Joe Isuzu's Daily Slander

The Patient Giant

Buddhamitra
[仏陀密多] (n.d.) (Skt; Jpn Buddamitta)
A monk of northern India, and the eighth of Shakyamuni's twenty-three, or the ninth of his twenty-four, successors. He studied under Buddhananda, his predecessor among the Buddha's successors, converted people by skillful means, and defeated a number of Brahmanists in debate. The king of his country, however, was strongly attached to Brahmanism and tried to rid the kingdom of all Buddhist influences. Determined to overcome the king's prejudice, Buddhamitra, bearing a red flag, is said to have walked back and forth in front of the palace for twelve years. Finally the king, moved by his resolve, allowed him to debate with a Brahmanist teacher in the king's presence. Buddhamitra refuted his opponent and thus converted the king to Buddhism. (Note: there are also several references to Buddhamitra as a woman, a nun.)

Sometimes in life an immediate action is required because there is no time for explanation. Like when I was stepping off a curb and some stranger grabbed my shirt and pulled me back from being hit by a cab in New York City. It was my first time to a big city and those buildings were all so tall. All I could do was look up. I also stepped in dog poop. But nobody saved me from that. Lesson learned. Sometimes an explanation wouldn’t help even if there were time. Like a parent screaming at a toddler “don’t you ever do that again” all in an effort to keep them safe from a harm they can’t comprehend. And sometimes all you can do is be actively patient.

The Patient Giant

In 2000, my niece who was 11 at that time was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor. Except for being blind in one eye, she's fine now and attending USC. I watched her parents go through the daily torment of facing the possibility of losing their only child. It wasn’t until the surgeon came through a pair of automatic doors, which made a “swish” sound like in the old Star Trek TV show, to tell them “We got most of it,” did they allow their resolute stoic demeanor to crack. It was more than a time to finally let go and cry. It was a crumbling. But there wasn’t much of an interval between that initial first deep inhale of release and what was to come. She needed radiation to get the rest. That was the steely truth contained within the doctor’s words, “most of it.”

Once she recovered from the initial surgery, it was off to the Ronald McDonald House at St. Jude Children’s Hospital in Memphis, Tennessee. She was fortunate to get in. Every kid who gets into St. Jude is considered a patient for life and one their own. And the bonds that form there last beyond a lifetime because sometimes a lifetime relationship only lasts a few months at the house. But the bonds remain.

I was visiting my niece and waiting in the lobby one day while she got radiation. I saw a man dressed in hospital blue, no hair, pulling an IV. He looked exactly like a patient. This is a children's hospital and this man was grown. Really grown! He was at least six and a half feet tall, a giant of a man. All chest and arms, like the front lineman of a major league football team. But he looked and dressed like a patient. Finally I notice, low and close to the floor, almost completely hidden behind the giant’s leg, a small child maybe four years old. No hair, dressed in hospital blue, and the tube from the IV that the giant was pulling was inserted into its arm. It was the giant’s son. The giant had dressed like his son and shaved his head like his son while his son had to go through the ordeal of chemotherapy. They were heading towards the chemo room. The chemo room had two large automatic doors, just like the doors the doctor came through after my nieces operation. But before they got close enough to open the doors themselves, someone came out and the doors made their distinctive sound. The little boy stopped to ponder this for a second while his dad, the giant, held his hand in fingers which where so long and large that they enveloped not just the boys hand, but his arm up to the elbow. Another person went through the doors with a “swish”, and the little boy suddenly realized that this was the portal to the place that made him lose his hair and feel so sick for so long. The little boy started to cry. His father, the giant, could have easily gathered his son up in one of his enormous hands and carried him into the therapy room. After all, that's why they were there; to get therapy to save the boys life. But the giant didn't pick up the boy. Instead, he got down on one knee and talked to the boy. He talked and talked. Ten minutes. Fifteen. Twenty. The giant sat on the floor. He kept talking. An hour went by. Finally, together, they got up and walked into the room. The little boy walked into the room, the room that makes him sick, the room where he lost his hair, the room he hates, holding the hand of the giant, his father. His father, the giant, had the patience to explain to this little boy, his son, in whom the giant could see himself, that not only was this something he couldn't avoid, but something he had to do for himself. The time for simply doing something because he was told to had past for this little son of a giant. It had past at the age of four. And the giant knew this. But they would do it together no matter what the consequences.

There have been and continue to be many giants in my life whose hands have held mine, past my elbow and into my heart. One of my giants told me the story of Buddhamitra, which they remembered reading in the older volumes of the letters of Nichiren from Repaying Debts Of Gratitude. They took the time to go and find this passage, which is actually only a footnote. They said that I reminded them of the person who waited patiently under a red flag for years and years. I’d never thought of myself as particularly patient, rather just the opposite, volatile and reactionary. But in a conscious effort, I have to some small degree, changed my nature. And it happens as a matter of recourse through the diligence of elevating my life condition through chanting Nam Myoho Renge Kyo with Nichiren’s Gohonzon. This giant, one of my giants, made me realize that I have been working on one particular issue in my life for eight years. Eight years under my own red flag. Now if this were a case of life or death, like an addiction to some substance or cancer, most people would understand my diligence because the impact is so immediately important. If it were about a career, which I spent twenty years under a red flag, people would understand. But this is one of those things that people seem to lose patience about and it seems reasonable to quit. To move on. To move away. And it has been as difficult to explain why I continue, as it has been to continue. But I appreciate those who ask “why” because it forces me to reflect on whether I’m being diligent or delusional and if I can see positive results from the journey itself. And because of this I have come to think of the journey as the reason to set the goal.