Our journey to Japan commenced after a week in Hong Kong, where my husband’s business engagements and persistent rain filled my days with work and fleeting city explorations. Japan was immediately captivating, a sensory and intellectual awakening. Tokyo unfolded as a panorama of experiences: the serene Imperial Palace, the bustling fish market, the stoic samurai tradition, and the palpable anticipation for the upcoming Olympic Games, all under the reign of a new Emperor heralding a fresh era. Despite the excitement, a personal shadow lingered – the sudden loss of a dear friend, the pang of missing my children on Mother’s Day, and the relentless demands of an overflowing inbox. Yet, amidst this emotional undercurrent, my husband and I plunged into Tokyo’s vibrant complexity, navigating its intricate subway, exploring diverse neighborhoods, immersing ourselves in museums, witnessing the raw energy of sumo wrestling, and even attempting Japanese culinary arts.
Seeking respite from Tokyo’s energetic pulse, we retreated to a traditional ryokan just outside the metropolis for a tranquil 24 hours. It was here, amidst the serene surroundings, that I felt a gradual loosening of tension. We indulged in soothing massages and savored exquisite meals. Lying on crisp futons atop tatami mats, we listened to the gentle symphony of rain and birdsong. The profound generosity and hospitality ingrained in Japanese culture began to resonate deeply – evident in the meticulous cleanliness, the artful presentation of food, the graceful strokes of calligraphy, the ritualistic tea ceremony, and even the precise art of sushi preparation. This immersion in Japanese culture was like a subtle, unfolding Gratitude Song, each element a note of appreciation for life’s finer details.
Kyoto, planned as the crescendo of our journey, held immense anticipation. Our first full day began promisingly with a guided tea ceremony and a peaceful walk through an ancient, charming district under perfect weather. However, our idyllic start met an unexpected shift at the bamboo forest and the Golden Temple. Instead of the tranquil nature walk we envisioned, we encountered a sea of tour buses and selfie sticks. It was “school trip week,” coinciding with the usual influx of international tourists, turning Kyoto, the nation’s cultural heart, into a bustling hub. The contemplative atmosphere we sought seemed to dissipate rapidly, drowning out the quiet gratitude song we hoped to hear in nature.
Learning that the Golden Temple would be equally crowded, I voiced a desire for a change of plan. The urgency to tick off famous landmarks had faded; I now yearned for deeper, more subtle experiences. While spontaneous deviations are not typical in Japan, our guide, embodying the spirit of Japanese hospitality, gracefully adjusted our course. We swiftly found a taxi and escaped to a quiet noodle restaurant, where we could calmly discuss alternative plans, seeking a quieter verse in our gratitude song journey.
We chose to explore the Daitokuji Temple complex, a sanctuary of 25 Zen Buddhist temples and monasteries, with three open to the public that day. Our guide illuminated the symbolic richness of each garden. We meditated in spaces where monks had contemplated for centuries. We wandered along tranquil paths lined with pine trees. The absence of crowds was remarkable, a stark contrast to the earlier chaos. This peacefulness allowed a different kind of gratitude song to emerge – one of quiet contemplation and inner peace.
“Shall we visit one more?” our guide inquired gently, mindful of the time.
“Certainly,” we replied.
After removing our shoes and offering a small donation, we entered the garden, where an elderly monk in black robes sat at a table. I was struck by his resemblance to my grandfather, who, though not Japanese and deceased for 23 years, shared similar features – glasses, eyebrows, and a prominent forehead.
The temple’s architecture mirrored the others we had seen, but on the inner sanctuary garden wall, a poem in English translation captivated us. It was titled:
A Song of Gratitude: A Zen Poem
The whole family, harmonious and devout.
Aware of debts to our parents and ancestors.
Revering nature, grateful for society.
Always humble, learning from others.
Able to give, demonstrating kindness.
Making one’s motto: “A bright life.”
Overlooking other’s faults, correcting one’s own.
Moderate in speech, not getting angry.
Gentle, kind, honest.
Let’s appreciate the joy of life.
Patient. Peaceful. Not getting angry.
Careful in speech. This leads to long life.
The elderly monk was Soen Ozeki, the Senior Monk and the poem’s author. He had composed not just this poem, but many others displayed beside him, all in exquisite Japanese calligraphy. Six of his books were also on display, including an English translation endorsed by Steve Jobs. The irony was palpable: here I was, an author preoccupied with my new book, encountering a signing by a monk celebrity, akin to the “Dr. Ruth of Zen Buddhism,” known for dispensing wisdom on a weekly TV program. His English was fluent, his humor gentle, and his presence radiated positivity, embodying the very essence of his gratitude song poem. We purchased several of his writings, likely exceeding his daily sales goal, which he jokingly suggested would allow him an afternoon nap. As we conversed, discussing his work, his smiles and laughter were infectious. Before we departed, he looked directly at me, sensing a subtle unease, and offered a simple yet profound message: “Be happy.” It was a moment that resonated deeply, a simple phrase encountered unexpectedly, yet perhaps the very essence of what I had traveled thousands of miles to discover – the profound gratitude song of life itself.
