This essay recounts an unexpected encounter with the memorial day of Musō Soseki during a visit to Tenryū-ji in Arashiyama, linking personal experience, classical thought, and contemporary reflection.

When I asked what was going on, I was told, to my astonishment, that today was the memorial day of Musō Soseki.
2016-10-30
As readers around the world already know, I regard Arashiyama as my own garden.
The other day, an NHK special program reported that the Arashiyama Monkey Park is extremely popular with foreign tourists, particularly those from Europe, who come from latitudes higher than the northern limit of monkey habitation.
I have passed in front of its entrance many times, yet I have never once gone inside.
I have, however, encountered monkeys descending from Mount Iwata on two occasions.
Because the forecast predicted clear skies today, I headed to Arashiyama early in the morning.
At the reception desk, upon seeing a sign explaining that it would take about twenty minutes to walk up a steep slope, I decided to cancel the plan and instead made my way to the garden of Tenryū-ji Temple.
By May of this year, my visits had already exceeded fifty, so I always enter joking with the staff, telling them to ask the head priest to issue me an annual pass.
Unlike usual, several staff members were standing in the corridor connecting to the dojo.
When I asked what was happening, I was told, to my astonishment, that today was the memorial day of Musō Soseki.
As readers know, I feel a strong sense of affinity with Musō Kokushi.
That is precisely why, over these past several years, I have visited this place more than anyone else in the world.
It must have been the first time I had ever encountered his memorial day in person.
Now then, on the train home, a friend handed me the current issue of WiLL.
“It resonates with your essay,” he said.
The moment I read the customary four lines printed on the opening page of Nobuyuki Kaji’s serialized column, I felt the same.
To take death lightly and yet conduct oneself with propriety.
This is called courage.
To strike down violence and not shrink from the strong.
This is called strength.
Yanzi Chunqiu, “Admonitions to the Ruler.”
To be continued.