Often, in Kyoto , one is satisfied to visit the Golden Pavilion or the Kiyomizu-dera. GEO went further and pushed the doors of the sanctuaries of the former imperial capital to meet their guards. Bonzes and priests who are not so contemplative ...
The big weeping cherry tree is not yet in bloom. Snow petals twirl over the Taizō-in garden. Daiko Matsuyama, 40, has been for 10 years at the head of this Zen Buddhist temple of the Rinzai branch, established in 1404 in the Myōshin-ji complex, located in western Kyoto, and composed of forty-six others. secondary temples. He receives in a tea house with a view of the stream which, by surprising effects of perspective, seems to hurtling from the surrounding mountains. The sun shines shōji , sliding doors made of rice paper, and dancing golden shadows on the priest's face. A bowl of matcha , sparkling green tea, and three mochi , yuzu scented rice round pastries, an acid citrus fruit, wait on the tatami. Everything seems so perfect, that one does not expect his statement. "Initially, I did not want to stay here, I did not want to become a priest," asserts Daiko Matsuyama, sitting cross-legged.
Kyoto is a strange city. The only major agglomeration of the archipelago spared by the bombings of the Second World War, it has retained many vestiges of the past and is one of the cities with one of the most outstanding cultural heritage in the world. That which was quoted imperial during more than one thousand years thus counts 1,600 Buddhist temples, 400 shintoist sanctuaries and more than 200 gardens. Seventeen sites, comprising 198 buildings and 12 gardens, are on the World Heritage List. Visitors from around the world flock here. Foreigners often confuse Buddhism, Shintoism and other millennial beliefs. And, among them, who really perceives that this fragile treasure is still alive? And who knows the men and the (very rare) women who are at the head of these high spiritual places?
"Today, the temples, it is tourism, asserts Pierre Turlur, author of To tame the awakening(Ed .: Albin Michel, 2018), teacher at the French Institute of Kansai and the French Lycée in Kyoto, and himself a Zen monk, under the name of Taïgu. These are museums, which present elegant, overwhelming forms and are a way of being out of date. Authentic and religious practice is rare. "This is, alas!, Partly true. However, beyond the severe portrait of a city overwhelmed by its success and a disaffected Buddhism, one must dare to cross the threshold of the temples and remain attentive. Listen, watch. Where one expects to face an immutable heritage, a universe frozen for ages, then we discover men concerned and sincere, who combine their religious life in the present. In the hushed enclosure of their sacred world, they are monks, priests, but also teacher, draftsman for the press, bartender,
"Monks in Japan can eat meat, drink alcohol, be married and have sex," says Pierre / Taïgu. We are not in asceticism and privation, in the stupid morality that makes one deny the body, some, shaven, living in small monasteries, others immersed in daily life. The portrait is seductive. But if there is no prohibition, what does it mean to be a monk? "It means practicing zazen (sitting meditation), putting on the kesa(the dress). It's also organizing retreats around the world and dedicating your life to others. When I sit down, I stop the whole circus and pretend that I am someone. The position is painful, but it is a presence in the world that does not bother with what we tell. What is important in Zen is personal experience. The universal lives through us. "
The road that Pierre Turlur himself followed to become the monk Taïgu was not a path strewn with roses. Coming from a Catholic family, this opulent verb began to zen around the age of 13 or 14. It was very early his way of escaping the violence of his father. Then, after a painful divorce in England, he decided to leave everything for Japan, where he threw himself into takuhatsu , the begging of the bowl. Shod warajiA sketch of rope sandals, wearing a kasa, a flared straw hat, and a koromo, the long black robe of the monks, Pierre / Taïgu threw himself into the streets of Kyoto to ask alms for a bowl in hand. "A foreign Zen monk, moreover without a temple, people did not understand," he recalls. I was sometimes abused and I did not have the right to react. In the bowl, there was nothing. I saw the stars reflected in his lacquer. The little money I collected, I donated to charities. Although poor, I was rich in everything. "A recipe for tranquility. When Kyoto became the main city of the country in 794 and until the restoration of Meiji in 1868, it was also called Heian-kyō, the "capital of peace and tranquility." Today, these feelings still dominate in the shadow of his temples. Yet the personal journey of each religious is not always serene. "I was born in this Buddhist temple, I was the eldest son and therefore supposed to take over," says Daiko Matsuyama, head of the Taizō-in. I thought what was around me was normal. I grew up in this garden, playing baseball between the Myōshin-ji temples. My future was drawn from birth. And yet, I hated this idea. " I played baseball between the temples of Myōshin-ji. My future was drawn from birth. And yet, I hated this idea. " I played baseball between the temples of Myōshin-ji. My future was drawn from birth. And yet, I hated this idea. "
Daiko Matsuyama is not at a paradox: his secondary studies, he conducted them in a Christian school! A school that he explains with a culinary comparison. "Look at a Western meal: it's all about a main course," he explains. But nothing like it in a Japanese menu! Kaiseki cuisine consists of a succession of small dishes. And from the entrance to the final bowl of rice, none is considered more important than the others. We Japanese people look at religions in the same way. We do not discriminate against any of them and prefer to cherish their common philosophy and moral values. "At the age of 20, after studying agronomy at Tokyo University, Daiko Matsuyama spent six months on a farm near Nagano, 280 kilometers from Kyoto. One day, he met, fascinated, the local monk, who alone managed his temple without any resources related to tourism. "I understood that a priest's job was not just praying and maintaining the garden," says Matsuyama. It is also giving people a peace of mind. I decided to become a monk myself. "
Takafumi Kawakami, 38, officiates nearby at Shunkō-in, another temple in the Myōshin-ji complex. An iconoclast character, he studied in the United States and organized the first gay marriages in Japan - while they are not yet allowed in the country. He chose to create Shunkō-in bed and breakfast and organizes English meditation classes for individuals. He, too, has taken back responsibility for the temple. "My idea was to be ordained a priest and then go back to live in the United States," he says. But once in Kyoto, I realized that my classes here gave me more opportunities to meet than if I had become a teacher in America. "At first, Takafumi Kawakami welcomed only those who came on recommendation. Then he expanded his audience and accepted hosts for the night. "But I do not want to make this place too touristy," he says. The only people who can enter here are those who take meditation classes or are members of the temple. I could certainly open the site, take a guide and show the paintings of the early nineteenth century that our enclosure contains ... But I do not want people to come, take a picture, then leave without teaching. A temple must be a place where you learn things. " take a guide and show the paintings of the early nineteenth century that our enclosure contains ... But I do not want people come, take a picture, then leave without teaching. A temple must be a place where you learn things. " take a guide and show the paintings of the early nineteenth century that our enclosure contains ... But I do not want people come, take a picture, then leave without teaching. A temple must be a place where you learn things. "
Direction the Fumonken. Clinging to the mountain, it is a small neighborhood Zen temple. To get there, you first have to go up lanes punctuated by some beautiful machiya (the traditional wooden houses), then climb a flight of steps to the main gate. The back as arched as the flare of her hat, an old lady easily cross the door to the low chassis that forces other visitors to bend on entering. At 92, she lives at the other end of Kyoto but makes the trip every month. She walks slowly through the garden, greets the priest's wife, who offers her a cup of tea inside, in front of the irorisquare hole on the floor serving both kitchen and room heating. After having enjoyed for a moment with the newborn of the family, the nonagenarian leaves again towards the cemetery. "She had a miscarriage when she was 20 years old and has never stopped since coming to collect herself on the grave of her child, explains Clara Sugimoto, the hostess. The Japanese favor Shinto shrines for weddings and births, but Buddhist temples like this remain dedicated to funeral ceremonies. Clara Sugimoto, French, is 30 years old. Foreign to this country and this ancestral world where she seems so at ease, she poses on the world around him big clear eyes that betray her singularity. She and her husband, the Zen priest Kidoh Sugimoto, see their daily life assured by donations fromdanka , homes that financially support a temple. In return, they host and maintain family graves and provide funeral rites on anniversaries. Of course, with the depopulation of Japan and the disinterest of young people for these particularly expensive traditions, the number of donors is shrinking and many temples, unable to survive, close their doors. The Fumonken has twenty-five danka. It's very little but the young couple do not complain much. "Revenues vary from year to year," remarks Clara Sugimoto. There are sometimes years without death. But, on average, the temple gives us the equivalent of a Smic for two. We do not have rent to pay. Thanks to donations, we never buy rice, soy sauce, tea, laundry, cakes or beer. And, on a daily basis, we just have to make sure everything is clean, with the cleaning done and nothing broken lying around. The garden requires two hours of work a day. But it's nothing compared to people working in an office! "
On this winter afternoon, an icy cold has taken its ease in the Fumonken. The parquet floors of the corridors bite barefooted feet. And the tatami mats of the four rooms that can accommodate guests and those of the ceremonial room do not invite meditation, despite the presence, in front of the altar, statuettes of the goddess Kannon, represented in its thirty-three forms. Outside, soft rays caress the small Zen garden. It is difficult to imagine the temperature after hours without sun, for example when waking up at 5 am at the time of the recitation of the sutras. But Clara, wrapped up in a samue, a sweatshirt she opens slightly to give the breast to her baby, seems above these physical constraints. "I like this routine life," she says. And then I wanted to ask myself when I met Kidoh. I do zazen morning and evening. I cook, clean, cut the wood. Performing these tasks in a temple gives them a special character. I try to be attentive to the present time. The slightest change then has more intensity: a bird coming back, a plant that grows. "Some of her friends, monk's wives too, have a very different life. "One has found a rich temple that allows her to live with ease," says Clara. Another comes from a family of dyer artists and spends her time painting on kimonos. "Her husband Kidoh, 45, makes her appearance. He has just escorted the old lady by car to the station to avoid several changes in public transport. The life of a monk sometimes also resembles that of a taxi driver! Kidoh gets rid of hergeta in the entrance and just put his feet bare and red with a cold zabuton (square cushion) in front of the hearth. "All this is not very serious," he said with a smile. I am a Zen Buddhist priest, but I am also of Shinto culture, I have a wife, a child ... "And, surprisingly, Kidoh was also once a webdesigner. He put everything down to 30 years to follow the footsteps of his grandfather priest. "I want to preserve the Japanese spirit because no one knows it today," he says. Living in a Zen temple forces me to live according to tradition. "
In the heart of Kyoto, a stone's throw from the Ponto-chō district and surrounded by a plethora of bars, restaurants and clubs, Gaku Nakagawa runs a pocket temple in the footsteps of his family. Dressed in a samueblack, eyes hidden behind thin glasses, it is another priest who denotes. In a much darker version than the previous ones. "All I tell you is very black," he acknowledged himself at the end of the conversation. "The Zuisen-ji was built four hundred years ago on the scene of a massacre," he says. It was here that the shogun Toyotomi Hideyoshi (1537-1598), a man of respected power as one of the great unification of Japan, had thirty-four women and five children murdered. Their graves are still in the temple. "These victims were the concubines and children of Toyotomi Hideyoshi's nephew, initially presumed to be the successor of the shogun. Then suddenly dismissed when the latter finally had a son. "Today, the Zuisen-ji is in the city center, but at the time there was nothing around, if not the Kamo River, the canal and the rice fields, continues Gaku Nakagawa. The execution of the unfortunate on the order of the Shogun was public, many travelers and traders passed by there to take the bridge Sanjo nearby. The temple is a very, very sad place, built in memory of these dead. That's why I work here. "Originally, Gaku Nakagawa wanted to be mangaka, a manga artist. "I thought I was not good enough, so I switched to advertising while my father and grandfather took care of the temple." Gaku led a team of about ten people and after six years, tired of his company, which did not respect the workers. He then returned to Zuisen-ji from his childhood. This one brings together a hundred Gaku Nakagawa continues. The execution of the unfortunate on the order of the Shogun was public, many travelers and traders passed by there to take the bridge Sanjo nearby. The temple is a very, very sad place, built in memory of these dead. That's why I work here. "Originally, Gaku Nakagawa wanted to be mangaka, a manga artist. "I thought I was not good enough, so I switched to advertising while my father and grandfather took care of the temple." Gaku led a team of about ten people and after six years, tired of his company, which did not respect the workers. He then returned to Zuisen-ji from his childhood. This one brings together a hundred Gaku Nakagawa continues. The execution of the unfortunate on the order of the Shogun was public, many travelers and traders passed by there to take the bridge Sanjo nearby. The temple is a very, very sad place, built in memory of these dead. That's why I work here. "Originally, Gaku Nakagawa wanted to be mangaka, a manga artist. "I thought I was not good enough, so I switched to advertising while my father and grandfather took care of the temple." Gaku led a team of about ten people and after six years, tired of his company, which did not respect the workers. He then returned to Zuisen-ji from his childhood. This one brings together a hundred many travelers and traders passed by there to take the Sanjo bridge nearby. The temple is a very, very sad place, built in memory of these dead. That's why I work here. "Originally, Gaku Nakagawa wanted to be mangaka, a manga artist. "I thought I was not good enough, so I switched to advertising while my father and grandfather took care of the temple." Gaku led a team of about ten people and after six years, tired of his company, which did not respect the workers. He then returned to Zuisen-ji from his childhood. This one brings together a hundred many travelers and traders passed by there to take the Sanjo bridge nearby. The temple is a very, very sad place, built in memory of these dead. That's why I work here. "Originally, Gaku Nakagawa wanted to be mangaka, a manga artist. "I thought I was not good enough, so I switched to advertising while my father and grandfather took care of the temple." Gaku led a team of about ten people and after six years, tired of his company, which did not respect the workers. He then returned to Zuisen-ji from his childhood. This one brings together a hundred Originally, Gaku Nakagawa wanted to be mangaka, a manga artist. "I thought I was not good enough, so I switched to advertising while my father and grandfather took care of the temple." Gaku led a team of about ten people and after six years, tired of his company, which did not respect the workers. He then returned to Zuisen-ji from his childhood. This one brings together a hundred Originally, Gaku Nakagawa wanted to be mangaka, a manga artist. "I thought I was not good enough, so I switched to advertising while my father and grandfather took care of the temple." Gaku led a team of about ten people and after six years, tired of his company, which did not respect the workers. He then returned to Zuisen-ji from his childhood. This one brings together a hundred He then returned to Zuisen-ji from his childhood. This one brings together a hundred He then returned to Zuisen-ji from his childhood. This one brings together a hundreddankabut this has never been enough to ensure its prosperity. "Honestly, I find my job very hard," says Gaku Nakagawa. It is very expensive to maintain a building like this. We must be imaginative. "So he works for the Anglo-Saxon press and has illustrated many Japanese books. An activity carried discreetly in the small office behind the temple reception room and where he takes refuge whenever he can. "There is sometimes, when I draw, this weird moment where I do not know what I'm going to do, and where I finally find the right path on paper thanks to Buddha. I can not leave this work of draftsman precisely because of these moments. I keep waiting for them. However, Gaku Nakagawa says he is a priest above all else: "I get up at 6 am, I clean the building, I visit other temples where I prepare ceremonies. I have lunch around noon, then I draw until 5 pm when I close the doors of Zuisen-ji. I draw, dine around 19 hours, draws again. And I try to go to bed before midnight. "Then he concluded after a short silence. "Before I thought the ideal was to be a full-time draftsman, but this temple must have a future."
A few steps away, Takahide Haneda, 57, also leads two lives that may seem opposite. In the morning, he is a monk at Kōon-ji, a temple of Jōdo shinshū school. And at night, starting at 6 pm, he officiates as a bartender at Bozu Bar - bōzu meaning bonze - behind a beautiful row of bottles of whiskey. "Younger, I was computer scientist, but it was another life ..." adds the man to complete the blurring of the tracks. The Bozu Bar is decorated with discreet skylights. Here we are far from noisy and popular tramps, it reigns rather a silence ... cathedral. The evening barely starts and the bar is empty. Small orin, "singing bowls" bronze set on pads, are placed on the tables. They are sounded to order. On the counter hang thoughts of the day and month written by the monk on pieces of paper for visitors. "I thought it would be nice to propose a place where we could share our mental suffering and accept the difference," explains the severe face, the bartender monk. But if I talk too much, my clients do not come back. They come in here to have a good time, have fun. And if they are interested, they will come back. "Takahide Haneda likes to tell them about his reading and his interest in psychology. And sometimes shows a bit disillusioned: "It's been seven years since I hold this bar. At first I wanted my clients to approach Buddhism through this place. But in truth, the majority of the Japanese do not know anything about religion. I still hope this bar helps them to become aware of some spiritual elements. "At the Bozu Bar, Takahide Haneda sometimes sees tourists intrigued by the idea of coming for a glass of whiskey or a craft beer served by a monk . Naturally, the conversation always ends up leading to the different temples of the city. "In this case, I recommend to my clients to always ask who built the building and why," says Takahide Haneda. In this regard, does he know the history of his own temple? "No, still not," he replies. The Kōon-ji dates back to the Edo era, and I'm from the seventeenth generation ... " I still hope this bar helps them to become aware of some spiritual elements. "At the Bozu Bar, Takahide Haneda sometimes sees tourists intrigued by the idea of coming for a glass of whiskey or a craft beer served by a monk . Naturally, the conversation always ends up leading to the different temples of the city. "In this case, I recommend to my clients to always ask who built the building and why," says Takahide Haneda. In this regard, does he know the history of his own temple? "No, still not," he replies. The Kōon-ji dates back to the Edo era, and I'm from the seventeenth generation ... " I still hope this bar helps them to become aware of some spiritual elements. "At the Bozu Bar, Takahide Haneda sometimes sees tourists intrigued by the idea of coming for a glass of whiskey or a craft beer served by a monk . Naturally, the conversation always ends up leading to the different temples of the city. "In this case, I recommend to my clients to always ask who built the building and why," says Takahide Haneda. In this regard, does he know the history of his own temple? "No, still not," he replies. The Kōon-ji dates back to the Edo era, and I'm from the seventeenth generation ... " Naturally, the conversation always ends up leading to the different temples of the city. "In this case, I recommend to my clients to always ask who built the building and why," says Takahide Haneda. In this regard, does he know the history of his own temple? "No, still not," he replies. The Kōon-ji dates back to the Edo era, and I'm from the seventeenth generation ... " Naturally, the conversation always ends up leading to the different temples of the city. "In this case, I recommend to my clients to always ask who built the building and why," says Takahide Haneda. In this regard, does he know the history of his own temple? "No, still not," he replies. The Kōon-ji dates back to the Edo era, and I'm from the seventeenth generation ... "
The history of the Golden Pavilions (Kinkaku-ji) and Silver (Ginkakuji), the most famous temples of Kyoto (the first one has given its name to the most famous work of the novelist Yukio Mishima) can, she, read in all the guides. Few tourists, however, know that both depend on Shōkoku-ji, a temple north of the Imperial Palace Park. Raitei Arima, 84, reigns at the head of this trilogy. As such, he has the high responsibility to welcome the heads of state and other personalities passing through Kyoto. Man receives with kindness, kindness and simplicity that contrast with the inflexible religious image he sometimes gives of him: in a consensual country, Raitei Arima has indeed made clear in favor of the abolition of nuclear weapons in the world and against the revision of the Japanese Constitution, desired by Prime Minister Shinzō Abe. Decisive positions that are a sign of his power. Raitei Arima, too, has had a chaotic start in her religious life. "My parents divorced and I was sent to a Kyushu temple when I was still a kid," he says. I grew up away from them and this loneliness impressed me. "It is extremely rare for anyone outside a temple to take the lead. Raitei Arima, however, patiently climbed the ladder until winning the summit of the two jewels of Kyoto. "The gold and silver pavilions have been symbols of Japanese culture since the sixteenth century," he observes. My role is to preserve this cultural heritage. I hope that by visiting them, tourists will grasp some of the spirituality of Buddhism. Is the word "tourism" in Japanese not composed of the ideograms "to see" and "light"?
Opposed to the Silver Pavilion that it adjoins, the Hōnen-in, located above the path of Philosophy, a peaceful canal lined with cherry trees, is a haven of sobriety and discretion. A thatched roof covered with moss. Two mounds of sand with pure lines. And on the edge of the forest, the tombs of famous Japanese intellectuals - including the writer Junichirō Tanizaki (1886-1965), author of the famous Praise of the Shadow , and the economist Kawakami Hajime (1879-1946), the first translator of Capitalof Karl Marx in Japanese. The setting is perfect for meditation and strollers are rare. On the other hand, 61-year-old monk Shinshō Kajita regularly hosts artists and musicians from around the world. "Normally tourists stay here for only 20 minutes," he explains. But if there is a concert, they can spend two hours, feel more things through this temple and, I hope, get closer to Buddhism. "
Back to Taizō-in. Daiko Matsuyama followed three years of initiation before becoming a Zen monk. For this, he retired to a monastery surrounded by forests near Tokyo. "I had connections with the outside world only at the time of takuhatsu or ceremonies at home. I woke up at 3 o'clock, before sunrise, slept around 11 pm or midnight. We only had three minutes to swim in the evening. On days when I had a few hours break, I rushed to the dentist's or the public baths. "During these days dedicated to physical work and meditation, Daiko Matsuyama never had time to read. "Unlike a Catholic monastery that allows study, Zen Buddhist transmission is only through experience and practice," he explains. One can only know the hot and the cold by feeling them. "It was while walking that he really understood the Buddha's teaching: Daiko Matsuyama walked the distance between Saitama, near Tokyo, and Kyoto. Three hours by train, but twenty-eight days of walking across the mountain. "A woman gave me shoes, a child an apple candy," he says. Others complained about my songs which they considered noisy. If I had worn normal clothes, I would not have experienced the same thing. It was not mine that these people were addressing, but Buddhism. "Today, Daiko Matsuyama gets up a little after the sun, around 5 o'clock. Now take the time to study. Spend two to three hours a day cleaning the garden, an activity that he likens to cleaning the mind. Twice a month, he leaves Kyoto. Twice a year, the archipelago. In 2017, he traveled to Bhutan, as well as to the United States, where he lectured on Zen in Seattle and Silicon Valley. "A bit like sushi, Zen in the West is very different from Japan! is he fun. It is exercised in a very utilitarian way, to get something, a better position or money. But to have a goal is precisely to reinforce the vicious circle from which we must extract ourselves. Zen is just a way to see things more clearly about yourself. " It is exercised in a very utilitarian way, to get something, a better position or money. But to have a goal is precisely to reinforce the vicious circle from which we must extract ourselves. Zen is just a way to see things more clearly about yourself. " It is exercised in a very utilitarian way, to get something, a better position or money. But to have a goal is precisely to reinforce the vicious circle from which we must extract ourselves. Zen is just a way to see things more clearly about yourself. "
Daiko Matsuyama grasps his sensu , the fan that represents in Zen the unfolding of the Buddha's teachings in space and time. Then get up and go back to his activities. There is the lapping of the river and the silent dialogue of the two dry gardens, the yin with gray pebbles, the yang with white pebbles. The crying cherry tree and Kyoto, the eternal, who smiles.
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