sion; even my lying down to quiet rest must be a hindrance to piety. How can any one waste precious time in a continuous indulgence in useless pleasure? One calm morning I thought long over the reasons of this, and asked of my own heart the question—'The object of leaving the world and making companions of the hills and woods is to give peace to the mind, and to enable us to carry out the practices of religion. But though your outward appearance is that of a holy man, your heart is steeped in impurity. Your dwelling is an unworthy imitation of that of Jōmyō, but in observance you fall behind even Shuri and Bandoku Is this a natural affliction, inseparable from a mean condition, or is it due to the disorderly passions of an impure heart?' To this my heart made no answer. A few unbidden invocations of the name of Buddha rose to my lips, and then—silence.
"Written in my hut at Toyama, the second year of Kenriaku (A.D. 1212), the last day of the third month, by me the monk Renin." [1]
Some editions add the following pious Tanka:—
"The moon is gone—
A cruel mountain-spur
Where late she shone:
Oh! that my soul had sight
Of the unfailing light."
Chōmei is also the author of a collection of short essays entitled Mumiōshō ("Anonymous Selection"), mostly relating to poetical subjects, and of the Shiki ("Four Seasons") Monogatari, descriptive of court functions throughout the year.
- ↑ Chōmei's name as a Buddhist monk.
