Excerpt from “Wabi-Sabi”

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To understand Japanese culture, one must know something of the wabi-sabi concept. The Japanese sense of beauty, unlike some of the elaborately embellished Chinese manifestations, usually relies on delicate understatement. What is left out is just as important as what is put in. … How subtle the pathway, in the traditional Japanese garden, that leads nowhere. It is a sure commentary on living.

∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

One morning after a stormy night, Kaga no Chiyo, a famous haiku poetess, went to her well to draw water. She found a vine of morning glory bearing a beautiful flower that had blown down and entwined itself around the handle of the water-bucket. Such fragile beauty should not be disturbed, she said to herself, to accommodate such a practical need as drawing water. As she went to a neighbor to borrow some water, her nature-loving impulse asserted itself and her poetic genius woke up. She wrote:

Being captured, my well bucket,

I beg for water from my neighbor.

The fuller, more complete approach to life and feeling is suggested in Kaga no Chiyo’s actions. It is the willingness to accept and affirm life more purely, with naturalness and directness and in each movement as it is found, without conditioned intellect and response. This represents the wabi or sabi life – and Zen.

One time in Los Angeles, an old painter friend and I went to see a Japanese exhibit at the art museum. Afterwards, we idly wandered into the Italian section of the museum. My sensitive friend took one look and shuddered. Viewing them immediately after the delicate statement of the Japanese scrolls, the lush and opulent colors of the great Italian work were too much of a jolt to the system. Both have their place but not together.

There is much aesthetic and philosophic value derived from the understated, austere, pseudo-natural approach of the Japanese. Many times, when we admire a teahouse or the rock formations of a garden, we are startled to realized that the work is not natural at all. It had used nature as a starting point and gone on to develop a wabi-sabi aesthetic from there. So nature becomes a point of departure. As my friend, Masao Abe, the eminent Buddhist scholar, declared, “Fukinsei – certainly a wabi-sabi characteristic – does not mean asymmetrical at all. Rather, it implies going beyond symmetry.” This reminds me of the jazz instrumentalist who must learn technique so he can forget technique in freeing himself to express what cannot really be expressed.

To find the greatest beauty in a weathered old door (or person) implies respect for that which has lived and endured. Haven’t we all admired the features of an old woman who has had children and grandchildren and known triumphs and times of despair? Can any paint do to wood what the harsh hands of time will do? One of my favorite buildings is a small art gallery near Big Sur, California, built from the discarded timbers of an old bridge. This wood has never been painted; it is indelibly stained by time.

A new car has little character, but when we see an ancient classic, we involuntarily gasp with admiration. Old manuscripts and examples of calligraphy that have been burned in fires are greatly prized in Japan. I find that moss-covered stones replacing pavement is highly evocative of the past and pleasing to the spirit. The rapidly changing old capital of Kyoto has always afforded me an aesthetic bath. I feel the wabi-sabi even more in the mountains, where one spies a heavy iron kettle hanging by bamboo from the ceiling over an open hole in the floor holding charcoal. What a wonderful way to boil water for tea and cook the vegetables – so important in the country way of eating.

PAGE HEADER: Climb the Joyous Mountain

Excerpt from “Silent Sadhu”

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Editor’s Note: Justin recounts a story of being outside Baroda, India and being taken by a trio of university students to meet a famous sadhu, a traditional holy man.

We were told the sadhu had been in Samadhi (the super-conscious state) since the day before, and there was no telling when he might emerge from his exalted condition. We decided to wait.

Most of the conversation was in Gujarati, the language of the local province, but a few of those present spoke English (the university language in India) as well. It was hard to tell what the others were doing there [in the house where they met the sadhu]. Did some live in that huge house? Were they disciples of the sadhu? It was impossible to know.

After about an hour, there was a sudden silence. Looking up, we saw a strange, almost drunken-looking man entering through a doorway, leaning lightly against the wall. He had on a simple white dhoti instead of the ochre-colored sannyasin robe we half-expected.

This imposing man of indeterminate age – of 40 years old? 50? 60? his white beard made it hard to tell – was now the focus of all eyes. He quietly sat down in the cross-legged lotus posture, not saying a word. There was silence for quite a while. Then, one-by-one, overcome by the august presence of the man, the [trio of men Justin was with] came forward, prostrated themselves on the floor, and kissed his bare feet in the traditional Indian gesture of respect. So much for their cynicism.

Finally, it was my turn, and I carefully seated myself in meditation pose about two feet from the sadhu and faced him. We looked at each other, but no word was spoken. (I had no way of even knowing if he understood English.)

After a while, one of the [trio of men Justin was with] came forward and whispered in my ear, “Ask him something.”

I paid no attention. Sitting so close to the man, who had just emerged from the deepest of immersions, I was fascinated by the tremendous vibration of livingness about him. Outwardly, he did not move at all, but inwardly he must have been seething with a tremendous force flowing through him. The tight clasp of the hands, with only the fingers moving, gave some clue to the dynamic surge inside. He had come out of Samadhi, evidently sensing visitors were there to see him, and yet he was still in it. Those who have successfully practiced really deep meditation will have some inkling of what was surging inside him. But there is no way to name it.

How long we sat, I cannot recall. I had been drawn into his radius of one-pointed dynamism, and words would have been superfluous. Again and again one of the [trio of men Justin was with] would come up to me and whisper, “Ask him something.” Evidently they felt I would pose a significant question or two, he would give the answers, and the secret of the universe would be clearly revealed. How naïve can we be to believe such things are contained in words.

Except for the writhing of the fingers, clasped tightly as though to keep him from exploding, the sadhu didn’t move. He never said a word during the hours of our visit. After his first sharp glance at me, he never again looked up, his half-closed eyes remaining unseeingly focused on the floor between us. The electricity in our little circle never wavered, actually seeming to grow in intensity all the time we sat there.

Finally, I felt it was time to go; we had intruded enough. Standing, I made the hand gesture known as pranam to the holy man, who did not return it. Instead, he gave me another sharp but not unfriendly look. Turning quickly, I led the way from the room, past the fire (where several men were now cooking some greens), past the over-milked goat,and out into the deep darkness lighted by a million stars above. We each took several deep breaths of the warm evening air and got into the car parked by the side of the house.

The drive back was swift and quiet. I was still under the spell of the sadhu, and the others were rather taken back by and ashamed of their impulsive act of honor and respect to the holy man.

On the long drive, one of the young men (the son of a Baroda doctor) asked me why I hadn’t questioned the sadhu to get some answers.

I smiled for a moment. “Do you mean to tell me you missed the whole thing?” I demanded.

He was surprised. What whole thing had he missed? What had happened? But I was not of a mind to speak anymore, and we rode the rest of the way in silence. I was filled with the vibrancy of the sadhu, so deep in his God-intoxicated state. I do not know what thoughts or feelings occupied the others.