49 Days

Remembering the victims of the March 16 shootings in Atlanta & other victims of anti-Asian violence

I got on a plane yesterday in Honolulu and flew to Los Angeles to participate in “May We Gather”, a 49-day memorial service for the victims of the March 16 mass shooting in Atlanta and other victims of anti-Asian violence in America. I hope you’ll tune in to watch the event, which will be livestreamed on the May We Gather website today at 4PM Pacific Time.

This event, as far as the organizers and I can tell, is a first. Never before has there been a collaboration like this among Asian American Buddhist clergy from across so many traditions. This afternoon, I’m honored to be one Rinzai Zen priest standing (socially distanced but in spirit, shoulder to shoulder) with monks from Vietnamese, Cambodian, Sri Lankan, Tibetan, and Thai traditions; and priests from Jodo Shu, Jodo Shin Shu, Korean Zen, and Soto Zen Buddhism.

In addition to its historic nature, I was also drawn to accept the invitation to join this event because of who the organizers are. Duncan Williams, Funie Hsu, and Chenxing Han are three soft spoken but powerful voices in Asian American Buddhism who have been sharing the experiences of Japanese American Buddhists in World War II internment camps, revealing the erasure of Asian Americans and Asian culture in mainstream Western Buddhism, and lifting up a new generation of Asian American Buddhist leaders. (If you have not checked out Duncan’s book, American Sutra, or Chenxing’s Be The Refuge yet, please do!)

I’m doubly honored to be not just one of the 49 clergy participating today, but one of six speakers who will be delivering a short, 3-minute talk on one of the Six Paramitas. I will be speaking on Vīrya, commonly translated as energy, diligence, or effort. At Chozen-ji, we call this Kiai—the expression of one’s vital energy (in Chinese, qi). But for today’s purposes, I’ll be describing it as “spiritual strength”.

I’m glad I ended up speaking on this subject. As I’ve traversed two airports and the Pacific, I’ve been reminded of how lacking society is in conceptually understanding and physically grasping kiai. I’ve been struck by the low-hovering, barely audible buzz of anxiety I’ve encountered—the nervous movements of the crowd boarding my flight, the tight-lipped vigilance of airport staff, and the quick exasperation of travelers waiting for their pickups outside LAX. With their earbuds in and phones in hand, they alternate between moments of checking out and then starting at their own lack of awareness when someone brushes by or it’s time to board—as if this task was not already awkward and challenging before the social lubricants of microexpressions and body language were taken away from us by face masks and social distance.

Strengthening my own kiai through Zen training has made it much easier to pay attention with relative ease moment to moment—seeing the whole room, hearing and feeling everything, being relaxed while also ready to jump up and take action. A recently passed Chozen-ji member described it to me as finding a balance of tension and relaxation. I do not check out, start, or become tight with tension as much as I might have before. I feel the anxiety of the crowd but am not swept away by it. I sense the looming fear of contact and contagion, and our collective wish for things to be like they used to be, despite the knowledge that life has been forever changed by COVID. And I also feel my feet on the ground, see 180 degrees in every direction, and keep my breath low and slow. Doing this, I am better able to engage each encounter as brand new, unencumbered by expectations, habits, or a stopping mind caught on some past encounter and racing to catch up.

Putting on my priest robes and walking through downtown LA to Higashi Honganji—the Koreatown temple that was recently vandalized in another act of anti-Asian hate and where this afternoon’s memorial is being held—will be a new experience for me. I’ve never actually worn my priest robes outside of Chozen-ji. I have also never been outside the company of other, more experienced Chozen-ji priests when in my robes. But as unsure and new as that may feel, I feel the weight of responsibility to bring the kiai of Chozen-ji with me most of all—the kiai of Se Mu-I, giving fearlessness. Because in a time when so many are incapacitated by fear or living with that invisible buzz of anxiety throughout our days, it seems we need fearlessness most of all.