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Nichijo, Kore Dojo:
Daily Life, This is Your Dojo
by Wayne Muromoto
Once upon a time, some dopey novice monk went up to a great Zen Buddhist master and asked the question, "Where is the best dojo (place for studying the Way, in this case, the Way of Zen)?" To which, the master, being rather testy that day and probably in a hurry to get to McDonald's for lunch, snapped, "Nichijo, kore dojo!"
Or, "Your daily life is your dojo." In other words, you should not feel that you are becoming a great monk only if you practice saintliness within the confines of a Zen meditation hall (dojo). You must fill your every waking moment with Zen-mind, mushin.
When we are beginners, we tend to become enamored of the exoticness, the specialness of budo training, with its rigorous physical exercise, its rigid discipline and austere surroundings. The hours we put into our budo is special; it reinvigorates us and is a refuge from the confusion and chaos of the regular, workaday world. But if we become mere technicians, we become stuck in developing a narrow range of physical-psychological motor responses and reactions that work only within the confines of a dojo. That is all for some kind of good, as perfection of form is a way of self-discipline of the mind and body.
But you don't leave your spirit at the dojo door, to be put on like a white uwagi (jacket) only during practice. The spirit you carry around with you, that soul full of bushi (warrior) qualities, should be part of you in your daily life, because, like the Zen priest said, daily life is the best practice arena to see whether or not you have truly inculcated budo into your spirit, body and mind.
If your training is true, then the budo dojo and life become one seamless fabric, and just as you learn life lessons in the dojo, you learn budo lessons in life.
This issue has been unusually late, for which I apologize to all the readers. Life dealt me some real lessons these past few months. After much soul-searching, my wife and I decided to remain in Honolulu rather than move to Hilo. I had to scramble for new work, and it was real scary for a while due to the tight job market here in Hawaii. After being busy as a primary caregiver for over half a year, my wife finally returned to Honolulu to help move apartments. Then my father had to undergo major surgery for the removal of a cancer, and my mother-in-law had another brain surgery. My wife and I were rushing to and fro between two different hospitals for a while, at the same time we were trying to set up our new apartment before school started. Well, thankfully, both parents came out alright, and I began my four part-time jobs, plus art and writing freelance projects, which still keeps me busy for many, many hours out of the day.
Somehow, I still find time to train, although not as much as I'd really like to. But the whole summer was a lesson to me about life. Nichijo, kore dojo. If I couldn't be there for my parents, then all the martial arts training I had undergone was worth nothing.
When I saw my father and mother-in-law in the hospital recovery rooms, I realized the burden we all must carry some time in our lives in caring for others, just as others cared for us.
And finally, I remembered the last koan (Zen word-riddle) my own Takeuchi-ryu sensei gave me when last I trained with him in Kyoto, Japan. "Muromoto-kun, here's a koan for you to study when you're gone," he said. "It's a secret of our martial arts."
I waited anxiously for an explanation of a budo technique.
Ono sensei said, "Ningen no kankei. Kazoku no kankei."
"Huh?" I said. "Is that it?"
"Yes. That is the secret of our budo. Without knowing about proper ningen no kankei (human relations) and kazoku no kankei (family relationships), your personal life will fall apart, and your budo will bear no fruit for posterity. The Takeuchi-ryu survived over four centuries because of this secret. Human life is limited, your own talents as a martial artist is bound by age, strength and technique. But you will survive as a budoka and as a person if you cultivate your skills as a decent and good person."
I cannot say that I have truly learned this lesson fully. Like all good koan, each day forces me to confront my limitations and failings anew, and I make my share of gross mistakes. I fall short of perfection. But budo is a path, a way. And I am on my Way.
Am I a great budoka? I don't think so. But I'd rather be known as a good person first and foremost, who served his family and fellow human beings as best he could.
That, I was taught, was the true spirit of budo. And that spirit is best learned in the great wide dojo called life.