A Legend of Kwannon

In the age of the gods, Ama-no-Hashidate was the Floating Bridge of Heaven. The deities crossed it from heaven to earth, carrying their jeweled spears, their great bows with heavenly-feathered arrows, their magic robes, and their enchanted mirrors. Later, when the direct path between heaven and earth was closed and the gods no longer walked upon the Land of Fresh Rice Ears, people still named a certain place Ama-no-Hashidate in happy memory. This spot is one of the Three Fair Views of Yamato. It is where a strip of land juts into the blue sea, resembling a floating bridge covered with dark pine trees.

In Kyoto there lived a holy man named Saion Zenji. From his youth, he had followed the Way of the Gods. He was also a disciple of the great Buddha, deeply learned in doctrines and philosophies. He understood the perils of illusion and the ineffable joys of Nirvana. He passed long hours in mystic meditation and knew many Scriptures by heart. When he went on a pilgrimage and came to Ama-no-Hashidate, he gave thanks because the place delighted his eyes.

He said, “The blind and ignorant claim that trees, rocks, and the green sea-water are not sentient, but the wise know that they sing aloud and praise the Tathagata. Here I will rest, join my voice with theirs, and see my home no more.”

So the holy man Saion Zenji climbed Nariai-San, the mountain opposite Ama-no-Hashidate. When he reached the place of the Lone Pine, he built a shrine to Kwannon the Merciful and a small hut to shelter himself.

All day he chanted the holy sutras. From dawn to dusk he sang, until his very soul was uplifted and seemed to float in ecstatic praise. His voice grew so loud and clear that it was a marvel. The blue campanula of the mountain bowed its head in reverence; the great white lily sent out incense from its deep heart; the cicada shrilled; the forsaken bird called from the thicket. Dragonflies and butterflies, the souls of the happy dead, fluttered about the hermit’s hut. In the distant valleys, farmers were comforted in their toil, whether planting young rice or gathering the ears. The sun and wind were tempered, and rain fell gently on their faces. Time and again they climbed the steep hillside to kneel at the shrine of Kwannon the Merciful and speak with the holy man, filling his wooden bowl with rice, millet, barley meal, or beans. Sometimes he came down to the villages, where he soothed the sick and touched the children.

People said his very garments shone.

Then a winter came such as no one could remember. First, the wind blew wildly from the north, then snow fell in great flakes without stopping for nine days. The valley folk stayed indoors, keeping as warm as they could, and those with winter stores fared well enough. But oh, the bitter cold on the heights of Nariai-San! Snow piled up and drifted around the Lone Pine and the hermit’s hut. The shrine of Kwannon the Merciful was completely hidden. Saion Zenji lived for a while on the food in his wooden bowl, then wrapped himself in the warm garment of thought and passed many days in meditation, which served as food, drink, and sleep. Yet even his clear spirit could not fully dispel the clouds of illusion. At last, he came back to earth, trembling with bodily weakness.

“Forgive me, O Kwannon the Merciful,” said Saion Zenji, “but it truly seems to me that if I have no food, I will die.”

Slowly he rose and, with difficulty, pushed open the door of his hut. The snow had stopped; it was clear and cold. The branches of the Lone Pine were white, and the Floating Bridge was all white.

“Forgive me, O Kwannon the Merciful,” he said. “I do not know why, but I am loath to depart and join the Shades of Yomi. Save this life, O Kwannon the Merciful.”

Turning, he saw a dappled hind lying on the snow, newly dead from the cold. He bowed his head. “Poor gentle creature,” he said, “never again will you run in the hills and nibble the grass and sweet flowers.” He stroked the hind’s soft flank, full of sorrow.

“Poor deer, I should not eat your flesh. Is it not forbidden by the Law of the Blessed One? Is it not forbidden by the word of Kwannon the Merciful?” Thus he mused. But as he did, he seemed to hear a voice that spoke to him, saying:

“Alas, Saion Zenji, if you die of hunger and cold, what will become of my people, the poor folk of the valleys? Will they no longer be comforted by the sutras of the Tathagata? Break the law to keep the law, beloved, you who count the world well lost for a divine song.”

So Saion Zenji took a knife and cut a piece of flesh from the side of the dappled hind. He gathered fir cones, made a small fire, and cooked the deer’s flesh in an iron pot. When it was ready, he ate half of it. His strength returned, and he opened his lips to sing praises to the Tathagata. The very embers of the dying fire blazed up to hear him.

“Still, I must bury the poor deer,” said Saion Zenji. He went to the door of his hut, but look where he might, he saw no deer, no dappled hind, nor any mark in the deep snow.

“That is passing strange,” he said, and wondered.

As soon as they could, the poor folk came up from the valley to see how their hermit had fared through the snow and storm. “May the gods send he is not dead of cold or hunger,” they said to one another. But they found him chanting in his hut, and he told them how he had eaten the flesh of a dappled hind and was satisfied.

“I cut only a hand’s breadth of meat,” he said, “and half is still in the iron pot.”

But when they looked into the pot, they found no deer meat, only a piece of cedar wood, gilded on one side. Greatly amazed, they carried it to the shrine of Kwannon the Merciful. After clearing away the deep snow, they all went in to worship. There smiled the image of the sweet heavenly lady, golden among her golden flowers. In her right side there was a gash where the gilded wood had been cut away. Reverently, the valley folk brought the piece from the hermit’s pot and set it into the gash. Immediately the wound healed, and smooth gold shone over the place. All the people fell on their faces, but the hermit stood singing the high praise of Kwannon the Merciful.

The sun set in glory. The valley folk crept softly from the shrine and went down to their homes. The cold moon and stars shone on the Lone Pine, the Floating Bridge, and the sea. Through a rent in the shrine’s roof, they illuminated the face of Kwannon the Merciful and made visible her many arms of love.

Yet Saion Zenji, her servant, stood before her singing in ecstasy, with tears on his face:

“O wonder-woman, strong and beautiful, Tender-hearted, pitiful, and thousand-armed! Thou hast fed me with thine own flesh-- Mystery of mysteries! Poor dead dappled hind thou cam’st to me; In the deep of mine own heart thou spoke to me To keep, yet break, and breaking, keep thy law-- Mystery of mysteries! Kwannon, the Merciful Lady, stay with me, Save me from the perils of illusion; Let me not be afraid of the snow or the Lone Pine. Mystery of mysteries-- Thou hast refused Nirvana, Help me that I may lose the world, content, And sing the Divine Song.”