Autobiography 

by Shirakizawa Daien 

(translated by Hiroshi Morooka)

これは「玉蓮寺第一世　白木澤大淵自叙伝」という本を英訳したものです。

ともに掲載されている日本語版とは多少異なるものから訳しました。日本語版にはない付録があります。

英語は原文の重厚さ、流麗さには、足元にも及ばないですが、せめて意味が通じること、英語として間違いがないことを希望します。

お読みになってお気づきの点をお知らせいただければ幸いです。多くの人のご意見を比べ合うのもいいですね。

The reader is welcome to point out mistakes, suggest improvements, or criticize connotations. Your feedback matters.（師岡洋、Hiroshi Morooka)

＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊

I wrote this essay during the summer of Shōwa13 (1938) to make a good thing of the rainy season as caretaker of Wakuya Sermon Hall. I intend this as an excuse for an autobiography.

Section 1 from birth to age 12

It is Shōwa13 (1938). Now I am 73 years old. 73 years is rather a long time to live. I feel grateful for it, but it sometimes overwhelms me with its powerful memories.

If I write something, it can't help resembling what people have always written about like how shame piles up as one gets older, or how much patience it takes to raise a big family.

Though my life now is one of faith, I sometimes find myself complaining of what I don't like. But it always disappears very quickly like a thunderstorm swept away by the powerful sunlight. Everything becomes calm in my heart as if nothing had happened. Then I bless my life by praising Buddha for keeping me on the right track. I realize what a lucky old man I am to be allowed to spend what remains of my life solely paying my tribute to Buddha.

Considering my advancing old age and my exit from this world coming soon, I try to write cursively, before I grow too old, my humble career and life story. I only hope the reader doesn't find my humble efforts too laughable.

I was born on August 15th Keiō 2 (1866) at a small Buddhist temple called Shinshō-ji in a fishing village named Konpaku on the Pacific coast of Iwate Prefecture (Yoshihama-mura Kesen-gun Rikuzen-koku Iwate-ken). I was the second son to my parents, who told me they had 11 children in all.

Of the 11, eight (3 sons and 5 daughters) survived childhood and only four (2 sons and 2 daughters) are still alive.

I was three years old when the Holy Meiji Restoration Aera dawned, which I of course was not old enough to observe. My mother told me that her husband was drafted as a monk-soldier by the Sendai Clan to defend the coast around the place called Gamo against the Government Troops.

From the vantage point of history, the tension of the moment seems to be a laughing matter but just reading about the Meiji Restoration will reveal the truths about it, interesting in their own right.

During the years the restoration was in process, the Tohoku District is reported to have been hit hard by famine. My native temple family, poor and numerous, was particularly vulnerable. People still talk about how desperate my parents were to feed us any way they could. To make matters worse, I used my relatively invisible position as the second son to irresponsibly shun my share of discipline, causing my poor mother otherwise unnecessary pain. How cruel of me to break a loving mother's heart! Now I painfully understand what people mean by, "It is too late to show filial piety."

I remember overhearing, as a 7-or-8-year old, my parents sometimes refer to their plight of running a small temple with a big family to feed. I must have made enough sense of it to feel sorry for them.

A great change in my life came when I was twelve years old in October Meiji 10 (1877). I accepted my parents' order to leave home for a job helping with Buddhist memorial services at another temple called Jōō-ji ( Chōan-ji Higoroichi Kesen-gun). I never objected to this idea of my parents' and started, accompanied by my elder sister, Tatsue, on a rugged five-li-long mountain walk to my new temple home. It was there, I shudder to think, that I obeyed my way through 15 long years of my youth, fulfilling my duty as a monk without ever complaining.

I remember very little about my first 11 years under my birth parents' care, spent in fleeting dreams so to speak, while on the other hand I feel I remember everything that happened during the part of my life with my adoptive family from age 12 on. I wonder what was behind the mindset shift.

I hope future generations come up with the answers to similar mysteries.

Section 2 from age 12 on

By Meiji 10 (1877), Jōō-ji Temple had adopted, from a temple outside Sendai called Tokushō-ji (Nippe-mura Natori-gun), a son to become its new chief priest named Sugimura Gijun. His wife, Fujie, his predecessor's daughter, had died at age 17 after giving birth to a girl, (who was to become my first wife), Hatsue.

Gijun then had a new wife (from the Ueno family in aza-Sekiya Higoro-mura) and they had several children of their marriage. This is how things stood at Jōō-ji when I joined in Meiji 10 (1877).

Jōō-ji Temple depended on its nearby mother temple named Chōan-ji for administrative affaires. Chōan-ji Temple had sent a guide named Kanbei Sugimura to my home temple, Shinshō-ji, for me. That was the first time I had ever had a chance to wear straw sandals, knowing I would not be back home for the night. It was around 3:30 p.m. on October 28th when the three of us, Kanbei, Katsue and I, finally arrived on the Chōan-ji Temple compound unharmed after a notorious 5-li mountain walk. I arrived too tired to take another step, and my feet were covered with blisters.

Here are some memories from the day, which are painful to recall. On that morning my mother, together with my siblings and several relative neighbors of ours, accompanied our party for several hundred meters. When the moment came to say good bye, my mother stopped to a standstill as if out of touch while the others started on their respective way back home. She still kept standing in a gaze as we were going out of sight of each other. In my mind's eye, I still can see her standing silent in sorrow. That was the first time I realized what a mother's love for a child can do to a person.

That evening was naturally my first time socializing with strangers on my own. We were treated to a special dinner arranged by the Jōō-ji folks. But I was too shy and nervous to enjoy the expensive rare foods though they had been specially prepared in my honor.

My sister knew better than to be shy and enjoyed talking with the temple folks while I kept silent with my head low barely holding back tears. I even felt like crying out loud but tried to hide my sad face from the people sitting across from me.

The chief priest of the temple must have guessed my desperate effort not to fall apart. He was thoughtful enough to arrange for me to slip away. He ordered, "The young man must be very tired from a long walk today. Let him go to bed early."

I lay relieved in the safety of a bed, but the mental picture of my mother that morning came back to me. She gazed at me growing smaller with every step. I just broke into tears.

To think remembering myself crying 60 years ago can make me cry again!

Section 3 serving as a monk at Jōō-ji Temple

The day after I arrived at the new temple, October 29th Meiji 10 (1877), I was sent three miles to a place called Muratako (Higoroichi) for a Buddhist service (a memorial service for Shinran on a delyayed date). It was the first time I had ever performed a memorial service on my own and before a group of total strangers. I remember allowing myself to make a boy, who was two years senior, named Yamashita Kiyomatsu, carry my ceremonial frock in a bag. I also had the boldness to carry out the whole ceremony seamlessly without giving fear or shyness a chance. I wonder how I could have been that way.

This was my first day of work in my new job.

Later on I made three or four visits a day on my own or in a team of personnel from the mother temple. It was amazing how often we had to make our performance.

Chōan-ji's supporting households numbered over 600 (the present number must be greater than 1200), representing the same number of visits to make within two months. The temples were absolutely understaffed. That is why I was employed as a helping hand.

No sooner did the day break than the men from the three temples on the compound got up and gathered in the hall of the main temple for recitation followed by the same recitation at their respective temples.

As a result of sincerely observing this form of life for about ten years, this practice grew on me and still makes it effortless for the old man in me to get up early for my morning recitation. I attribute this to having lived on the Chōan-ji Temple compound. The Chōan-ji and Shinshō-ji folks go back to the same blood line. My grandmother was sister to the Chōan-ji's former chief priest named Ōshōin. Probably because of this relationship, the Chōan-ji folks often advised me as a child privately as well as publicly. Their advice sometimes fell bitter on my ears, but as I grew up I understood their deep insight which obliged them to care.

One of my advisors was an old lady from Osaka, who I respected greatly. She was educated, which was rare in those days. She was versed in songs, religious phrases, and harp and shamisen pieces. In her later years she could even recite the Three Part Sutra by heart every morning and evening. She advised me every chance she got. She would say, "Since you were born a second son, you're not entitled to a scholarship even if you want it. But if you keep doing fine at Jōō-ji, you might be adopted as heir son of the temple family. Then you could pay for education. Often enough people with education go quite a long way even if they have small temples. Shinshō-ji's supporting members are willing to pay for your older brother Jōen's education, but not for yours."

She got me thinking. "Yes, indeed, I am a second son. My brother and I are only two years apart. A scholarship is clearly not available to me. Our parents are having a hard time just getting food and clothes for each day. My future is in danger. I must think hard to find a way out."

Education was always high on my wish list as I grew up. I liked what I heard about my grandfather named Tokujō. He had returned home with a degree after 7 years spent at the Head Temple College in Kyoto. He was known as one of the greatest scholars in the Tohoku District. Few people from Tohoku got to spend several years at the Head Temple College in Kyoto, I hear. My mother sometimes mentioned his education and success in her conversations with other people. This made me think that I could make the same thing happen to me though I had to accept working as a humble monk or temple janitor for the time being.

Section 4 from elementary school days to age 21

I started elementary school in Meiji 11 (1878) at age 13. The school was called Ikari Elementary School. My class teacher's name was Ōsaka. Then Hikoroichi had 2 elementary schools: Kogayō Elementary School and Hikoroichi Elementary School. I changed to Kogayō Elementary School in the 12th year of Meiji and again to Hikoroichi Elementary School in the 14th. Both changes were ordered by the chief priest of Jōō-ji Temple. Elementary schools in those days were comparatively simple and imperfect. A school used to be run by two people. One was the principal and teacher. The other was the janitor. Upper-class pupils served as assistant teachers. It is amazing how dramatically things have improved. We should appreciate this.

Teachers were paid 6 or 7 yen a month. It was rare for a teacher to receive one hundred yen or more a year.

I brought a lunchbox to school every day, which contained rice and one or two pickled plums. I often went hungry when supper was late. We got no snacks after school and it was no use complaining. Looking back, I think it taught me discipline. The 14-or-15 year old boy in me was determined to become a man of education even though it was difficult. Meanwhile there may have been a negotiation under way between the Jōō-ji and Shinshō-ji families on my adoption into the Jōō-ji family. I was totally in the dark about it. An uncle of mine, my father's brother, named Tomizawa Ejū of Saikō-ji Temple (Ōfunato-mura) had acted to arrange a marriage and completed the registration before I knew it. When I found out about it, I was not upset because I went on the principle of obeying any order coming from my parents.

I was obediently performing the temple routines and attending school. But on my 4-kilometer journey to school and back, I could spend the time studying various possibilities and problems in my mind.

It might not be such a good idea to devote the rest of my life to Jōō-ji Temple, which was the very thing everybody wanted. Yes, that would allow me to subsist fairly well. Of more than 600 supporting households of the big temple, my small temple could count on more than 350. It would meet my material needs all right, yet being confined to a small room within a temple for the rest of my life was not my idea of fulfillment. But what else would I expect if I could not prove myself worth more? All I could do would be to continue where I was and work toward a higher education.

Yet later my adoption matter surfaced and I got married. It was something I didn't want since I felt I had a long way to go but didn't know which way.

Today a woman seldom marries until age 22 or 23. But in those days, any girl who stayed unmarried past age 16 or 17 was regarded outcast. The girl was in a hurry to get married because she was already 19. I was 17, but I had no choice.

I didn't object to my parents' order for me to get married in any way, because I was determined not to let it prevent me from seeking education. I had heard about a small school in Sendai (Higashi 2 bancho) attended by young monks for what could pass as intermediary education. Imagine how much I envied them. I asked my adoptive father to allow me to attend it, but in vain. He pointed out that his income that year was a disappointment. I had thought he would say yes now that I had agreed to marry his daughter. But his "no" meant I had missed my goal. Then I recklessly ran away to Sendai. His anger was indescribable but I apologized and was allowed to sign into the school. But as luck would have it, Sendai was visited by a severe cholera outbreak starting in summer that continued through fall that year. That made it necessary for temporary residents to evacuate and for the school to close down as a result. I had no choice but to quit the school and go back home to the temple. Soon afterwards winter set in, making me busy with the yearly home service visits I described above. When spring came I was still busy visiting homes for a service.

I ran away to Sendai again because I had expected my adoptive father to resist allowing me to go back to the school. Later I apologized again and succeeded in becoming a student on the condition that in winter I would sign out of the school for a month and a half to help with the home visits. This time again my school life was cut short. The sect authorities decided to abolish all their administrative facilities in Sendai（Sendai Branch Temple and Sendai Fund Scheme Office） including my school. I went back to being an errand monk. It became Meiji 17 (1884). The year didn't bring me any hope of access to higher than elementary education, either, due to incomprehensible priorities.

It became Meiji 18 (1885). I turned 20. Explaining to my adoptive father my desperate desire for learning, I implored to study Shūyojō under our acquaintance in Owari, Dr. Sakano. We learned that Kin Shōge of Chōan-ji, Sasaki Gen'e of Honshō-ji and my birth brother, Shirakisawa Jōen were going to ask Dr. Sakano to teach it to them intensively. I was only too glad to be finally permitted to study all I wanted.

Before I finished the two year period of my study under Dr. Sakamoto, I received a letter notifying that my conscription exam was due in fall Meiji 19 (1886). I wrote many letters home for my adoptive parents to arrange for me to be examined where I was staying, but in vain. I had no choice but to come home fully aware that my adoptive father intended to use the exam as an excuse to make me come home, cutting my schooling short. I am still chagrined to remember the cruelty fate subjected me to.

Soon after coming home I took the conscription exam and passed it for Class A, to be assigned to infantry. Thankfully I was exempt from the draft as a recruit but I couldn't bring myself to give up on education. Oh, I had been right about my adoptive father's total lack of interest in my education. As I had passed the chief priest qualification exam, he would say to people, " Daien is qualified to be chief priest, so we need not look far for a candidate for my successor any more. Our small place has no use for higher education. All you have to do is listen to the Main Temple. Then you'll never go hungry." How could anyone be so unambitious? I was deeply disappointed in him. Look at the old lady from Osaka. She had told me about Shūgon Kikuchi, born at a small temple, who studied abroad in China before coming back to run Jōfuku-ji Temple in Sakata, family temple for the wealthy Honma family. What would she say if she saw me, unable to take the first step up the hill? What was holding me back was the lack of tuition money. I felt as if I were going out of my mind thinking about it.

Notes:

Shūyojō: Features of the teachings of True Pure Land School and general Buddhism

Section 5 working for learning

I turned 22 in Meiji 20 (1887). As I wrote in the previous Section I felt like a boat lost in the sea, floating without a rudder. All I saw was darkness around me. After a grueling thoughtprocess, I decided to turn to a friend, Mizukami Sukesaburō. But he said he was busy trying to get some money together. I admired the way he was using his talent to begin a big project. He said he couldn't help me until his business had taken off. His ambition inspired me to prove my own ability.

I went to Tokyo with dangerously little money in my pocket and no viable plans. I felt clueless to what doors to knock on. I got settled in a hotel room and started thinking where to look. Just then I felt very sick. I had been caught by a disease. Why did it choose to hit me, a poor boy with a high aim? I thought it was not a disease but a devil. Then I decided to suspend my old ambition and put myself on my way home. Oh, what a tearful train ride home!

I first lived with my adoptive family for a while, feeling uncomfortable about my illness which would not have come about if I had not walked out on them in the first place. Then I finally moved back home to my birth parents. My mother consoled me with kind words and care. My father blamed himself for not having been able to support my efforts for success. When my illness subsided thanks to their loving care, I had lost my passion to go back to Tokyo for a rigorous living. Remembering those days, I can only regret the way I was a weakling.

Section 6 change in direction

There was a school for higher learning in Tokyo which had started in Meiji 8 or 9 (1875 1876). One of the students was my close friend, Higashidate Daidō, whom I looked up to as my special teacher. He said to me, "I've heard about your money problem. Sorry for you. You came to Tokyo to study as you worked, but caught by illness, you had to go back home. Now you can not hope to come back, even if you are back well again. What a shame! By the way I'm now studying philosophies from home and abroad under Dr. Inoue Enryō. I believe philosophy cannot be missing for Buddhist students. I recommend you study philosophy in translation. It might help you to understand what you read for yourself even back at home." I appreciated his relevant encouragement very much. So on my way to the train station, I spent what money remained after paying for the cheapest ticket, on books of ethics, sociology, and Dr. Inoue's translations for class use. Speaking of the books I read in those days, I liked Dr. Inoue's books best and spent a lot of time on histories of Japan and the rest of the world.

Then it was Meiji 20 (1885) and I was 22. I was busy helping with memorial services and weeding the garden while I did an intensive reading in the remaining time. The year rushed by like a fast train. When spring came again I was 23. By then I had realized that missionary preaching was what I liked and felt good at doing. I felt I could continue doing it all my life. I thought learning by myself should not occupy too much of my time. I should go places preaching to improve my skills. Then a new horizon might open up for me.

Back when as a child I was walking to and from school, I often played with random thoughts in my mind. I also thought about my future. What is life all about? Food and clothes? Do the temple folks do any good to their ancestors or the state, only repeating the cycle of fixed local events every year? Do they come into this world just to enjoy eating and drinking until turning into dust under the temple compound soil? I hear about my grandfather, Tokujō the Dormitory Tutor, who went over to Akita Prefecture and Tsugaru of Aomori Prefecture on missionary campaigns which lasted 5 or even 7 years. I would like to follow in his footsteps. I would imagine the sense of accomplishment of conquering such challenges. I might have a place of my own founding where I could preach in a frock of an exclusive color. Back in real life, however, I felt sorry for myself for being as old as 23, with no further chance for learning in sight, busy helping with services and doing chores, and helplessly aging. In the meantime I grew eager to put my preaching skills to test. As a first step I wrote a letter to the 2nd previous chief priest of Chōan-ji Temple, Reverend Kin Shōju, in which I explained how our True Pure Land Sect compared with other sects in distributive share in Kesen County and asked him to arrange a research tour to be financed, on which I wished to canvass the county's religious disposition. Reverend Kin was the head of the temple family and my special teacher, who tutored me in "the Four Books and Five Classics of Confucianism" and Kyōgyō Shinshō. So I felt no hesitation in doing so. He responded only too gladly to my suggestion. I mainly chose to visit localities without True Pure Land Sect parishioners, namely Arisu, Setamai, Yokota, Takekoma, Takada, Ōtomo, and Hirota. I preached while observing the people I talked to. With tears of gratitude I attributed to my teacher's sponsorship, the success in fulfilling the purpose of my tour.

Encouraged by a friendly atmosphere around me, I later organized a group named Shijūkai. I worked with Kesen temples of our sect, sending teams of missionaries, two each, around the county and even beyond to Kamaishi. The group produced a fairly good result in their missionary work. (This group continued after I left for Ōyanagi but later turned into an official community like those of other sects.). The above describes how my boyhood images began to see themselves materialized.

Section 7 Sendai Missionary Office Secretary Days

It was spring Meiji 24 (1891) as I was 26 when the chief of Sendai Fund Scheme Office, Taniuchi Kan'e, on behalf of the Head Temple in Kyoto, made a tour around Kesen sect member temples to share relevant information with them. Chōanji chose me to attend him during his 2 days with us. I listened to him very politely when he needed audience response. Then an idea occurred to me that a role of monk at the Head Temple, no matter how humble, might give me a chance for education on the side or a window on a new horizon. I was considering how I should go about it when I got a message from my cousin, Tomizawa. It said that he had been asked by the Sendai office chief to arrange for me to fill the vacancy of a secretary at the office in Sendai. I agreed on the spot because the offer resembled my idea of a new job. Again I was going to face my adoptive father's objection. I was disgusted at the thought. I brought myself, however, to persuade him strongly. This time I had my cousin on my side. My father didn't object at all, but he demanded two conditions. One was that I must return home to help with memorial services from fall through winter. The other was that he would never ever give me an allowance, much less pay for my trips either way. I accepted both of them and was overjoyed at the prospect of a new job in Sendai at last. I immediately started getting ready for my journey to Sendai. The trouble was that I didn't have the money for transportation costs, because I had never been compensated for helping with services for the last 10-odd years. No allowances, no bonuses, no nothing. So I had no choice but to sell my library. The books I handed over to my friend, Kin Shōge, included Reverend Kusunoki Senryū's 10-tome lecture notes on Abhidharmakośa, which I had copied by hand during my study stay in Owari. It is hard to describe my sorrow on parting from my hand-copied books, which were not available in print.

On my first day of work in Sendai, the office chief, Taniuchi Kan'e, apologetically revealed my monthly salary to me. It turned out to be 3 yen 50 sen from the office plus 1 yen from the sermon hall, 4 yen 50 sen in total. And I would have to pay for my meals. 4 yen 50 sen was less than my guess, but I agreed because I thought "No" would cost more than "Yes". ( We had another person living at the office. The three of us shared the cost of the meals we prepared for ourselves. Each paid 2 yen 45 sen.) Thus I subsisted for the next two years on this small salary of mine. In the meantime I delivered on my promise with my adoptive father by begging the chief to let me go back home for fall and winter.

Looking back, I have only to cry. Yet my purpose was not money but learning. Every chance I got, I was sitting in a house in Katahira, listening to a Chinese classics teacher, Oka X, explaining Wen-zhang-gui-fan (reference for imperial examination candidates). He demanded 30 sen as tuition. 30 sen mattered to me, living on 4 yen 50 a month.

Section 8 days in Sendai

In Meiji 25 (1892), Fund Scheme Offices throughout Japan were renamed Mission Offices. I became federal secretary at Sendai Mission Office. At the time a federal secretary was qualified to do missionary work in any locality in Japan. It made me feel a little more important in rank than before. But "qualified" didn't mean "competent". I had little fieldwork experience. Incidentally, the posts of missionary work at the office were often vacant, occasionally making it necessary for the chief to ask me to fill in. I accepted willingly, considering it a chance for field training for missionary work. In the course of 2 years I found myself speaking in public 15 days a month plus on two fixed dates honoring holy priests Sennyo and Shinran. I believe this experience continued to support me on my later missionary campaigns.

In November that year, if I remember correctly, there took place at the Head Temple in Kyoto, the framework completion ceremony for a new Amidadou hall, after the annual anniversary service for the saint founder. I had planned to use the occasion to quit Sendai for Kyoto and pray at the main temple. I wanted to try to have myself employed to be sent to Kyūshū as an official monk. I submitted my resignation note as if I were taking a first step on a nationwide missionary campaign.

The chief, Taniuchi, readily understood me and quickly started the necessary arrangement. He may have been blessing my ambition.

The chief accompanied me to Kyoto, where we spent 10 days living in the same room and going on a temple visiting tour together. My monk uncle, Tomizawa Ejū, from Kesen County, happened to be on an official visit in Kyoto. When we met, he had this to say. "Now your father back home is super busy with many memorial services. If I didn't stop you from wandering away to Kyūshū or Shikoku, I'd be an irresponsible uncle and would feel too embarrassed to meet him. I don't know about next spring, but this particular year, you must definitely go back home with me, like you promised him." He even began to urge the chief to persuade me. Then Taniuchi said, "Don't make an irresponsible man out of your uncle. Do yourself a favor and go home." That spelled the end to my Kyūshū Campaign. Fully aware of my broken heart, the chief pointed out. "You had better work new localities in the Tohoku District than look far elsewhere since you're a product of it. I will see what I can do in that direction, if you don't mind. Since we're good friends, I'll talk to you first when I find something. Look, here's this letter. Mr. Kojima Ryōshō of Wakuya, missionary, in charge of further north than Sendai says that his charge is too large for one man to work. (There were no trains then.) He wants staff increase." He advised me to go home to help with temple work and he promised to arrange, here in Kyoto, for me to be hired back the next spring. He added that he sometimes went up north for inspection and even knew the area better than the Wakuya man, so, "There's this small place like a hut, recently built, for preaching. I think it's a promising thing. If you don't mind working there I will help you as much as I can." I appreciated his kind words near tears and fell in deep thinking for a while. Then I answered, "I'm a married man with kids. We wouldn't mind whether a house is a hut with a thatched roof, in a locality without temples of True Pure Land Sect. Let me prove that you put the right man in the right place. I really appreciate your kind offer. Thank you." This is how I started to preach in Ōyanagi.

It's strange how one thing happens after,

before,

because of, .

in spite of,

and in stead of another

Section 9 assigned to Ōyanagi Sermon Hall

In December Meiji 25 (1892) I received an official letter of personnel appointment. I was assigned to the role of resident monk at Ōyanagi Sermon Hall. Because I had first to deliver my promise to help out at my adoptive father's temple in Kesen County, I set the date of my transfer to the following January. In the meantime, I worked obediently from morning till night, doing missionary work on request, chanting sutras, and conducting funerals. I held back telling my adoptive father about my appointment. The date kept drawing nearer and nearer until at last I broke the news to him, trembling with tension. His permission was long in coming. He had this to say. "I cannot object to an appointment coming from the Head Temple. But you have two daughters already. Our income is quite humble. It's cruel of you to run away leaving your kids in the care of your parents. But since you already have an appointment to fulfill we have to let you go, I mean all of you. And you still have to come back in fall to help us out." There he went again. His demand was terrible. But I had no way out. I had to say yes. "No" would cost more than "Yes". I had an ambition to save.

I would obey my adoptive father's conditions all right, but I was not sure if it was safe to take my family to Ōyanagi with me. I decided to go there alone first to observe the local situation and talk to the people who were to receive me there. Then I would know if I could have my family join me there and keep my promise with my adoptive father intact.

I visited the chief, Taniuchi, at his office for update news. With our talk finished, I was ready to say good bye, when he kindly offered to join me on my journey north. He would help me with my doubts about what I saw and would see in the new locality. He told me that our hosts in Ōyanagi had asked him to choose to assign a promising person.

By the way, back in those days the access to the place from Kashimadai station was through a mere thin path through rice paddies, which would even deny a wheelbarrow. The train station had only just opened and passersby around it, I hear, could not give you directions to Ōyanagi. This is how underdeveloped the area used to be. The lonely-looking path didn't surprise the country-bred boy in me, but even I noticed the desertedness of the place. I was born and bred in Kesen County, which used to be more or less of the same degree of underdevelopment.

After losing and finding our way, and crossing the Naruse river by boat at Kimazuka, we finally succeeded in arriving at our host caretaker Mr. Kamakura Shōji's house in Ōyanagi . (I knew him from meeting him at Eimei-ji Temple in Sendai ). After some catching up, he let us stay for the night.

The next morning, on our way to our destination, we turned west around the corner at what now is Noda Tadashi's house the chief pointed at something, saying, "That's it. Our sermon place." I was surprised and discouraged at what I saw. I had expected something better. How could anything look so forlorn! But remembering the chief's encouraging and the passion with which I had given up everything else to come here, I blessed the hut for watching my future efforts. I will not write down how very sad I found the sermon hall. I will only tell orally.

Section 10 the first 3 months after my arrival part 1

Aware that I had arrived by myself, my caretaker, Kamakura, asked me if I was married. I said yes. Then he said that I should bring my wife immediately. Next he asked me if I had kids. I answered that I had two girls. He said, "One kid is no problem, but I don't know about a second. I'm sure to convince the others to say OK to one kid." I said, "I'm glad to hear that. But I can't imagine my wife saying yes to leaving either girl behind at her parents' home." Then I wrote to my wife about this matter. As a result of a negotiation, it was decided that my wife was to bring our 7-year-old younger daughter named Tsutano. (Her sister, Matsuto, was 9.) My wife arrived with the girl in Ōyanagi in mid April.

I guessed that my wife agreed as she did because she thought I would divorce her if she refused to come to Ōyanagi . She had always suspected I was not the kind of man content to spend all his life at my adoptive parents' temple in Higoroichi, Kesen. She could not have accepted the idea of the public seeing her as a woman whose husband divorced her for a possible new wife.

My guess proved correct. I have always been thankful to her for accepting my insufficient income, obediently caring for me all her life.

We depended on the rice my wife brought from the Kamakura family, the head supporting member family. She got 3 or 5 shō of rice each time from Kamakura's wife. Sometimes she turned my wife, Hatsue, away, saying, "Rice has run out on the temple." Then we had to buy 3 or 5 shō of rice from a store. Sometimes I got angry and pointed out, "We have the right to the rice coming from the 5-tan rice paddy endowed to the sermon hall. It's outrageous to lie about rice running out!" Only it was Kamakura's wife and not Kamakura himself who would say that. So patience was in order. Only time would resolve the matter. But Hatsue seems to have cried herself sick sometimes.

My wife had never thought of food as coming from outside her family, nor had she faced any material deprivation under the protection of her temple family as an only child. So she must have been dizzied by the huge descent in her life as a result of having followed me there. She refused to mention it to save her husband's dignity.

What we had in plenty was home-brewed sake. In those days farmers were permitted to brew sake at home. Each time a service was performed participants brought bottles containing more than 1 shōof sake. No sooner was the service over than everybody was drinking before we knew it. I drank and made others drink. It was a spontaneous entertainment available in our rural locality otherwise sober.

I made it a rule not to let fun things get in the way of my ambition. Even when I was drinking, hiking, or viewing cherry blossoms or the moon, I was vaguely wondering whether I should have a temple of my own here once I had left my home village and quit my adoptive family's home. However, every time we met, the chief Taniuchi urged me to consider acquiring an official temple appellation, because he always remembered my old ambition. This matter came to be the object of more or less serious discussion when our willing caretakers met to talk with me. Of our caretakers, the most influential was Noda Saiji, followed by Sasaki Daitarō, Kamakura, Miura, and Habu in that order.

In the place called Nigō then, though caretakers numbered fewer than expected, parishioners were increasing. So none of our caretakers had a reason to object to the acquisition of an official temple appellation. When I told the chief about our disposition as if lifting a fish out of the water, he gladly offered to help make our goal come true. This is how we got ready to apply for the acquisition of an official temple appellation.

All the documents concerning the application have been put aside and stored safe. I don't mention them here. ( the appellation had remained out of use in Akita Prefecture until finding use in Ōyanagi )

The application was filed in summer Meiji 26 (1893), receiving the ratification of Miyagi Prefecture in spring Meiji 26. The hut-like-looking sermon hall turned into a temple like others with its license name, "Gyokuren-ji", with Sugimura Daien as chief priest. (The first priest of the temple I became was still retaining his adoptive family name, Sugimura.) Unlike in other cases, an arrangement was made to make it look as if I was directly assigned to the temple by the Head Temple in Kyoto.

Section 10 the first 3 months after my arrival part 2

Upon hearing about my assignment to a new temple, my adoptive father flashed his anger, blaming the Head Temple and the mission office for their offense. He yelled, "What the hell did they think they were doing when they committed the shame of assigning my son, to another temple without ever consulting me? They were fully aware that he is my son-in-law and my successor as chief priest at my temple."

His complaint was totally understandable, but the assignment was forced through on the chief's advice that it must become a fait accompli while he was left in the dark. If he had been consulted it would have been nipped in the bud. The Head Temple had decided that the priority of the assignment outweighed that of its abortion in my adoptive father's interests.

This caused a series of troubles to settle until everybody finally agreed on a solution. I was to cease to be an adoptive son in dissolution of adoption. It was my birth parents' idea. But this raised another problem. My adoptive father had to fill my absence as his successor as priest. This problem was relatively easy to solve. My adoptive mother had a son of her own. It was arranged that he was to be a possible successor to Sugimura Gijun.

Now that I was no longer a Sugimura and back to being a Shirakizawa, my wife and daughters also had their family name changed into Shirakizawa.

I perceived all along that my ex adoptive father really wanted his first birth son to be his successor but afraid to scandalize other temples, relatives, and the world, he kept down his desire.

I accepted the way everything had fallen into place and I faced the fact that I was a poor monk, only left with a white cotton coat, an old silk vestment and a gojo stole. I remember this with a sigh.

The personnel matter was over. I began my field missionary work.

I worked according to the following monthly schedule.

For Ōyanagi meet 4 or 5 times at the Sermon Hall

For other localities meet once a month

Following the advice of Kojima Ryōsei, Resident Missionary at Wakuya Sermon Hall, I would go round these localities.

Kogota meet at a family home

Furukawa meet at a family home

Nakazone meet at a family home

Kozuka meet at a family home

Nishiarai meet at a family home

Matsuyama meet at Matsuyama Sermon Hall

Matsushima Nemawari meet at a family home

After Mr. Kojima retired, a janitor kept Wakuya Sermon Hall, and I filled in for Kojima by working Hirobuchi, Gojūgonin, Komatsu, and Asai. These localities, however, responded very poorly.

In those days the only means of personal transportation was by rickshaw, but it was out of the question for me to hire a rickshaw because our visits was not a paid work. ( our compensation came in the form of offertory money, 20 to 30 sen per visit) I walked everywhere in straw sandals．In winter time it was indescribably hard to travel through roads, which were incomparably worse than what we have today.

During summer time I often performed street oratories. I was a reckless young man to advocate resistance to Christianity and Tenrikyo. I blush to remember it.

During my lectures and sermons quite a few of my audience looked critical, facing away from me. But we were able to draw at least some audience probably because there was otherwise little access to entertainment in the rural areas, which is different from what is the case now. Anyway it was exactly what our missionary work was intended for. What I felt strongly then was that missionary work is a hard thing here, in sharp contrast from what I had seen in Kesen County. Though sharing the same point in time, Kesen was rife with Buddhist events. In winter and spring, priests were invited to lay homes for services, richly compensated and treated politely. How very obliging!

However, once home in Ōyanagi, I was warmly welcomed back by our willing caretakers, particularly by the retired heads of the main and branch Noda families, including old Namiji. I am only too grateful to them even now.

It was the rule to wind up my monthly duty by thus forgetting the cares of hard work.

Section 10 the first 3 months after my arrival part 3

I don't remember how many times I have idly complained about the inadequate penetration of True Pure Land Sect in Miyagi Prefecture.

I discovered that it was part of the reason why temples of our sect numbered few in Miyagi. That was also why we applied for an official appellation for our sermon hall. Though we were already allowed to call it by the official name, it was still nothing but a hut, very small and with a straw roof. With neither priest's quarters nor a fence, it was merely a guard hut beside a ward yard, surrounded by kitchen gardens. Our neighbors and people from other villages ignored the temple name it did have, and referred to it as "a sermon temple". Sadly few people called it a temple. This might be due to its stingy make, not worthy of a temple. Somewhere deep inside me there started to well a desire to build a new temple.

The desire urged me day and night though I kept silent about it because it was too soon after my assignment over here. But I thought the goal would not be attainable unless the atmosphere of the time was favorable to it. We would need to win enough parishioners to move forward to acquiring a new temple.

I discovered that the most promising area to work was Nangō Village. Particularly one part named Nigō, our neighbor locality, proved to have harbored secret Buddhists, therefore likely to produce new parishioners, if we could convince them of the grace of True Pure Land.

I sought support for this idea from local pious parishioners. Here is the list of those who responded passionately. They even offered to talk to the poor as well as the rich.

Noda, Kamakura (from Ōyanagi )

Konasukawa, Kato, Kasamatsu, Kimura (new parishioners, from Nigō)

Konasukawa Jūnosuke, among others, was a particularly eager missionary worker, who said, "Who knows? A poor man today may become a rich landowner tomorrow."

Thus it was decided that anyone should be admitted to be a parishioner, who wished for it

Konasukawa was the most willing advocate of this movement. Also as an parishioner, he was a prominent devout adherent in Nigō. Not only that, he was a diligent family business owner, so diligent that he was praised even by people of other sects who denounced True Pure Land Sect. He was a praiseworthy man of pious faith. Shinzoku Nitai (double theory of truth, mundane and supermundane) must be manifest in someone like him. He was the most suitable person to serve as a model for parishioners of True Pure Land Sect.

He had lost his wife at age 42 or 43, and stayed single, carefully managing his family business, hearing the teachings of Buddha as his main console, until he had a rebirth in paradise. His son, Ioji, now family head, loyal son, and honest man, kept his father's instructions, and commanded the respect of the rural population who knew him. It is my gratitude to the people mentioned that made me write this.

I could continue to write what I should but this Section can not become any longer.

Section 11 promotion of the main hall construction

By Meiji 29 the number of the households had passed 100 which had signed up with Gyokuren-ji Temple for membership and more were, sporadically, on their way to join them. I was considering the advisability of presenting my wish to have a main hall to them some time soon. I was absorbed in thinking how to convince those who would oppose. Then my wife was far along into pregnancy and growing weaker. There were many causes of worries. Who was to attend my wife when the delivery was imminent while I was away as I often was? We had no other member old enough to cope and our neighbors lived too far apart. We had to bring drinking water from far. Who else would do so if I was away? In the winter snow, the task was hard enough for a person in normal health. I searched my mind for someone who might help and thought my way down to my parents.

I had left home on the principle that it is beneath an ambitious young man to turn to his parents or other blood relatives for help. I decided I would not bring shame on myself by burdening my parents. I hadn't bothered them when I could have. I could have stayed in Tokyo for education, or gone on a missionary campaign in Kyūshū. But I steeled myself away from writing to them for help. But this time it seemed to be the only way out. I wrote home to my birth parents, though I knew it was when rice planting and silkworm raising were starting. And sure enough, it was out of the question, my father wrote, for them to be any shorterhanded. Kesen County was just as busy as elsewhere. I found his answer dead reasonable.

However my mother did sense the urgency of her son's plight. She stole her way around her husband's refusal, to get some money together for a journey. Though she had never ventured anywhere far away, she walked, not drove, through grim paths up- and downhill across the unfriendly mountainous countryside, arriving at Ōyanagi , which was 45 li (180 km.) from Yoshihama. That was what a mother's love made her do. Tears were many. Imagine how very overjoyed we were.

Two weeks after her arrival, I think, my first son, Daisen was born. My wife had already given birth to three girls before that without so much weakening. My wife told me that a boy gives his mother much more trouble than a girl. I thought it might be the case.

Reassured that my wife was faring normally after a delivery, I was back to my daily duty, leaving my wife in my birth mother's care. Then suddenly an enormous tsunami occurred in Sanriku Great Tsunami. It caused an unprecedented tragedy. It came on May 5th in old calendar or June 15th.

May 5th is Chilren's Day. I hear farmers have a good time then, not working.

That day in the evening I heard a bang, seemingly from off the Pacific coast. I thought of a cannonball, an earthquake, and a thunder. At the moment I was strolling in the garden after supper. We had felt an ordinary quake before hearing the noise. It was before there were telephones. It was not until the next day that we learned it was Sanriku Great Tsunami and it hit hard the 3 Sanriku prefectures.

In the following days newspapers reported that what we were going through was of an unprecedented scale. My mother supposed from the news that all her relatives must have been drowned, including those in her home village, Yoshihama, and her 2 married daughters with many kids and old family folks in Tōni Village. She said we must start immediately to visit our dead. It was affectionate of her to react like that. I had a similar picture of the situation. But it was too soon after my wife had a baby. It was not even 3 weeks since then. I thought we should watch her for 20 days at least. I told my mother that the tsunami, no matter how powerful, could not have killed the whole families and a survivor might cable us to tell who was drowned. I was trying to calm down my mother while I was thinking I would start with her some day later on. But as we learned more about what severe damages the tsunami had caused we did start for Kesen leaving my convalescent wife within 20 days of her delivery in the care of an old man named Tomizawa Chūji. Added to our party of two was my youngest brother, later known as Fujitama Ryōen, who had started school at Nangō Senior Elementary School the previous year. I tearfully remember how we, an old woman and her two sons, stepped down from our train at Ichinoseki and trudged through hostile paths across Ōhara hills toward Kesen. The reader should consider that it was before there was railroad communication from Ichinoseki on east.

What we saw on our visits to fishing villages along the Kesen disaster area was only indescribable. Our relatives in Tōni Village, the Kawabatas and the Sakumas had all been drowned, none of whose bodies had been found washed up. All adjectives were useless to describe the disaster. It breaks my heart to remember how I tried to nurse my mother, who had almost cried herself sick in agony of sorrow.

After finishing my soul-reposing visits to our deceased relatives, I joined 10 other priests of our sect in Kesen for a soul-reposing tour. We ventured to hold a speech session by priests after sutra chanting on some beaches

It was on this tour that I met an old friend of mine named Kasai Ichirō, who taught elementary school. We hadn't seen each other for a long while. Since I had hinted my ambition to him, it was easy to unveil my wish to have a temple of my own and asked his frank advice. Since our talk was out of touch with the aftermath of the earthquake, we had to part soon, promising to meet in an appointment.

This was the first time I had ever talked to anyone in Kesen about my strong desire to have a temple built. It was late June. I was 31.

Section 12 favorable mood for a main hall

Convinced that I was born to be a priest whose reward for his mission was to have a temple of his own, for which he would persevere whatever poverty or difficulty might persecute him, I was waiting for a chance to suggest my intention to our caretakers.

It was the rule that on December 30th our parishioners came to pay a visit to our temple. That year, among others, Old Lady Kamakura and Old Man Habu came along by way of appreciation of my yearly services. To receive them I had a feast prepared. We customarily drank a toast for the coming year. When the atmosphere had become warm and mellow, the three of us engaged in a frank conversation. Then I caught a chance to be made to talk about my heart's desire. Thus the idea of the construction of a new temple suddenly popped up. I took the opportunity to stress the importance of my cherished idea. Old Lady, parishioner with a strong character and admirable vigor, passionately sent for Mr. Noda and asked him to work on it. She offered to pay for a holy portrait for our temple to spare him the responsibility to collect the money for it. She said to him, "Let this old woman pay all the money for the portrait. So you, Mr. Noda, do us a favor and lead a campaign for a main hall."

I had asked Mr. Noda, Head Parishioner, how to petition the Head Temple in Kyoto for a portrait of Reverend Rennyo and he had proposed raising fund to buy one instead of asking the Head Temple.

Mr. Noda said to Old Lady, "Building a main hall is a good thing to do. But it's difficult to find good timber for a temple in this region. I would do everything I could if we could get good timber." That was where I came in. Encouraged by the favorable wind I sensed, I said enthusiastically, "I come from littoral Kesen, which is also a mountainous place still famous for the plenty of timber. But if the timber in use for temples should be of zelkova or better trees, few forest owners have it unless they are of the middle or high class now. If it is not hard to build a temple depending on the availability of timber, I will do the best I can for a timber donation campaign."

Under the influence of drink, it was short of being a serious conference. But it did put the realization of my pet dream on the horizon. Old Lady and I promised to work together to make this goal come true.

The new year dawned as Meiji 30 (1897)

Notes:

Rennyo: Rennyo Shonin, the 8th Monshu (head priest) of Honganji,

Section 12 timber donation campaign

In late June the previous year, my old friend Kasai was, on learning my strong desire to have a temple of my own, kind enough to say, "Kesen is a remote land, but communication by land and sea is improving steadily, making access easier to the region. Day by day we see more merchants from Tokyo and even from Kansai, and particularly people called yamashi, timber merchants, are increasing. So you'd better hurry in launching your donation campaign."

Encouraged by the spring warmth and hearing Kasai's words ringing in my mind, I started out for my Kesen campaign with a meager travel budget. I was on my own. I had made our main caretaker aware of my journey. Some money was otherwise due me as travel expenses, but I didn't take chances because my scheme had never hit the ears of the Kesen population. They might as well say no. I was going to subsist my way through by giving night time sermon sessions or the like for Kesen audience. It broke my heart to think of my destitute family in my absence.

Thus I began my 2-month stay in Kesen for timber donation as a first step toward my goal. How lucky I was to find my idea very warmly welcomed by willing adherents! Many admired me for having risen to the idea of launching a temple of our sect in the middle of a locality with none of those. Oh, was I flattered! What else could compare better than that? People seldom praise you when you feel they should.

My first decision was about who to ask to build my main hall. Mr. Satō Sukegorō ( parishioner of Chōan-ji Ryori-mura Kesen County ) was my choice as leader of the construction team. He had a long career of temple building behind him. He was going to draw up the plans, too. At the time he was in poor health, but had many excellent disciples on his team. The leader, Satō, enthused, "I'm sick. Gyokuren-ji is going to be my last work. Our reward will be what you say. I will make all my boys give all they've got to the temple." He also helped me with my timber collecting.

A sawyer named Satō Denroku became the charge of the timber collecting. My ex adoptive father, Sugimura Gijun, chief priest of Jōō-ji, had recommended him to me. I chose him as timber chief. He was a middle-classer and people had confidence in him. We went around knocking on doors of forest owners who had zelkovas and katsura trees and asking them for donation. The fact that every answer was a smiling yes owed much to his high character and popularity. I am proud of him and grateful to him. I owe him too much to thank him enough. I hope my children and grandchildren pay him the thanks I owe him.

The list of promises of donation were steadily growing longer when it became May. Timber cutting must wait until fall because summer was unfavorable for this particular operation. So I decided to leave Kesen for home in Ōyanagi, promising to come back in early fall. In late September I hit the road back to Kesen. First I went to see my birth father, Shirakizawa Gien,( chief priest of Shinshō-ji, in Neshiro Yoshihama Village). He valued my ambition very much and wished me success in achieving it. I sensed so deep sincerity in his words that I inspired myself again and made my steps more careful.

At the time, of the 10-odd Yoshihama Village councilors, the majority were Shinshō-ji's parishioners. Some of them were worth being friends with. I planned to petition the village council to help me as an ex villager in need. A movement was begun by Councilor Shirakizawa Shinzaburō and other councilors to secure the right to cut whatever village-owned forest trees were fit for use in building a main hall. The council decided to give green light. We were able to secure more than 800 ken of materials for decorative pine finewood and floor boards．No words of thanks could properly express our gratitude.

Yoshihama Village and Higoroichi were over 5 li (20km) apart but my travel to and from each other didn't feel so hard but rather exhilarating as a sign of good luck ahead.

That fall, the cutting down and sawing finally began after Bon Festival in old calendar.

But the lumber ran out too soon. The next spring another campaign to Kesen took place. In total 3 campaigns were necessary. In retrospect almost all the timber turns out to have come from Kesen.

Section 13 lumber transfer

By the fall of Meiji 31 (1898) we were 80 to 90 percent of the way to the goal of our timber gathering. The striking effectiveness of the timber collection campaign determined Mr. Noda further to have a main hall built. He called for a meeting to discuss the lumber transfer and other undecided issues with 10-odd main caretakers and ten several articulate parishioners. Unexpectedly someone pointed out that keeping the temple should come before renewing it. He was questioning the fact that my family was growing bigger while looking as if having a hard time getting by. Something should be done to help the temple family thrive forever. He did not raise the issue to discredit the meeting. He was sincerely acting in my interests.

I appreciated his thoughtfulness but I explained how far we had come in the movement of acquiring a main hall. Now that we owed Kesen people a great deal in timber donation and building materials were even ready for shipping, it was difficult to cancel the whole thing. My family's welfare was not an issue of such urgency but a matter of gradual improvement. I wished they would kindly say yes to having a main hall. No one would oppose further and we finally voted for the plan.

Though the welfare problem of my family was surely a matter of second importance, I resented the unwillingness of those belonging to other sects to treat my place as a legitimate temple in spite of its official temple appellation. My vain pride as a young priest against them was certainly behind my insistence on a new main hall in spite of our existence betraying poverty. Then I was not unaware that how a temple looked did not matter so much as how it performed as a missionary organ. But I convinced myself that publicly campaigning for a new religious venue might help as a missionary work. As luck would have it, my conviction proved very effective in enhancing our sect's penetration, gaining more and more parishioners to my temple as a result.

The lumber, measuring over ten thousand sai, it was decided, was to be hauled across rugged mountainous terrains then down to the seashore before being loaded onto tugboats called hansendaruma. My later generations should not forget that parishioners of Chōan-ji were the charge of the part of the route from the depot of Higoroichi to the prefectural highway. 450 of them formed a team each day to help haul timber. Some of them were not from our sect. I am only too grateful to them. The prefectural highway led horse wagons to Ōfunato port, where tugboats took over, carrying the lumber to Ishinomaki or Tōnahama Nobiru Village, depending on size of material. The last part of the route to Ōyanagi was up the Naruse River.

Up north at Shinshō-ji in Yoshihama Neshiro, a giant pine, found on the famous Kuwadai mountain pass, was picked up for donation. People from more than 40 households around the temple strained their way to the seashore with the tree. I attribute this to my disciple brother's popularity among his parishioners. Bless my brother. The tree found itself on a tugboat before sharing the route described above. It swam east up the Naruse River to Ōyanagi. As it touched the west bank at Ōyanagi, neighborhood parishioners came scrambling to the site for a look. Were they astounded at what they saw! I was seeing the fruit of my efforts and the good will of the Kesen donors. An old parishioner was in tears thanking Buddha for the miracle. He even danced as he cited Nam Amita. Mr. Noda and other main caretakers were overjoyed to see I finally made good on that goal of mine, and in growing excitement they decided to start building the main hall in spring the next year, Meiji 32 (1899).

Section 14 driftwood and bogwood

February Meiji 31(1898) I went on a tour to Kesen for the third time. There was going to be no 4th campaign. About all the materials had been acquired since the start of the work was set for the next May. But the trouble was that we hadn't found a giant tree appropriate for the most important part of the main hall. We were faced with the grim fact that such a zelkova was not on sale. The leader of the construction team, Satō Sukegorō, couldn't accept it but, after a long searching, finally made up his mind to use a giant pine tree instead. But luck smiled on the prepared. A messenger from Shinshō-ji came to Jōō-ji with an urgent letter. It told a story which sounded too good to be true. Off the coast village called aza Senzai Yoshihama-mura was a giant tree found floating on the seawater. First fishermen ashore on the look thought it was a swarm of fish. Young men on a small boat approached it for a closer look. As it turned out, it was not fish but an awesome giant tree just cut off from its root. The seething waves over the tree may have made it look like fish. Disappointed, they turned and were about to start on their way back, when someone said, "It's a driftwood tree but not an ordinary one. It could be timber. As it happens, we see timber merchants here and there these days. If we can haul it ashore and sell it to them, nobody will say we came over here for nothing."

The tree still had its boughs, but it was quite easy to drag it over the seawater. It reached the shore very soon. But it was so tall a tree that it could lie the whole length of the Senzai port. It was definitely impossible to haul it ashore without cutting off its boughs. The bidding, I heard, had to start while keeping the tree from drifting away.

Merchants came scrambling over to bid for the driftwood. The price was about to hit 100 yen when someone, on seeing the tree, felt the need to rush to Shinshō-ji. He told my birth father about the huge tree he had seen under the auction hammer．My father said, "This must be grace of Holy Shinran.

About all the materials necessary are ready. But we are stuck in stalemate like in a jigsaw puzzle missing a piece. It is a large piece of timber appropriate for the rainbow beam of the new main hall. The drift wood must be used for the new Gyokuren-ji temple's main hall instead of ever falling in the hand of a merchant.

The messenger was a relative of the Shinshō-ji family, who had heard about the rainbow beam problem. So he sensed the urgency of the situation and rushed to my father. He in his turn rushed desperately to the fishermen to make them change their mind about who to hand the driftwood to. The fishermen were all parishioners of Shinshō-ji, so nobody opposed my father's wish. They were unanimous in blessing the use of the driftwood in the rainbow beam of Gyokuren-ji. They signed a goodwill donation agreement after receiving some money for drink.

I was urged to be on the scene to inspect the driftwood before they lumbered it. I immediately hurried for a look. Surprising was the only way to put it. It measured 12 shaku around and 8 ken long. The trunk was straight and even its boughs were usable for lumber. I could not hold my joy.

They cut the 8-ken-long log into 7 sections. Out of the middle section they cut a 3- shaku-wide and 4-ken-long slab, and the remaining 4- ken- long section into 4 pieces for pillars. The two sections on either side of the middle section were cut into more than 10 pieces for nageshi beams.

Gratitude is in order when we look up at the rainbow beam and the nageshi beams. They come from the driftwood of Kesen. This is how the driftwood wound up pleasing my father and me very very much.

Bogwood was found. April or May the same year a farmer, as in every farming season, was scooping up mud to clear a ditch of his rice paddy 2 or 3 hundred meters to the east of Ōyanagi, when he felt a tock on his hoe hitting a piece of wood or something. He tried to pull it up out but it wouldn't budge. He dug around it before trying again, but in vain. Feeling his way further and further around it he realized the sheer size of it. He wondered if it was bogwood, preserved underground since olden times. "Might it not serve as timber in building a main hall?" He told caretakers of the temple about what he was up to. The caretakers responded by pointing out cases of miracle grace in connection with building temples in general. They talked about what had happened when Osaka Hongan-ji was under construction. Much later the construction of the twin halls of the Head Temple coincided with the discovery of a giant tree in the Echigo region. They proved the usefulness of miracle grace in influencing the public.

Tens of parishioners willingly joined the digging, but the excavation stayed none the less difficult. As the operation floor was over 5 shaku lower than the ground around it, water came seeping to flood it quickly during short times out, making the job as hard as before. After two days the bogwood was finally pulled out of the ground.　

No one even over 80 years old knew when this particular rice paddy had become what it was. Someone guessed that the bogwood might be 2 or 3 hundred years old if, washed downstream by multiple floods, it had wound up here, covered in dirt and sand for a long time before there was a rice paddy here. After cutting off the branches covering the trunk, a 7-ken-long piece of it was cut into lumber to the joy of everybody. Unlike the Kesen driftwood, the Ōyanagi bogwood did not offer a straight log, the reason why it was used for the black rainbow beams in the main hall. Those who visit the main hall, be reminded of this fact. The color it is owes itself to nothing else. Seeing it is believing it.

I find it not illegal to sacrifice some space to refer to miracle grace which I think betrayed itself behind the things which occurred in the course of the construction of the main hall.

The above is about all I think I should commit to paper as far as the timber collection is concerned. But a movement of some size can not help giving rise to unfavorable reputation and criticism. Some people in Kesen and Sakari were saying something like this. " Priest Daien came to ask for timber donations to build a main hall. He had our timber shipped to Ishinomaki. Then what has become of it? A temple or money put aside? Ishinomaki is ready to pay a fortune for good timber." How imaginative of them! The truth speaks for itself. I did not care at all.

Section 15 groundbreaking and framework raising ceremonies

In early April Meiji 32 (1900), a simple groundbreaking ceremony took place, attended by our main caretakers.

The leader of the construction team was Mr. Sato. His 45 men (all his disciples) were all dedicated workers, most of whom aspired to master temple architecture with little regard to compensation. Once at work, they showed admirable sincerity and concentrated diligence in going about their jobs. So the progress was faster than expected, moving the column-setting-up ceremony up to October. The frame was raised ten days later.

On the 25th of the same month, the framework raising ceremony was held with great pomp. Willing parishioners and prominent fund donors were invited to celebrate. But the day saw an incident which could have had the ceremony suspended.

A worker who acted as vice leader on the construction site named Niinuma Gosaburō was preparing for the ceremony in front of the prayer platform, when suddenly he fell unconscious, unable to speak.

It was too late to cancel the ceremony because the guests could be arriving any minute. Eventually the ceremony took place as scheduled. But it was heart-breaking to act as if nothing wrong had happened. The doctor exhausted all his efforts, but the builder died later that night, leaving us - our caretakers and the head parishioner, let alone his fellow builders - to the sorrow of helplessness. His mother came on an urgent cable. I couldn't bear to see her cry clutching his body. Pitiful was not sufficient to describe her. It has always been the case that there is more evil than good in this world of fleeting shifts and changes. But the vice leader's death on the very day of celebration reminded me of the truth of the saying. I conducted a courteous funeral on my own initiative, putting his remains to cremation. His mother cried her way home with the ashes in an urn.

With the guests unaware of our mourning, the ceremony itself left nothing to be desired allowing us to happily exchange good bye on our way out. But the death still feels heavy in my mind as I think of the construction of the main hall.

Later I built a stone monument to pray for the repose of his soul.

Section 16. 　the construction of the main hall and its maintenance

As mentioned in the previous section, the construction work from Meiji 32 (1900) through 33 (1901) produced an outer frame of the main hall. But we hadn't got around to its interior furnishings. The donation money had already run out. We were considering how to finance further building.

Here came along a charitable man onto the scene, named Noda Namiji, father to Mr. Noda, head caretaker. A parishioner of our temple, he was a very wealthy man in retirement living in a separate residence of his own. He kindly endowed us with a special donation in order to see the new main hall completed before it was too late for the retired old man he was. His grace paid for the parapets for the outside, all the golden transoms, the dais and shrine. I was awed by his unbelievable generosity. Some of the old ladies who met for lectures were so moved by his generosity that they in turn procured golden sliding doors, while others, to complement the equipment, donated a pair of vases, candlesticks, and other items (Noda Koito and Saki Take) and a round lamp (Noda Kenzō). It was a great honor for the new temple to be completed in such a beautiful and elegant manner.

The next problem was the shortage of construction costs and debts. There was a shortfall of approximately 2,000 yen, but there was no prospect of soliciting donations at the time, and if there was no way to repay the debt, there was no choice but to appeal to the head caretaker, Mr. Noda. In fact his loan nearly accounted for the whole shortfall. Other caretakers met to agree on imploring Noda to make a new donation by writing off his loan. Messrs. Kamakura, Habu, Katō, and Konasukawa, representing all the parishioners, met with Noda to put forth this outrageous demand. Noda said with a glad smile on his face, " As the initiator of the construction of the hall, I have no choice but to offer my gratitude to Buddha for his kindness." All of them started to dance with joy, and it was as if they had gotten rain in a big drought.

I blessed my luck of receiving the kind of goodwill that I could never have even dreamed of. In fact, it was spring Meiji 34 (1901). I commit my gratitude to the Nodas' kindness to paper.

The second thing that should be noted is the method of maintenance. The main hall had come to its completion. The beauty of the building and, its prominence on the banks of the Naruse River surprised people of other sects into admiring the fervor of the parishioners of our sect which made it possible. Anywhere further north than Sendai men and women of all ages recognized when they heard Gyokuren-ji. This made me think of the difference time had made since I sought an official appellation for my temple. The temple and its name were not problems any more. But the problem still remained that our standard of living was not much above that of bare subsistence. Now that the completion of the main hall was behind us, the maintenance of a big family appeared as a problem in need of address. There were Matsuto, first daughter (who later married into Iwadeyama Jōsen-ji Temple), followed by 2 daughters, 2 sons, followed by Daiken, third son and Yukiko, fourth daughter. The parishioners numbered almost 200 but as the rule had it, they offered very little unless they were particularly faithful. Considering the local economic situation, nothing seemed to compare better than land ownership as a means of income. Articulate parishioners met to discuss how to assist the temple family financially. It was decided that door to door visits were to be made to raise donations from well-off parishioners. The rice paddies now belonging to the temple were paid for by the money thus raised. The donation book is elaborate on how Messrs. Noda and Sasaki took the initiative in the work. It was a great honor for me to be able to witness the establishment of the material basis for living here. My later generations at this temple should be reminded that it is the grace of their ancestors that keeps them fed and clothed and that they are to repay them by keeping the temple forever.

Section 17 running for councilor

While I was concentrating all my energy on establishing a new temple with little regard to my well-being, I sometimes felt discontent with the Head Temple. They seemed to be ignoring my unpaid efforts to win new followers. They treated any expanded parish as a new opportunity to raise funds. It was surprising how often they would send us letters of request in connection with the reconstruction of the Head Temple, the Daishi Hall, Amida Hall, and the Twin Halls as well as the Fund Scheme. However I never did resist the Head Temple or refuse to pay donations. I did just as much as other temples in fulfilling duties to the Head Temple. Thus arose in my mind a cloud of doubt about the mores of the Head Temple behind their incomprehensible appropriation of resources in missionary work. They paid great attention to even abroad and as far as Hokkaido, Taiwan, China, and Korea within our territory while the Tohoku District received very little of it and Miyagi Prefecture in particular, the least of it in Japan. The hard-earned Sendai Branch Temple was even forced into non-existence for some unknown reason and its structure was turned into, of all things, a Christian chapel, drawing bitter sighs from the novice I was at the time. The sermon halls in Wakuya and Matsuyama fell in the same swath, sending people on the street. What few converts they had produced mostly went back to belonging to their previous sects. Those who refused to lose faith include Messrs. Noda, head caretaker, Sasaki and their families as well as 10-odd others. These people closed ranks and agreed on building a small sermon hall in Ōyanagi. They asked the first novice or old monk available to perform funerals and memorial services there. The missionary who helped them through these 3, 4 years of loneliness was the former chief priest of Eimyō-ji in Sendai, Mr. Watanabe Kansui. Later when Sendai Fund Scheme Office opened on the compound of Kenzuiji, the first person to be assigned there was Mr. Taniuchi Kan'e. Later, he established a sermon hall in Higashi-Nibanchō. The office was moved to this new location, and he was assigned to handle the affairs of 3 prefectures and 4 countries. In an aside, I got to know Mr. Taniuchi during this period of time. He arranged for me to be assigned by the Head Temple to be the first to staff Ōyanagi Sermon Hall and later I became so ambitious as to consider building a main hall there.

What action could I take in order to clear the cloud of doubt in my mind? Since I was tied down to my job it was out of the question to wander around Japan for information or serve at the Head Temple in Kyoto as an errand monk. So I considered becoming a delegate to an assembly in Kyoto. The assembly was called Sect Council and a delegate was a councilor. Sect Council met at least once a year. It would provide a splendid opportunity to perceive what the Head Temple was up to and how missionary work was faring in different parts of Japan. Unlike the service I did provide for the Sendai zone, being elected councilor would lift me up to a position of honor and power. Just then the election of Sect Council of Meiji 36 (1903) was approaching. But as I had no clout of my own, I turned to Mr. Noda for advice. He readily offered to support my plan. Thus I made up my mind to run for councilor.

Challenging the saying that luck smiles on the prepared, I presented myself at the election venue on the compound of Hakodake Branch Temple, feeling like a sailor ready to accept the fate of the boat he chose to board. At the time I was honored by the sincere support from Reverend Chihara Enkū of Iwate Prefecture, Reverend Takeda Hidehiro of Fukushima Prefecture, and Reverend Hayashi Tadami of Iwate Prefecture, as well as Messrs. Noda and Mizukami, my followers. Mizukami happened to be visiting Hakodate on his way back after confirming a big catch by his ocean fishing fleet.

I was elected. I came home in high spirits full of gratitude to those without whose support I would 100% have lost.

Later I was reelected in Taisho 11 (1922) to serve for 3 years this time as vice councilor. I owed my election to Reverend Sakano Ryōzen, who was then chief of Sendai Mission Office. He warmly helped me through the election campaign. His recommendation of me mattered a lot.

The council consisted of 60 councilors from throughout the country. I thought that each of these colleagues must be a person of high quality. Otherwise they wouldn't be here. Someone was a lawyer. Another was a politician. Still another was a scholar. They must have a high rating regarding integrity, knowledge, and experience. They would let me share their experience and methods of missionary work.

But what I heard them talk about was a total disappointment for me. They showed little interest in talking about missionary work experiment, much less about methods. They talked their way around what they were there for. Many stepped out and played go every chance they got. The most I heard was idle gossip. Talks of who got ahead or who was competing with who depending on the councilor. I was outraged that very few of them showed due respect to the Head Temple they were visiting and proved sincere in their missionary work. However I did not dare to resign from my status, if nominal, because the council was the only one of its kind and commanded some level of respect from the public.

Later the council has undergone some improvement but the Tohoku District, ours, is still thinly represented because our sect here compares less active. The rule is that the more temples there are in a region the better represented it is. I think it should be in the future that each prefecture send one councilor or two.

Section 18 temple relocation

The structure of the main hall had been completed but the completion of adjustment was somehow a little way off, when there occurred in Miyagi Prefecture a great event. It was the improvement project of the Naruse River. The river overflowed almost annually, causing misery to farmers along the Naruse. The ten consecutive years with Meiji 43 (1903) in the middle, when frost also hit, are remembered as the Decade Without a Bumper Crop. The severe suffering mobilized the public opinion behind the unanimous adoption of improving the river in spite of an enormous cost．This in turn made it necessary to sacrifice the temple precinct for the embankment works as part of the riverbed. This involved moving the whole temple out of the way. They would not have taken no for an answer. Miyagi Prefecture provided us with their projected cost of moving house but it actually fell short of half what it really cost. This called for another meeting to discuss how to raise large donations. Spring Shōwa 4 (1929) saw the start of the relocation.

By this point of time Noda Saiji had passed away in Meiji 45 (Taishō 1, 1872) but his son, Shin'ichi acted to keep his father's devotion to the temple alive by taking the initiative in relocating the temple. Not only did he donate a large sum of money himself, but he also worked tirelessly as if it were about his own temple. The graveyard was also relocated to fit into the new landscape. The old priest's quarters, small and battered, did not survive the change, ending up decently replaced. As if in compensation for the trouble, a temple gate was voluntarily added, to our great joy.

Messrs. Sasaki, Katō, Unagami and Konasukawa brought me a book carrying their signatures for large donations. They should remain remembered forever as those who proved their devotion and respect to their ancestors.

The relocation work was completed in December Shōwa 4 (1929). I was 63 years old. My eldest son, Daisen, was 33 years old. At the time, he was working as an executive secretary at Otani University. I urged him to come home to help us with the relocation. He had to quit Kyoto to come home. Here I stop writing. The reader should turn to Daisen for more because he saw what happened after that for himself.

I met Mr. Taniuchi at age 26. I moved over where I now live at age 63. These 37 years feel like a fleeting dream. During these years I saw several poor harvests. I lost my wives. Two daughters of mine died. I saw tsunamis and wars.

Now I am seeing another war. Events do happen. It has always been the case.

July 21st Shōwa 13 (1928)

The above is how Gyokuren-ji came into being and metamorphosed into a decent temple before winding up where it now is.

The temple complete with a main hall, priest's quarters and a gate did see the light of day, but it ended up missing a proper celebration. Some donors haven't delivered on their signed promises to share the relocation cost to this day. The shortfall was filled up with a loan from Mr. Noda Yuzuru, but this flaw held us back from performing the completion ceremony or the enshrinement cerebration, to the outrage of my life. A different sect would not have tolerated such a disgrace. I justified our act by appreciating the generosity of our sect to allow bloodline inheritance in spite of such a mistake. I also appreciated Mr. Noda's generosity of spending so much of his time managing the relocation and even making a huge loan only to miss seeing the ceremonies.

Aware that my days were numbered, I made Daisen succeed to me as chief priest.

That's all for my life in connection with the foundation of Gyokuren-ji.

Starting July 1st Showa 6 (1931) I make trips to and from Wakuya Sermon Hall leaving all the temple affairs at Ōyanagi to my son. I intend to put my days in retirement to use by assisting the missionary at Wakuya Sermon Hall, who is often busy in Sendai. This has been going on for 8 years. I am following in the founder Shinran's footsteps in the sense that monks can't retire from missionary work while they can from temple affairs and daily business. I would like my offspring and future missionaries to see that I am doing this for no other reason than to repay a drop in the ocean of what I owe to Buddha and the founder.

Supplement 1 four generations of the Noda family

A proverb says friendship continues three generations. I think it is the case between the Noda family and mine, only the number is 4 instead of 3.

I am writing this here to express my gratitude to the family before I depart this world. Mr. Noda Saiji was a rare man of faith in the Tohoku District, or in fact it might be the case also in the Hokuriku District, where the majority belonged to our sect. He was a man who was well versed in Shinzoku Nitai. He was very skillful in portfolio management. He was probably one of the best in the prefecture. No wonder he is a millionaire today. His father Namiji was also a financial talent and a true man of faith. The old man was always saying that anyone is unfortunate who does not aspire to Buddhism. His attitude of respect toward people in vestments awed me as a young man. He was particularly enthusiastic about promoting faith even to boys and girls. He is to be remembered as a great country man of faith so resourceful as to increase his worth in retirement. His only son was Saiji. The father and son were both very pious Buddhists and should be regarded as role models for Pure Land Sect adherents. After I was assigned to Oyanagi as a young man, they never missed religious occasions at the temple including the two fixed dates a month honoring holy priests Sennyo and Shinran. They were all ears as I preached. I think they first came to faith in the wake of the missionary work during the time of old Sendai Branch Temple.

Sadly, Namiji passed away in Meiji 45 (Taisho 1, 1912) at the age of 63.

At that time I really felt as if I had lost my own parent. As he was about to die, he called me by his bedside. I appreciated his sincere words of hope and advice I heard for the last time. He had abundantly instructed his heir son, Shin'ichi, how to go about the inheritance matters so that he could stay undisturbed in his afterlife.

Later, faithful to the teachings of his father, Shin'ichi smoothly cleared things in the way never spending time hesitating and made the household more prosperous. I attribute all this to his father's wisdom in directing his son's education.

The old man was often heard saying, "Whatever people do means nothing unless they know the meaning of death. In this world of impermanence, True Pure Land Sect's doctrine of "daily preparation for rebirth in heaven" is truly to be appreciated. Even housework is nothing else."

He always emphasized the impermanence of life to himself and to others.

Shin'ichi was not yet 30 years old, but he succeeded the will of his deceased parents to pay great attention to the temple of their family. I don't need to mention how much time and effort he spent for the temple, besides providing financial support as well as moral encouragement.

As mentioned above, Shin'ichi's mother was from the Sakurai family of Nigō. It was a prestigious family in the neighborhood, and Noda Ayame, accordingly was a mother of high dignity, mild and gentle in her dealings with others. She was graceful and had great faith. I will never forget the loving care she gave to my poor wife and children at the temple. The Noda family was truly happy people together. It is a role model for True Pure Land Sect's adherents.

Shin'ichi is the third generation since Namiji. It is said that the third generation can safely forget the written family constitution because it lives in the person. I would like to say that Shin'ichi is a good example of the accomplished third generation.

The third generation is crucial not only in a person's family but in other groups of people. Now that the third generation has already been firmly established, the fourth generation, Noda Yuzuru, should certainly follow in his ancestors' footsteps and provide for the prosperity of his family based on Shinzoku Nitai.

Seventy three years old, I am not fit to advise the future generation. I only hope that the Noda family will further prosper in the future, with Gyokuren-ji as witness.

Raising and Educating Children

Soon after moving to Ōyanagi, we made our children start elementary school in spite of dire poverty. Namely our second daughter Tsutano, followed by Fumito, Daisen, Jōgen, Daiken, and Yukiko. We brought our eldest daughter, Matsuto, over after building the main hall started.

As there were no high elementary schools near Shinshō-ji in Yoshihama, we brought two more children to Ōyanagi and put them in school. Namely my youngest brother, Ryōen (later called Fujitama Ryōen), and Jōsen (Shirakizawa Tokuemon), the eldest son of my elder sister, Tsutae. All told, we put 9 children through primary education. For what could pass as secondary education, mainly in sewing, I had Daisen's two older sisters (Matsuto and Fumito) enroll in Sendai, and I had his younger sister Yukiko study in Morioka. The greatest attention was given to Daisen, our eldest son. After completing the first year of elementary school, he passed the entrance examination to the First Prefectural Junior High School and completed five years of study.

The tuition was paid by raising funds from some twenty willing parishioners according to the custom peculiar to our sect of religion that a candidate for chief priest was entitled to have his tuition paid by parishioners. Thanks to Mr. Azumi Fuminosuke, who collected money every month for 5 years without compensation while working as a farmer, my son was able to graduate from junior high school. Yet aware of the growing need for higher education in society, we met and decided to send Daisen to study at Shinshū University. It involved another fund raising, this time, more demanding to meet the tuition twice as expensive.

Mr. Watanabe Uemon of Ōyanagi, an old man, was appointed to manage my son's school expenses. He carried out his duty with admirable smoothness. My son graduated from the three-year training course and came home with the title of associate bachelor. But I could not ignore his regret of having to give up two more years of formal education. The regret of my life was similar to his. I had had to give up on my education for want of tuition money.

I was afraid to outrage farmer parishioners by asking for another fund raising because they had been suffering from consecutive years of bad crops since even before my son had started university. But I couldn't wait till it was too late for the application. I steeled myself to appeal to Messrs. Noda Shin'ichi and Sasaki Daitarō. Most parishioners would have pointed out that my son had already won the qualification to be a chief priest. And the economy was in a record slump due to the bad crops. But the two gentlemen kindly agreed to pay for the two years of formal education. I truly feel grateful to them for having provided quite a large sum of money every month. Only Mr. Noda was alone towards the end to keep it going.

My son and I will never forget the grace of those who made my son's education possible.

As for our second son, Jogen, in an attempt to make a priest out of him I wanted to send him to Joo-ji, my previous home, to be a candidate for a chief priest, but he refused to obey me. He was bursting with youthful ardor, unable to think of his own future. Parishioners helped us put him through junior high school but he couldn't repay their goodwill. With only education, he walked out on his own.

Our youngest son, Daiken, did not want to become a priest, but entered Iwate Normal School to become an educator. After graduation, he married into a family named Satō in Ichinoseki and is now teaching school.

To think I was a very poor man with many children to put through school, yet under the obligation to win people over in his assigned locality! I had also to materialize a main hall of my own initiative. I wonder if I have ever felt the way ordinary people feel at each stage of their lives.

Now I am three years past my 70th year in life. My life of faith does not give a chance to everyday grievances or discontent with my children. But though an old man, I felt uneasy about living at ease at Gyokuren-ji. In order to repay Buddha's kindness, I decided to move to Wakuya Sermon Hall, which had fallen into disrepair, as a substitute for Daisen, who was to do missionary work there.

I hope more attention will be paid to the need of missionary work in the Tohoku District.