KJ
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THE
ARBOR OF FLOATING WINE CUPS
Kosaka Hirokazu
(from KJ #50, Transience)
When I was eight years
old, my father took me to a monastery for training and discipline. We
started in the early morning light, on a path through rugged mountains.
Around noon we ate our lunch overlooking a village. Later in the afternoon
a young monk was waiting for us below an old dilapidated gate. My father
and I met the head priest, then the monk led me to my room. I followed
him through a winding corridor to a room that overlooked the garden.
It had a small alcove with a painting of a devil wearing a priest's
robe. Because of the painting I called it the devil's room.
Next morning my head was shaved, and I was given a piece of paper with
a list of chores to do: helping the cook, raking the garden, cleaning
floors and -- perhaps my favorite -- heating the bath. I would gather
firewood from the forest, and watch the flames flicker for hours. Occasionally
I was scolded by the priest, because the water was too hot.
Many days passed. Once, when I was raking the yard,
the head priest was changing a paper screen by the veranda. The new
screen had a painting on it, and I asked the priest what it was. He
told me that it was a painting of a rainbow. It was a strange rainbow
-- the color red was missing. I asked the priest why; he said that I
would find out, and walked away. I didn't ask any more questions, pretending
that I knew the answers. Soon I was to leave the monastery to go back
to regular classes.
Almost twenty years passed, and on a rare visit
to my hometown I went back to the monastery. The head priest was well,
at the ripe age of ninety. Most of the monks had gone, and we sat by
the veranda, exchanging memories of bygone days. He suggested that I
stay at the monastery for a year, and I agreed. My chores were the same
as before, and still my favorite was heating the bath. Once, when I
was cleaning the yard, I saw the head priest changing the rainbow screen
that I had first seen almost twenty years before. This time I didn't
ask him any questions.
Weeks and months went by, and early autumn came.
One day, late in the afternoon, as the sun was about to go down
behind the mountain, the head priest called me to have tea with him
by the veranda. He made ceremonial tea for me, and I attempted to follow
the ritual. When I raised the tea bowl to my lips, something blinded
me: it was the color red, filling the bowl. I sat there in an ear-splitting
silence. When I looked up, the priest was gone.
I had solved the riddle of the missing red
in the rainbow painting. The color was coming from the maple trees that
surrounded the temple. At that time of the year all the leaves turn
brilliant red, and at certain times of the day everything is illuminated
by them -- the lacquer flooring, the white shoji screen, my face, and
the Arbor of Floating Wine Cups.
Kosaka
Hirokazu, originally from Kyoto, is a traditional and contemporary visual/performance
artist. For over 15 years he has served as Curator and Director of Visual
Arts for the Japanese American Cultural and Community Center in Los
Angeles. He is also a Shingon Buddhist priest, and master teacher /
practitioner of kyudo (Zen archery)
Copyright
held by the author
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