In growing older, a woman once told me her knee became sore and weak. She began to use a cane, moving slowly and more cautiously than before.

While taking walks outside, she began to notice other people with difficulty walking. Her eyes couldn’t help but see people who used canes, crutches and walkers, who walked slowly or with limps. Suddenly the world seemed full of people like herself, whose steps were unsteady. She saw them struggle and felt their pain. She worried for their safety and prayed in her heart they would be all right. These thoughts spontaneously arose from within her. 

These people who had trouble walking did not suddenly increase in number, making them more visible. Rather, the woman’s own pain stirred in her a sense of empathy and awareness, opening her eyes to people who were always around her, but whom she had not seen. Before, they were strangers and invisible, but now she felt a kinship with them.

I’m reminded of a saying: “We live in a dream and go through life in a fog.” We think we know what’s important—money, possessions, status, power, knowledge, accomplishments, friendship and love. We think we must focus on our goals and ourselves, and our families and friends. We think positive and avoid negative thoughts.

Imagine a glass half filled with water. When asked how much water is there, you may say it’s “half full” or “half empty,” depending on your mood. Either answer is correct, right?

Imagine the water in the glass represents all of those positive things we think are important in life—money, possessions, friends, etc. To focus on the water is only seeing half the glass. Ignoring the “empty half” makes us blind to the other half of life. 

In this example, the empty part symbolizes negative things we want to avoid and not think about—failure, loss, hardship, frustration and pain, among others. It represents sickness, aging and death. Perhaps we feel thinking about these things will drag us down and prevent us from reaching our goals. Yet, these things are part of—in fact inseparable from—the so-called positive side of life, as the glass of water shows us.

To see only the water is to see life only as “positive.” No wonder “we live in a dream and go through life in a fog.” We see only what we want to see. This is natural. This is human nature.

However, this view of life sooner or later comes face-to-face with the painful reality of existence. We become sick. We grow old. Our loved ones pass away. We face death ourselves. We fail to find permanent happiness. When the only side of life we know crumbles and disappears, fear and anxiety arise to take its place.

We are encouraged by the Buddha to see all of life—the full and the empty, the positive and the negative, life and death. This life is not about “I” at the center in pursuit of desires. It is about awakening to the world of wisdom and compassion around us. 

You may read these words and think, “What a nice thought,” but your heart will not change. Again, this is human nature. Freud called this strong sense of self the “ego.” The Buddha said this “ego” is a person’s greatest impulse. That’s why it’s so difficult to awaken to truth through our own will, or self-efforts.

In the Samyutta Agama sutra, the Buddha told of “The Parable of the Four Horses.” He explained: “There are four kinds of horses. The first horse gallops merely at the sight of a whip. The second horse gallops when the whip touches its hair. The third horse gallops when the whip touches its skin. The fourth horse only begins to gallop when the whip touches its bones.”

Most of us are like the fourth horse. We may suspect there’s something missing in life, but we are unaffected. We hear about this truth but are unmoved. We may see truth close by, but cannot grasp it. Not until our flesh begins to bleed are we moved. 

Shortly after my father passed away a few years ago, people began to tell me, “I lost my father recently,” or “My mother passed away a few months ago” or “My parents have been gone for a few years.” Suddenly I felt what others must have felt in losing a parent, but their suffering had been invisible to me. A great many of us share this common human experience, yet it had not register in my consciousness until I experienced this loss in my own life. I felt a sense of shared pain with others.

The woman with the cane, without knowing it, felt the same way. Experience opens our eyes. This “other side” of life opens our eyes. Shinran Shonin called it Great Compassion that awakens us. This is how the invisible becomes visible. 

My kids always seem to fight: Arguing over chores, who gets to watch television, and who talks more on the telephone. It’s normal for kids, I think. What really worries me, though, is if they fight as adults.

Unfortunately, a big cause of fighting between kids is the death of their parents. Too often, children fight over their parents’ money and property. At first glance, the matter may seem simple: Two kids can split in half the inheritance; four kids get 25 percent each. 

What if one child takes care of an aging parent, while the other child never visits? Does one child deserve more than another? Maybe the oldest one feels he deserves the most; likewise, a financially needy sibling with her own children may feel she deserves more. Throw in a stepmother or stepchild and there could be all-out war. Brothers and sisters will stop talking to each other, sometimes feuding the rest of their lives. 

What started out as good intentions—parents wanting to leave behind their “fortunes” (life-savings, homes, a family business)—sometimes turns out to be a curse. It seems the bigger the fortune, the bigger the curse. 

Yet, most people probably think of money or property as the fortune they most want to leave behind. Is that the kind of fortune our children need most in life? An old saying comes to mind: “Give a man a fish and he eats for a day. Teach a man to fish, and he eats for a lifetime.” Is there a teaching we can leave behind that would be more helpful and valuable than money? 

Recently, I saw a documentary on television called “The Bridge” (more information at, about a film crew who recorded people jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge. For an entire year, they trained their cameras on the bridge, and from time to time, recorded the suicides. Then they interviewed family, friends and witnesses of the people who jumped, piecing together the stories of how that moment came to be. 

A windsurfer who was below the bridge during one jump said that when he surfed that day, he was feeling on top of the world. At the same moment, he said later, he realized there was someone who felt at the bottom of the world. 

I wondered for a person who has reached the lowest point in his or her life, what could possibly help. According to the interviews, those people were dealing with a variety of problems, related to personal relationships, careers, their emotions, sometimes mental illness and sometimes, but not always, money. A young man jumped after his mother, who was his closest friend and confidant, passed away. He couldn’t see any meaning to his life. 

What kinds of things could have helped these people? More than money or possessions, I thought of things such as patience, the ability to tell right from wrong, to try your best, to focus on what’s important (and not worry about what’s not important), to feel compassion in your life, and to live with wisdom. I then remembered that these six qualities are none other than the Six Paramitas in Buddhism, which are the six paths to becoming a “bodhisattva” (or Buddha-like). 

These six aspects of life are what the Buddha tries to teach us. Through words, through texts, through rituals and through services, this is the wisdom that is handed down to us through generations, by various teachers and by those people who have preceded us as seekers of truth in the Buddhist tradition. By understanding these six aspects and embodying them in our lives, we gain the strength, wisdom and courage to encounter whatever difficulties life throws at us. We can live with joy and fulfillment, whatever our circumstances, whether we are young or old, male or female, rich or poor, healthy or sick. There can be no greater fortune than the wisdom that helps us see life truthfully. 

We may not all be parents, but we are all children who have inherited this legacy from our parents, whether they are our real parents, or our “spiritual” parents. The parents who have come before us worked hard to build our temple, so that the “Buddha dharma,” the truth that awakens us to the preciousness of life, would be kept alive and passed on to us. 

Some of you have said you only come to special services out of respect for your parents, who were once active at our temple. But your parents helped keep this temple alive for you. It was your parents’ wish to bestow you with great wisdom to live a fruitful and fulfilling life, that would break the bounds of our selfishness and help us embrace the universe and all the people in it. More than money and more than a big house, what greater fortune could you receive than knowing the true meaning of your life? Once grasped, then each moment of your life becomes a gift and you feel an unbroken connection to the world around you. This unbroken connection is expressed in the words “Namu Amida Butsu.”

In this way, people come to the temple to express their gratitude for having a place where they can hear teachings that are more precious than diamonds and jewelry, more useful than a business or law degree, and more valuable than a roomful of cash. Many of your parents felt this way, keeping this temple alive with the hope of passing this legacy to the next generation. And many of you feel the same way, supporting the temple through your efforts and contributions, helping to pass this wisdom down to yet another generation. 

This is how the Dharma was passed down through the ages, from one generation to the next, over the past two thousand five hundred years since the time of Shakyamuni Buddha, from India, across Asia, over the Pacific, and all the way here to you today. Behold the most precious gift in the world.

What is your biggest goal in life? To become rich? Make a lot of money? To get married and have a family? Depending on your age and circumstances, you may say, "to graduate from school," or "get a job."

In probing deeper inside a person, ultimately I think the answer is really "to be happy." If being happy is truly at the root of human desire, then it must be the reason why so many people work so hard, worry so much and struggle through each day. 

Where can we find happiness? People assume it lies in "having a successful career," "raising a family," "making money," "buying nice things" or "having more leisure time." Does it really? 

First, what is happiness? The dictionary defines happiness with words such as pleasure, exhilaration, bliss, contentment, enjoyment and satisfaction. We can certainly feel exhilaration at graduation from college, feel contentment at having raised a family, and enjoy retiring after many years of work. However upon closer examination, we see that after graduating from college, we worry about finding a job, after raising a family, we worry about being lonely, and after retiring, we worry about growing old. Happiness once grasped seems to slip away. 

Sometimes, people confuse happiness with the expectation of happiness. Having fallen in love, it's easy to dream about the happy days that lay ahead once we are married. But marriage is no guarantee of a happy life. We are elated when we find a job, but once it starts, we face a new set of worries. This expectation is like walking in a desert and seeing a mirage of an oasis. Just the thought of drinking from its waters provides a certain pleasure, which alas, is only fleeting and never satisfying.

The Buddha observed that people are easily attracted to such appearances, although there is no substance behind them, like the mirage in the desert. We badly want to be happy, so we'll grasp at anything that promises it. 

Yet, people are so firm in their belief that they know exactly what makes them happy-love, money, possessions, fame or power-they spend their whole lives chasing after it. So strong is their belief that even when they get what they want and don't find happiness, they think acquiring more is the key. 

The Buddha told the story of a man, a widower, who left his son at home to go to work. When he returned, he discovered that his house had burned down and that the charred body of a child lay close by. The man cried and cried, and soon had the little body cremated. The ashes were put in a small pouch, which he carried everywhere.

Late one night, the man heard a knock at the door and asked, "Who's there?" A little voice said, "I am your son, Daddy, please let me in." The father answered, "My son is dead and I carry his ashes. You must be a naughty boy trying to play a trick on me." The man refused to unlock the door. The boy eventually left and never returned. Thus the father lost his son forever. 

In telling this story, the Buddha warned people against becoming attached to their views, ideas and perceptions, which can become obstacles to the truth. To believe so strongly in things that make us happy, when they never provide lasting happiness, is the kind of attachment the Buddha spoke about.

The Buddha observed and taught that all of life is impermanent and constantly changing. We see this truth in the mirror everyday as we see ourselves aging. We see this truth in the temporary happiness we experience when we get what we want, but which swiftly disappears in our desire for something else. This means that we are not something permanent experiencing something permanent. Rather, we are something impermanent experiencing something impermanent. In this constantly changing universe, how can we ever attain lasting happiness?

In Buddhism, happiness is not the goal we should seek. Rather, our enlightenment or "awakening" is most important. Constantly looking for happiness in things that never truly make us happy means to live in a world of dreams and illusion, like a sleepwalker. Waking up from that dream world means seeing the true nature of life. 

The true nature of the world is that we are all connected to one another, interdependent and One. It is an illusion to think we exist alone in life, only to satisfy our selfish desires. Rather, we create life together with the earth, the oceans and the sky. We create life together with each other. That is why we can't be happy alone. We cannot be happy if our loved ones are suffering. We cannot be happy if the earth is suffering. Your suffering is my suffering. Your happiness is my happiness. 

Wake up to this truth and our life transforms from a self-centered existence to a life that reaches out to the world around us. Instead of being consumed with the desire for only our own happiness, our concern extends to the happiness of others. We no longer live for just ourselves, but we live for each other. Your suffering is my suffering. Your happiness is my happiness. Wake up from the dream world and truly begin living in a world of wisdom and compassion, the Pure Land, a place of true happiness.

Some people give lots of money to Buddhist temples, thinking, the more I give, the more "good luck" and "good fortune" I'll receive. Is this what it means to be Buddhist? Not really.

People tell me, “I haven’t been to Sunday service in awhile—I’ve been a bad Buddhist.” Are they really? Other people describe themselves as “nightstand Buddhists” because they like to read Buddhist books before going to bed, but don’t belong to any sangha or follow any practice. Are they real Buddhists?

When I was first ordained as a priest over twenty years ago, I had to shave my head and wear traditional robes. As I walked through the temple grounds in Kyoto, people reverently bowed to me because they saw someone who “looked” like a real Buddhist. Feeling uncomfortable, I wanted to shout: “Hey, I’m just like you.”

Sitting in a dull college lecture that lacked personal feeling and emotion, I once commented to a friend, “Sometimes, I wish these Buddhist professors were Buddhists!” To which my friend said: “You think only people who call themselves Buddhists can talk about Buddhism? Well I know some Christians who are more Buddhists than Buddhists. And I know some Buddhists who seem more Christian than Buddhists!”

Who is a true Buddhist?

My brother Bill I believe became a true Buddhist.  For most of his life, he wasn’t religious. Aside from attending Dharma school for a short time as a child, he didn’t do anything in his adult life connected with Buddhism. Instead, he focused on his career as an advertising executive, first in San Francisco and then in New York City. There, he rose to a high position at a large company while enjoying the fruits of his labor—a condominium in a fashionable part of town, a luxury automobile, imported clothes, and a life of jet setting to faraway places.

One day, he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, a particularly deadly and fast-spreading condition. The world of luxury and comfort he strived to create, suddenly crumbled, leaving him in a state of shock. He telephoned our mother and while telling her about his condition, broke down and asked, “Why did this happen to me?”

He fought the disease with various treatments, but to little effect. As his condition worsened, he became more thoughtful and introspective. He began spending more time with his two children. When he was busy climbing the ladder of corporate success, he often didn’t have time for them. Now they were a priority. During the winter holidays, he brought his sons to their grandparents in California. He asked me to drive them to Lake Tahoe to see the snow. While parked near the lake, the two boys played outside while my brother lay in his seat, too weak and in too much pain to go out.

The way he thought was changing. He told people not to work so hard, not to think about money so much, but rather, to appreciate life more, and to spend more time with family and friends. This advice was the total opposite of the way he lived while he strived for riches and career success.

On New Year’s Eve, our temple held a year-end service. Although my brother was sick, he insisted we go. Standing before the altar, he put his hands together in gassho, quietly recited “Namu Amida Butsu,” then slowly and deeply bowed his head.  Watching him, I thought: “This is the act of a truly spiritual person.” My brother’s journey in life had ultimately turned inward.

A similar kind of experience took place in the early life of the Buddha. Born into a royal family, Prince Siddhartha, as he was called, lived in a palace surrounded by luxury. He ate the best food available, wore expensive garments, lived in a big house, had horses and chariots, and basked in a life of comfort. One day, Siddhartha ventured out of the palace with his servant. He encountered a person on the side of the road who was pale and weak. “What is wrong,” he asked his attendant.  “He is sick; sickness affects all of us,” came the answer.

Another day, Siddhartha saw a person walking very slowly, hunched and with scaly skin. “What is wrong,” he asked. “He is old; aging affects us all,” came the answer.

On another day, Siddhartha saw a procession of people who were crying and quite sad. They carried upon a board a person who was stiff and white.  “What is wrong,” Siddhartha asked. “He is dead; All people meet with death,” came the answer.

All that Siddhartha had seen greatly disturbed him, upsetting his comfortable life. He began to question life and its meaning. All that he believed—that life was about pursuing pleasure for oneself, accumulating wealth, and surrounding himself with comfort—was fleeting and empty, for when he thought about it, those things only lead to a temporary feeling of happiness, but ultimately, they fade away. “What is the true meaning of life,” he asked himself. “Who am I? Why am I here?”

One day he encountered an ascetic who was walking serenely down the road. “Who is he?” “He is a spiritual seeker looking for life’s answers,” came the answer. Siddhartha decided to follow a spiritual path.

In life, we encounter sickness, old age, and death, through our friends, through our family members, and ultimately through our own lives. In other words, we all experience hardship, suffering and conflict. In doing so, our life may turn upside down. At this point, it is easy to feel lost, anger, frustration, depression and sadness, feeling cheated that life isn’t going the way it should.  The world of happiness that we were striving to create through our efforts, suddenly disappears and we’re left with a feeling of emptiness.

People naturally begin to question their assumptions about the way they were living. “What is my purpose? Just to make money and buy things? To make myself better than other people? Am I alone in this world? Why was I born? Why must I die? Where is my life going?”

To begin asking these questions—to become a “spiritual seeker”—is to follow the footsteps of Siddhartha. In setting out in our journey, fortunately we may tread on the path set forth by the Buddha, learning through his words, teachings, experiences, and practice. Asking questions, seeking answers and following the path of the Buddha is the true meaning of being “Buddhist.”

As the saying goes, “Seek and ye shall find.” In asking life’s questions, life’s answers will come. If there are no questions, then there are no answers. The Buddha dharma only makes sense to people who are seeking the deeper truths about life.  People who go about life without any urge to see beyond the everyday world, of course have no need for “spirituality” or Buddhism. It makes no sense to them and has no value. This way of thinking is quite logical indeed. That’s why there’s no importance placed on “converting” people to Buddhism. If life is good, then there’s no need for Buddhism. Fine. As they say, “You can bring a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink.”

For the thirsty, however, Buddhism is a fountain of spring water. To people who are really seeking to understand their lives, to those “true Buddhists,” the Dharma is the light of infinite wisdom.


Putting our hands together in Buddhism is called “gassho.” Let’s examine what it means to gassho.

Firstly, there’s a proper way to do gassho. Hands are placed at the mid-chest level, palms together, fingers straight and pointed at a 45 degree angle upwards. The wrists should be close to the chest.

By contrast, other ways that people gassho may be to touch the elbows to the body, so the hands are away from the body. Or the elbows are held away from the body so the fingers are pointing straight up. Or the elbows jut out so the arms are parallel with the ground. A Chinese bow may have the left hand open and the right hand in a fist. In Shorinji kempo (a Buddhist martial art like karate), the fingers are spread apart. In certain parts of the world, such as in Sri Lanka and Thailand, people may greet each other with gassho.

When we gassho, we place our hands together and recite the Nembutsu, the words “Namu Amida Butsu.” Placing our hands together while reciting the Nembutsu is called “gassho” in Jodo Shinshu Buddhism.

Gassho is more than a pose. It is symbolic of the Dharma, the truth about life. For instance, we place together our right and left hand, which are opposites. It represents other opposites as well: you and me, light and dark, ignorance and wisdom, life and death.

We also place a nenju (also called ojuzu) around both hands when we gassho. The nenju represents the Buddha’s teachings. Therefore, gassho means that through the Buddha’s teachings, we can see that these opposites are really one.

Gassho also symbolizes respect, the Buddhist teachings, and the Dharma. It also is an expression of our feelings of gratitude and our inter-connectedness with each other. It symbolizes the realization that our lives are supported by innumerable causes and conditions. Tradition has given us this symbol. I urge you to think deeply about why you gassho and to make it your own, so that it arises from your innermost being.

I heard of a group of American junior Youth Buddhist Association (Jr. YBA) students who visited Japan. One day they took a trip to Hiroshima to visit the Atomic bomb museum. If you’ve ever seen the memorial, you know that it can be a moving and emotional experience. The museum tells the story of how during World War II the United States dropped an atomic bomb on the city of Hiroshima in Japan. In a flash, the entire city was destroyed and many thousands of people died, including many children.

As the teenagers looked at the memorial, tears started to well in their eyes. Then someone started to gassho. One by one, they put their hands together in gassho, quietly bowing their heads.

How else could they express their thoughts and feelings about what they saw and what they felt—sadness for those who perished, despair from knowing this was a real event and helplessness of knowing that wars continue to be fought, Those feelings meshed with hopes that such an event will never occur again and a wish for peace throughout the world. What more perfect way to express those conflicting feeling than to gassho?

Gassho is not an empty gesture. It is an expression of life and our innermost feelings. In Jodo Shinshu, it is said that it represents our deepest aspiration, symbolized by the vow made by Amida Buddha that we all will be awakened to the oneness of life, that we are all interdependent, and that we are all special because we share this life together. This is the meaning of gassho and this is the meaning of “Namu Amida Butsu.”