esejieng

Of the first five thousand haiku of Issa that I translated for my online archive, only thirteen refer to Jizō, a figure that two of my Japanese/English dictionaries identify as “the guardian deity of children.” Statistically, then, it would seem that Jizō is a figure of miniscule importance in Issa’s poetic universe, far less prominent than, for example, Buddha, to whom he refers, in this same sample, 214 times. However, though Jizō appears so infrequently, we should not underestimate his significance to Issa. In fact, one could argue that truly important, truly sacred things must not be mentioned too often or too publicly, or else they might lose some of their power to move and inspire. Jizō is precisely this kind of spiritually forceful image in Issa’s haiku, and, one assumes, in his life beyond haiku.

The dictionary designation of Jizō as, simply, “the guardian deity of children” is confusing for anyone familiar with the fact that Buddhism is not a theistic belief system. Buddhists do not worship a God or gods. How, then, can Jizō, in Buddhist Japan, be a “deity”? The name Jizō derives from the Sanskrit kşitigarbha, a compound of kşiti and garbha: “earth” + “womb” (Ōzuka 359). In ancient India this “Earth-Womb,” as the name implies, served as a fertility goddess whose lineage traces back to the earth goddess, Prthivî (Dystra, 179). When Buddhism moved into China, monks translated Ksitigarbha with the Chinese cognates, ti ts’ang: “Earth-store,” “Earth-treasury,” or “Earth-womb” (Soothill, 208). Ti Ts’ang Wang (“King Earth-store”) underwent a sex-change somewhere en route from India to China, so that Jizō, the Japanese pronunciation of the Chinese characters for “earth” and “storehouse,” has spent the majority of his/her time in East Asia as a male.

In Chinese Buddhism, Jizō came to be known as one of the eight Dhyāni-Bodhisattvas, his particular job being that of guardianship over the earth. A bodhisattva is not a god but an enlightened being who heroically helps others on the road to enlightenment. Bodhisattvas roughly parallel the saints of medieval Catholic tradition: they are heavenly VIPs who intercede, when called upon, for their earthly devotees. Of course, key differences pertain between Christian saints and Buddhist bodhisattvas, not the least being the notion that saints have arrived at an eternal state of bliss whereas bodhisattvas have delayed their entry into Nirvana on a compassionate mission to lead other sentient beings to enlightenment. Still, the English word “saint” seems closest to the mark, so in my own translations I usually designate him as “Saint Jizō.”

In Chinese Buddhist myth Jizō became associated with Yama, the overlord of Hell, most likely because of his (formerly her) ancient association with earth’s womb. Nevertheless, in folklore he appears as a savior, not punisher. For example, in one old Chinese tale a son’s filial piety moves Jizō to deliver that son’s sinful, dead mother out of hell. Similarly, in a Japanese story, he appears in the form of a beautiful young boy and rescues a righteous man from hell by offering to suffer in the man’s place (Dykstra, 180; 194-95). In Pure Land Buddhism, that branch of Buddhism that relies on Amida Buddha to enable one to be reborn in his Western Paradise, Jizō gained a reputation as one who could assist sinful mortals in their last moments of life, effecting their rebirth in the Pure Land. This is why, in many Japanese temples, statues of Jizō stand on one side of Amida, while Kannon, the bodhisattva of mercy, stands on the other.

Jizō’s role in Pure Land Buddhism made him widely popular in medieval Japan, where this movement spread far and wide among the masses. Somewhere along the way, he picked up other duties in addition to helping souls reach Amida’s Pure Land, such as providing protection for travelers. Even today, stone and wood Jizōs can found all over Japan along remote roads, where they watch over those who journey there. Jizō’s kind, generous, and selfless nature led Japanese people to revere him additionally as a guardian of children. Yet, as we have seen, he is much more than this thumbnail sketch found in dictionaries.

Issa’s earliest reference to Jizō appears in the eighth year of the Temmei Era, 1788; in a text titled, Go jū eki (“53 Post Towns”). He was only twenty-six, just starting his poetic career, when he wrote:

moss blossoms bloom
in a little crack...
stone Jizō

The middle line might also be translated, “in little cracks,” since the noun kizu signifies either singular or plural, depending on how the reader chooses to imagine the scene. The haiku has a prescript: “A big seashore,” a specific setting that suggests the haiku is a sketch from life. Thirty-three years later, in 1821, Issa returns to the same image:

in Saint Jizō’s lap,
eyes, nose...
blooming moss

In this second haiku, the image of moss blossoms erupting lushly from Jizō’s lap, eyes, and nose resonates with the bodhisattva’s ancient role of fertility god: the womb of the earth whose every crack and crevice give birth to tiny gardens. Issa energizes both of his portraits of blossoming Jizō by means of juxtaposition: nonliving statue and living moss come together to create a powerful unity of which the saint of stone (or, perhaps, wood) is not only a living presence but a life-giver, the “Earth-womb” for summer’s smallest flowers. Issa taps into the rich semantic heritage of Jizō in these haiku.

Another pair of haiku brings together Jizō and blossoms, only this time the blossoms appear on a much larger scale, surrounding and practically engulfing the kind saint:

Saint Jizō
in the blooming pinks...
dead center

blooming pinks
behind and in front
of Saint Jizō

Issa wrote the first haiku in 1812; the composition date of the second, evidently a rewrite of the first, is unknown. In both poems Jizō sits or stands in a field of blooming pinks. Since flowers are often used as temple offerings, Jizō’s status as a revered figure in Buddhism raises the question: Are these pinks Nature’s living offering to the saint or, perhaps, are they the Nature-Saint’s offering to us? Either way, Issa evokes a delicate feeling that only deepens when one holds in mind Jizō’s fertility god pedigree. He appears as both Lord of Flowers and their humble, happy recipient, utterly immersed in their beauty.

In this next cluster of haiku Jizō appears in his role of protector of life:

baby sparrow
safe in Saint Jizō’s
sleeve

in Saint Jizō’s hand
squatting
frog

beehive—
safe on Saint Jizō’s
elbow

kindly guarding
the bamboo shoots...
Saint Jizō

midday passes—
on Saint Jizō’s lap
a croaking frog

In the first haiku there might be more than one baby sparrow—another case in which the non-specificity of Japanese nouns, in terms of number, provides extra leeway for the reader’s imagination. In all five scenes, a roadside statue of Saint Jizō guards over small, innocent life: baby sparrow(s), frogs, bees, and new shoots of summer bamboo. Jizō’s special role in Pure Land Buddhism deepens the significance of these pastoral scenes. In the Pure Land Buddhist perspective, sparrows, frogs, bees and even bamboo will one day realize enlightenment, but in order to do so they need to be reborn in Amida’s Pure Land. Jizō’s reputation as a merciful bodhisattva dedicated to enabling sentient beings to reincarnate in Amida’s Paradise casts these five haiku in a particular religious light. Saint Jizō’s protection is not only physical, but spiritual. His presence in these scenes whispers of future-life hope for these creatures, these plants, and, by implication, for the human readers of the poem.

These next two haiku appear on the same page of Issa’s journal, Shichiban nikki (“Seventh Diary”) in First Month 1814:

spring breeze—
on Saint Jizō’s lips
a grain of rice

rice cake and jelly
on Saint Jizō’s lap
the spring breeze

Both haiku present images of Jizō accepting tribute: a grain of rice in his mouth, a bean jam-covered rice cake on his lap. Here, his ancient identity as fertility goddess and contemporary role as compassionate bodhisattva seem to come together. Someone has left rice offerings for the statue, a gesture that might signify thanksgiving for last year’s harvest as well as a down-payment for a good harvest in the year to come. Or, the gesture might be understood in Buddhist terms as a propitiatory offering in hopes of attaining Jizō’s intercession for rebirth in Amida’s Pure Land. Whichever way one interprets these gifts, they palpably acknowledge Jizō’s regenerative power. The seasonal reference, “spring breeze,” adds emphasis to this association, spring being both the season of fertility and an emblem for spiritual rebirth. In the first haiku, one wonders if the breeze itself has offered the rice grain to Jizō’s mouth, or has it done the opposite: blown away all the other grains that some devotee has put there, leaving just one behind? Issa, as he likes to do, leaves plenty of room for interpretation and imagination. One thing, however, is certain: both haiku celebrate simple, sincere, natural, beautiful...piety.

In a playful mood, Issa writes,

sweeping snow—
enough piled up
to make a Jizō

Normally, he might sculpt the snow into a Snow Buddha, but on this occasion he decides to make a Jizō. The feeling in the poem is warm and intimate: the Buddhist saint whose image the poet shapes—both in snow and in the words of his haiku—is an old, familiar friend. A last example inspires a similar emotion:

looking on, Saint Jizō
lines up too...
dance for the dead

During the autumn Bon Festival, people light lanterns to guide their ancestor’s spirits back to family tombs and, as part of the festivities, dance traditional dances. In Issa’s haiku, the Jizō statue appears as fully part of the human community, so much so that he lines up with the dancers, joining in. On a superficial level the image is charming and humorous, but the Bon Festival context conjures deeper associations as one recalls Jizō’s connection with death, the underworld, and afterlife. Aware of those who have gone before them, the villagers dance on the earth for their short time but are not alone; they have a friend, a neighbor who lives right alongside them: gentle and loving, a bodhisattva who will guide them in their last moments; an Earth Mother who, when the time comes, will welcome them home.

Note

1 This essay was first published in World Haiku Review (2003).

Works Cited

Dykstra, Yoshiko Kurata. “Jizō, the Most Merciful. Tales from Jizō Bosatsu Reigenki.”

Monumenta Nipponica 33, 2 (1978): 179-200.

Kobayashi Issa. Issa zenshū. Shinano Mainichi Shimbunsha, 1976-79. 9 volumes.

Soothill, William Edward, and Lewis Hodous. A Dictionary of Chinese Buddhist Terms.

London: Kegan Paul, 1937; rpt. Taipei Ch’eng Wen Publishing Co., 1975.