Crossing the Threshold: Dembo Kanjo

A chill bit the tip of my nose as the shadows lengthened, the late afternoon sunlight bathing the red leaves of Mt. Koya in sublime gold. Dressed in the black robe and orange nyoho-e I'd put on at my ordination and stained with sweat during Shido Kegyo training, I was now standing at the threshold of Hoju-in, the venue for Dembo Kanjo. 

The big event was set for the next day; today all the participants would draw water from a sacred well for use in the ceremony. 

Kanjo, in Sanskrit Abhisheka, refers to the consecration by the water of India's oceans that ancient monarchs underwent on the subcontinent. Buddhists employed this potent image as an expanded metaphor for Awakening, and this eventually developed into Esoteric Buddhism. In his book Indian Esoteric Buddhism about the tradition's medieval roots, Ronald M. Davidson goes so far as to say "the central and defining metaphor for mature esoteric Buddhism is that of an individual assuming kingship and exercising dominion." In my very limited experience, this observation has held true. 

In Shingon, Dembo Kanjo is an empowerment that allows a priest to study beyond the basics. Spiritually, it is the last of the many first steps toward the threshold of Shingon Esoteric Buddhism. Passing through its gate allows one, at last, to become a beginner. The degree to which its secrecy has been maintained over the 1200 years since Kukai brought it to Japan is astonishing. I had only a vague idea of what to expect going in. 

I was far too early. No one else had shown up, and I was waiting alone on a concrete bench a few steps away from the temple gate. My tummy was rumbling with nervousness, as it always does. Occasionally, a comforting thought cut through the noise of anxiety. "Who'd have thought you'd make it this far?"

My path through the first stages of Shingon training was highly nonstandard. Most people do Kegyo training on Mt. Koya over a period of 100 or two periods of fifty days. My goal, though, is eventually to run a temple in Japan, for which permanent residency would be a necessity. Taking 100 straight days off any of the jobs I've managed to find here would mean getting fired, which would in turn mean resetting the 10 year clock on PR. Understanding this, my teacher allowed me to train in sections, with the option of starting over at a dojo on Mt. Koya should the opportunity present itself before I finished. I made it to the end under his direction. 

This remains a relatively rare route to full priesthood, one that if any foreigners have taken they aren't talking about online. I often worried that if I ever finished training, the higher-ups at Mt Koya would find some fatal flaw in the plan and send me back to square one. 

There were a couple of close calls; at one point Koyasan HQ told my teacher I wouldn't be allowed to participate in Jukai because of my tattoos, which had been another reason I didn't pursue training at one of the dojos. Thankfully I didn't find out about this until my teacher had resolved it for me, or it would have given me an aneurysm. It's only thanks to my teacher's flexibility, commitment to my cause, and persuasiveness that I was now staring down the barrel of the gate to Hoju-in. 

It was the second time I'd come to Mt. Koya in as many weeks. In the middle of October, I participated in a 5-day seminar to prepare for the Kyoshi Kentei, the licensing exam to become a fully operational priest. Where before I'd mostly practiced alone or with my teacher in his temple , I now had the opportunity to practice with 35 other people, all of whom had learned in different ways in temples across Japan. Until then I had no idea how well my teacher had taught me; by sticking to what he'd imparted, I was able to participate in all the services and classes with confidence. I finished with an incredible sense of gratitude for his willingness to share his knowledge.

The seminar ended with an exam testing one's readiness for Dembo Kanjo. This mostly consisted of basic questions about what I'd learned in kegyo, including different mantras, positions of the ritual implements, and so on. Saying the complex mantras is one thing, but writing them is quite another. I messed up in several important places. Luckily after the written test there was an interview where I had a chance to clear up some of my mistakes. Mostly through the compassion of the examiner, I was given permission to return two weeks later for Dembo Kanjo. 

Before we left the testing room, a stern priest admonished us, "Dembo Kanjo is a once in a lifetime opportunity, the most important ritual in the Shingon School. Anyone who shows up unprepared or without the proper attitude will be asked to leave." We were handed a sheet of mantras to memorize before the ritual. There, too, it said, "Those who have not memorized these mantras may have their admission revoked." Message received. 

I ran through the mudras and mantras again as I sat on the bench. Behind me, the clop of geta, wooden sandals, approached from down the street. Slowly, participants I'd become friends with during the seminar started to appear before the gate. Soon enough there were sixteen of us huddled chatting nervously together, the oldest in his 60s, the youngest only 19. We were the first group of four, and though there were a number of foreign (mostly East Asian) aspirants at the test, I'd been lumped with the Japanese guys, the only foreigner of the bunch. 

From the gate appeared two priests, one of whom I recognized from Jukai: the Ho-in, ritual head of the sect for the year, who'd be officiating the ceremony tomorrow. We quickly fell into line to greet him. A very warm man, he smiled and gently said, "Let's do our best tomorrow," before getting into a car and driving off. I suspect he was there doing a final check dress rehearsal for the next day. We'd been told the ceremony would start at 9 in the morning and last until as late as 7 or 8 at night. While we were done in a day, the Ho-in would have to repeat the routine four days in a row, not an easy thing for a man in his 80s. 

Soon after young priests appeared at the gate and barked our names to line us up. We were ushered into a spacious room beside the main hall and led through a chanting service. The stern young priests passed out buckets and lanterns to the six or so oldest members of the group to be used in the water drawing ritual, and we lined up and walked toward the precincts of the Danjo Garan, the complex of halls that marks the ritual heart of Shingon. 

Judging from the number of tourists photographing us, we must have been quite a sight. Though I'd visited the Garan many times, I'd never even noticed the entrance to the well, whose waters are reserved for consecrations like Dembo Kanjo. We drew water for each of the two Mandalas, strained through a cheesecloth to save any bugs from drowning, then carried it back toward Hoju-in. A final chanting service marked the close of the evening. 

While most of the other aspirants had nailed down reservations in shukubo accomodations on the mountain, not wanting to jinx myself I'd waited until I passed the test to start searching. In the autumn tourist rush, this meant that when I searched for rooms the last one available cost 80,000JPY....a bit rich for my blood. 

I opted for a guesthouse down in the valley. Once the water-drawing ceremony ended I rushed back to the coin locker where I'd stashed my stuff, hurriedly changed into a less formal robe (in the dark on a street corner, which drew some laughs from my passing brethren) and jumped on a bus. I found the guesthouse packed with young European backpackers, a lively atmosphere so different from the austerity I'd just descended from. Non-standard to the very end. 

We'd been warned that there would be long periods without bathroom breaks the next day, and told to not drink water if we thought it might be a problem. I was so nervous I could hardly get down a single riceball before bed, my last food for the next 24 hours. I didn't sleep much before my alarm went off and I got my robes back on and dashed, now under rainy skies, back to the train station to climb back up the mountain. 

We reconvened at 8, entering the temple with rain beginning to patter on our umbrellas.  After a ritual bath, priests helped us get on sumptuous silk robes, richly woven with floral designs, in which we'd receive consecration. I was told each set costs a million yen; up to then I had worn only the plain robes of a novice. Though I couldn't see myself, the sight of the fifteen other guys transformed suddenly from nervous novices to richly dressed practitioners seemed to flip a switch in me. I felt a gentle smile warm my face as a flood of reassurance readied me for the long-awaited day ahead. 

Soon we were guided to the main hall to receive the Samaya Precepts: not to discard the aspiration to Awakening, not to discard the correct teaching and follow false ones, not to be stingy with the teachings, and not to do anything that doesn't benefit sentient beings. 

These were paired with the Five Great Aspirations: Beings are numberless. I vow to save them all. Merit and Wisdom are measureless. I vow to amass them all. Dharma Gates are numberless. I vow to study them all. Tathāgatas are numberless. I vow to serve them all. Bodhi is unsurpassable. I vow to manifest it. 

A tall order. 

After the precepts we took a group photo and had a small break, with an optional meal which I still couldn't dream of eating. By the time I got my robes off, had a pee, and put them back on, the break was almost over anyway. 

Everyone back in their robes, it was time for the main event. As we filed toward the main hall, the priests in training at Senshugaku-in, the prestigious dojo attached to Hoju-in, bowed low in greeting to us. We filed into the  main hall once again, where this time the wooden doors outside the paper windows had been shut. The inner sanctum of the hall was blocked by folding screens. 

We were sat down in seiza as the last door shut behind us, leaving only the light of a single candle to illuminate the fierce faces of the deities adorning the screens. We were instructed to begin chanting mantras, and we kept chanting for the many hours until the ritual's conclusion. From somewhere beyond the screens, Shomyo, the ritual melodies used to purify and pacify, flowed out over the space and blended with our mantras. 

In the darkened hall, the only measure of time's passing was the candle slowly melting down and the incense burning up in the censer. One by one, the priests in front of me were guided into the inner sanctum as the rest of us continued our chanting. Those who came back sat down quickly and returned to their chanting. Very slowly, the gaps in the line crept closer to me as the space become more and more choked with incense smoke and song. As one aspirant returned, a priest pointed at me and beckoned. 

I rose slowly, my knees cracking, and walked toward the folded screen. I took a deep breath, and walked beyond into the interior of the hall.

Dharma Gates are numberless...