by Jeremy Finn
Jokei replied with a curt nod and rose instinctively as the brazen foreigner stood and wove his way around the piles of pottery toward the narrow doorway. Just as he stepped out the door, he noticed the man had left his backpack leaning against the stool. For a moment, he thought vengefully about tossing the object in the trash, but pushed the urge back with all his might and forced himself to grab the sack and shuffle rapidly to the door.
“Excuse me!” he called to the foreigner who was already across the street. “I believe you left this.”
The man turned and looked a bit embarrassed as he realized his mistake brought on by the anxiety and tension of the heated discussion. He forced a smile and walked across the street to retrieve his collection of the day’s treasures. The monk walked into the street to meet him halfway.
Mr. Kim was at the tail end of a very long day driving his taxi to every end of the city. He cursed at his cellphone as he fumbled with the tiny buttons in an attempt to punch in the number to call his wife and tell her he would be home soon. He heard the two men in the street before he saw them. Their bodies slammed into the front of his cab with a thud, tumbled over the hood, and rolled off the back of the car.
At that moment, two men lost their lives on a little street in the heart of the traditional district of a large Asian city. Immediately thereafter, a baby boy was born somewhere far away who was destined to become a great monk; a horse was born elsewhere. And if it had not been for the sudden decision to return a backpack, it would have been a pig rather than a horse.
Insight
This story actually is a true story from my own life all the way up to the point where the foreigner begins speaking to the monk. Before that, it is almost word for word an account of my own experience. I decided to write on the experience because the shop, the people, the atmosphere, all of it combined to make one of those kinds of scenes that impact the mind and remain with us for some reason as memorable events. I decided to expand upon the story because I truly wanted to ask the same question and wondered what it would be like if I was able and the conversation really played out. This is not meant to be an attack on Buddhism, per say. Rather, any message behind it would be more along the lines of the following statement: far too often in any religion, those who are in positions of authority and know much about the doctrines and habits of their faith, actually know little about the very foundations of that faith or choose not to follow them out of personal convenience. They often confuse and mislead their lay populations and make the religion seem hypocritical in the eyes of non-practitioners. I would ask those more knowledgeable about Buddhism excuse some of my probable misinterpretations, but my basic question still remains unanswered… There is a portion of this I will not explain, and that is why I chose Thomas as the character’s name. There is a definite reason, and it is tied to the theme of conflict with Buddhism. See if you can work it out for yourself.
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE TORI
The eager young man stepped out of the booth and pointed down the narrow, dusty road. “It’s just another half kilometer or so and you can’t miss the trailhead running up into the hills,” he said with a smile beaming from beneath his dainty blue cap that matched the uniform he wore.
“Thank you,” Saigo said with a bow to the energetic tourist guide. It was the opening of spring and every town of any significant size in this part of Japan had a tourist booth on the main street offering brochures of local attractions and lists of nearby ryokan, or inns. Saigo’s heart was as light as the cherry blossom petals that fluttered on the cool breeze and rippled across the ground in silent stampedes through green grass speckled with warm sunlight. The air even smelled of spring with its mix of pleasant and awakening aromas. In the country, flowers scented the air, but so did manure soaking in the fields. For the unaccustomed nose, it would be unpleasant, but Saigo grew up in the country and the mingling of sweet and odorous was a memory of childhood – a yin and yang in perfect balance.
Saigo had walked for nearly a month already in his journey to cover the length of the Japanese archipelago on foot over the course of a summer. At first, he had been consumed with the completion of the journey and the goal of being able to claim success. However, over the course of the last difficult but splendid month, he realized the true value of his trek lay in the experiences, places and people that would dot his path like invaluable jewels strung along a golden necklace. Now, every morning whether he woke in a snug ryokan or crawled out of his sleeping bag in the bushes beside a rural road, he was brimming with anticipation over what the day would bring.
Strolling down the dirt road, Saigo admired the bucolic sights through the eyes of a man in love with life. Tiny wooden houses lined both sides of the street – most were residences, but several served as storefronts and food stalls. Many of the treats here were unique to the area bordering the inland sea. He stopped often to sample from the vendors and realized he would not need to worry about dinner if he kept it up. As he chewed on steaming balls of boiled dough filled with octopus chunks and skewered on a bamboo stick, he searched with his eyes for the trailhead the guide had promised. He wanted to catch a glimpse of the sea before he came back and found a ryokan to stay the night in the peaceful little hamlet. The trail he was searching for was fabled to be one of the most scenic foot paths in all of Japan.
The characteristic call of a regional bird caught his attention and he paused to scan the treetops for the creature. It was a good thing he did, because as he stopped to observe his surroundings, he noticed a winding patch of compressed earth obscured by new spring growth draped over its course into the forest. He took a deep breath of the fresh spring air and thought he could smell the salt on it. This must be the path, though apparently it was not as well-worn as he had expected. He joyfully followed its lead like a child on an outing. There was something about nature and this time of year that filled him with a unique happiness. It was almost as if he was sharing the excitement of his Creator at the moment He first caused life to spring forth upon the planet.
Despite the rustic character of the path, it was easy to follow as it wove its way first through a thin, young forest and then amidst a maze of strong jade bamboo swaying and creaking in the wind. Finally, he emerged on a rocky ledge towering above the sea. He jumped cautiously atop a pile of black, jagged boulders and gazed out at the thin blue line of the horizon where water almost imperceptibly met sea. He could feel the salt in the air now as well as smell it as the waves crashed below him and the wind swept the spray up the rocky face of the outcropping. It was a gorgeous sight and he felt as if he could remain in the spot until the sun sank into the hills far behind him, but he wanted to get a quick look around and head back to the village since he would have the whole day tomorrow to explore and contemplate. The path ran along the rock face and descended gradually to a powdery beach down below. He decided he would go down to the beach to see the water up close and then head back to the village.
The descent was tricky and not without some risk, but he was soon safely lumbering across the deep sand. The waves here tumbled up the flat bank of sand and rolled back gently in a futile battle to consume the island. The rock walls cast a cool shadow across the beach as it turned a corner in the distance. Saigo decided to have a look around the bend and then head back up the rock face. When he made it around the turn, a large panorama unfolded before him. The rocky wall receded steadily and the beach stretched in a wide crescent around a calm little bay. It seemed the perfect place for a quaint fishing village, and perhaps it once was, but now the little alcove was devoid of any sign of human presence besides an odd structure that rose unnaturally from the sea about thirty meters off shore. It consisted of two round poles rising out of the water with a beam laid across the top. The skin of the monument was rust red and scarred by centuries of weather and the tumultuous sea. The tori must be a relic of a temple long gone, for it was apparent no one cared for its upkeep.
Despite his earlier convictions to head back, Saigo felt draw
n to the religious artifact. He walked along the beach until he stood at the head of the little bay facing the tori and sat on a flat rock to contemplate the probable story of this ancient denizen.
“It seems to somehow grab you, doesn’t it?” a voice commented behind him and Saigo nearly jumped out of his skin. “Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”
“No, quite alright,” Saigo lied as he suppressed a sudden surge of embarrassed rage. “I guess you are right. I don’t know what it is that compels – its beauty as an ancient thing or its apparent harmony with the surroundings despite its obvious intrusion upon them.”
“Hmm.” The stranger contemplated. He was old and wrinkled with white hair, but had a youthful air to his features that seemed to emanate from his gentle eyes. His clothes were old and mismatched, but clean and well-mended. He carried a pack over one shoulder and held a worn sketchbook in his right hand. “Both, I guess I would say.”
“Do you live here?” Saigo asked as he turned to face the man.
“Yes and no,” the man replied nonchalantly. “I move around a lot. I like to write – you know, poetry and sometimes stories or history. Did you know there was a great battle in this area once? Well, I’m sure you do, but did you know our ancestors lost? That’s not what the history books tell you, is it? Our government is so prideful and distorts our own history to try to hide the embarrassing episodes of our past. “
At first, Saigo nodded politely and started to feel he was going to be trapped in an uncomfortable conversation with an eccentric, or even crazy, old man. But his demeanor and neat appearance did not fit the role of such a vagrant, and he started to take an interest in the unusual fellow. He had found in this world, after all, the most interesting people were those who were different enough to be just shy of crazy. The normal man who watched baseball or soccer every weekend and whose avid hobby consisted mostly of rhythmically consuming malted beverages was quite a bore to Saigo. He favored those who pursued exotic interests and thought about things most normal humans would consider odd, if not ridiculous. Perhaps this man was that type.
“So –well I’m sorry, I should ask your name,” Saigo apologized.
“Oh, my name is Hiro,” the man replied.
“Yes, then, Hiro. If you know something about history, do you by any chance know anything about the story of that tori out there in the bay?”
“Well,” Hiro paused as he gazed out over Saigo’s head, “nothing official so to speak. But I do know the legends.”
“What do you mean?” Saigo pressed. “There are legends associated with it?”
“Yes,” the wrinkled man said and sat carefully on a weathered rock. “They are mostly local tales. I don’t think you will hear any folk from the city or other regions say they have heard the stories. It could be this village’s claim to fame, maybe, but the elders have always discouraged making a big deal of it in this day and age since most people would probably laugh it off as a publicity stunt at best.”
“Well, would you mind sharing it with me?” Saigo asked impatiently and sat on a similar rock to hear the tale that gripped his attention.
“Ok, but it’s not much of a story really. I guess long ago, before anyone can place a date on it anyway, the temple that once stood in this area erected the tori as an entrance for the shrine dedicated to the spirit of the sea here. There’s nothing so special about that – you see the same kind of thing all over our country. But this one is out in the sea, so obviously people did not pass through it often. It was meant for the gods. Then this story started to spread that there was something special about the gate. Maybe the monks were trying to draw attention to their floundering temple or it could have just been some crazy country rumor. People started to say the gate was a portal.”
“What kind of portal?” Saigo asked after Hiro stooped to pick up a smooth stone and cast it into the little breakers beside them.
“Well, something like a time portal, I guess,” Hiro explained in an unconvincing tone. “I don’t mean that it would take you to the past or the future. It was more like a way of entering a parallel time strand. Tell me if I’m losing you. I did not hear it explained this way until some professor came poking around here several years ago. He said for every decision or incident that happens with multiple possible outcomes, different time strands break away. This keeps happening like the roots of a plant. He didn’t convince me. I mean, think of all the splits that would happen even within a minute on this huge planet. Whatever kind of space time takes up surely wouldn’t be able to hold such an endless divergence of strands.”
“Yeah, that seems a bit impossible,” Saigo agreed, but was fascinated with the idea. “So did the professor do anything besides just poking around?”
“You would think so, right?” Hiro commented. “Academics are always looking to test a theory. I heard he was going to borrow a boat and get a closer look. He did get one from one of the fishermen down the shore a ways and they found the boat neatly pulled up on shore with the oars carefully crossed in the center the next day. No professor, though. The fisherman thought he was a scoundrel because he still owed half the rent money and obviously must have left quietly in order to cheat him. Others thought he must have just completed his observations and forgotten the payment since those academic types are so absent minded often times. Then of course there are some who murmured about the old legends of the mysterious nature of the tori.”
“What do you think happened?” Saigo asked.
Hiro gazed out at the tori blazing in the light of the setting sun and licked his lips dried by the soft salt breeze. “I guess he just left once his work was done. You know, though, the thought that something else might have happened lodged in the back of my head and I could never quite get it out. It bothers me from time to time when I stroll down here by the beach.”
Saigo turned his head to observe the tori as well. “So before this guy came talking about time theories and such, what did the locals say about the tori?”
“They just said if you passed through it, you would emerge from the other side in a different world, “Hiro explained.
“But then over the years several people probably would have seen it and had corroborating evidence to prove it, don’t you think?” Saigo asked.
“But that’s the thing,” Hiro tried to convey. “It would be a different world, but not like some heaven or hell or alien landscape. The world would seem very much like the one we are in right now, but something or some things would be different. I guess it could be as simple as that rock you are sitting on being in another location, or as complex as this whole island sunk in the ocean by a massive earthquake. You might emerge swimming miles and miles from any land. And the craziest part about the whole story is you supposedly would not notice the difference. To your mind, everything would be as you always knew it. The rock would have always been in that other location, or you would have a very plausible reason in mind for why you were swimming in the open ocean miles from land.”
“But the tori would still be there,” Saigo reasoned, though he felt silly he was actually having this discussion. “Couldn’t you just swim back through it and return to your world?”
“I don’t know,” Hiro answered simply. “Maybe it would be there, maybe not. If it was not, you would not remember it. Now take that professor, for example. If he rowed the boat through and then emerged on the other side, no matter how much of the world had changed or how divergent a time thread he had crossed into, it would all seem very normal to him. He would be in the boat for a reason and the tori would be there or not be there as it should be according to his new memory.”
“But then how could you ever prove it?” Saigo protested. “It sounds like a circular argument to me.”
“I can’t help you with that,” Hiro shrugged. “I didn’t make up the legend, I’m just passing it on to you as it was told to me.”
For a minute or so both men gazed silently out at the ancient structure. Saigo began to feel angry at it fo
r the conundrum it presented. The story seemed like a foolish tale, but somehow he could not stop it from pulling at his curiosity. Finally he could not take it any longer.
“What do you say we test this legend?” he proposed, suddenly turning to face Hiro.
“Test it!?” Hiro replied astonished, but Saigo thought he could sense some curiosity mixed into the tone of his voice.
“Yes,” Saigo confirmed. “I mean honestly I don’t put much credence in the legends, but I am here to explore our country to the fullest, and a diversion such as this would make for an interesting experience and story. Now the only problem is determining how we can prove the legend is just a fabricated story, since there is the whole bit about not being able to remember what has changed.”
Hiro sat staring at the traveler for some time with a look of deep thought on his face. “Well, I guess it couldn’t hurt anything. At low tide the water rises barely to the waist out there where the tori stands. The worst thing that could happen is we both wind up wet. And it might make for an interesting story or poem. But like you said, how will we be able to know if the world has changed or not after passing through the gate?”
“It’s getting quite late,” Saigo observed as he noticed the sun was hidden beyond the distant hills. He could not think of anything right now that might solve the dilemma and he wanted to get back to town before darkness fell on the woods. “Let’s meet here tomorrow morning if you can. Do you know when the tide will be at its lowest?”
