Shingon Training: My Shido Kegyo

Sacred Flames 

I moved to Japan primarily because I was interested in Buddhism. I encountered and practiced occasionally with some meditation groups, and though I was fascinated by the aesthetics of Zen could never seem to hammer down a good meditation routine. On the other hand, I found myself almost weekly in a section of the Nelson Atkins Museum of Art in which a Chinese temple hall is fully reconstructed around one of the world's most well-known images of Guanyin (Kannon in Japanese). The display is so well-done that you can almost smell the clouds of incense and hear murmured prayers echoing off the walls, painted with a colorful scene of the Buddha teaching. 

In other words, it wasn't practice of meditation or mindfulness that inspired my interest in Buddhism. It was a fascination with the aesthetics of Buddhist art and architecture and a curiosity about how faith lived out in ritual and prayer maintains those incredible traditions. 

When I first got to Japan l with the JET program, my employer arranged for a weeklong homestay in Saitama while the other teachers and I attended training and got settled in the city. Since I was destined for a tiny island 1000km south of Tokyo (and my apartment was government sponsored), I had a few free days while everyone else was bustling around. Talking in broken Japanglish and Englinese, I managed to convey to my wonderful hosts that I was interested in Buddhism and temples. 

How they decided this I don't know, but the next day they whisked me off to a nearby temple and we all filed in and sat on benches waiting for...something to begin. A few other people sat scattered around the hall, its floor of ceramic tiles cool even in the summer heat, its wooden beams darkened by passing decades and centuries. In the center of the hall was a square altar, covered in shiny containers and strange ritual implements. 

Soon priests in splendid robes began to file in; one sat before the altar, the others on a mat to its left. The atmosphere in the hall suddenly became astonishingly still, the only sounds the gentle rustle of robes as the priests formed what I'd later learn were mudras (Japanese in), ritual hand gestures, beneath their sleeves. The priest at the altar muttered as his hands moved, then he picked up one of the ritual instruments and began rubbing it on his rosary, producing a gentle rattle of wood and brass that resounded through the silent hall. The other priests began intoning otherworldly melodies as he continued his ritual, and these grew in intensity and tenor until finally they began chanting rhythmic sutras to the beat of a huge drum as flames rose up from the center of the altar. By the peak of the ritual the whole hall was vibrating with voices, drums, and crackling flame, bluish sunlight piercing the smokey air as the fire rose halfway to the high ceiling. Suddenly the chanting stopped, the monks bowed and left, and we got up and went out to lunch. 

I had just witnessed my first Goma, a fire offering absorbed into Buddhism from Hinduism. I couldn't believe how thoroughly I was entranced by its incredible breadth, the way it lured in every sense and completely overwhelmed them with beauty and power. I was raised a fairly conservative brand of Catholic, and had experienced every kind of ritual from the high Latin mass to charismatic prayer and faith healing. On top of that I'd spent a semester in Varanasi, one of the world's great ritual centers, and kind of assumed I was immune to religious astonishment when I got to Japan. I had even experienced a simpler though similar fire ritual in India. But the Goma had a quality to that left me fascinated and wanting to learn more. 

I soon forgot about the experience in the chaos of moving and settling into a new environment in the Ogasawara Islands, but I was able to catch, mostly by chance, a couple of other Gomas during my periodic trips to the mainland. After a few years in Ogasawara I encountered a book called The Catalpa Bow about Japan's shamanic traditions, including Shugendo, which also counts Goma among its most important rites. It was that book that convinced me to apply for a transfer to the mainland and search for a place to practice Shugendo, always hoping I'd be able to learn the Goma and other rituals for myself. 

As I mentioned in my article about Tokudo, it was partly that desire to dig deeper and learn the full range of Esoteric Buddhist teaching and practice that inspired me to pursue ordination. I was upfront about this with my teacher when I asked to become his disciple, and he said he'd be happy to share his transmissions, guide me through the process of training, and sponsor my progress as far as I wanted to go in the process of becoming a fully-ordained priest. 

Shingon's "basic training" regimen is known as Shido Kegyo, or "The Fourfold Preparatory Practices." Part of the meaning of "Esoteric Buddhism" is that practices need to be transmitted directly and appropriately from an experienced teacher to their students, so I won't be going into too many details about the practices themselves. Instead I'd like to give you some idea of the way I trained and some of the joys and challenges that came up for me as I did in the hopes that it gives those interested in the Shingon path some idea of one possible route within Koyasan Shingon. 

Even for those who study in the most standard and respected way, which is to live and practice full time for 100-some days in one of the training facilities on Mt. Koya, everyone's experience of Kegyo is different. For some people its lessons are obvious and transformative in the moment; for others its potency may develop over many years. For me, it was a bit of both. 

For the Nerds - 1200 Years of Kegyo

Shingon's founder, Kukai, went to China in the 9th century with single-minded intent to learn as much about Esoteric Buddhism as he could. When he met his teacher, Huiguo, Kukai recounts that he said (if you'll allow me to paraphrase), "What took you so long?! Go get ready for initiation immediately!" He then spent the next few months teaching Kukai everything he needed to know to take Esoteric Buddhism as a full, integrated system back to Japan with him. This system includes dozens of different practices that range from the very simple to the insanely elaborate. Kukai further elaborated on these rituals in Japan, leading to a truly rich tradition that takes at least a lifetime to master (Kukai was a special case).

Over the centuries, as people practiced and developed their own ways and theories of practice, different "streams" or ryu evolved within Shingon, which eventually were associated with sects based at different major Shingon temples around Japan. The sect I belong to, Koyasan Shingon, follows the Chu-in Ryu, named after the temple where it was codified in the medieval period. There are still many other ryu practiced on Mt. Koya and throughout Japan, but because even priests from other sects train on Mt. Koya and then learn the ryu of their respective sect when they return home, the Chu-in Ryu has become a very influential way of practice throughout Shingon. 

An important aspect of the different ryu is a standardized approach to training that specifies the order, length, deities, and other details of practices a priest should undertake to prepare for Dembo Kanjo, or "the Consecration for Transmitting the Dharma." This is a comprehensive initiation into the Two Mandalas which empowers a priest to connect and learn the practices of all the deities present in them. 

Originally, the length of practice was totally at the discretion of a teacher; if you finished one section of practice after fifty days, you got permission to move on. If you needed a whole year in the oven, you'd good and get it. As demands for and on priests increased and willpower diminished with modernity, the period of training was shortened across all the ryu. I may be mistaken, but I believe Koyasan still has the longest period of training of any Shingon sect at just over 100 days total, while the shortest lasts a month or so. 

The "Fourfold" part of the term Shido Kegyo refers to the four different esoteric practices (sadhanas in Sanskrit) undertaken as preparation for Dembo Kanjo. The rituals, including the Goma in the very last section, follow a structure of purifying the space, inviting a Deity, making offerings, identifying with them, making more offerings, and then sending them off. 

On Mt. Koya, most people do these practices all in a row, but in my case since I'm in Japan on a working visa and am aiming for permanent residency, I took time off work and did them in sections. Adjustments like that are entirely at the discretion of one's teacher. Here's what my Kegyo looked like. 

My Kegyo - Into the Furnace 

A day in kegyo is structured around three sessions of practice of the sadhanas I mentioned above. They range in length between an hour and two, though when I was just learning them they could take three or four. Preparing for, cleaning up, and doing the practices alone would make for a pretty busy schedule, but that's not all a day in Kegyo entails. 

Mine typically looked like this: get up while it's still dark, collect water for the day's offerings, then do the day's first practice. After tidying up a little, a morning chanting service. Every three days I'd do a chanting service for the deities of Mt. Koya after this too. After that I'd make some breakfast and do a mealtime ritual (food in Kegyo follows Buddhist dietary restrictions: no animal products, no stinky herbs like onions or garlic, and no alcohol.) Then I'd have a ten to twenty minute nap. Next I'd get to work copying the shidai, or manual, for the ritual that I was working toward (all in Japanese), or studying what I'd already copied. (This is now a rare practice, but one I was very grateful for as it gave me a grasp on the material I likely wouldn't have had otherwise.) Next came the day's second sitting, followed by chanting services for Kobo Daishi and the gods of Mt Koya. After a lunch of the morning's reheated leftovers, I'd copy or study some more, do some chores, and then do the last sitting of the day. Next dinner and a ritual for feeding Hungry Spirits, an evening chanting service, a bath, a bit more study, and then bed.

While the entire process was challenging, the initial couple weeks of practice had me wondering whether I should give up on priesthood entirely. The first chunk of kegyo involves hundreds of prostrations a day, followed by chanting to Kobo Daishi and other deities in seiza, the Japanese way of kneeling on the heels. This was physically very challenging for me, but even more challenging was confronting myself, alone, in that discomfort. Both during and in between practices, vivid memories, crushing shame, hot rage at those who'd wronged me, distracting and relentless sexual fantasies crowded the silence and loneliness of my practice space. The psychological pressure was sudden and overwhelming, and seemed to be closely connected to the pain in my body. I just wanted it all to stop. 

Somewhere around day eight, I was seriously considering throwing in the towel. My feet and knees were hurting badly, and I was terrified to continue flailing in the furnace the dojo had become, as I was falling into a very alarming mental spiral. As I sat crying into my palms at the kitchen table, wondering how I would break it to my teacher, a fellow priest dropped in with a food delivery, just in time to pat me on the back and share a couple of words of encouragement that convinced me to try the next practice. Dressed in my robes I looked in the mirror and whispered to myself, "Just get through the next one." 

Those words ended up being what saved my practice. Rather than counting down to the last prostration or recitation, I let my mind get totally absorbed in whatever I was doing,  this prostration, this character of the sutra, this repetition of Kobo Daishi's name, whatever physical or mental experienced it entailed. While I couldn't handle staring down a whole week of pain and anxiety, I found I could handle one thing at a time. As I slowly got into a rhythm of doing things carefully, one after another, I was shocked to quickly find myself not only enduring but enjoying parts of the practice. After the last session of prostrations, golden sunlight streaming through the windows of my practice space, I found myself feeling a little sad that it was over, even as excited I was to move on to the next stage of sadhanas. 

The challenges didn't end with the prostrations  (there was knee pain and food poisoning and loneliness and exhaustion), but after that first hump my memories of Kegyo are mostly very happy, even in the hard times. Mental intrusions came to feel like wild animals wandering onto a vast meadow, temporarily causing a ruckus but moving on soon enough. As the days days flew by, it became clear that this period of training was a fleeting and precious chance to focus, to spend almost every waking minute focused on the Buddhas without the distractions I usually succumb to so easily. With repetition the complicated sadhanas became smoother and more effortless, and the incredible radiance contained within their pages became easier to glimpse, both on and off the cushion.

In the Hot Seat 

The entire process took me two years of scraping together enough days off to make retreats out of, but in August of 2025, almost exactly 9 years after I saw my first Goma in Saitama, I found myself seated at the Goma altar myself; now it was my hands forming the mudras and pouring in offerings, my mouth speaking the sacred phrases, and my heart providing a seat for Fudo and his retinue. I can only marvel at the compassion of the Buddhas, embodied in wonderful encounters and relationships, that provided fuel for the spark of curiosity to grow into the flame of practice.

Aside from transmitting practices and an occasional check-in, my teacher was very hands-off during the whole process. He was happy to answer questions if I had them, but as he put it, "Once I transmit the ritual, it's yours to practice." Even so, he came and watched my last Goma. After some advice about the mechanics of the ritual, he said, "I'm sure there were times when you wished I would have helped you more or kept you better company. But since you ended up doing this alone, I wanted to make the most of that. What happened in your kegyo, the corners you cut and the things you gave your all to, all of that is between you and the Buddhas, and only you and them."  

In the challenging moments of Kegyo, I often thought of it as a furnace; looking back on it now, I can see it was a Goma, where the wood of affliction becomes the flame of wisdom. It is an experience whose lessons I am sure will continue to unravel and inform my practice for the rest of my life. 

Namu Daishi Henjo Kongo