hort, this treasure, exceeding its estimated and presumed worth many times over, would simply be picked up and moved, well, this really counts as an extraordinary event, although understandably even the wisest among them did not reach this decision willingly, indeed, certain individuals, seeking a suitable date between the summer and the winter ango, explicitly delayed the transportation, for truly such an occurrence as this was so rare — they shook their heads — here in the monasteries of Aichi prefecture, no one could recall any such event, and in truth even the abbot — himself of wide-ranging experience — and the most respected monks did not know for a while what the ritual requirements actually would be; whatever was needed to be done they would of course do; one thing was certain, it took months for the leading authorities to acquaint themselves with the ritual stipulations prescribed for such circumstances, and it must be acknowledged that they were prepared for a difficult task, demanding great caution, but not for one so exhausting, complicated, and intricate; one that in addition required practice; that is to say that all of the monastery residents had to be trained so that everything would follow according to plan, the authorities had to expand upon the tiniest details in their explanations; even if in terms of the lesser-ranking monks, they had to explain who should do what, and when; it wasn’t even worthwhile to deal with the question of the essence of the ceremony as well as its variegated details, it was good enough, the abbot indicated to the leader of the temple administration, if they correctly chanted the sūtras and recited the mantras, if the musicians knew exactly when to bang away and when to stay quiet, and in general it would be enough if everyone clearly understood the structure of the ritual awaiting them, and if the components of it could be carried out faultlessly, that would really be enough; well, that is — the abbot rubbed his shorn pate, as the designated day approached — well, that is a lot too, for he could surely see that here lay precisely the hard part: there could be no errors, by no one, from the rōshi to the deshi, nothing that was not allowed, their coming and going, standing and kneeling, to begin and end the sacred chant when necessary — that was the hardest part, the abbot said, vexedly rubbing his itchy skull once more; he had already seen much and he knew that it wouldn’t work, it would not be perfect, someone always makes a mistake, standing up too late, or kneeling down too late; even he was unclear at times, either beginning a little too slowly than was necessary, or too quickly, or being uncertain for a moment: where to now, the left? — or maybe even. . to the right? oh no, groaned the abbot on the evening before the appointed day, when the special moving van ordered here for delivery by the Bijutsu-in — that is the National Treasure Institute for the Restoration of Wooden Statues — had already arrived from Kyōto, and the driver, after the measurements of the statue had been taken and the large kiri-wood transit crate had been made, was happily snoring away in one of the guestrooms, oh no, what now, how are we going to fulfill our obligations properly, the abbot rubbed his shaven scalp worriedly, but then he quelled the anxiety within himself; if he could not, on that day, completely suppress his excitement, in any case when he arose the next day, that is today, at four in the morning to the sound of the great bell, the ogane, and quickly washed, he felt neither anxiety nor any kind of excitement, only the obligation to carry out the tasks that awaited him, just the order of things to be done: the first, then the second, so that simply no time remained to reflect on such matters as how, being the jushoku — that is, the abbot of the temple — or simply a Zen monk, how could he even have been anxious or excited in the past weeks and days, because now that the whole thing was beginning, he couldn’t pay attention to anything else but taking the very next step, then the next after that and so on, and so it is and so it would be proper, in this way, for the day to begin by simultaneously giving the order to close — that is not to open — the gates; to check the day’s events, affixed to the kiku-board, making sure that everything was written out correctly, to see if the work was going on in the kitchen and at the spot designated for packing up the statue next to the van; to see if the monks had begun their procession with the jikijitsu at the front into the zendō; to see if the musicians had been asked for the last time if they knew the exact sequence of events; all of these orders had to be given at once, and at the same time they had to be supervised: first the closing, that is the non-opening of the gates — in this matter he wished to see it with his own eyes — that is first to go to the Sanmon, the main gate, then to seek out the others in turn, even nudging them with his hand, were they really closed, only this would convince him, only in this way would he believe that yes, the monastery was closed, and still it was hardly half past four, or maybe a quarter to five in the morning, and the monastery was hermetically sealed, no way to get in, no way to get out, the abbot notes to himself, everyone remaining on the temple grounds knows this, all who could, as well as those who had to remain inside, are aware, but it is felt by those, too, who attempt to follow the so-called secret events from without, because there are, for that reason, a few standing around out there on the street by one of the gates, trying to listen, to figure out, somehow, what is going on inside, smaller groupings of lay believers, recruited by happenstance simply from local elderly insomniacs, standing at the monastery gates that are positioned according to the four directions; or there are those who aren’t too sluggish to get dressed and come here at the crack of dawn, so gnawed by curiosity — surely nothing like this had ever happened before, they mutter in front of the gates, instead of opening the gates they’ve shut them, or rather the gates are closed — and there they stand, and they would not be willing to move from there for any sum of money, they try to capture some sense from the half-audible voices of what is going on in there right now, well, and even if something like that emerges, they can’t get too far with such sounds, even if they hear from a distance the silent shuffling coming from inside, as the monks, after the chanting of the sūtras filters out, walk in procession, to the rhythm of the mokugyo and the handbells, from the zendō to somewhere, indeed, as they largely agree at each gate, they are most likely walking toward the Buddha Hall, the hondō, and even if they hear that, even if they can agree that yes, it’s the Buddha Hall, they can only be going toward the Great Hall where the Amida Buddha is located, they know nothing of the ceremony itself, and that is really how it is, for here the listeners, at all of the gates, are mistaken when it comes to this, for the entire monastic collective, after the recitation of the sūtras in the zendō, are really not proceeding toward the Great Hall of the Buddha, but in the opposite direction, away from it, the farthest possible distance from the Hall of the Buddha, in actuality, to their own quarters, to seclude themselves and to wait: since during the so-called secret ceremony, beginning with the truly secret rituals of its commencement, no one else may be present, only the jushoku and two older rōshi, as well as the jikijitsu and three jōkei in all — these being three assistant monks chosen for the occasion who handle the instruments of the Buddha Hall — only them, seven in total, so that not only the curious crowd outside, but even they, the resident members of the order, listen in vain to the sounds of the keisu, the rin, or the mokugyo filtering out from time to time, in vain does a seemingly familiar phrase from one of the sūtras strike their ears, they haven’t the slightest notion of the secret part of the ceremony nor will they ever, and they could never even form any notion of it, for only the following sections of the Hakken Kuyo ritual, coming after this truly secretive beginning, concern them, only then can they take part, and for all that they must do so with great devotion and a great sense of duty, when they gather again, emerging from their quarters, and proceeding together in the same direction, toward the hondō, because then their shuffling truly means that they are proceeding to the sound of the densho, the great drum, proceeding to the hondō, into the Great Hall where the Buddha sits — and as they, the monks, the residents of Zengen-ji, take their places before the Buddha’s infinitely radiating gaze, something irrevocable has happened.