Jakusui: Could you tell me about your master and the circumstances that led you to ordain?

Priest Danjo: Yes. I met my master, Master Daikou Mori, when he was about my current age, sixty-seven or sixty-eight. That's a difference of about forty years between us.

Actually, my mother's brother, my uncle, was a local council member in Fukuyama City at the time. He became acquainted with the president of a well-known local company who had approached him about purchasing land to build a temple.

After I became a monk, I learned that part of the mountain belonging to that temple included land that had once belonged to my ancestors. Looking back now, if that temple hadn't existed, I might have entered a different temple, or perhaps I wouldn't have become a monk at all.

The very fact that the temple was there held tremendous significance. And that my master, a truly worthy head priest, was there. We were connected with each other by fate.

Buddhism exists in the world, and temples serve as places where people pray together. Buildings and land are needed for this purpose, and various connections come together. I believe things change with the times, but especially after wars where many people died, rather than having those who couldn't heal carry their grief in their hearts. The true purpose of a temple is to help people somehow live forward with hope.

There are many such temples nationwide. For example, temples built to honor warlords who lost their lives in the Warring States period, or shrines and temples established after major disasters to honor those who perished. I believe similar phenomena exist not only in Japan but probably worldwide.

At that time, this person, who was the president of a prominent local company, wanted to build a temple to honor those who died in an accident that occurred in the 1960s.

I understand the temple's origins stem from a connection with my mentor, Master Daikou Mori, who was a university classmate of his. He was told, “I will provide the funds to build a temple as a place for everyone to pray. I want you to be the head priest.”

My connection with the temple and Zen Master Mori began when the aforementioned group of 200 people led by Sri Chinmoy stayed there for two weeks. At that time, the temple was managed by Zen Master Mori and a few administrative staff.

After returning from America, I spent a year in Kyoto working part-time jobs. During that time, I met Shri Chinmoy and practiced zazen at a Kyoto Zen temple.

I felt it was time to reset my life, to return to my family home and start over from scratch.

Thanks to my brother being in the landscaping business, he said, “If you're coming back, I want you to help me with the garden work.” Since I also enjoyed gardening, I decided to live with my brother, work part-time, and study landscaping.

It was incredibly enjoyable. I hadn't known the names of any plants before, but through gardening, I learned to identify them everywhere—this is a camellia, this is a rose. I also visited the temple where Zen Master Mori resided during breaks from work to study zazen. About a year after meeting Shri Chinmoy and his group, I had the opportunity to reconnect deeply with Zen Master Mori.

Around that time, influenced by Shri Chinmoy, I became a vegetarian, no longer eating meat or fish. My mother was truly shocked to see me, who had always raved about how delicious fish was, stop eating fish and meat. Also, my brother had just gotten married at that time, so I felt I couldn't live together in this house anymore.

I spent over a year in the mountains, studying yoga, experiencing natural farming, and having the ‘Experience of the Holy Water of Kanki’. Then I returned to my childhood home. While that joy remained within me, my emotions had become very sensitive. Thinking someone might understand these feelings, I contacted Zen Master Mori and went to the temple early in the morning, saying, “Master, I have something I'd like to discuss.”

I told Zen Master Mori about the events up to that point and asked, “Zen Master Mori, these kinds of real experiences have turned into joy within me. But as it is now, I can't live a normal social life. How can I return to my former self?”

Zen Master Mori replied with just one sentence: “I see. You had that kind of experience? Then it's zazen.”

“Huh? This experience means I should do zazen?” I asked. He replied, “That's right. Generally, if you do zazen without having had such an experience, you won't grasp its meaning right away.”

“So, if I start doing zazen now, I'll return to my former self?” I confirmed.

“You don't need to return to your former self anymore,” he answered. “You're entering training to learn the Bodhisattva path.”

I said, “I understand,” and then began commuting from home to match Zen Master Mori's waking hours. That marked the start of my second connection with Zen Master Mori.

Jakusui: Was there any difference between the zazen that started then and the zazen at the Kyoto temple?

Priest Danjo: Zazen at the Kyoto Zen temple was like eating tough burdock root. But this time, there was no burdock root. There was no act of eating. And there was no sense of obligation that I had to eat. Before meeting Zen Master Mori, my zazen still had that ‘appetite’ – the thought that ‘eating is delicious’. But this time, I transcended that.

Normally, when you eat something delicious, you think, ‘Delicious~’, right? But when you go beyond that, it's just filled with pure joy. There's no need to eat anymore.

Jakusui: Huh? So does that mean you don't have to sit anymore?

Priest Danjo: No, no, it's different from that.

This time, I'll be sitting zazen with Zen Master Mori again, but I can enjoy myself while that feeling of joy remains.

Jakusui: Sorry. I don't quite understand...

Priest Danjo: All right. I see. Until now, sitting zazen was like trying to eat burdock root—it's tough when you bite into it. But you think, “It's nutritious,” so you put it in your mouth and force yourself to chew. For example, it felt like you had to push through, even if your legs hurt or distracting thoughts arose and you couldn't concentrate.

But this time, sitting with Zen Master Mori, it's just pure, unadulterated joy. Whether it's forty minutes or an hour, I sit and end in joy. There's absolutely no sense of pain or hardship. No thought of when to stop either. That's true whether I'm sitting alone or with Zen Master Mori.

It's a shift in consciousness, or rather, a state of joy, or bliss would be a better word. It's like entering a world of bliss where everything is forgiven. Before entering that bliss, my brain would arbitrarily give instructions like, “Don't you have to do this?” or “This is what you should do.” This time, there are no instructions at all.

Jakusui: Did Zen Master Mori give you any guidance on sitting posture or breathing techniques?

Priest Danjo: Not at all. He never did, ever. Well, I suppose that meant I had to find it myself. He did give guidance to people coming from outside for zazen training sessions, though. That was his job. But he never said anything to me personally.

Jakusui: Could you tell me about your journey from zazen to becoming a monk?

Priest Danjo: My name, “Sōken,” was given to me by Zen Master Mori. Before becoming a monk, my name was Kenji. One morning, I was talking with Zen Master Mori, and he asked me, “Ken, what are your plans for the future?”

I was twenty-six at the time, and I replied, “Well, I plan to work hard in society for now and become a monk when I turn sixty. I hope you'll accept me then.” Zen Master Mori then said, “If you're going to become a monk after sixty, couldn't you start now?” Being rather straightforward, I thought, “Oh, I could become a monk now?” This unexpected realization suddenly dawned on me, and I decided, “The monk's path sounds good,” choosing to ordain.

Another reason I chose to become a Zen monk was that the training system places great emphasis on shojin ryori (Buddhist vegetarian cuisine), which suited my dietary style. Back at my family home, doing yard work while eating differently from everyone else had become quite a problem. I thought, “At a Zen temple, that wouldn't be an issue,” and that was another factor in my decision to ordain.

Looking back now, that was far too naive.

I told him, “Well then, Master, I'll be becoming a monk starting tomorrow. Please take care of me.” Since I'd had long hair and a beard up until then, I'd have to shave my head and beard, and I'd also have to tell my family about my plan.

So, I went back to my parents' house and told my mother, “I'm becoming a monk starting tomorrow.” She was absolutely stunned. “What are you talking about? What are you thinking?!” she exclaimed. When I told it to my father, he understood to some extent. His reaction was more like, “I see. It's your path, so I suppose there's nothing to be done.” I told them, “I'm going to become a disciple of the priest at the temple near our house to train, so I might not be coming back for a while,” and the next day, I had my head shaved at the temple and received ordination.

Jakusui: Did you have any hesitation about shaving your head?

Priest Danjo: Well, that part was fine. Actually, I didn't shave it all off completely back then. I had something on my mind—I wanted to go to India.

At that time, half of me wanted to become a monk and practice zazen, while the other half was still unsure. So, instead of cutting it all off, I only cut it down to about half its length. I told Zen Master Mori, “I've been studying yoga, but I want to go to India on a three-month visa to study the essence of yoga once more. Please ordain me when I return.”

I went home and explained this to my parents too. I figured they probably wouldn't cover the travel expenses to India, so I prepared by converting all my possessions into cash.

By all my possessions, I mean a used car and a precious guitar I'd brought back from America—it was quite expensive. I pawned them and managed to raise about 300,000 rupees. Thinking this would cover my round-trip ticket between Japan and India plus living expenses, I went to India alone.