu.(南無阿弥陀仏)"

You might think, "Is that all?" But in that simple act, there is a "posture of letting go of tension" to face Amida Buddha naturally. This posture gives us a calm heart and the strength to accept our busy days.

Time flies, and it is already April. I hope you have a peaceful month.

Hello. I am the head priest of this temple. This month, I would like to share the words of a highly respected teacher in the Jodo Shinshu tradition, Rev. Rijin Yasuda（安田理深 1900-1982）.

Everyone faces moments in life where they wonder, "Which one should I choose?" At such times, we wish we could choose both, but in life, we can only walk one path at a time. We cannot choose two things simultaneously.

Interestingly, in Japanese, both of these concepts are pronounced exactly the same: "Michi." However, we use different Chinese characters (Kanji) to distinguish their deeper meanings:

路 (Michi): A "Road" where one proceeds while hesitating or getting lost.

道 (Michi): The "Way," signifying the one and only true path.

Shinran Shonin, the founder of our sect, illustrated this difference in the Shoshinge (Hymn of True Shinjin), specifically in the section praising the master Nagarjuna (Ryuju Bosatsu).

Kenji nangyo rokuro ku（顕示難行陸路苦）
Shingyo igyo suido raku（信楽易行水道楽）

These lines mean: "He clearly showed that the Path of Difficult Practice is a painful journey overland, while the Path of Easy Practice is like a pleasant passage by waterway."

Nagarjuna taught that traveling by land (the "Land Road") involves many obstacles; it is hard to choose the right route, and easy to get lost. In contrast, the "Water Way" allows us to board a ship and move forward with ease.

Please pay attention to the characters used. For the difficult land journey, the character 路 (Road) is used. For the water journey, the character 道 (Way) is used.

Isn't this just like our lives? If we spread our hands too wide trying to grasp "this and that," we often end up wandering into a "maze" (in Japanese, a maze is written as Mei-ro'迷路', literally a "wandering road"). On the other hand, if we proceed along the one path we have decided upon, we can walk without hesitation, even if it is difficult. Of course, while we are young, it is important to explore various roads and gain different experiences. But ultimately, it is vital to return to the single "Way '道' " you believe in.

Shinran Shonin defined the life of faith in the Nembutsu as "The Single Path of Nembutsu." It is a path where, without being chased by strict austerities or rules, anyone, anytime, and anywhere can connect with Amida Buddha through the Nembutsu. This is the path of Buddhist practice chosen by Jodo Shinshu.

It is simple and clear. However, because we humans are complex, we cannot easily settle into this simplicity. That is why we have the "Life of Hearing the Dharma" (Monpo '聞法')—to constantly listen to the teachings and return to this path.

As the humid days continue, I hope you can keep your heart, life, and thoughts simple, and spend your days in peace.

A teacher once told me, "Jodo Shinshu is a teaching that turns your world upside down."

When people hear the word "religion," many imagine praying to gods or performing rituals to ask for mystical favors. However, the teachings of Shakyamuni Buddha are not about entrusting our wishes to such supernatural powers. Instead, through prayer and learning, we are asked to fundamentally question our own way of being.

To "turn your world upside down" means to shine a new light on the values and ways of thinking we take for granted, asking, "Is this really the right path?" It provides us with a hint for spiritual awakening.

In this sense, the words on this month's board shake our common sense. When we hear "the one who teaches," we think of teachers or masters—those who transmit knowledge and skills. Usually, we consider them superior and worthy of respect. Indeed, in most educational settings, the teacher is the center of attention.

However, in Buddhism, it is not just the "teacher" who is valued, but the "person being taught."

Shakyamuni Buddha always stood close to the person in front of him. He adapted his words and teachings to match that person’s situation and state of heart. This is called Taiki Seppo ("対機説法" teaching according to the listener's capacity). The teaching only truly comes alive and holds meaning when it resonates with the listener's heart and experience. In other words, Buddhism becomes a living teaching only through the awareness of the receiver.

This is why Jodo Shinshu cherishes the combination of Nembutsu ("念仏"〜 reciting the Buddha's name) and a life of Monpo ("聞法"〜 listening to the Dharma). The Nembutsu is the core of the teaching, but it is the continuous life of listening—constantly engaging with and receiving the teaching anew—that illuminates our way of life. Your existence is what brings the teaching to life. A teaching that stays close to human suffering is undoubtedly found here.

"The one being taught is more important than the one teaching. The greatness and depth of the teaching are only revealed through the self-awareness of the person who is taught. That is the essence of the Buddhist path. Otherwise, one merely becomes a blind follower, and eventually, the path leads to a spiritual dead end."(Rijin Yasuda "安田理深" 1900-1982)

There is a Japanese proverb that says, "When you step across the threshold, you face seven enemies." It reminds us that in this world, we inevitably encounter people whose opinions clash with our own. Even if they mean no harm, we may perceive them as "evil" and feel the urge to defeat them.

However, the Buddha taught that "an evil person is destroyed when they receive respect." This suggests that when we offer respect to someone, they can no longer remain an "evil person" in our eyes or in their own conduct. While this is a difficult concept to accept, it contains a profound insight.

This teaching reminds me of the book  'To the 14-Year-Old You: How to Think, How to Live（14歳の君へ : どう考えて どう生きるか）' by the late philosopher Akiko Ikeda( 池田晶子 1960-2007).

In a chapter on "War," she challenges the common belief that "war is evil and peace is justice." It is a startling question, yet it touches the depth of her philosophy. She concludes that war is something created by "groups." Between individuals, a conflict is merely a quarrel; it only becomes a "war" when groups are involved.

She points out that a "group" is an artificial construct of the human mind. Borders and regional boundaries are invisible lines that we draw to separate "us" from "them."

"War is born when one 'group's justice' clashes with another's," she notes. In other words, war does not begin with pure malice. Instead, it arises when two sides, both convinced of their own righteousness, collide.

Looking back at my own life, the same is true when I label someone as "evil." It is likely my own "yardstick of justice" that unilaterally paints an opponent as a villain. From their perspective, I am probably the one seen as "evil" based on their own sense of justice. If I realize this, I can see that they are not inherently "evil," but simply "someone living by a different justice than my own." This realization allows room for respect.

Rather than harsh words, offer a little respect. I believe the Buddha’s words transcend time and borders, opening a path for us to rise above conflict.

As my final message for 2025, I would like to share with you the words of Seiichi Takeuchi( 竹内整一 1946-2023), a scholar who has deeply explored the Japanese sense of "kanashimi" (sorrow and compassion): 

"You cannot create anything new unless you make use of all the experiences you have had in your life so far."

In recent years, terms like "Post-X" or "X 2.0" have become popular—ideas that suggest we must discard the old to find the new. However, Professor Takeuchi argues that true "newness" does not come from abandoning the past. If we forget our journey so far, we lose our ability to move forward.

He illustrates this with an interview with Yoshiharu Habu, the legendary Shogi (Japanese chess) master. When Habu contemplates a move for a long time, he isn't just imagining future possibilities. Instead, he often retraces the entire process from the very first move to the current position. By reaffirming how he arrived at this point, the "next move" naturally reveals itself.

This perspective resonates with the Buddhist concept of time: "去来現 Ko-Rai-Gen" (Past, Future, Present). In this view, the "Present" is supported by both the Past and the Future. It teaches us that looking back is just as vital as looking forward; it is the foundation for truly "living in the Now."

We often think that to create something new, we must discard the old. But this month's message teaches us that our regrets and failures are not heavy burdens dragging us down. They are the very raw materials we need to build our future.

The poet Paul Valéry(1871-1945) once said: "We enter the future backwards." Think of rowing a boat on a lake. You cannot see where you are going (the future), but by keeping your eyes fixed on the shore you are leaving (the past), you can maintain a straight and steady course.

As the year ends, we often dwell on what we failed to achieve. Yet, by embracing our "past"—including those very failures—we gain the strength to take the next step.

Rather than blindly chasing the future, let us walk with a steady gaze on our past. In that mindful journey lies our certain tomorrow.