Monthly Words

To welcome the New Year, I would like to share the words of Manshi Kiyosawa（清沢満之 1863-1903）, a prominent philosopher and Buddhist reformer of the Meiji era who deeply influenced great writers like Natsume Soseki.

He once wrote:

"For us to live in this world, we must have a single, perfect footing (立脚地 Rikkyakuchi)."

"Footing" (Rikkyakuchi) refers to a place where you truly belong, or a spiritual foundation you can lean on. Do you have a place where you can confidently say, "This is where I stand"? And is that place truly secure forever?

You might think this is a heavy question for the start of the year. However, there is no question more profound. For some, it may be family; for others, their workplace, friends, or community.

But these things change against our will. The more we depend on them, the more they may transform into something "inconvenient" or painful for us. Perhaps there is no such thing as a "permanently secure" place in this world. As the Buddha taught: "諸行無常 Shogyo Mujo"(the Buddhist principle that all things are impermanent — everything is in a state of flux).

Yet, this is not about nihilism. Our footing feels unstable precisely because we cling only to things in this world—things that are destined to change.

In a famous essay, the author Naoya Shiga( 志賀直哉 1883-1971) described himself as "a single drop of water in the Nile." He realized that throughout history, there has never been another "drop" like him, nor will there ever be again. Yet, he accepted that he was still just one drop in a vast, eternal river. He said, "And that is perfectly fine." He was able to say this because he had found his true "footing."

In this new year, let us reflect: On what foundation do we stand in this once-in-a-lifetime journey?

Do we truly feel "I have enough" and gently lay down our chopsticks in gratitude at our daily dining tables?

This month, we introduce a haiku by Santoka Taneda（"種田山頭火" 1882-1940）, the "wandering poet" who walked through the Taisho and Showa eras with only a woven monk's hat and straw sandals.

Contrary to the idealized image of a monk seeking enlightenment, Santoka’s life was marked by loss and despair. Born into a wealthy family, he eventually embarked on a lonely journey of wandering, almost as if "running away from himself." By the time he found a place to rest in his final years, his health was failing, and the shadow of death was quietly approaching.

This month’s phrase represents the spiritual state he reached toward the end of his life. Note that he used the word itadaite (receiving with gratitude) instead of just "eating," and added tarite (feeling sufficient/enough).

In those days, his meals were humble—perhaps just rice given by friends or collected through alms-seeking. Early in his travels, he felt miserable about this lifestyle. However, in his later years, he began to see it as "receiving life itself," leading to a profound sense of gratitude.

Yet, Santoka was not a perfect saint. He struggled to let go of his attachments to alcohol and tobacco even in extreme poverty, and he constantly blamed himself for his weaknesses. Many of his poems, such as "Here I am, this good-for-nothing me, walking on," reflect this deep solitude and the contradictions he carried.

When he says "having enough" in this poem, it might have been a meal as simple as a bowl of soup and a side of vegetables, or even just rice porridge. Still, he accepted it, thinking, "This is sufficient for me right now," and quietly laid down his chopsticks. In this "aloneness," we can feel a sense of true fulfillment, not just loneliness.

Today, while we talk about rising prices, recent studies show a surprising reality regarding food loss. Reports indicate that food waste from households slightly exceeds that from businesses, and the amount of waste from elderly households is nearly three times that of younger households (Shigetomi et al., Nature Communications, Oct 2024).

Are we truly able to say "I have received" and "it is enough," and gently lay down our chopsticks?

Let us pause for a moment and listen to the quiet resonance of Santoka’s words.