WHEN THE SHOT DOESN’T GO AS PLANNED
As the days gradually grow warmer, we begin to feel the gentle arrival of spring. After a long winter, the changing of the seasons reminds us that everything moves forward little by little. This month, I will take a short break from the Shoshinge series and instead share a revised version of the Dharma message I shared at the April memorial service.
In early April, I had the opportunity to attend a Blue Jays game through a group ticket organized by the temple. Since the opposing team was the Dodgers, there were many Japanese fans in the stadium. What left a particularly strong impression on me was the walk-up song of Okamoto, a newly joined player on the Blue Jays. The song was by an artist from my hometown—someone my older brother was a big fan of—so it was music I had often heard since childhood. Hearing that familiar melody echoing across the ocean in a Major League stadium brought about a feeling that is difficult to put into words.
That same evening, I went on to watch a professional curling match. I was able to see players—some of whom have represented Japan—up close and even spoke with them briefly after the game. Japanese national team curlers often come to Canada for competitions, and whenever there is a tournament in Kelowna, British Columbia, someone always supports them. As it turns out, that person is a member of the Kelowna temple, and this connection led to a lively and meaningful conversation.
Having played in the Nisei curling league myself for the past two years since coming to Toronto, I have come to realize something very clearly: curling is a sport that does not go as we expect. Even when a shot feels perfect, the stone may travel too far, stop too soon, or curl more than anticipated. When I wonder why, I hear comments from teammates such as, “The ice is fast today,” “This line feels a bit heavy,” or “Maybe we didn’t sweep enough.” Even when we throw the same way, the result is never exactly the same. It reminds me that many conditions—beyond my own control—are always at play.
In Buddhism, this is expressed through the teaching of dependent origination. Everything arises through the coming together of various causes and conditions; nothing exists independently on its own. Even a single curling stone is influenced by the condition of the ice, the temperature of the arena, teammates sweeping of , and countless subtle factors we may not even notice. The outcome is never determined by “my shot” alone.
This teaching applies directly to our lives as well. We tend to think that results come solely from our own efforts, or that our lives are shaped entirely by our own choices. While effort is certainly important, things do not always unfold as expected. Sometimes things go well; at other times, they do not, despite our best intentions. In this way, life is very much like curling.
This becomes even more evident when we encounter illness, aging, and the loss of someone dear to us. There are moments when we are suddenly diagnosed with an unexpected illness, or when we must part with someone who was with us just yesterday. No matter how deeply we care, we cannot stop the passage of time, nor can we avoid separation. At such times, we come face to face with a reality that is beyond our control. When we realize this, how are we to live? Are we left with no choice but to stand still in helplessness?
Here, I would like to introduce a simple word: “omakase,” often translated as “I leave it up to you.” At a sushi restaurant, it means entrusting the chef to choose the best for you. However, even in that case, it is still “I” who decides to entrust. In Jodo Shinshu, “entrusting” is of a different nature. It is not about making a decision to entrust, but about awakening to the fact that we were never in control to begin with. More importantly, it is the realization that we are beings who have never been abandoned but have always been embraced and wished for.
This working of “not being abandoned” is the working of Amida Buddha. Amida embraces us just as we are—beings who cannot live entirely according to our own wishes—and continually calls out to us, “Please realize this working.” Even before we think to entrust, we are already living within this compassionate activity.
When we awaken to this, what naturally comes forth from our lips is the Nembutsu: “Namo Amida Butsu.” It is not a sign that we have accomplished something through our own efforts. Rather, it is the expression of awakening to the fact that this very self—just as it is—is embraced within boundless compassion.
In the face of the death of a loved one, Jodo Shinshu teaches us that those who have gone ahead to the Pure Land now live within this same working of the Nembutsu. As Buddhas, they continue to watch over us and guide us toward the same path. Even now, they are calling out to us: “Please encounter this same working of Amida Buddha.”
Looking back in this way, we can see that neither a single curling shot nor our entire life exists independently. Everything unfolds within a web of conditions. And within that, there is a great working that continually affirms us just as we are. Together with all of you, I hope to continue living a life of listening to the teaching, saying the Nembutsu—Namo Amida Butsu—with a heart of entrusting.
Namo Amida Butsu
Rev. Kensho Hashimoto