There Must be Some Kind of Way Out of Here

Does practice have to be torture?

Clark Strand

Eat Sleep Sit: My Year At Japan’s Most Rigorous Zen Temple
Kaoru Nonomura
Translated by Juliet Winters Carpenter

Tokyo/New York:
Kodansha International, 2009
328 pp.; $24.95 cloth

An odd detail crops up at the end of “Eat Sleep Sit,” a momentary tip of the hand that shows us the cards Nonomura has been holding all along. We know from the beginning that he is going to get fed up with all of this and go back to his life in Tokyo. But what happens after Choshu decides to depart is so unexpected that it simply has to be the key to understanding the whole. Nonomura tells his friend:

“That’s great, Choshu!” It struck me as a brave decision.

“Not really,” he demurred, and then asked if I’d ever seen “My Neighbor Totoro.”

It turns out that the lecture scheduled for that evening had been cancelled, and in its place the monks were to screen Hayao Miyazaki’s 1988 classic animated film about the healing power of nature, as personified by an enormous but benevolent tree spirit named Totoro. The movie, which debuted the year before Nonomura and Choshu began their training, was enormously popular in Japan, where its furry, rotund hero became the unofficial mascot of an emerging Tokyo green movement. It is the sole reference to popular culture in a book by a Tokyo designer, and is thus Nonomura’s signature moment—the moment we meet the man he was and the man he is destined to become again, once he has emerged from the time warp of Eiheiji culture.

That single reference suddenly throws the whole book into sharp relief, reminding us that apart from loneliness, violence, and deprivation, there has been another theme at work—one that passes largely unnoticed in the reading, simply because it is always there in the background—and that is nature. Nature as experienced aesthetically, in a sudden glimpse of red leaves from under the covered walkways that run up and down the vast mountain temple complex, and nature encountered in its more mundane manifestation, in long hours spent outdoors sweeping, raking, weeding, and shoveling snow. Nature is the consolation and, more often than not, the inspiration that sustains Nonomura through his year of training, and nature is likewise the point in the end.

Finally, on the eve of his departure, Nonomura comes to understand the meaning of existence solely in terms of “natural man”:

The business of living is not in the least special. In a sense it all comes down to two things: eating and excreting. These activities are common to all life forms. Every creature on earth is born, through eating and excreting helps to maintain the balance of the great chain of being, and dies. In the realm of nature, these activities are essential to the continuity of life, and they give value to each being’s life. People are no different. If human life has meaning, it lies above all in the essential fact of our physical existence in this world. This is what I strongly believe.

That “balance,” that “value,” and that “chain of being” are at the heart of “Eat Sleep Sit,” but despite Nonomura’s protestations to the contrary, one gets the sense that they are a minor, somewhat troublesome theme of life at Eiheiji, where protocol is all. Which begs an obvious question: Is the Eiheiji that Nonomura encounters in his yearlong training what Dogen really intended? That question is never really answered—which is to say, it remains a kind of koan we have to answer on our own.

Readers not riveted by the minutiae of Zen life may find “Eat Sleep Sit” slow going at times, but the overall effect of the book is striking, making it well worth the read for its portrait of the struggle to find spiritual meaning in a traditional religious setting, and the perils that often accompany it.

Clark Strand is a contributing editor at Tricycle. A former Zen Buddhist monk, he is the author of “How To Believe in God: Whether You Believe in Religion or Not” and the founder of the interreligious blog Whole Earth God (

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