Farewells and Encounters | Fumitoshi Kato, Dean of the Graduate School of Media and Governance
2019.11.19
I climbed the stone steps of the noborirō (covered stairway) toward the main hall. I had heard there were 399 steps and thought about counting them, but as I walked, I was captivated by the expanding scenery and soon had to concentrate solely on moving my feet. Large lanterns hung in the beautifully maintained covered stairway. In early November, I was at Hasedera Temple with my students. We were staying in Sakurai City for fieldwork, and I was encouraged to participate in the early morning gongyō (sutra chanting) experience.
I started the climb in high spirits, but the stone steps grew steeper along the way. By the time I reached the front of the main hall, my knees were embarrassingly wobbly, and I pretended to be calm so the students wouldn't notice. When I entered the main hall, it was crowded, perhaps because it was a three-day weekend. The main hall is built on the mountainside and is wide open on three sides. The sun was just beginning to rise, and the cool morning air flowed through.
Before long, the gongyō began. Monks appeared (perhaps a dozen or so) and began chanting sutras. The sounds of a large taiko drum and wooden clappers set the rhythm, and the loud voices of the chanting echoed through the main hall. I was in the front row, enveloped for a time in the solemn soundscape. This service is said to have continued for over a thousand years.
I am not a particularly devout person. I only make requests (for my own convenience) when I'm in trouble. But being in this place gave me a strange sensation, as if my mind were becoming clearer. Then, a sudden sadness welled up inside me, and the faces of the many people in my life came to mind: family, friends, colleagues, and (perhaps especially because of my profession) the students I have met over the years. The order in which they came to mind and their connections were random, but during the 30-minute service, I experienced several reunions.
There have been farewells so sad they could make you crumble. On the other hand, there are also encounters so fortunate they make you jump for joy. Of course, this is not limited to people. We encounter and part with various events. When we face a challenge, we try to overcome it. Just when we think we've resolved one issue, we encounter the next. Indeed, we are constantly repeating this cycle of encounters and farewells.
A month and a half has passed since I wrote my first "Okashira's Diary." It is already my second turn. There have already been various encounters. Looking back on the nearly 30-year history since the faculty's founding, I tried making a chronological table. I then filled in the successive "Okashira" and the changes in the curriculum. As I learned who decided what and when, I was reminded that the "present" has been shaped by a great deal of interaction and coordination. Whenever I encounter the systems and customs created by my predecessors, I often feel driven to change them. There are things that have been passed down and things I did not know. I think it's still permissible now, but after a while, "I wasn't told" will no longer be an acceptable excuse.
Do farewells come because there are encounters? Or is it that change cannot occur unless we accept farewells? Having woken up early to climb hundreds of stone steps, I pondered various things while enveloped in the sound of the chanting. My legs went numb. Finally, from the stage projecting from the main hall, I looked out over the mountains. They must be vividly colored with autumn leaves by now.