“The night was as dark as this one. My father was dressed in black so that the insects would not see his approach. Suddenly, in the total darkness, his cheeks began to shine. The insects inside his mouth were frantic and shone with such great intensity that the light lit up his cheeks like a red lantern. When he spit out his prisoners, a luminous jet spewed from his mouth. I gathered this stream of light into the net sack, which became my soul. I imagined my father as a kind of demonic god, expelling his power into me, the transmission of a mysterious gift of knowledge.
“My father was glad to punish these insidious phantoms who had stolen my mother — he firmly believed that the light of each insect was the burning soul of a dead person. When we returned to our humble home, with me carrying a sack of at least five hundred insects, he would recite haiku passed down to him from his ancestors and I had tears of joy, wishing that this summer would never end.”
Ejo paused, sighed deeply, and murmured: “Permanent impermanence.” Drying the tears on his cheeks with the ample sleeves of his robe, he lit a candle. Then, after a loud burst of laughter, he recited:
Mizu e kite,
Hikuu naritaru
Hotaru kana!
In a raucous voice, he recited it again, this time separating and counting the syllables of each verse:
Mi-zu e ki-te. . five
Hi-ku-u na-ri-ta-ru. . seven
Ho-ta-ru ka-na. . five
He smiled with satisfaction. “Five, seven, five: a haiku. The first five, like the fingers of a hand, signify ordinary human reality. The seven, like the seven chakras, signify awakened mind, cosmic unity. The third five return to ordinary reality, but this time with something new, the light of consciousness.
Chiding him playfully, I said: “Your poem is beautiful, Ejo, with a mystical rhythm. But remember — I’m not Japanese. Would you be so kind as to translate it for me?”
To my astonishment, this foreigner who did not speak Spanish very well rapidly produced a translation:
Llegando al agua
hace una reverencia
la luciérnaga!*16
Arriving at the water
the firefly dips in a gesture
of reverence!
This was the first time Ejo had ever spoken of his personal life. I was moved by this revelation of the vulnerable, nostalgic child in him who was still there after so many years of meditation. Did he seldom speak of them because these memories were not an obstacle, but an intimate treasure? For an instant my personal limits faded, my body merged with the cosmos, the roots of my thoughts were the stars, and Ejo’s past was my own. I ventured to comment upon the haiku.
“The water is that of an ancient pond, calm and undisturbed — no birth or death, always there, like eternity. Halting its labyrinthine flight — in other words, freeing ourselves from identification with our thoughts — the firefly, like the awakened human being, arrives at the border where concepts dissolve in the infinite void before it drinks and communes with the world, accepting the unending change of everything that was thought to be fixed and permanent, making a gesture of reverence in gratitude for its ephemeral life.”
As Ejo listened to my interpretation, an invisible bridge joined his mind to mine. His huge grin made me guess that we were about to embark on a new game: he would recite and I would interpret. I was not mistaken. He went down to the kitchen and returned with a bottle of warm sake. After several toasts, he proposed another haiku:
Akenureba
Kusa no ha nomi zo
Hotaru kago!
The dawn returns
Firefly in its cage
Only grass!
I replied: “When dawn comes, the light of the sun makes the fireflies opaque. No enlightenment, no ignorance, no master, no disciple — drunk all together, we will sing like frogs who swallow fireflies and croak at the moon with phosphorescent bellies.”
Ejo gave a loud “Ho!” of satisfaction and executed a graceful little bow. Then, half singing:
Ame no ya wa
Shita bakari yku
Hotaru kana!
Night of sudden downpours
Fireflies fluttering on the ground!
“Ejo, my dear friend, I think that Buddhas must adapt to their circumstances. Even in the mud, fireflies still shine. In adverse circumstances, the awakened mind, true to itself, does not trouble itself or give way to despair.”
“Ho! Easy to say, very difficult to realize. . My mother and my four grandparents were dead. I was a child whose only family was a father who was drunk nine months of the year. In spite of my young age, I could understand his widower’s grief. But he never understood my orphan’s grief. Through long nights of pouring rain, forcing myself to smile, performing my filial duties, my heart was fluttering in the mud.
“When I was nine years old, I returned from school one day to find my father speaking with a Zen monk. Shaking a piece of paper in my face, Kyubei said: ‘This is a contract that gives Keikisoken Kodaishi the right to kill you if you don’t apply yourself to practicing his teachings. Make no mistake: from now on, being a good monk is a matter of life and death for you. Now eat your rice and go to bed. Tomorrow, at dawn, you will leave with your teacher for the Horyuji Monastery. I am unworthy of raising you. If you stay with me, you’ll become a beggar. This is the last time we will see each other.’ Then he took me in his arms and we both wept. At midnight, I heard his soft steps going outside. I looked out the window and saw him walking toward the willow forest. Taking great care in order not to disturb the sleep of my future mentor, I took a half hour to get dressed and left the house to spy on my father. I found him kneeling near the lake, so motionless in the moonlight that he seemed like a silver statue. To my great surprise, in spite of the winter cold, a solitary firefly appeared. Its great size and brightness indicated it was a female. After circling several times around my father’s head, it settled on his forehead. Then, with the slowness of a dream, he began to walk with tiny steps toward the mirror of the motionless lake. Without making any waves, he entered it little by little, until his head finally disappeared under the water. The firefly never left his forehead. In my child’s mind, the lake had consumed my mother and my father.”
Ejo took a long drink of sake. Then he recited:
Moe yasuki
Mata ke yasuki
Hotaru kana
Swiftly, you light up
Even more swiftly, you go out,
Insect of light
At this moment, I saw us — the Zen monk and myself — in the midst of the river of time, in the center of an infinite sphere, burning like two logs, like two joyous fireworks which leave no trail in the sky, savoring the paradise of the instant, a moment that would never repeat itself. Should we weep because we leaped into the void? With no beliefs to console us, without inventing a destiny for ourselves through compulsive actions, what would we do with this inevitable life?