Maura O'Halloran's Articles on Lions Roar

In 1979, a young Irish-American woman left a waitressing job in Boston to visit Japan. Socially engaged and academically brilliant, Maura O'Halloran was 24 when she entered Toshoji Temple in Tokyo for what became three years of continuous Zen practice. In 1982, her enlightenment experience was officially recognized, but she would never realize her great potential as a teacher of Zen. Tragically, at the age of 27, she was killed in a bus accident in Thailand on her way to Ireland, where she planned to establish a Zen center. In Japan, a statue was erected in her honor and she was awarded the posthumous title “Great Enlightened Lady.” Lion's Roar is pleased to present these selections from Pure Heart, Enlightened Mind: The Zen Journal and Letters of Maura Soshin O’Halloran. Dear Family, . . . my heart will be with you so think of me at Christmas. There'll be no plum pudding here. Bean cakes are nice, though. I was settling in nicely to Tokyo life, met a few people and had loads of work opportunities. But I realized I was only meeting gaijin and all the foreigners form a little clique with an occasional Japanese girlfriend or boyfriend. I was speaking no Japanese and wasn't attracted by the culture, so I've taken a leap into real Japan, and ancient Japan at that! I'm living at Toshoji temple and get room and board in exchange for some cleaning every day and I'm learning zazen. I'm the only woman and only foreigner studying here. When I arrived at the Togoshi Koen station, I phoned the temple and they said someone would come down to meet me. I stood up straight, expecting to be greeted by some quiet, dignified, old abbot. Next thing I jump backwards as a bicycle hurtles at me. Billows of black leap and land at my feet as Tetsuro-san straightens his glasses, catches his breath and welcomes me. At the temple, it's tea-time and the monks, sitting on the floor, are laughing and smoking and not looking at all austere. They all try out their high school English and laugh ever more. They're lovely, like great big kids; full of fun. I've yet to see one even vaguely vexed. They all chipped together and bought a linguaphone set so that they could talk to me better. So I keep getting "Would you like another glass of soda?" or "Take these suitcases to our room, please." Each day starts at five o'clock. I wash my face by the light of the moon. I have my own room with four tatami mats and my own little outhouse. The food is good. Our staples are rice and seaweed but the cook is really talented. Monastery life is certainly a change. I've never done so much bowing in my life. There's a very exact protocol, especially during meals, of bowing and joining hands as if in prayer. They must think I'm very polite because now I just bow at every pause. That way I figure I'm covered. At times I feel like a cow in labor. You see, my koan is mu and I'm supposed to bellow this (discreetly, where necessary) at every available opportunity. I scared the wits out of the poor cook who thought the noise was her cat being brutalized. So I'm happy, healthy and out of mischief. Imagine, me in bed by nine every night! And cleaning every day. That's not as bad as I feared. I even clean voluntarily. Can you believe that? They have a wonderful cleaning agent here. We use it on floors, sinks, windows, metal, you name it. Elbow grease. That’s it. Not even mops. Everything is done with rags and water. The place is totally non-sexist. I half expected to be pointed towards the kitchen but I saw wood and move furniture with the best of them. And no condescending "Didn't she do well?" It's just taken for granted. I'm totally "one of the lads" except I'm not bald. Next month we go up to the north of Japan, to Iwate Prefecture, to do begging. That should be an experience, begging in the snow. They say it's very beautiful there. I'm looking forward to seeing some countryside. Love, M Saturday, November 21, 1979. I go to Toshoji temple. The master can't speak English. They give me my room, four tatami mats wide. There's a little desk, cushion and mattress. We go upstairs to chant. The statues look pagan. I've no idea what I'm getting into. Dinner is disastrous. We kneel around benches. There is a precise way to do everything, a million bows. Silence. The damn egg roll is so big and greasy that I can't pick it up. I'm behind the others, gobbling, trying to catch up. The voice of the master shatters the silence. "You eat slowly." I don't know if it's a comment or a command. I take it as the latter and relax and am grateful that the one thing he said was so right. Wednesday, November 25. I finally had a really good meditation. For a few moments my mind stopped its incessant chattering and I was down very deep. In the morning I felt very restless with thoughts of how long I should stay, should I go elsewhere, will I be very old before going back to my own world? In the evening there is meditation and service. I feel very high. We had a banquet afterwards, with sake to drink. I look at these men, laughing, enjoying, knowing. Like the old men in pubs at home, they drink through the grey curls of smoke. They are simple men, kneeling long hours on a cushion, leading spartan lives, but they are no Himalayan hermits. They drink and revel. It would be a good and wonderful thing to grow old like these men. Thursday, November 26. An ancient man, a great master, Dai Achukyo Chitana Songi, comes to pay his respects to Go Roshi. Two women help him hobble up the steps. I gasp in awe and reverence, "He’s beautiful.” Tetsuro repeats my exclamation and another visiting senior motions for me to follow. We sit, the six of us, in Go Roshi's snug reception room. I feel so privileged. I can't understand a word. The others serve us. I can only watch this man, the power, wisdom and dignity he exudes. Jiko gives me a drawing of a gold-colored harp being strummed by a ringleted maiden in an evening gown. "That's you," he says. I'm touched. His name means "sunny.” He's always trying out awkward English idioms, like "It's all Greek to me." His face crinkles when he smiles, a Peter Pan. He spends long hours copying chants into rotnaji [English characters] for me. At the service I feel very high, can’t stop smiling. At tea-time the Zen Society gathers and I'm briefly questioned about my intentions. Jiko tells me I'm to be Go Roshi’s jewel. I'm elated. About one meditation a day seems to be a good one. Today I had my first real doku-san [interview with Roshi about one's practice]. (I went before but had no interpreter). Go Roshi gave me the koan of mu. Nothingness. Only mu. I become filled with mu. The interpreter and Tetso call me to their room. They have both attained enlightenment. They question me about my motives and knowledge. All the time my pulse beats "nothingness, nothingness." Poems have come to me between the beats of mu. Cathy-san was enlightened in three years, one priest in a year. I need not wait for old age, just follow Go Roshi. I have total faith in him. He can see inside me. He has the strength to kill my ego so that I can be free. "Without fail," he says, "you will attain enlightenment.” I can scarcely contain myself. "Nothingness, nothingness.” It’s like a jungle drum beating through my veins, but I must fight for it. I sleep in a frenzy. I keep awakening hearing "Nothingness, nothingness." Saturday, November 28. I work to mu. I hate the interruption of talking because slowly through the day and its idle chatter, nothingness slips. I meditate three times. My body. Inside and all around is nothing. No thing. No separation. A geyser in a lake appears to be a separate thing but is the lake. In the morning there is question-time. I ask Go Roshi the meaning of enlightenment. He strikes me. Not hard. When you are hit, you feel pain. Another Week. I went to dokusan. I was determined not to be tricked into using words. Words give form, apparent substance, to nothingness. Roshi asked me what was mu. I said "nothingness." He hit me. What do I feel? I was about to say pain but due to my resolution to avoid words, I said "nothingness." "Continue,” he said. I had reached my answer through logic. He was right. Think only of mu, nothing else. Don't study Japanese or sit in the corridor—only mu. At the English bookstore, all the conflicting theories of Zen and schools had confused and upset me. I bought a book I already had but then refused to read it. Words. I want to know from inside. The days went on, full of mu. I avoided the others' company, stopped laughing and only thought of mu. At times it drove me crazy—mu, mu, rattling in my brain, not allowed to think of anything else. I jump up and throw it out, annoyed. Other times I go down, down, down with it, down beneath words where my breath is gentle. Like looking up through the lake and the surface is a sentence and I'm below. Gentle at times. Quiet. A little smile slipping across my face. Sometimes I sit an hour and a half before there's five minutes of calm. At times I'm so happy, other times so vexed with my trivial mind. Sunday Evening. Takeo suggested how I should breathe. I tried and gradually got more and more excited. Mu rose vibrating up my spine, exploded in my head. Everything was simple. I was laughing. Mu was only mu. I felt ecstatic, couldn't contain my joy. I ran out of the hall, kissed the trees, stood in the garden and was the garden, really was it. All through dinner I beamed. Jiko kept staring. The others had described enlightenment. This was so much stronger. I didn't meditate that night, only lay wrapped snug in bed, listening to the rain. Monday Morning. Christmas Eve: I go to dokusan. "How have you apprehended mu?" Mu is mu. I'm smiling, happy, not at all nervous, still elated. "Continue!" The bell goes ting-a- ding-ding. I'm dismissed. I felt crushed. He didn't know. Didn't he know? How could he know? But I knew. Damn. It was Christmas eve. I was cold, and sick of soji [cleaning], afraid that Tenno thought I...

Annie Mirror Heart

The journals of Maura O’Halloran, “Great Enlightened Lady”

TEACHINGS

LIFE

EXPLORE BUDDHISM

NEWS