using the arrow buttons.
by clicking on the page.
the page around when zoomed in by dragging it.
the zoom using the slider when zoomed-in.
by clicking on the zoomed-in page.
by entering text in the search field, and select "This Issue" or "All Issues"
by clicking on thumbnails to select pages, and then press the print button.
displays sections with thumbnails and descriptions.
displays a slider of thumbnails. Click on a page to jump.
allows you to browse the full archive.
about your subscription?
Lions Roar : July 2006
“Dogen?” her Japanese friend said, “no one understands him.” “Zen training?” she is warned, “too hard for a human being.” NATALIE GOLDBERG goes to Japan in search of real Zen, and finds it on the shores of Lake Biwa. Her days at the monastery are just about as tough as advertised, but at the end she reaches Almond Joy. I WANTED TO GO TO JAPAN to see the country that produced my teacher. But Japan was far away. I’m terrible with languages. When I tried to learn short Japanese phrases, it sounded like I was shredding coleslaw with my tongue and not budging one inch from Brooklyn. And all the words of that island country are written in kanji. I wouldn’t even be able to decipher signs. People assured me that everyone in Japan learned English in school. “No problem,” they said. I didn’t believe them. Hadn’t I studied French for eight years? and all I could do was conjugate the verb “to be.” Better to just spend my days on Coney Island—I knew where the hot dogs were. But I had a writing student who had lived in Japan for several years and generously contacted a Japanese couple; they agreed to take me around Kyoto. They spoke good English, so I could ask questions. I talked my partner Michele into coming along. We’d been there a week when Kenji and Tomoko picked us up at the hotel. I already felt isolat- ed, walking down crowded streets, peering into unknown temples. I found myself several times towering over a young man or woman, asking something and receiving giggles behind polite hands. The Japanese might have learned English in school but they were too shy to speak it. “They grind their own beans here,” Kenji said as he drove us to a coffee shop. Just the smell cleared my sinuses. I never drink coffee—I have enough trouble sleeping and fear chugging that dark brew would send me running at 100 m.p.h. But at this moment, I was so elated to speak to a native, not to feel so alone, that I too ordered a shot. Imamiya-jinja shrine at Daitokuji Temple SHAMBHALA SUN JULY 2006 65