Mantra

San Diego
June 1969

When the man came back, he handed me a string of beads and a rolled up
piece of rice paper with Asian writing on it. When he returned he said,
"This is your Gohonzon." He told me that the writing was Japanese
calligraphy that said Nam Myoho Renge Kyo, the same Nam Myoho Renge Kyo
that was being chanted by everyone in the room. He further told me my
Gohonzon was identical to the enshrined Gohonzon, just smaller. He
also told me that I should be very respectful of my Gohonzon and he
said, "Put your Gohonzon in a shrine and worship it with all your
heart." He pointed to the beads in my hand and further said, "The
beads are called Judis, also known as prayer beads. Each bead
represents one of the 108 desires that keeps a person from attaining
happiness. Chant Nam Myoho Renge Kyo to your enshrined Gohonzon
while holding your beads. Chant Nam Myoho Renge Kyo for 15 minutes
or more, at least twice a day and, in the end, you will receive
enlightenment."

I looked at my prayer beads. A cross-shaped appendage was
attached and hung down from the string of beads. My Asian friend
told me that this appendage represented the Buddha's body. "These
beads," he said, "will help you toward enlightenment. They will
remind you to keep Buddha close to your heart." In an apologetic
tone, I responded, "I cannot do as you ask because I am traveling
around the country and have no place to call home." "Keep the
Gohonzon safe," he said, "Enshrine the Gohonzon and worship it when
you settle down. If you do this, good things will come to you." He
also told me that if I did this, everything I desired would
eventually become realized. As I listened to him, I was hearing that
if I did what he said, if I chanted long and hard for something, I
would get what I desired. I could not help but think that this idea,
the positive reinforcement between "wanting" and "receiving," was
inconsistent with what Buddha taught. I was not about to argue with
him though, so I thanked him as I clutched my beads and Gohonzon
like I had just received the keys to my own T-Bird sports car.

Seeing me grasp my Gohonzon and prayer beads, the two Asian
ladies returned to where I was sitting. I thought this was where I
said good-by. I was half right. Just as I was about to suggest it
was time to go, my Asian friend said, "There is one small request
however." He asked me for $5.00 for the shipping and handling costs
for bringing the Gohonzon and beads to this country from Japan. My
P. T. Barnum attitude of "There's a sucker born every minute"
slipped into gear. Do I keep these trinkets and hand over $5.00 or
do I embarrass myself and give them back to this questionably
sincere Asian man? I knew the beads and Gohonzon would make, if
nothing else, good souvenirs, but $5.00 would buy a whole lot of
twenty-five cent cheese cracker dinners. I looked at the bowed
people chanting, and, in that decisive moment, reached for my
billfold. Everybody smiled.

After taking care of business, the Asian man interrupted the
people chanting and said something in his language. Everybody looked
at me, smiled, and chanted Nam Myoho Renge Kyo. They then turned
back to the shrine and continued to chant. The ladies and Asian man
joined in, but not before the gesture was made that I should chant
along with everybody else. After a minute or two of chanting (which
felt much longer), the Asian man stopped, turned to me and
said, "You are now an official member of Nichiren Shoshu of
America." He then handed me what looked like business cards. They
identified this strange and, for me, unfamiliar Buddhist sect. He
shook my hand and said, "Go in peace." I thanked him and went to
search for my shoes.

We returned to the city the same way we came, in silence.
With my beads and Gohonzon in hand, the Asian ladies dropped me off
on the city street where we first met. On my way back to Balboa
Park, I passed by a store where I bought some salami and beer.
Finding all my gear under the bush where I had left it, and sensing
that I was totally alone on top of the hill overlooking the
beautiful city lights of San Diego, I uncapped my beer and sat down
on my sleeping bag. At the end of this very exciting evening, I
began to savor the peace and quiet of my solitude. On that warm
night, on a hill with a view, I ate my salami and bread, and drank
my beer. After eating my best meal since Michigan, I laid on my
back, looked up into a sky full of stars, and thought to myself, "It
just doesn't get any better than this."