Cult of the Master
Chapter Three:
Pilgrimage To Japan
In late August of 1972, Mrs. Vaden announced a decision from NSA headquarters regarding the upcoming “tozan” (pilgrimage to the head temple in Japan). This trip was being hyped as a once in a lifetime historic event, due to the scheduled completion ceremonies for the Shohondo (Palace of World Peace) at the Nichiren Shoshu head temple located at the base of Mt. Fuji. In 1969, members across the world had happily sacrificed to contribute billions to SGI for its construction. Many wound up surrendering their entire life savings, taking out loans, and even mortgaging homes to finance their monetary contributions to the construction project (later I would learn that the SGI had paid for the Shohondo’s construction using only the bank interest acquired from this huge amount of donated money, and that shoddy construction material had been illegally used to decrease costs).
The Shohondo was flaunted as the completion of the “Third Great Secret Law of Buddhism”, never accomplished in over 3000 years of Buddhist history (how mystical was that?). It was hyped as being designed and built to last for 10,000 years into the future (it was torn down after barely three decades, reportedly due to the danger of collapse from cheap super-fast rusting iron illegally used in the superstructure). Many of the older Japanese ladies had already paid for their places on this special pilgrimage, years before the event. Now at the very last minute, it was announced that any youth division member that could come up with the money for the trip could instantly replace these older dedicated members who had already paid for their seats on this exclusive pilgrimage. Just how fair was that anyway?
As a senior youth division leader, I was encouraged to chant for the money to attend this “historic” world event that I had previously been ineligible to attend. I began chanting three hours a day but had no luck raising the money. I finally talked my Mother into loaning me enough money to pay for the trip. But then I conveniently assigned the sole credit to chanting only for acquiring the money to make the long journey to Japan.
After I submitted my payment for the trip, Mrs. Vaden informed me that I would also be required to purchase a special NSA uniform to wear. The uniform consisted of an itchy polyester blue blazer and slacks, striped red and silver tie, white shoes, and a really dorky crème colored plastic hat (crap, nobody wore old style hats like that except really old codgers and Frank Sinatra). But since I was now a sokahan with a special shoulder patch for my blazer, the hat I was required to wear with the uniform was a military style cap. UGH! It looked like a marine or policeman’s cap. It was just like my ancient military style band uniform cap from high school band that I had detested so much. And besides, being an anti-military and anti-war hippie, I had always hated any kind of uniform. But I accepted wearing the tozan uniform because I was going to be part of the elite group allowed to attend such a monumental event. Strange, by wearing a uniform, I was doing something totally against my grain, yet I readily accepted it. NSA’s control over me was becoming deeper and deeper.
Finally, the day of the much-anticipated departure for the head temple arrived. That October morning I was in a dreamlike state of mind as I put on my tozan uniform/suit and headed to the airport with my roommate, John. I could barely believe that this journey was really happening. I thought about the people I had gone to school with in my small Texas hometown, and I felt so superior to them all. I was heading for Japan to bring peace and happiness to the whole world. What were they doing – just the same old shit? Having such a mundane life, how could they possibly understand my importance as a “bodhisattva of the earth”? So much for any semblance of modesty or humbleness, which for me was slipping away faster than the Texas landscapes underneath our jetliner as we headed west to make our flight connection at LAX.
The flight across the Pacific Ocean in our new Boeing 747 was long and uneventful as our excitement built. Arriving in Tokyo at around 4 in the morning, I was astonished at the crowds of Soka Gakkai members that had turned out at the airport in the middle of the night to greet the members arriving from America. As soon as we had gone through customs, hundreds, maybe thousands of Japanese members began cheering us. They lined the airport hallways, walkways and streets, clapping for us and smiling. They were all waving tiny American flags for us as we filed along in nice orderly lines to our waiting busses.
I experienced my first culture shock after arriving in Japan. The airplane seats were cramped, but I was flabbergasted at how small the seats were on the bus that I had boarded. Americans are generally much larger than Japanese, so although I weighed only about 160 lbs, I literally had to squeeze myself into a seat. After traveling out of Tokyo and then around Mt Fuji, we began to get glimpses through the bus windows of the massive Shohondo temple in the pre-dawn darkness. The Shohondo was called “The Palace of World Peace”, and I believed it. The huge building was completely flooded in bright light. Its gleaming white marble exteriors radiated bright light out into the darkness of night, revealing the unusual contours of the building’s design. When looking straight down, the enormous roof was round. But the view from the side was meant to represent a crane’s wings at it takes to the sky. The sight of it was totally unique and stunningly beautiful as we approached nearer to the head temple Taiseki-ji grounds.
Just before dawn, with the dark sky still hanging on, our buses pulled into the bus loading/unloading zone in front of the overseas lodgings area of the temple. Huge fires in elevated iron grates that lined the sidewalk were burning brightly as hundreds of members cheered wildly at our arrival. I was thunderstruck at the scene. Tears were flowing all around as a brass band struck up “Forever Sensei”. I was overwhelmed with emotion as I stepped off the bus into this fantastical dreamlike scene. I remember thinking, “all this just for us?” Man, we must be really be extraordinary and special!
As we were being assigned to one of the large lodges used exclusively for overseas pilgrims, each one of us was given a 500 Yen bill from President Ikeda (worth less than $1.50 in 1972 currency exchange rates). They told us that our beloved Ikeda understood how, as overseas members, most of us had spent everything we had to be there, and many were more or less flat broke. Fortunately for me, my mom had already given me some actual spending money to shop with, but somehow, I was more appreciative of my surrogate father to slip a little (very little) extra into my pocket as well. We were tired, jetlagged, and easily influenced, so this tiny bit of bribery was an extremely cheap and simple way to buy a lifetime of loyalty and admiration from us for the very impressive Soka Gakkai president and our Master in life. The financial returns of being at the head of a cult have apparently paid off handsomely. Didn’t I mention that Ikeda is now a multi-billionaire? (Hush up please, members are not supposed to notice or talk about that!) No worries, Father Ikeda will take good care of all his children, so only listen to him! (Nevertheless, I presume that I’m still not included anywhere in his will.)
During one nice day of clear weather, at sunset we all scrambled to the roof of our lodging enjoy a particularly beautiful sunset. The clear air had produced a rare sunset phenomenon known as ‘Red Fuji”. The setting sun was casting its red rays upon the red lava rock of the mountain’s summit, which remained in its summer season state without a snowcap. The deep red effect was spectacular to view, and I felt great fortune and appreciation at being there to see it.
Unfortunately, due to a combination of insufficient food, sleep deprivation, jetlag, cold wet weather, and stress, I came down sick with a severe flu and fevers. Other YMD were quick to chastise me as being weak when a chose sleep and rest over the virtually 24 hour a day activities that were going on during the pilgrimage. I was so sick and out of it that it wasn’t difficult to refuse attending meetings, lectures, training sessions, or whatever was on the slate for us to participate in, but I was still left feeling guilty about my refusal to comply. I was never offered any sort of medical assistance, not even an aspirin for my fevers. As far as I knew, there was no place on the temple grounds to go ask for medical assistance, and I did not dare to complain to my seniors about being sick.
While I was hanging out in the lodge recuperating, I often spent my time watching with great fascination as the rain clouds climbed up the sides of Mt Fuji. They would roll right over the summit, obscuring it from view. Being from the flat lands of Texas, I had never seen a giant volcano and its effects on the weather. After about 3 days, I was finally well enough to join in the fray once more.
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On October 7th, the bad weather finally cleared, and under a brilliant blue sky, the sun came out. Mt Fuji was freshly clad in a mantle of white snow – the first snowcap of the season. It was so beautiful to behold the majesty of this mountain, rising continuously from the plains right on up to the summit.
Early that morning at about 4:30am, all the YMD sokahan in my lodge were unexpectedly awakened. We were told that President Ikeda and High Priest Nittassu Shonin had concurrently decided during the night to move forward the scheduled day for the transfer of the Dai-Gohonzon (great mandala) Transfer Ceremony. The reason, we were informed, was due to the nice weather, and for increased security (hypothetical, the saboteurs and enemies of Buddhism would be foiled by the change of dates).
After morning prayers before dawn and a quick breakfast, we assembled outside with all the YMD sokahan from the other lodges. We were lectured on the importance of this “historical” ceremony. Great emphasis was placed on “protecting our sect’s object of worship during its short trip from the Treasure House to the new Shohondo. This day was supposedly the culmination of 700 years of temple protection and member donations that would enable the completion of the “secret laws”. We were to lay down our lives if needed to protect this ceremonial procession. We lined up like the military at attention, and then stood at parade rest to receive our instructions. We were told not to move, or we would lose our opportunity to gain benefit by playing a part in the transfer ceremony.
As the morning progressed, the sun rose ever higher in the sky, becoming hotter and hotter. The sun’s heat rays bore down upon us. We continued to stand at parade rest for hours and hours with no break and no water. Despite chanting to make it through this “test”, many young men began to collapse upon the ground, having fainted from heat exhaustion. They were carried away, losing their privilege of participating directly in the ceremony as a “protector”. Although I was just recovering from my illness, I managed to stay on my feet. I probably only made though this torment due to growing up and working outside in the hot blistering Texas sun every summer. It had helped to condition me to cope with the sun’s heat. That, along with the extra rest and sleep that I had taken while being so sick in the preceding days also helped me physically persevere. However, psychologically, this training was a great success at changing my perception of reality.
Finally around 10:30 or 11 am, still without any sustenance of water or food, we were marched to the front of the Shohondo where those of us who had made it though the heat trials were assigned a place in a human chain being formed for the impending transfer ceremony. This colossal human chain created with many thousands of youth from both Japan and overseas, stretched from the Treasure House all the way to a special entrance at the front of the Main Sanctuary of the Shohondo, a very long distance. I was delighted to be stationed on the final flight of steps leading up to the Plaza of the Law. At that point in our line, the long chain of human bodies consisted of a boy/girl/boy/girl pattern about 3 or 4 deep. I was on the front line, a respectable position to be in, where I could actually see most of what was happening.
The Shohondo’s gleaming white marble and Mt. Fuji’s snowcapped peak rose majestically into the deep azure blue cloudless sky above us, as the Plaza of the Law began to fill with a vast crowd of more than 10,000 people. The row of towering marble clad columns with umbrella like tops stood magnificently across the front entrance of the inner sanctum. These colossal columns were covered with huge peach colored draperies that flowed in the light breeze.
According to our leaders, the Dai-Gohonzon would be housed inside in special earthquake proof shelter for 10,000 years or more. Everyone excitedly chanted the daimoku with prayer beads in hand as we waited with great anticipation. At last, the great white and gold procession came into view as it headed through the human chain that formed the long path and held back the crowd. The intensity of emotions seemed to skyrocket as this procession slowly approached closer to us and closer to the Shohondo’s Grand Main Temple.
A large group of priests moved steadily forward at the front of the ceremonial pageant, accompanied by swarms of photographers buzzing about to document the affair on film. Then I saw Gen. Dir. Williams leading Pres. Ikeda, who in return was leading High Priest Nittatsu, all of whom walked in front of the Dai-Gohonzon, As the procession passed by only a few feet in front of me, I could see their grave and solemn faces. I felt so privileged to see these three revered and famous men all together. For us, they were like the biggest rock stars in Buddhism, the honored masters leading the multitudes on to World Peace.
As the Dai-Gohonzon itself passed by me, I observed that it was wrapped in embroidered golden cloth and secured upon a large platform, carried upon the shoulders of young priests. Only a few feet away, I thought to myself that this was probably the closest proximity to the almost 700 hear old venerated object of worship most any ordinary lay believer like myself would ever have the fortune to enjoy. As a “protector” it was my job to keep the crowd back. Fortunately we had already joined arms, because the massive crowd that our human chain was holding back had begun to surge forward, struggling for even a glimpse of this extraordinary procession. We keep chanting hard and hung on. Finally, the crowd pressure eased off as this most crucial segment of the pageant moved on along up the human path.
The enormous crowd behind us continued to chant Daimoku as the ceremonial procession made its way around the massive Lotus Fountain that shot eight streams of water 100 meters into the air from each of eight lotus flower petals. I felt an immense elation as I thought how Nichiren Daishonin’s spirit seemed to be looking down upon the entire scene from the lofty summit of Mt. Fuji high above. As the procession climbed the final flight of stairs before entering the Shohondo proper, I began to feel faint and my knees began to weaken. At that moment, I thought it was due to the intensity of this “historic” event unfolding before me. Now that I look back, it was more likely due to exhaustion from heat and lack of food or water. But what’s essential is the way one decides to frame it.
On one of the following seven days of daily commemorative opening events being held to celebrate the Shohondo’s completion, a large “culture show” was scheduled to take place upon the gigantic Plaza of the Law. This area was located at the front of the massive temple and could easily accommodate 10,000 people. Together with other NSA Brass Band members from around the country, we were brought together to form a large enough group to pass for a marching band. But musically, we stank pretty badly, as only a few of us were proficient on our instruments. Lots of time and effort was spent to whip us into minimal performance shape, for we were slated to perform in the day’s big “culture show” event. We finally managed to crank out a passable sound for the big production that day. I was pleased because the trombones were placed in the front line of the marching band, giving me an excellent view of the crowd and of the other performance groups, as well as making for a fine photo op for me at the front of the band, in front of the ShoHondo
On another day, 1,000 kotos were assembled for a special musical concert performance. Never before had so many kotos come together to play. Taiko drums and bells accompanied this multitude of kotos. I especially enjoy their performance of one of my favorite traditional Japanese songs, “Sakura”. The sound of 1000 kotos in perfect unity and harmony was just incredible.
I was early to arrive on the Plaza that morning so I found myself almost at the very front of the gathering crowd. As the space filled in behind us, 10,000 people pressed forward, squeezing all of us in the front together very tightly. The body of a petite young Japanese woman standing directly in front of me was being compressed more and more against my body. We never spoke, but I think she knew I was an American. Eventually her head was directly under my chin and I could continuously smell the unforgettable sweet scent of her hair.
It was hard (well, difficult) not to find her delicate back, smooth shoulders, and curvy bottom extremely erotic as our bodies continued to rub together. I didn’t get an erection, but my desire to have sex with an Asian woman shot right off the scale. Back in Texas, I had been discouraged not to have either a girlfriend or sex by my senior leader. Having not been laid for over six months was beginning to take its toll on me. Being pinned up against this lovely creature was absolutely driving me crazy! Somehow I resisted the temptation to touch her with my hands. It wasn’t until much later on that I would finally come to the realization that this power over my sex life was being employed in order to control and confuse me.
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At last, the day arrived when I would finally have the opportunity to enter the Grand Main Sanctuary and see (“meet”) the Dai-Gohonzon for the first time. This was the main event! How many times had I already hears, “Just pray wholeheartedly to the True Object of Worship and anything you wish for will certainly come true!” (That is, as long as you continue to obey and never ever quit). This highly promoted and excessively built up occasion was supposed to be the principal purpose of making this pilgrimage half way around the world in the first place. The Gajukai Ceremony (worshiping the Dai-Gohonzon) was touted as an earth-shattering event for a believer, carrying just the same value as meeting Nichiren Daishonon himself (how mystical).
Upon entering this vast building (the round shaped roof was the same area as a football field), I was enthralled with the beautiful architecture and enormous space all around me. A short time after all 3000 worshippers had taken their seats and had begun chanting, the high priest, the president, and their entourages were seated and recitation of the sutra began.
I was still struggling to master gongyo (morning and evening recitation of the 2nd and 16th chapters of the Lotus Sutra followed by chanting Daimoku.) I had finally learned to stumble through the first and last parts that are repeated 8 times a day, but the lengthy middle part was only done twice a day. Consequently, it was taking me much longer to learn that part. Even though the high priest’s tempo wasn’t fast, I still struggled along to keep up during the middle section. As a senior leader, it was still such an embarrassment to have to lead gongyo at meetings when I still didn’t have the skill to perform it myself. So I was that my highest priority and foremost prayer to the Dai-Gohonzon would be for me to attain the proficiency to correctly perform the daily ritual prayers – praying to learn to pray. By rights, I should have been chanting for some great change, or even happiness and good fortune in my life. But there I was, chanting to learn how to pray properly. Baka! (crazy!)
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There was one special activity that was really pleasurable for me. On this day, American NSA members were scheduled to attend a Soka Gakkai block meeting. Instead of being organized into district groups, the SGI (with millions of members) used a “block” system. In this arrangement, all the members living on the same block would comprise a group. So NSA members were divided up in to groups of three and sent out to different block meeting locations. Each of our small NSA group threesomes consisted of one YMD, one YWD, and one Japanese WD to serve as a translator.
When we arrived by automobile at the meeting place, I was surprised at how many people were outside waiting to greet our small party of three. As we entered the living room, I was astounded by how many people had crammed inside. There were easily over a hundred and fifty people present. So many that members spilled out of doorways, filling the halls, the other rooms, and the patio/backyard. For most Japanese members, American members were quite an innovation, and they had turned out in mass to see this new species of Buddhist. I was immediately ushered to the front and center, where I was expected to lead gongyo.
As usual, I found myself sweating bullets as I tried my best to lead the recitation. Here I was, the NSA American representative and, and I still couldn’t perform the most basic part of my Buddhist practice. As usual, the senior leaders surrounding me actually lead the recitation of the sutra. How relieved I was when we finally got to the part with regular chanting at the end. At last I could raise my voice and actually lead the chanting. But as usual, everyone simply ignored my shortcomings and heaped praise upon me. They were all so amazed and impressed that an American was practicing Buddhism at all. Then, when I would mention to a Japanese member that I was a YMD butaicho, they would swoon and say, “oh, you bery high leader in America!” I was a like a hero, even though I had accomplished nothing ! They gave me an ultra love bomb.
Then the three of us were lead into the kitchen where an enormous meal had been prepared. Everybody there must have brought a dish for the occasion. There was so much food it was unbelievable! We were treated like royalty as we enjoyed the delicious fare until we were too stuffed full to eat even one more single bite. I had seen the big senior leaders from Los Angles treated similarly whenever they came to Dallas for a meeting. Wined and dined, and given celebrity standing for merely holding a senior position. Now it was my turn to be treated with royalty like a Lion King. I don’t believe I’ve ever been so ceremoniously honored as I was on that day. Gee, it wasn’t just “great to be King!” - it was fucking off the chart! I experienced a tremendous natural high, and just like with opiate drugs, my ego would never again be able to replicate the dizzying high of that order of magnitude. I didn’t know it yet, but man, I was hooked on having the celebrity status. Total authority and adoration – what a dangerous mix for anyone. What kind of hell would living in that narcissistic manner 24/7 bring to any healthy and sane person’s mind? No wonder senior leaders went around acting like all knowing demi-gods.
After the super-sized meeting and meal, the three of us and our entourage left for a trip to the mountains. Riding along in a car with four Japanese young men, I didn’t speak any Japanese and none of the other passengers spoke any English. It was culture shock, but being more on the rock star side of things was a lot more fun. I believe it was that experience above all others that was the most influential upon my resolve to someday learn to speak Japanese, if only skoshi desu (a little). We drove past the beautiful green countryside dotted with thatched roof huts and tiered rows of crops that climbed up the steep hill and mountain sides, while trying our best to communicate in sign language with each other. I could see wonderful views of the ocean in the distance as we climbed higher and higher.
Late that afternoon, our entourage of 4 or 5 cars arrived at a beautiful lake that was nestled among the mountaintops. A speedboat was arranged to take the three of us on a trip around the lake. We boarded the sleek craft just as the sun began to lower itself close to the mountaintops that surrounded the lake. As we sped across the water in the powerboat, I reflected on being in such an exotic place and the events of the previous days. I was in awe of my amazing experiences and at seeing all the marvelous natural beauty that surrounded me. I could barely believe my good fortune. There was a lot more to enjoy here than just rice balls that were constantly offered!
Speaking of which, it was getting dark, so it was decided to treat us to an exclusive traditional Japanese restaurant for dinner. Instead of a western style dining room/area, this restaurant had number of small traditional thatched huts, each one with a nice hibachi type grill built into the floor of the hut. The three of us, along with 2 of our hosts, were seated Japanese style on the floor around the hibachi. Our own personal chief and waitress were assigned to cook and serve for our party’s hut. We were entertained by the chief at he demonstrated his skill at flipping food items directly off the grill and on to our plates, leaving the geisha clad waitress to keep our sake cups filled with warmed sake. Once again, we enjoyed ourselves until we were completely satiated. Two unforgettable meals in one day! It was very late before we arrived back at the head temple that night.
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I wanted to shop for a bolt of fine silk for my mother, who had bankrolled my tozan trip with a loan. Bringing back silk was her only request, and I was determined to carry it out. Using one of my dwindling number of remaining days, I caught a bus by myself going from the Head Temple into the seaside city of Fujinomiya. I was fascinated by the unusual building architecture and bustling traffic of the city, with Mt. Fuji looming like a backdrop on one side and the blue Pacific Ocean on the other. An NSA Japanese member helped me locate a large department store to shop at. After entering the store and attempting to ask for silk cloth in English, I realized this was going to be very difficult. None of the store employees spoke any English, and sign language didn’t cut it. Culture shock again! I couldn’t even understand which floor I needed to go to. Again, I strengthened my resolve to learn at least a little bit of the Japanese language someday. Eventually, a young clerk was located that spoke a tiny amount of English. I was finally able to communicate to the young lady what I was looking for. It was the first and last time I would take doing an ordinarily easy and simple task for granted in a foreign country. For example, making an international phone call or locating a book.
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One of the things that really appealed to me entailed having the opportunity to sign my name in a special historic record book of opening ceremony attendees. The book was to be placed into a 10,000 year time capsule and placed under the Shohondo’s earthquake proof alter, the “Myo-dan” which sported 10 ton doors. Over ten millennia, the time capsule would supposedly be opened every 1,000 years and all our (participants) names were to be read aloud. So off I went one day in search of the location where I could record my historic autograph for posterity. Sure sounded like a good thing to do, and wouldn’t it make me even more special?
I was directed to an office complex where male Japanese Soka Gakkai members scurried about, seemingly too busy to be bothered with questions from me. Finally, I spoke with a man with very broken English who pointed me toward a hallway with several doors. At the first door, I entered a small office where two Japanese men were conversing. Trying to be polite and not interrupt, I stood silently inside the door, waiting for a chance to inquire if this was the place to sign the time capsule book.
At last the man behind the desk stopped talking and looked up at me. With out asking me what I wanted or was trying to do, he stood and began vehemently yelling at me in a very fearsome manner. He got right in my face, and I know a cussing out when I hear it, whatever language its in. Why did this man, a complete stranger and supposedly Buddhist, seem to hate me so intensely? I was stunned and shocked at this verbal abuse. I flashed back to my own abusive stepfather and pure fear shot through me. I thought he might physically attack me. A very intimidating display of aggression all right. Now days, in my mind’s eye, he reminds me of National Geographic TV clips of rampaging chimpanzees, screaming and terrorizing some rival troupe. A very noisy business indeed. At the time, I just couldn’t imagine what set this guy off on me.
However, with my current understanding of racism from living in Japan, studying the culture up close, and practicing both Japanese Buddhism and Japanese Karate, I am inclined to think that this bullying browbeater was really just a prejudiced redneck disguised as a Buddhist. After being a hippy from Texas in the 60’s – I know a redneck when I encounter one. This obnoxious bully was a prime example of a racist individual with a life condition dwelling in the lower worlds of anger and animality, and in my eyes, a very poor excuse for a Buddhist “leader”. But as it turns out, this raging bull would likely be an upstanding and desirable example of an “ideal” cultist Soka Gakkai senior leader. HQ values those leaders with a talent for knowing how to cruelly “work over” subordinates and inferiors. Breaking down a practitioner is another favorite cult technique I have witnessed many times from both Japanese Buddhism and martial art schools. The man’s fiery tirade continued until I finally managed to inch my way out of there and far away to a safe distance. I was pretty shaken up, which is just what he wanted. After all, that was supposed to be “good training”. I prefer to call it exactly what it was, abusive and manipulative behavior.
I eventually did find the right door down that same hallway and managed to sign the time capsule book. In the end it was all to no avail however, since the Shohondo was torn down during the nineties, having barely lasted 30 years. Nowhere near the 10,000 years that we heard about so many times. So, what if I never got my name read? In the long run, it would be just like so many other false Soka Gakkai promises that never seemed to materialize.
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Just in time before preparing to leave for the states, I had one more opportunity to enter the Shohondo and chant to the Dai-Gohonzon. Once again, this was touted as the number one reason to be on a pilgrimage. I was assured that every time one worships the Dai-Gohonzon, super awesome changes for the better would shower down upon the believer. Yet, I was also taught that the paper Gohonzon scroll enshrined in one’s home was just the same as this large black lacquered carved wooden object enshrined in the Shohondo. Well, which one is it – superior or the same? Another contradiction. I was so totally exhausted from constant activities that by this time, I absolutely couldn’t help but fall asleep during gongyo. Then a string of Japanese speakers, including Ikeda, gave long speeches with no translations, which also made my staying awake unfeasible. I fought hard, but my head kept bobbing up and down almost the entire time. Immediately after the Gajukai ceremony was over, guilty feelings began to set in. I began to wonder, “What if my naps at the Shohondo were bad causes?” I feared that I had somehow let my Master down. “Yes! Guilty as charged!” I complete forgot whatever it was I had prayed for that day.
Finally, the dreaded day of departure arrived. I didn’t want to leave this dreamlike world and return to my own routine existence back in Texas. But the trap had been sprung, and was working wonderfully. I could now frame my entire view of reality to conform to all Soka Gakkai’s views. I would touchdown back in Dallas with a set of new goals – to become a salaried headquarters leader, marry a Japanese gal to make lots of “fortune” babies with, and altruistically fight for World Peace under my Master in Life, Ikeda Sensei. Oh yeah, and regain that super big rush/high facilitated by having a special celebrity status. Little did I know that I was setting myself up for a painful failure with my desire to become a “ridiculously empowered elite” in the twisted world of the NSA/SGI cult.
The Shohondo was flaunted as the completion of the “Third Great Secret Law of Buddhism”, never accomplished in over 3000 years of Buddhist history (how mystical was that?). It was hyped as being designed and built to last for 10,000 years into the future (it was torn down after barely three decades, reportedly due to the danger of collapse from cheap super-fast rusting iron illegally used in the superstructure). Many of the older Japanese ladies had already paid for their places on this special pilgrimage, years before the event. Now at the very last minute, it was announced that any youth division member that could come up with the money for the trip could instantly replace these older dedicated members who had already paid for their seats on this exclusive pilgrimage. Just how fair was that anyway?
As a senior youth division leader, I was encouraged to chant for the money to attend this “historic” world event that I had previously been ineligible to attend. I began chanting three hours a day but had no luck raising the money. I finally talked my Mother into loaning me enough money to pay for the trip. But then I conveniently assigned the sole credit to chanting only for acquiring the money to make the long journey to Japan.
After I submitted my payment for the trip, Mrs. Vaden informed me that I would also be required to purchase a special NSA uniform to wear. The uniform consisted of an itchy polyester blue blazer and slacks, striped red and silver tie, white shoes, and a really dorky crème colored plastic hat (crap, nobody wore old style hats like that except really old codgers and Frank Sinatra). But since I was now a sokahan with a special shoulder patch for my blazer, the hat I was required to wear with the uniform was a military style cap. UGH! It looked like a marine or policeman’s cap. It was just like my ancient military style band uniform cap from high school band that I had detested so much. And besides, being an anti-military and anti-war hippie, I had always hated any kind of uniform. But I accepted wearing the tozan uniform because I was going to be part of the elite group allowed to attend such a monumental event. Strange, by wearing a uniform, I was doing something totally against my grain, yet I readily accepted it. NSA’s control over me was becoming deeper and deeper.
Finally, the day of the much-anticipated departure for the head temple arrived. That October morning I was in a dreamlike state of mind as I put on my tozan uniform/suit and headed to the airport with my roommate, John. I could barely believe that this journey was really happening. I thought about the people I had gone to school with in my small Texas hometown, and I felt so superior to them all. I was heading for Japan to bring peace and happiness to the whole world. What were they doing – just the same old shit? Having such a mundane life, how could they possibly understand my importance as a “bodhisattva of the earth”? So much for any semblance of modesty or humbleness, which for me was slipping away faster than the Texas landscapes underneath our jetliner as we headed west to make our flight connection at LAX.
The flight across the Pacific Ocean in our new Boeing 747 was long and uneventful as our excitement built. Arriving in Tokyo at around 4 in the morning, I was astonished at the crowds of Soka Gakkai members that had turned out at the airport in the middle of the night to greet the members arriving from America. As soon as we had gone through customs, hundreds, maybe thousands of Japanese members began cheering us. They lined the airport hallways, walkways and streets, clapping for us and smiling. They were all waving tiny American flags for us as we filed along in nice orderly lines to our waiting busses.
I experienced my first culture shock after arriving in Japan. The airplane seats were cramped, but I was flabbergasted at how small the seats were on the bus that I had boarded. Americans are generally much larger than Japanese, so although I weighed only about 160 lbs, I literally had to squeeze myself into a seat. After traveling out of Tokyo and then around Mt Fuji, we began to get glimpses through the bus windows of the massive Shohondo temple in the pre-dawn darkness. The Shohondo was called “The Palace of World Peace”, and I believed it. The huge building was completely flooded in bright light. Its gleaming white marble exteriors radiated bright light out into the darkness of night, revealing the unusual contours of the building’s design. When looking straight down, the enormous roof was round. But the view from the side was meant to represent a crane’s wings at it takes to the sky. The sight of it was totally unique and stunningly beautiful as we approached nearer to the head temple Taiseki-ji grounds.
Just before dawn, with the dark sky still hanging on, our buses pulled into the bus loading/unloading zone in front of the overseas lodgings area of the temple. Huge fires in elevated iron grates that lined the sidewalk were burning brightly as hundreds of members cheered wildly at our arrival. I was thunderstruck at the scene. Tears were flowing all around as a brass band struck up “Forever Sensei”. I was overwhelmed with emotion as I stepped off the bus into this fantastical dreamlike scene. I remember thinking, “all this just for us?” Man, we must be really be extraordinary and special!
As we were being assigned to one of the large lodges used exclusively for overseas pilgrims, each one of us was given a 500 Yen bill from President Ikeda (worth less than $1.50 in 1972 currency exchange rates). They told us that our beloved Ikeda understood how, as overseas members, most of us had spent everything we had to be there, and many were more or less flat broke. Fortunately for me, my mom had already given me some actual spending money to shop with, but somehow, I was more appreciative of my surrogate father to slip a little (very little) extra into my pocket as well. We were tired, jetlagged, and easily influenced, so this tiny bit of bribery was an extremely cheap and simple way to buy a lifetime of loyalty and admiration from us for the very impressive Soka Gakkai president and our Master in life. The financial returns of being at the head of a cult have apparently paid off handsomely. Didn’t I mention that Ikeda is now a multi-billionaire? (Hush up please, members are not supposed to notice or talk about that!) No worries, Father Ikeda will take good care of all his children, so only listen to him! (Nevertheless, I presume that I’m still not included anywhere in his will.)
During one nice day of clear weather, at sunset we all scrambled to the roof of our lodging enjoy a particularly beautiful sunset. The clear air had produced a rare sunset phenomenon known as ‘Red Fuji”. The setting sun was casting its red rays upon the red lava rock of the mountain’s summit, which remained in its summer season state without a snowcap. The deep red effect was spectacular to view, and I felt great fortune and appreciation at being there to see it.
Unfortunately, due to a combination of insufficient food, sleep deprivation, jetlag, cold wet weather, and stress, I came down sick with a severe flu and fevers. Other YMD were quick to chastise me as being weak when a chose sleep and rest over the virtually 24 hour a day activities that were going on during the pilgrimage. I was so sick and out of it that it wasn’t difficult to refuse attending meetings, lectures, training sessions, or whatever was on the slate for us to participate in, but I was still left feeling guilty about my refusal to comply. I was never offered any sort of medical assistance, not even an aspirin for my fevers. As far as I knew, there was no place on the temple grounds to go ask for medical assistance, and I did not dare to complain to my seniors about being sick.
While I was hanging out in the lodge recuperating, I often spent my time watching with great fascination as the rain clouds climbed up the sides of Mt Fuji. They would roll right over the summit, obscuring it from view. Being from the flat lands of Texas, I had never seen a giant volcano and its effects on the weather. After about 3 days, I was finally well enough to join in the fray once more.
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On October 7th, the bad weather finally cleared, and under a brilliant blue sky, the sun came out. Mt Fuji was freshly clad in a mantle of white snow – the first snowcap of the season. It was so beautiful to behold the majesty of this mountain, rising continuously from the plains right on up to the summit.
Early that morning at about 4:30am, all the YMD sokahan in my lodge were unexpectedly awakened. We were told that President Ikeda and High Priest Nittassu Shonin had concurrently decided during the night to move forward the scheduled day for the transfer of the Dai-Gohonzon (great mandala) Transfer Ceremony. The reason, we were informed, was due to the nice weather, and for increased security (hypothetical, the saboteurs and enemies of Buddhism would be foiled by the change of dates).
After morning prayers before dawn and a quick breakfast, we assembled outside with all the YMD sokahan from the other lodges. We were lectured on the importance of this “historical” ceremony. Great emphasis was placed on “protecting our sect’s object of worship during its short trip from the Treasure House to the new Shohondo. This day was supposedly the culmination of 700 years of temple protection and member donations that would enable the completion of the “secret laws”. We were to lay down our lives if needed to protect this ceremonial procession. We lined up like the military at attention, and then stood at parade rest to receive our instructions. We were told not to move, or we would lose our opportunity to gain benefit by playing a part in the transfer ceremony.
As the morning progressed, the sun rose ever higher in the sky, becoming hotter and hotter. The sun’s heat rays bore down upon us. We continued to stand at parade rest for hours and hours with no break and no water. Despite chanting to make it through this “test”, many young men began to collapse upon the ground, having fainted from heat exhaustion. They were carried away, losing their privilege of participating directly in the ceremony as a “protector”. Although I was just recovering from my illness, I managed to stay on my feet. I probably only made though this torment due to growing up and working outside in the hot blistering Texas sun every summer. It had helped to condition me to cope with the sun’s heat. That, along with the extra rest and sleep that I had taken while being so sick in the preceding days also helped me physically persevere. However, psychologically, this training was a great success at changing my perception of reality.
Finally around 10:30 or 11 am, still without any sustenance of water or food, we were marched to the front of the Shohondo where those of us who had made it though the heat trials were assigned a place in a human chain being formed for the impending transfer ceremony. This colossal human chain created with many thousands of youth from both Japan and overseas, stretched from the Treasure House all the way to a special entrance at the front of the Main Sanctuary of the Shohondo, a very long distance. I was delighted to be stationed on the final flight of steps leading up to the Plaza of the Law. At that point in our line, the long chain of human bodies consisted of a boy/girl/boy/girl pattern about 3 or 4 deep. I was on the front line, a respectable position to be in, where I could actually see most of what was happening.
The Shohondo’s gleaming white marble and Mt. Fuji’s snowcapped peak rose majestically into the deep azure blue cloudless sky above us, as the Plaza of the Law began to fill with a vast crowd of more than 10,000 people. The row of towering marble clad columns with umbrella like tops stood magnificently across the front entrance of the inner sanctum. These colossal columns were covered with huge peach colored draperies that flowed in the light breeze.
According to our leaders, the Dai-Gohonzon would be housed inside in special earthquake proof shelter for 10,000 years or more. Everyone excitedly chanted the daimoku with prayer beads in hand as we waited with great anticipation. At last, the great white and gold procession came into view as it headed through the human chain that formed the long path and held back the crowd. The intensity of emotions seemed to skyrocket as this procession slowly approached closer to us and closer to the Shohondo’s Grand Main Temple.
A large group of priests moved steadily forward at the front of the ceremonial pageant, accompanied by swarms of photographers buzzing about to document the affair on film. Then I saw Gen. Dir. Williams leading Pres. Ikeda, who in return was leading High Priest Nittatsu, all of whom walked in front of the Dai-Gohonzon, As the procession passed by only a few feet in front of me, I could see their grave and solemn faces. I felt so privileged to see these three revered and famous men all together. For us, they were like the biggest rock stars in Buddhism, the honored masters leading the multitudes on to World Peace.
As the Dai-Gohonzon itself passed by me, I observed that it was wrapped in embroidered golden cloth and secured upon a large platform, carried upon the shoulders of young priests. Only a few feet away, I thought to myself that this was probably the closest proximity to the almost 700 hear old venerated object of worship most any ordinary lay believer like myself would ever have the fortune to enjoy. As a “protector” it was my job to keep the crowd back. Fortunately we had already joined arms, because the massive crowd that our human chain was holding back had begun to surge forward, struggling for even a glimpse of this extraordinary procession. We keep chanting hard and hung on. Finally, the crowd pressure eased off as this most crucial segment of the pageant moved on along up the human path.
The enormous crowd behind us continued to chant Daimoku as the ceremonial procession made its way around the massive Lotus Fountain that shot eight streams of water 100 meters into the air from each of eight lotus flower petals. I felt an immense elation as I thought how Nichiren Daishonin’s spirit seemed to be looking down upon the entire scene from the lofty summit of Mt. Fuji high above. As the procession climbed the final flight of stairs before entering the Shohondo proper, I began to feel faint and my knees began to weaken. At that moment, I thought it was due to the intensity of this “historic” event unfolding before me. Now that I look back, it was more likely due to exhaustion from heat and lack of food or water. But what’s essential is the way one decides to frame it.
On one of the following seven days of daily commemorative opening events being held to celebrate the Shohondo’s completion, a large “culture show” was scheduled to take place upon the gigantic Plaza of the Law. This area was located at the front of the massive temple and could easily accommodate 10,000 people. Together with other NSA Brass Band members from around the country, we were brought together to form a large enough group to pass for a marching band. But musically, we stank pretty badly, as only a few of us were proficient on our instruments. Lots of time and effort was spent to whip us into minimal performance shape, for we were slated to perform in the day’s big “culture show” event. We finally managed to crank out a passable sound for the big production that day. I was pleased because the trombones were placed in the front line of the marching band, giving me an excellent view of the crowd and of the other performance groups, as well as making for a fine photo op for me at the front of the band, in front of the ShoHondo
On another day, 1,000 kotos were assembled for a special musical concert performance. Never before had so many kotos come together to play. Taiko drums and bells accompanied this multitude of kotos. I especially enjoy their performance of one of my favorite traditional Japanese songs, “Sakura”. The sound of 1000 kotos in perfect unity and harmony was just incredible.
I was early to arrive on the Plaza that morning so I found myself almost at the very front of the gathering crowd. As the space filled in behind us, 10,000 people pressed forward, squeezing all of us in the front together very tightly. The body of a petite young Japanese woman standing directly in front of me was being compressed more and more against my body. We never spoke, but I think she knew I was an American. Eventually her head was directly under my chin and I could continuously smell the unforgettable sweet scent of her hair.
It was hard (well, difficult) not to find her delicate back, smooth shoulders, and curvy bottom extremely erotic as our bodies continued to rub together. I didn’t get an erection, but my desire to have sex with an Asian woman shot right off the scale. Back in Texas, I had been discouraged not to have either a girlfriend or sex by my senior leader. Having not been laid for over six months was beginning to take its toll on me. Being pinned up against this lovely creature was absolutely driving me crazy! Somehow I resisted the temptation to touch her with my hands. It wasn’t until much later on that I would finally come to the realization that this power over my sex life was being employed in order to control and confuse me.
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At last, the day arrived when I would finally have the opportunity to enter the Grand Main Sanctuary and see (“meet”) the Dai-Gohonzon for the first time. This was the main event! How many times had I already hears, “Just pray wholeheartedly to the True Object of Worship and anything you wish for will certainly come true!” (That is, as long as you continue to obey and never ever quit). This highly promoted and excessively built up occasion was supposed to be the principal purpose of making this pilgrimage half way around the world in the first place. The Gajukai Ceremony (worshiping the Dai-Gohonzon) was touted as an earth-shattering event for a believer, carrying just the same value as meeting Nichiren Daishonon himself (how mystical).
Upon entering this vast building (the round shaped roof was the same area as a football field), I was enthralled with the beautiful architecture and enormous space all around me. A short time after all 3000 worshippers had taken their seats and had begun chanting, the high priest, the president, and their entourages were seated and recitation of the sutra began.
I was still struggling to master gongyo (morning and evening recitation of the 2nd and 16th chapters of the Lotus Sutra followed by chanting Daimoku.) I had finally learned to stumble through the first and last parts that are repeated 8 times a day, but the lengthy middle part was only done twice a day. Consequently, it was taking me much longer to learn that part. Even though the high priest’s tempo wasn’t fast, I still struggled along to keep up during the middle section. As a senior leader, it was still such an embarrassment to have to lead gongyo at meetings when I still didn’t have the skill to perform it myself. So I was that my highest priority and foremost prayer to the Dai-Gohonzon would be for me to attain the proficiency to correctly perform the daily ritual prayers – praying to learn to pray. By rights, I should have been chanting for some great change, or even happiness and good fortune in my life. But there I was, chanting to learn how to pray properly. Baka! (crazy!)
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There was one special activity that was really pleasurable for me. On this day, American NSA members were scheduled to attend a Soka Gakkai block meeting. Instead of being organized into district groups, the SGI (with millions of members) used a “block” system. In this arrangement, all the members living on the same block would comprise a group. So NSA members were divided up in to groups of three and sent out to different block meeting locations. Each of our small NSA group threesomes consisted of one YMD, one YWD, and one Japanese WD to serve as a translator.
When we arrived by automobile at the meeting place, I was surprised at how many people were outside waiting to greet our small party of three. As we entered the living room, I was astounded by how many people had crammed inside. There were easily over a hundred and fifty people present. So many that members spilled out of doorways, filling the halls, the other rooms, and the patio/backyard. For most Japanese members, American members were quite an innovation, and they had turned out in mass to see this new species of Buddhist. I was immediately ushered to the front and center, where I was expected to lead gongyo.
As usual, I found myself sweating bullets as I tried my best to lead the recitation. Here I was, the NSA American representative and, and I still couldn’t perform the most basic part of my Buddhist practice. As usual, the senior leaders surrounding me actually lead the recitation of the sutra. How relieved I was when we finally got to the part with regular chanting at the end. At last I could raise my voice and actually lead the chanting. But as usual, everyone simply ignored my shortcomings and heaped praise upon me. They were all so amazed and impressed that an American was practicing Buddhism at all. Then, when I would mention to a Japanese member that I was a YMD butaicho, they would swoon and say, “oh, you bery high leader in America!” I was a like a hero, even though I had accomplished nothing ! They gave me an ultra love bomb.
Then the three of us were lead into the kitchen where an enormous meal had been prepared. Everybody there must have brought a dish for the occasion. There was so much food it was unbelievable! We were treated like royalty as we enjoyed the delicious fare until we were too stuffed full to eat even one more single bite. I had seen the big senior leaders from Los Angles treated similarly whenever they came to Dallas for a meeting. Wined and dined, and given celebrity standing for merely holding a senior position. Now it was my turn to be treated with royalty like a Lion King. I don’t believe I’ve ever been so ceremoniously honored as I was on that day. Gee, it wasn’t just “great to be King!” - it was fucking off the chart! I experienced a tremendous natural high, and just like with opiate drugs, my ego would never again be able to replicate the dizzying high of that order of magnitude. I didn’t know it yet, but man, I was hooked on having the celebrity status. Total authority and adoration – what a dangerous mix for anyone. What kind of hell would living in that narcissistic manner 24/7 bring to any healthy and sane person’s mind? No wonder senior leaders went around acting like all knowing demi-gods.
After the super-sized meeting and meal, the three of us and our entourage left for a trip to the mountains. Riding along in a car with four Japanese young men, I didn’t speak any Japanese and none of the other passengers spoke any English. It was culture shock, but being more on the rock star side of things was a lot more fun. I believe it was that experience above all others that was the most influential upon my resolve to someday learn to speak Japanese, if only skoshi desu (a little). We drove past the beautiful green countryside dotted with thatched roof huts and tiered rows of crops that climbed up the steep hill and mountain sides, while trying our best to communicate in sign language with each other. I could see wonderful views of the ocean in the distance as we climbed higher and higher.
Late that afternoon, our entourage of 4 or 5 cars arrived at a beautiful lake that was nestled among the mountaintops. A speedboat was arranged to take the three of us on a trip around the lake. We boarded the sleek craft just as the sun began to lower itself close to the mountaintops that surrounded the lake. As we sped across the water in the powerboat, I reflected on being in such an exotic place and the events of the previous days. I was in awe of my amazing experiences and at seeing all the marvelous natural beauty that surrounded me. I could barely believe my good fortune. There was a lot more to enjoy here than just rice balls that were constantly offered!
Speaking of which, it was getting dark, so it was decided to treat us to an exclusive traditional Japanese restaurant for dinner. Instead of a western style dining room/area, this restaurant had number of small traditional thatched huts, each one with a nice hibachi type grill built into the floor of the hut. The three of us, along with 2 of our hosts, were seated Japanese style on the floor around the hibachi. Our own personal chief and waitress were assigned to cook and serve for our party’s hut. We were entertained by the chief at he demonstrated his skill at flipping food items directly off the grill and on to our plates, leaving the geisha clad waitress to keep our sake cups filled with warmed sake. Once again, we enjoyed ourselves until we were completely satiated. Two unforgettable meals in one day! It was very late before we arrived back at the head temple that night.
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I wanted to shop for a bolt of fine silk for my mother, who had bankrolled my tozan trip with a loan. Bringing back silk was her only request, and I was determined to carry it out. Using one of my dwindling number of remaining days, I caught a bus by myself going from the Head Temple into the seaside city of Fujinomiya. I was fascinated by the unusual building architecture and bustling traffic of the city, with Mt. Fuji looming like a backdrop on one side and the blue Pacific Ocean on the other. An NSA Japanese member helped me locate a large department store to shop at. After entering the store and attempting to ask for silk cloth in English, I realized this was going to be very difficult. None of the store employees spoke any English, and sign language didn’t cut it. Culture shock again! I couldn’t even understand which floor I needed to go to. Again, I strengthened my resolve to learn at least a little bit of the Japanese language someday. Eventually, a young clerk was located that spoke a tiny amount of English. I was finally able to communicate to the young lady what I was looking for. It was the first and last time I would take doing an ordinarily easy and simple task for granted in a foreign country. For example, making an international phone call or locating a book.
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One of the things that really appealed to me entailed having the opportunity to sign my name in a special historic record book of opening ceremony attendees. The book was to be placed into a 10,000 year time capsule and placed under the Shohondo’s earthquake proof alter, the “Myo-dan” which sported 10 ton doors. Over ten millennia, the time capsule would supposedly be opened every 1,000 years and all our (participants) names were to be read aloud. So off I went one day in search of the location where I could record my historic autograph for posterity. Sure sounded like a good thing to do, and wouldn’t it make me even more special?
I was directed to an office complex where male Japanese Soka Gakkai members scurried about, seemingly too busy to be bothered with questions from me. Finally, I spoke with a man with very broken English who pointed me toward a hallway with several doors. At the first door, I entered a small office where two Japanese men were conversing. Trying to be polite and not interrupt, I stood silently inside the door, waiting for a chance to inquire if this was the place to sign the time capsule book.
At last the man behind the desk stopped talking and looked up at me. With out asking me what I wanted or was trying to do, he stood and began vehemently yelling at me in a very fearsome manner. He got right in my face, and I know a cussing out when I hear it, whatever language its in. Why did this man, a complete stranger and supposedly Buddhist, seem to hate me so intensely? I was stunned and shocked at this verbal abuse. I flashed back to my own abusive stepfather and pure fear shot through me. I thought he might physically attack me. A very intimidating display of aggression all right. Now days, in my mind’s eye, he reminds me of National Geographic TV clips of rampaging chimpanzees, screaming and terrorizing some rival troupe. A very noisy business indeed. At the time, I just couldn’t imagine what set this guy off on me.
However, with my current understanding of racism from living in Japan, studying the culture up close, and practicing both Japanese Buddhism and Japanese Karate, I am inclined to think that this bullying browbeater was really just a prejudiced redneck disguised as a Buddhist. After being a hippy from Texas in the 60’s – I know a redneck when I encounter one. This obnoxious bully was a prime example of a racist individual with a life condition dwelling in the lower worlds of anger and animality, and in my eyes, a very poor excuse for a Buddhist “leader”. But as it turns out, this raging bull would likely be an upstanding and desirable example of an “ideal” cultist Soka Gakkai senior leader. HQ values those leaders with a talent for knowing how to cruelly “work over” subordinates and inferiors. Breaking down a practitioner is another favorite cult technique I have witnessed many times from both Japanese Buddhism and martial art schools. The man’s fiery tirade continued until I finally managed to inch my way out of there and far away to a safe distance. I was pretty shaken up, which is just what he wanted. After all, that was supposed to be “good training”. I prefer to call it exactly what it was, abusive and manipulative behavior.
I eventually did find the right door down that same hallway and managed to sign the time capsule book. In the end it was all to no avail however, since the Shohondo was torn down during the nineties, having barely lasted 30 years. Nowhere near the 10,000 years that we heard about so many times. So, what if I never got my name read? In the long run, it would be just like so many other false Soka Gakkai promises that never seemed to materialize.
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Just in time before preparing to leave for the states, I had one more opportunity to enter the Shohondo and chant to the Dai-Gohonzon. Once again, this was touted as the number one reason to be on a pilgrimage. I was assured that every time one worships the Dai-Gohonzon, super awesome changes for the better would shower down upon the believer. Yet, I was also taught that the paper Gohonzon scroll enshrined in one’s home was just the same as this large black lacquered carved wooden object enshrined in the Shohondo. Well, which one is it – superior or the same? Another contradiction. I was so totally exhausted from constant activities that by this time, I absolutely couldn’t help but fall asleep during gongyo. Then a string of Japanese speakers, including Ikeda, gave long speeches with no translations, which also made my staying awake unfeasible. I fought hard, but my head kept bobbing up and down almost the entire time. Immediately after the Gajukai ceremony was over, guilty feelings began to set in. I began to wonder, “What if my naps at the Shohondo were bad causes?” I feared that I had somehow let my Master down. “Yes! Guilty as charged!” I complete forgot whatever it was I had prayed for that day.
Finally, the dreaded day of departure arrived. I didn’t want to leave this dreamlike world and return to my own routine existence back in Texas. But the trap had been sprung, and was working wonderfully. I could now frame my entire view of reality to conform to all Soka Gakkai’s views. I would touchdown back in Dallas with a set of new goals – to become a salaried headquarters leader, marry a Japanese gal to make lots of “fortune” babies with, and altruistically fight for World Peace under my Master in Life, Ikeda Sensei. Oh yeah, and regain that super big rush/high facilitated by having a special celebrity status. Little did I know that I was setting myself up for a painful failure with my desire to become a “ridiculously empowered elite” in the twisted world of the NSA/SGI cult.