107 Sangha

Later that week I drove to the temple to do the flowers, my new temple job. Alison was upstairs copying the names of the male ancestors in the lineage for her lay ordination. She came into the kitchen where I was trimming stems and arranging bouquets.

She had misspelled a name or two.

"I'm frustrated!" she said.

"You always seem calmly competent in everything at the temple," I told her.

This amused her.

"I'm glad it appears that way."

I laughed.

Her lay ordination took place as scheduled on Sunday.

We spoke.

"Are you doing lay ordination next year?" she asked me at the potluck.

I thought.

"I don't know," I said. "Should I?"

"Why not?"

I already felt totally committed to the Way.

Days passed.

It was the night of the full moon and Ryaku Fusatsu, the precept ceremony at the temple. Until recently I had been unable to attend on Wednesdays so the ceremony and the text were still unfamiliar to me. The master read from the text of the ten grave prohibitory precepts.

"I am reverential and mindful with all life, I am not violent, I do not willfully kill."

It comforted me to hear people vow not to kill.

To do no harm.

To be good. 

"Will you receive and maintain this precept?" the master asked.

"Yes, I will!" in unison we replied.

The master conferred precepts on property, sexuality, language, truth, moderation.
"Yes, I will!"

On humility, nonattachment.

"Yes, I will!"

"I cultivate inner peace," the master declared. "I do not harbor ill will."

I tried.

"Will you receive and maintain this precept?" the master asked.

"Yes, I will!" we replied.

"I esteem the buddha, dharma, and sangha," the master declared.

Understood.

"I do not defame them," the master continued.

Understood.

"Will you receive and maintain this precept?" the master asked.

"Yes, I will!" we replied.

There were more chants, more bells, more bows. All told we performed forty-eight full prostrations. Many of us were panting and damp with perspiration as we bowed, turned, and bowed once more to the final two rings of the inkin. At the conclusion of the ceremony, before he walked into the kitchen to feed his dog the master turned to address us. The master complained that the objects on the altar—the cup which held the offering of sweet water and the two koros—had not been arranged properly in a straight line with the Buddha's nose and that the two green welcoming sticks of incense had also been misplaced.

The master was annoyed.

He repeated what he said his own master used to say.

"If you can't get the altar straight you will never get your mind straight!"

We waited.

"There is no hope!" the master sternly announced.

We waited.

He turned and entered the kitchen.

We bowed.

We brushed our mats and fluffed our cushions and stacked them in the corner. We extinguished the candles and put away the ritual objects and the two small tables used in the ceremony. I had never known people so devoted to making sure every single detail was exactly as another person wanted it as were these eight persons I considered the inner circle of the sangha. Reflecting on the master's last remark on my drive home I could not help but laugh out loud with simple gladness. I felt fortunate to have the opportunity to practice at the temple with my conscientious fellow members of the sangha and with the master.

How hard his disciples tried!

So hard!

No.

Not good enough.