The Wild, White Goose

The Diary of a Female Zen Priest

Roshi P.T.N.H. Jiyu-Kennett

• Publisher: Taylor & Francis
• Year: 2016
• Print ISBN: 9781138666238
• eBook ISBN: 9781317215332
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Social Sciences
• Subtopic: Regional Studies
• Index: Social Sciences

This book, first published as two volumes in 1977 and 1978, was published purely for the purpose of showing how Buddhist training was done by the Reverend Jiyu-Kennett in the Far East. The material for the book was taken from diaries covering eight years spent by the author in Far Eastern temples, and describe her religious training and her growth of a Zen priest into a teacher, running her own temple.

Book I.The Layman.

Book I.The Layman.

DOI: 10.4324/9781315619903-4

10th. January.

We docked this morning off the coast of Malaysia. There was the usual crowd on the dock but, in one corner, there were a group of rich-looking people and Rev. Jones, the man who I had agreed to help by giving some lectures; I had arranged to do this for him before leaving England. I had promised to stay about three months. The ship docked and I disembarked. Since I was, in any case, going on to Singapore in the morning, there was no need for any immigration formalities and I was soon on the dockside greeting my reception committee.

To my horror I discovered that Rev. Jones had brought a tribe of newspaper reporters with him and they had already been primed as to my reason for visiting Japan—moreover, they seemed to know far more than they should of my private affairs. I was told that I was being ordained in Malaysia during my three-month stay instead of in Japan and that Rev. Jones had made arrangements to have me trained in Malaysia also. I was so surprised that I was unable to say anything for a few minutes.¹ I came to myself again to find Rev. Jones busily telling a story about me to the reporters who were taking it down.

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1. For this and all other notes, see “Annotations” at the end of Book 4, p. 475.

It is perfectly true that I had discussed the possibility of being ordained in Malaysia. Once I had even asked if it could be done but I had made no firm arrangement to this effect as far as I knew. I came to with a gasp.

“No,” I said, “this is all wrong; I am going to be trained in Japan.”

The reporters promptly swung round to me but Rev. Jones forestalled my saying anything.

“She means that she may later go on to Japan for a short time,” he said, “I have written to the abbot there to tell him that I am ordaining her here and he has agreed.”

The reporters turned to me again. “Did you know about this,” one asked, “or is it entirely new to you?”

“I did not know about it,” I replied.

“Does your mother know about it?”

“No.”

This was true in every sense of the word, since I did not know of Rev. Jones’ arrangements myself, but I was to regret these words later on.

Rev. Jones continued to elaborate on his plans for me with sweeping statements as to what I was going to do in Malaysia but I felt too sick inside to say anything. I was to be ordained by someone I did not know, instead of by the old man I had met in London and who I knew was waiting for me. True, I had discussed the possibility of being ordained in Malaysia but a “friend” of mine in London had written to Rev. Jones in Malaysia to say that I was too ill to be ordained at all and that he should not even consider it. I had not realised to what extent Rev. Jones had already made the arrangements.

The interview over, I was taken, somewhat shaken, to Rev. Jones’ luxurious house which dripped with valuable possessions of every sort. I was wined, dined, taken on a tour of the island, fed in the most luxurious restaurants, smothered with presents and put to bed in the best guest room of a palatial mansion belonging to a Chinese millionaire. The ship did not sail for Singapore until the next day and so I was able to rest on land for the first time in three and a half weeks. But I could not sleep. Apart from the mosquitos, which ate me from one end to the other, and the intense and unaccustomed heat, my mind was in a whirl of excitement over the arrangements for the festivities which had accompanied my arrival and amazement at what had been, without my knowledge, decided for me, not to mention the luxury in which religious people in the Far East seemed to live. I have come, expecting a spartan existence, and I find a luxury unknown to most people in Britain.

11th. January.

I was taken to the botanical gardens and fêted again before finally embarking on the ship, five minutes before she sailed, for Singapore.

The reception I got on board was electric; everyone avoided looking at me, or else did so side-ways, and I could not imagine why until someone quietly handed me the morning paper, walking away without saying anything after doing so. The headlines read, “Englishwoman to enter the Buddhist priesthood—Mother does not know!”

I stared in wonder at the newspaper headline, not compre-hending its full meaning, since my mother had known of my going to Japan; and then the horror of it burst upon my brain like a thunder-clap. To the average Western person the fact that an adult decides to do something like entering the priesthood is not very significant but it seems that, to the Oriental mind, anything that is done without the full ² knowledge and approval of a parent, in spite of the age of the person concerned, is absolutely anathema. In addition to this I know the British yellow press too well for me to feel happy about such a headline: but there is nothing I can do about it and I can only guess what repercussions the story may have in England with my family. I spent most of the day, rather miserably, in my cabin.

12th. January.

After a restless night—the second together—I got up, tired and worried, to see a pouring wet day in Singapore harbour. We docked and I waited in my cabin for some time for the person who was supposed to come to meet me with members of the local Buddhist Youth Group. No one came. I waited and waited and then, suddenly, my cabin door was blocked by a tall man, who looked more Indian than Chinese, and a young woman who looked the same.

“Are you Miss Kennett?” was his first comment.

I looked at him hard; but in a place such as Singapore, where all the races are inextricably mixed, it was quite possible that he was part Chinese.

“Yes,” I replied.

“Good,” he said, “I want to see you.”

“Are you Mr. Chou?” I asked.

“No,” he replied, “but he will perhaps come later. Shall I take you to your temple?”

It was difficult to know what to do under the circumstances. The ship was about to embark its new passengers prior to sailing and I knew that I had to be off and away before that; I wanted to question this man much more before trusting myself to him but I had almost no time left for such things so I thanked him and we left the ship.

On the quayside I stopped. “I think I really ought to wait for Mr. Chou,” I said. We waited and waited but no one came. Then my new companion turned to me.

“I think you ought to know that all the newspapers in the country are chasing you,” he said. “I can protect you from them if you wish. Allow me to take you to your temple in my car. It is possible that Mr. Chou knows about the newspapers and so has not come.”

“Are you sure?” I was startled but did not wish to show it. Then I said, “Do you know where the temple is?”

“Oh, yes,” he replied, “let me take you.”

The rain continued to pour down and there seemed nothing else to do but get into his car. We roared through the dock-yard and I was surprised at the grin on the face of the custom's official who did not even bother to check my passport. We were out in Singapore and heading north; where to I did not know.

It was with growing anxiety that I noticed that we seemed to be leaving the city of Singapore behind and making for the suburbs. Finally I gave voice to my thoughts.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“To my flat,” came the reply, “You see, I too am from a newspaper but, if you see only me, the other reporters will not bother you and you will be left alone. At the moment there are dozens of them around the temple.”

The car was travelling at high speed and there was little I could do to stop it. I said nothing.

“You took that remarkably well,” he said, “aren't you afraid?”

“Why should I be? I can only die once.”

There was silence in the car for some time. He then started asking all sorts of questions to most of which he thought I was giving unsatisfactory answers. It seemed that he was convinced that the only reason any woman would enter religion was if she suffered from kinky sex. He was so stuffed with all the stupid ideas of the cheap novels he had read that I began to get somewhat angry as well as to recover from my state of shock.

“My readers will never believe this,” he grumbled, “You must give me a better story.”

At this I got really angry. “That is not my concern,” I retorted. “What I have told you is the truth and that is all there is to it.”

I was now feeling that even if there were scores of reporters at the temple they must be better than this miserable specimen and I told him to take me to the temple at once.

“But I want to keep you here as long as possible,” he bleated.

“I expect you do,” I replied, “but I do not wish to stay. Do you realise that the penalty for holding people against their will in Singapore is hanging?”

This worked like a charm. The car turned round at top speed and we sped to the temple.

The Chinese, who were waiting for me at the temple, were completely unruffled by what had happened and I was again amazed at the luxury and living standards of the priesthood. More than anything else I wanted time to think and this was the one thing that was not to be allowed me. I was never free at any time from a bevy of women and young girls who giggled incessantly, gibbered amongst themselves and fingered everything within sight that belonged to me. This went on and on and all I wanted to do was—Think. I have never been quick-tempered but this situation, after all I had been through, was just too much. I turned suddenly and roared at them to get out.³ In all my life I can never remember doing such a thing before this. I lay down on the bed to just be still—the mosquitos ate me through the open, unscreened windows and the girls giggled outside the door. Then came an official of some local organisation demanding to see me—I flatly refused. People poured into my room; the giggling and gibbering started all over again. I was told that newspaper reporters were all around the temple and had set up cameras with telescopic lenses in the windows of all the neighboring houses. I tried to go downstairs for a meal but the reporters burst the door down. I fled upstairs again and a young Chinese girl, who spoke excellent English, came to me. She was amenable to understanding my feelings and undertook to do something about what was happening. She also agreed to smuggle me out for a drive in the evening when it was dark. This she did—through a side door and over the back fence!

19th. January.

Since my arrival I have been besieged. In desperation I was finally put on a long-distance coach, just before dawn, to go inland where the abbot of a great temple will protect me. The abbot met me at the coach stop. He was roughly the same height as myself with the kindest pair of brown eyes; they could twinkle in an unusual way for a Chinese. With him were a number of white-clad members of the laity. He welcomed me graciously and we went to his temple where we had a long talk with the aid of an interpreter who spoke excellent English; the abbot himself speaks good English rather slowly. I talked much to the young interpreter about the situation I found myself in and the publicity hounds that I had met, asking him bluntly what everyone meant by it. He became sad.

“In the East,” he said, “a Westerner becoming a priest is a rare thing; the Christian missionaries always make a lot of trouble about it. Because of this many Buddhists feel that they have caught a prize and so tend to turn the person into a temple pet rather than a genuine member of the priesthood. He is shown and pampered and always in the public eye. This is what has happened to your friend Rev. Jones.”

I was appalled. “But I want to do the thing properly,” I said, “and, whether you like it or not, I want to go on to Japan and study there. I am not willing to become a puppet in silken robes.”

It seemed that the abbot had understood this without any interpretation for his look was very compassionate. “I under-stand,” he said, “and I will help you.” The officials of the small temple I was to stay at came to collect me and I had the feeling that the abbot was slightly averse to this but he did not stop them, since it had been arranged by Rev. Jones, and so I went to my new home.

This temple has a bunch of Malaysians living in a separate part of its house as caretakers and the noise they make is absolutely deafening.

20th. January.

I have put up with the noise, as well as the constant visits of the temple officials, until I can stand it no longer.³ As politely as I could I asked the Malaysians to make less noise. The result was that the noise became twice as loud. The abbot of the big monastery came to see me this morning and I told him about the noise. He looked concerned but said nothing. With him was a representative from the leading news agency in the country who was very polite. He apologised for having to disturb me but the newspapers were printing so many conflicting stories that he had been sent to get the real one which he personally guaran-teed to the abbot would be circulated to all the newspapers, thus stopping the rumours. Rev. Jones arrived this evening and he, the abbot and I had a conference.

“We must decide,” said Rev. Jones, “who is going to shave her head.”

The abbot said nothing and there...

Table of contents

• Cover Page
• Half Title Page
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Original Title Page
• Original Copyright Page
• Dedication
• Acknowledgments
• Table of Contents
• Preface
• Introduction
• Book 1. The Layman
• Book 2. The Trainee
• Book 3. The Parish Priest
• Book 4. The Eternal Bo Tree
• Annotations
• Glossary
• Questions and Answers
• About the Author
• About the Order of Buddhist Contemplatives
• About the Monasteries of the Order