My Tokudo Experience — and the Lessons Learned

Editor’s note: Rev. Sydney Shiroyama wrote the following article for Sangha Guide, the Palo Alto Buddhist Temple’s newsletter, about her reflections on receiving Tokudo ordination. The Wheel of Dharma is reprinting the article with her permission. 

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At the end of September, 13 ministerial aspirants from Hawaii, Canada, California, New York, Washington, Germany, Spain and Belgium gathered in Kyoto, Japan.

Following years of training and preparation for Tokudo, the first level of Jodo Shinshu ordination, we were anxious to begin the 10-day training on Sept. 30. 

We all arrived a few days early to adjust to the time difference. Since we were staying in Kyoto at a hotel next door, we attended the 6 a.m. service at Nishi Hongwanji. On the second visit, we noticed an older man who had attended the day before. Just as he did the previous morning, he greeted each attendee and recited Namo Amida Butsu loudly and earnestly. We were told that he comes every day. 

During our orientation later that day with Rev. Gene Sekiya, someone mentioned that they noticed this man. They found his dedication surprising and admirable, especially for his age. 

Rev. Sekiya replied frankly, “Well, he has the time.” He continued to explain that when you ask these elderly and devoted people why they come every day, they often say, “I don’t have to work and take care of my family anymore. I have the time now to actually come and listen.” 

This struck me. Sure, we see these people as devoted followers of the Dharma, and, in many ways, they are. But to them, they simply have the time to listen. 

When Tokudo started, we quickly became overwhelmed with the intensity of the schedule. After discovering that the 5:30 a.m. wake-up call was, in fact, not early enough for us to change into our robes and make it to the group meeting by 5:50 a.m., my two roommates and I decided to wake up at 5 a.m. 

Following our 6 a.m. cleaning duties and service prep, our first Shoshinge morning service started promptly at 7 a.m. The instructors were fastidious as they corrected every movement — “Bow here,” “Pitch is too high,” “Take out your chukei,” “Sit up straight,” “Chant this line again,” “Too fast. Do it again.” 

We rolled into breakfast a bit stunned and grateful for the “no talking” mealtime policy as we mentally geared up for the next 12 hours of lectures, training and services before we could finally take off our robes and go to sleep at 11 p.m. 

While it was intense and physically draining, we all eventually got into a groove with the schedule. There was never any question of what to do next and much of our needs were taken care of by others. We didn’t cook, so there was no grocery shopping or meal prep to worry about. We didn’t have to work. We didn’t have our phones, so there were no text messages and emails to reply to. We didn’t have to think about what we should wear every day. We had no access to the news. Unburdened with decisions, our only responsibility was to show up prepared to listen, practice and learn. As I thought about the intensity of our schedule, I realized that the structure allowed us time to actually come and listen. 

This freedom from quotidian decisions and responsibilities made me feel like a child again. As children grow up, they practice rituals and behaviors that lay the framework for conceptual understanding. Adults often prompt young children to say “thank you” even before they fully grasp the concept of gratitude. Once their understanding of empathy is developed, they can express their gratefulness from the heart without prompting from their parents. 

While it sometimes felt like the instructors were our parents nagging us to fix our robes, line up our slippers, hold our onenju in the correct hand and bow at the right angle, their critiques and feedback were given from a place of concern. 

They wanted us to get it right and they didn’t let anything slip because they knew we could do better. And eventually, by the tenth day, most of these things came automatically. We knew where to bow and when. When our onenju wasn’t in our left hand, it would feel wrong. It’s like we were learning how to say “thank you” without being prompted.

The Tokudo ceremony was on the ninth day and on the tenth day, we had a closing service at the training center. It was a simple service without much fanfare. In fact, the instructors continued to critique us until their last moments with us. We chanted “Juseige” and closed with singing “Ondokusan II.” 

The lyrics of “Ondokusan” were written by our founder, Shinran Shonin, and the translation reads: “Such is the benevolence of Amida’s great compassion, That we must strive to return it, even to the breaking of our bodies; Such is the benevolence of the masters and true teachers, That we must endeavor to repay it, even to our bones becoming dust.” 

This is a song that I know by heart and I have sung it with my community and family ever since I can remember. Now that I was in a place to actually come and listen, I heard it in a new way, and I sang it with a new understanding. 

For 10 days, we practiced sitting up straight, bowing at the right angle and reaching for a pitch that we’re not used to hitting. Our bodies were not broken, but they were sore as we were developing these new muscles. We may have initially followed orders to sit properly and hold our book a certain way because that’s what we were told to do, but by the end, we could see that proper form, and correct rhythm and pitch make the rituals beautiful. To enter the Onaijin with reverence, awareness and the ease of internalized practice is beautiful.

Our teachers knew that, with practice, we could eventually carry out rituals in harmony with the beauty and radiance of Amida’s light. As strict but loving parental figures, they wouldn’t settle for anything less. The energy and effort they put into teaching us was a gift of compassion and it demonstrated their passionate, protectiveness and love for our beautiful Jodo Shinshu teachings and culture. 

Inspired by this benevolence and the unwavering support from my family, friends, teachers, the Palo Alto Buddhist Temple Sangha and the wider Buddhist Churches of America community, I am deeply motivated to repay it through my own dedication. Even to my bones becoming dust.