In the Zen tradition, we have the opportunity to receive something called lay ordination, or Jukai. Before Jukai, we sew a robe, a kind of bib, called a rakusu. It takes a long time to sew it. We make tiny stitches and with each stitch we take refuge in Buddha. The lay of the stitches tells us a lot about the nature of our mind, attentiveness, and capacity to keep our mind on the dharma.
I sewed my first rakusu in 2004, while my twin brother was dying. The rakusu is infused with some of his last breaths. I received lay ordination a year to the day after he died, from my first teacher, Sobun Katherine Thanas. In the Jukai ceremony, you receive the robe you have sewed from your teacher, with calligraphy on the back. You receive a name and lineage papers that show the direct line from you to your teacher and all the way back to the Buddha, the unbroken lineage of the Buddhas and ancestors. You also take vows—the precepts—that constitute the guardrails of a Bodhisattva’s life. The name I was given is Shogen Enkyo, Auspicious Source, Complete Mirror.
Shortly after my Jukai, I began to study with a new teacher, Daijaku. She has been my teacher ever since, through good times and bad, attentiveness and inattentiveness, keeping the precepts and losing my way again and again. Her dedication to helping me to grow up and wake up has been an infallible guide to my path not only as a practitioner but as a human being trying to heal and serve all beings.
Yesterday, after 17 years of studying the way together, I had the opportunity to undergo a second Jukai with Daijaku, a renewal of my vows and a kind of seal on the bond between teacher and student. I was at Tassajara, the monastery where I have studied and been trained since 2001, during the first Winter of COVID, and it occurred to me that it would be a good time to sew a new rakusu. In part, the old one is much the worse for wear, well worn and well loved. But also, I wanted to repeat the ceremony with Daijaku out of gratitude and appreciation for all the ways she has guided me on the path.
To undergo a second Jukai is not unheard of, but it doesn’t happen all that frequently. There were just three of us—me, Daijaku, and a dharma sister, Sue, who attended my first Jukai and with whom I have been practicing for two decades. To renew my vows in this intimate ceremony on the eve of beginning this pilgrimage was perfect: moving, profound, and exhilarating. It felt like nothing more nor less than a rebirth, a reanimation of Beginner’s Mind just at the moment of stepping out the door.
Jukai means “coming home,” as in, coming home to the Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha, your true teacher, teachings, and family. Coming home just at the moment of leaving home was exactly the initiation I needed. On the back of the rakusu, the teacher writes your name, her name, and a phrase to guide you. My rakusu bears a quotation from Dogen Zenji, the founder of our lineage of Zen: “Every step I take is my home.” This phrase will guide me as I leave home to come home.
Walking and Praying 