We had narrowed it down to two choices: Camp Lejuene, NC or
Japan. For me, it was not a tough decision. I desperately wanted to see more of
the world, and I knew that I’d probably never travel to Japan on my own. I was
ecstatic when we got orders to Yokosuka, and I started doing everything I could
to prepare myself for our move.
Because I was so excited about moving to Japan, I was
completely surprised by the culture shock when it hit me. I knew that I would
have some trouble adjusting to a new place, and an unknown language, but those
first six months were really hard. I doubted whether or not I should have
moved.
But then, Japan wooed me. I could not help but fall in love
with its mountains that so comfortingly reminded me of East Tennessee. I fell
in love with its kind and proud people, always willing to help a
confused-looking foreigner who is obviously lost. I loved the food – especially
katsudon, a Japanese comfort food of fried meat on top of steaming rice cooked
with green onions and egg. I loved the wonderful mix of old and new: modern
houses with all the usual amenities, but with intergenerational families living
in them, sleeping on tatami mats with futons every evening; ancient temples in
the middle of bustling modern cities; young girls talking on their cell phones
while wearing kimonos. I adored the ancient history of the country, which was
in stark contrast to the young America I grew up in.
Most of all, I loved visiting the temples. Oh, the temples.
There is nothing quite like walking up to the front gate of an ancient Zen
Buddhist temple, and stepping over the large beam of wood, hundreds of years
old, which divides the ordinary from the sacred. Temple grounds enchant me.
It’s as though I can feel the history seeping out of the earth. I felt the same
way in the Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris, France. I was listening to mass in
this large, looming cathedral, and I took my shoes off so that I could feel the
cold stone floor beneath me. I knew that countless others had walked on those
floors before me, all connected by a belief in something larger than
themselves. The temples of Japan evoke the same feeling in my soul.
One of the most
meaningful experiences I’ve had in Japan has been taking part in zazen, or Zen
Buddhism’s sitting meditation. I still remember how giddy I was to go to my
first zazen session at Kenchoji temple in Kamakura. I could not believe that
after studying Eastern religions in college, I was now walking into an ancient
Buddhist temple in Japan to sit with monks and meditate. I fell in love with
the scent of incense wafting through the temple; the faint aroma of aged wood.
I loved the way my bare feet felt against the woven tatami mats on the floor,
and the feel of the cushion underneath me as we sat and bowed to each other
before beginning zazen. I became completely addicted to the calm of the room as
these human beings came together to quiet their minds, taking what was probably
the only moment in their day to be still, listen, and feel the world around
them.
I never dreamed that I’d be friends with Buddhist priests,
or that I’d fall in love with the practice of zazen (who ever thought I’d be
able to sit still, and in silence, for almost an hour?!). I never dreamed that a foreign country in
Asia would become another place I called home. And I never knew that I’d fall
so deeply in love with Japan that it hurt my heart to leave.
I went to visit
Dokuonji temple, the temple of my friend Fujio san, on Tuesday night before
flying out of Japan the next day. I could barely get out of the car when I
arrived. I knew that it would be the last time, in the foreseeable future, that
I’d step into that temple. Over the course of the last two years, Dokuonji
temple became MY temple. It’s been years since I felt comfortable in a church,
and this temple became my church. It became the place where I could go and feel
closer to God. Each visit had me leaving with a wonderful stirring in my soul.
On that last night, I talked with Fujio san, and could
barely hold back the tears. Fujio san was no better. We talked about how much
we have enjoyed each other’s friendship, and how much the temple had meant to
me. We talked about my divorce, and he lovingly told me that he would always
support me, and that I had no need to blame myself, or my husband, for what was
happening. We then sat in zazen together for a while, me wiping back tears as
we began. Just as it was supposed to, zazen calmed my feelings of grief and
anxiety, dulling them just enough to make them more manageable. I felt immense
gratitude as I sat there in the darkness, listening to crickets outside, and
smelling the incense stick that I’d lit upon my arrival. These experiences are
what life is about.
My life in Japan was a blessing. Even knowing what I know
now about my marriage and what was to come, I would not have done anything
differently. I needed Japan. I needed to grow in my spiritual practice, to
challenge myself in ways that made me feel vulnerable, and to expand the world
for my children and myself.
Thank you, Japan. I love you and will miss you terribly. You
will always have a piece of my heart.
