Moving on with our series of honorable mentions in this year’s Kyoto Writing Competition, the judges were intrigued by Jeremiah Dutch’s piece, “Zen Failure in Kyoto” — excerpted and adapted from his novel-in-progress, Gaijin House.

Jeremiah is a New England native raising two daughters with his wife in Yokohama. Having lived in Japan since 1998, he does most of his writing on the train while commuting to his teaching job at Reitaku University in Chiba.  He holds a bachelor’s degree in English from the University of New Hampshire and master’s degree in education from Temple University Japan.

A complete list of results for the Seventh Annual Kyoto Writing Competition can be found here.

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Zen Failure in Kyoto

Something snapped. You thought after all the lousy and meaningless part-time and summer jobs you had escaped from back in the States, the bit of manual labor that you were expected to do in the Kyoto monastery would be nothing.

You were wrong.

You weren’t enlightened. Or existing on a higher plane. Or one with the universe. You were one with the rake, dreading being an extension of a garden tool. You should’ve been focusing on breathing, being in the moment of morning meditation before chores.

And just being.

Period.

So, when that monk gave you a good whack with his stick to wake you from restlessness, capriciousness, and distraction – “the monkey mind,” you lost it, like a damned western barbarian.

In one swift, backhanded, move you yanked the stick from the monk’s hand and rose from your attempt at the lotus position to your feet. You towered over the holy man, but he showed no fear, even as you lifted the stick over your head. Instead of striking, you snapped it over your knee, like kindling wood. Then, catching the utter calmness in his eyes, shame hit hard. You adjusted your glasses, which had gone askew, and then apologized before gathering your belongings and leaving without another word, like a coward.

Stomping around the neighborhood of small homes and apartments you finally came to a tiny park. Exhausted, and angry, you sat down for a long time and watched the neighborhood wake up. Office workers left for their jobs, kids left for school, housewives hung futons on the railings of their decks and beat them, trash collectors picked up the garbage. The world was going by.

It was high time to be a part of it.