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Philip Toshio Sudo (1959–2002) 

菲利浦.利夫.須藤 Philip Toshio Sudō



Tartalom

Contents

A zen gitár
Fordította: Tornai Szabolcs
Édesvíz, Budapest, 1998
, 168 oldal

„Nem az a fontos, hogy zenész vagy-e vagy sem. Ha szereted a hangokat, itt a helyed. Én gyerekkoromban, Japánban, az őseim földjén kezdtem gitározni, s az Egyesült Államokban, ahol feleszméltem, továbbra is játszottam. A két kultúra hatására megpróbáltam a Kelet és a Nyugat bölcseségét ötvözve egyetemes életfilozófiát kialakítani.
Ez lett a zen gitár.
A zen gitár lényege, hogy eljátsszuk a dalt, mely születésünktől fogva bennünk van – ember voltunk dalát. Erre bárki képes. A zene arra vár, hogy megszólalhasson.”

Zen szex: A Szerelem Útja
Fordította: Szalai Judit
Szukits, Szeged, 2003, 194 oldal

Az igazi bölcsesség megszerzéséhez több út is vezet az életben.
A zen az egyik.
A szex a másik.
És itt fut össze e két út.
Amikor az olvasó először hallja a zen szex kifejezést, talán elcsodálkozik: mi köze lehet a zennek a szexhez? A zen állítólag nyugodt, békés, csöndes, mint egy sziklakert. Képzeljük csak el: Minimalista szex! Szeretkezés minden mozdulat nélkül! Valódi öngólnak tűnik…
És különben is, nem kell a zen szerzeteseknek cölibátust fogadniuk? Hisz szigorú aszketikus esküt tesznek. Létezhet egyáltalán zen szex a gyakorlatban?
Ez a könyv bebizonyítja, hogy igenis létezik a zen szex, és egyáltalán nem minimalista – sőt, a zen szex egyszerűen észveszejtő. Ha az igazságot akarjuk tudni, a zen szex a legjobb szex, amelyben ember részesülhet.
Hogyan sajátíthatjuk el a zen szexet? Mit jelenthet mindez az életünkre nézve? Erről szól ez a könyv.

Zen guitar

zen 24/7
All Zen/All the Time

Zen Computer

Zen sex

 


 

Zen Cancer
An interview

by
D. Patrick Miller

https://www.dpatrickmiller.com/fsZenPhil.html

IN MEMORIAM
Philip Tushio Sudo
 October 20th,1959 - June 9th, 2002

Philip Toshio Sudo was a Japanese-American musician and writer who studied Zen extensively and wrote four books on the subject for popular audiences: Zen Guitar, Zen Computer, Zen Sex, and Zen 24/7. On April 2, 2001, he visited his doctor to find out whether he had a stomach ulcer, as he had been suspecting. Following is what he wrote in his personal journal after that visit:

Today I was diagnosed with stomach cancer. I am 41 years old. I have a wife and three children, ages 6,4, and 1. I don't want to leave them to a life without me. But if fate should have it that way, God watch over them and give them strength.

We all must die. We cannot choose our time. The way of zen is the resolute acceptance of death, and, having talked the talk through four books, we shall see how I walk the walk, how I fight the fight. The test is here.

Every day is a beautiful day — even this day of cancer.
Love will endure through those whom we have loved.
Life is sorrowful, but to be lived in joy.

In the following interview, Phil Sudo generously answered questions about his experience of living with cancer as a student of Zen. At this writing, four months had passed since his diagnosis.

*

In Zen 24/7 you write, “Zen says, don’t wait until the car accident, the cancer diagnosis, or the death of a loved one to get your priorities straight.” Has your own diagnosis of cancer changed your priorities, apart from the obvious new priority of treatment?

SUDO: Not really. Ever since I got married and started having kids, my wife and children have been the focus of my life. That hasn’t changed. It’s true that my number one priority now is getting healthy, but it’s as much for them as for myself. I certainly appreciated my good health when I had it. In my first real job out of college, I worked as a journalist and sat next to this crusty old veteran who was nearing retirement. He used to tell me every day, “If you’ve got your health, you’ve got your wealth.” Repeated it like a mantra. As someone whose father died too early at age 54, I took that message to heart. I never wanted to take good health for granted.

The other aspect to that quote is the idea of acting now rather than later. One of the best lessons I ever got was from a college economics professor. He came into class one day all teary-eyed and said his father had just died. He reminisced for a few minutes before getting too choked up, and then dismissed the class saying, “When something like this happens, all those graphs about supply and demand don’t mean shit.” And then he said, “When you get a chance, you tell your dad that you love him. You never know.” Such a simple message, and yet given the emotion of the moment, it really stayed with me. I was raised in a household with traditional Japanese reserve. In our family, we never verbalized our love for each other; it was felt, but always unstated. Growing up, I don’t think I ever said the words “I love you” to anyone. So, over Christmas break I went home and tried hard to find an occasion to say that to my dad. Having never done it before, I didn’t realize how hard it would be, to actually say “I love you” with a sincere and open heart. Finally, at the end of the break, as I was leaving for the airport, I turned to him and said I loved him. And his eyes welled up with tears.

That was the last time I saw my dad alive, and those words — “I love you” — were the last words I ever spoke to him. Before the school year was over, he had died from a stroke. To this day, I thank God for that lesson from my economics teacher. That’s why I say in Zen 24/7, don’t wait until it’s too late to say what needs to be said, to do what needs to be done. Every day counts — even plain old today. You never know.

I’ve heard the Zen story of an enlightened master who was chronically ill. When a student asked him how he could be enlightened yet stay sick, he answered, “I am sick as long as all men are sick.” Is there an impersonal or universal aspect to your experience of cancer?

SUDO: I certainly don’t feel like a martyr. If there’s a universal aspect to my experience, it’s in seeing that everyone has some kind of pain in their life they’re trying to work through — and while it may not be life-threatening, it still consumes them. I’ve got friends who’d really like to get married and haven’t been able to; some who’ve gone through painful divorces; some who’ve been trying for years to conceive a baby and suffered numerous miscarriages; some who are just struggling to make ends meet. Who am I to complain when I’ve got a wonderful wife, three beautiful children, and a measure of financial security? I feel incredibly lucky. There are people who could live a thousand years and never know the joys I’ve known.

Someone said to me recently, “You must have a lot of anger over your illness.” And the truth is, I don’t. From the beginning, I never asked, “Why me?” Instead I’ve thought, Why not me? Or, why anyone? The first time I went to the cancer center for treatment, I couldn’t believe how many people were in the waiting room. The room was full of patients in various stages of illness, from elderly people in wheelchairs down to a young woman half my age. I remember trying to make appointments for various doctors and tests and being told I couldn’t get in as early as I had hoped. My first impulse was to say, “You don’t understand, this is a matter of life and death!” But how could I say that when that was true for everyone in the room?

Are there certain challenges, like cancer, to which the Zen response is to forget all about Zen? In other words, is one allowed to “freak out” about such a diagnosis? Many people may regard Zen as a detached or controlled response to life; how would you describe your response to learning about your cancer?

SUDO: I didn’t freak out. On the way home, I did shed some tears. When the doctor told me I had cancer, I didn’t forget about zen; on the contrary, my thoughts were filled with zen teachings about accepting the inevitability of death and regarding each moment as precious. Those resonated with me more than ever.

After calling my wife, I did get teary-eyed, however, because I thought about the anguish she and my children would have to go through. (One thing about those zen masters up in the mountains: you never read about them having a wife and children to care for.) But even through the tears, I didn’t feel far from zen. There’s a zen story I read somewhere about the funeral of a young monk. During the funeral, the monk’s master begins to weep. Afterwards, another monk approaches the master and says something like, “You’ve always taught that we shouldn’t become attached to our bodies or this life. So why were you crying?”

The master says, “If not now, when?” In other words, there are times where it’s entirely appropriate to cry — even as we’re cognizant of the need to accept death.

How did each of the topics you took on in your series of books teach you something new about Zen? How is Zen Guitar different from Zen Sex, and how are they the same? Have you thought about writing a book on zen illness?

SUDO: With each of my books, I learned something new simply by returning to the same subject and doing more thinking or meditating about it. The depth of zen is never ending. For example, there were certain zen koans whose meaning eluded me in the early books that, with subsequent books, I felt like I understood better and could write about. There are plenty more I’m still mulling over.

The approach I’ve taken to writing about zen is somewhat indirect, but I feel it’s the best way to make zen understandable and applicable to modern readers. I use the principles of zen to teach about, for example, guitar playing, but at the same time I use the principles of guitar playing to teach about zen. So I give the reader two points of entry. If you’re interested in music, computers, or sex (anyone not on that list?), you can gain new insights into your passion. And if you’re interested in zen philosophy, you can learn how to apply it in your musical, work, or love life. All of my books are the same in that dual approach. On a zen level, they contain similar teachings. Where they differ is in how I choose to illustrate the zen principles. I like to say that I wrote Zen Guitar from my heart, Zen Computer from my head, and Zen Sex from my body. What I’m trying to show is that there are myriad points of entry to zen understanding. That’s the gist of Zen 24/7: That anything, be it an alarm clock, a window shade, a handshake, or a cup of coffee, can offer a zen lesson.

A lot of people have suggested that I take notes for a book about zen and cancer, but so far I haven’t felt the urge. My main creative focus during this process has been on making music, charting my own course of music therapy. I’ve been bringing my laptop computer with me to chemo and recording musical compositions while the chemo’s being administered. I’m calling it “The Chemo Sessions.” Some of it sounds really strange. But it’s the probably the best document of what’s going on with me right now.

Are there any books that have helped you through this process?

SUDO: I’ve been returning to my favorite works in Eastern philosophy. I haven’t read any books related to cancer specifically, other than the wonderful volume of poetry Fuck You, Cancer by Rick Fields, who wrote from an Eastern philosophy perspective. My wife loved the cancer memoir by Evan Handler, Time On Fire (Owl Books), because she said it was both funny and angry. She identified more with Handler’s blunt approach than with the “feel-good, uplifting” stories about cancer out there. My kids seem to like The Paper Chain (Health Press, Santa Fe, N.M.), by Claire Blake, Eliza Blanchard, and Kathy Parkinson. It’s a gentle way of helping kids understand what a parent goes through during cancer. They’ve asked me to read it to them many times.

The book I’ve got by my bedside right now is Hagakure: The Book of the Samurai (Kodansha), by Yamamoto Tsunetomo. It formed the basis for the recent Jim Jaramusch movie “Ghost Dog” and basically speaks to the need for a resolute acceptance of death. It’s good book for building mental strength. The book I carry in my bag is The Book of Five Rings by Miyamoto Musashi, Japan’s most legendary samurai. It’s a classic treatise on strategy and swordsmanship, but of course, everything in the book has broader life meaning.

 

Philip Toshio Sudo
https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B000APEG7I/about

Born in Minneapolis, Minnesota on October 20, 1959, Philip Toshio Sudo was the eldest son of Japanese-American parents, Toshio and Sally Sudo. When he was in the second grade his family moved to Tokyo, where he attended elementary, junior high and high school at The American School in Japan (ASIJ). Feeling very much the displaced American, his identification with Japanese culture and eastern philosophy was a long and sometimes combative process. Sudo made frequent visits to Hawaii, stopping over as his family traveled between the U.S. and Japan. There he found a spiritual home to which he would later return to create progeny, write books and love life.

After high school he attended Macalester College in St. Paul Minnesota, graduating Phi Beta Kappa with a Liberal Arts degree. He then went on to Columbia University, where he received his Master’s Degree in Journalism.

It was during his college years that Sudo developed a passion for the guitar. This was during the Punk Rock era with it’s do-it-yourself ethic and raw, untamed sensibility. He definitely could relate. Though he had studied music as a child, he now picked up the guitar with a renewed commitment, forming a series of alternative rock bands including Half a Chicken and Tokyo Mon Amour.

In 1992, Phillip Toshio Sudo married Tracy Buell. It was during their honeymoon in Japan and Maui that he reacquainted himself with the work of Miyamoto Musashi in a book titled The Book of Five Rings. This particular work became the catalyst for what became a life-long study of eastern philosophy. Finding his center in marriage, inspired by his reading, and energized by his music, the stage was set for a creative outburst that would affect so many people so profoundly.

While living in New York City, Sudo worked in publishing– including a stint at Scholastic Inc., the publisher of educational materials for young people. There he was an editor on a current events magazine aimed at high school age youth. In retrospect, one could see where his translucent style of writing might have been formed by his years writing for young people. He had the rare ability to illustrate the most profound concepts with a vitality and economy of language few writers who dabble in such lofty territory could evoke.

During this period he formed a band, Avant Garbage, with some of his colleagues in the publishing world. They performed improvisational music based on recurring themes he composed. They performed in clubs, galleries, subways, and on the streets of New York City–anywhere that sympathetic persons of a certain receptive disposition might happen by. The band particularly relished performing for the annual New York City Marathon where they would run a two and half hour non-stop musical marathon. Their musical laboratory, though, was a basement rehearsal studio on New York’s Lower East Side. It was there that Sudo began to articulate and document his unique approach to philosophy and art. Thus “Zen Guitar” was born.

Shortly after the birth of their first child, Naomi, in 1995, the Sudo family packed up and moved to Maui, Hawaii. This period was the happiest and most productive of his life. During the six idyllic years spent there, the couple had two more children, sons Keith and Jonathan. Sudo published four books explaining his understanding of Zen philosophy and how to practically apply it in life: Zen Guitar and Zen Computer (Simon & Schuster), Zen Sex and Zen 24/7 (Harper San Francisco). He also recorded a critically acclaimed album of instrumental music, One Sound One Song.

In January 2001, the family moved back to New York City. Shortly thereafter Sudo was diagnosed with stomach cancer. In Zen 24/7, he wrote a year before his own diagnosis, "We take life for granted, sleepwalking until a shattering event knocks us awake. Zen says, don't wait until the car accident, the cancer diagnosis, or the death of a loved one to get your priorities straight. Do it now." During the next 14 months, Sudo made a heroic effort to apply the lessons of living he himself taught. He was fighting to heal a battered body while continuing to do his work and be there for his family. He had “found his bliss” before the onset of illness and was dedicated to retaining its life-affirming benefits while facing life-threatening challenges. Much of this struggle was documented in a cancer journal he kept and posted on the Zen Guitar website.

Philip Toshio Sudo passed on from this life June 9, 2002 at age 42 while listening to One Sound One Song.