Wonderful
A couple of blocks from our home in West Los Angeles, there’s a building topped with a glowing white sign bearing the name of the company that has offices there. Normally I don’t pay much attention to the excess of advertising that characterizes much of the city. Companies have to make their brand known in some way, and being accosted by signs and billboards 24/7 has become a way of life for all of us potential customers. Some people call it visual blight. However, every time I see this sign, it does make me smile and give me pause to reflect. It spells the company name Wonderful whose products include a number of items from pistachios to bottled water and pomegranate juice to citrus fruit.
The first time I noticed it last year, I was stumbling into the next room to close the blinds in the middle of the night, grumpy to have been disturbed by the bright light that pervades our neighbourhood even in the wee hours.
“Wonderful,” I was thinking acerbically, “commercial lighting creeps in everywhere.”
As I reached up to shut out the radiance, I was astounded to see the word Wonderful echoing back at me in cheerful white lights. I rubbed my eyes in amazement and had to go and get my eyeglasses. Indeed, Wonderful is what it said, with an endearing heart shape replacing the letter “o.” Despite my weariness, I had to smile.
My irritation evaporated and I fell asleep thinking about what an agreeable location we lived in. Right near shops and restaurants, it is also safe and appealing. People greet each other in the street. Gardens are lovely year round. Wonderful.
Wonderful might seem like a sort of fuddy-duddy word that ministers and grandparents might use. These days, we could also say awesome. In a positive sense, it’s meant to convey a feeling that words cannot express. We are filled with wonder. We are in awe that the unfathomable causes and conditions of life could bring something about. The situation or event may even bring us a sense of indescribable joy.
Sometimes I wake up in the night, not because of the bright light, but because my mind is still thinking about people for whom I have concerns, about the welfare of our temple and our organization, or about a dharma message
I’m trying to develop. In the haze of half-sleep, this is usually not very productive, though I have had moments of inspiration on the last item. Mainly I just become more fatigued trying to address a difficulty or figure out solutions. Rather than tossing and turning, I notice that when I look out the window now, the only thing I can see is Wonderful and it makes me smile and return to the present moment.
This reminds me of another sign I can see from our windows, right across the street in the beautiful garden of West Los Angeles Buddhist Temple. I can’t see it in the dark, but I know it’s there on a large vertical rock face. Written in kanji, it says Namo Amida Butsu. I don’t want to equate the two, but they stir related feelings. The electric sign reminds me that despite difficulties, life is good. The one written in Shinran’s hand centuries ago reminds me that Infinite Wisdom and Compassion—Immeasurable Light and Life—are present for us at all times, though we often cannot see it. Its working far surpasses our inadequate calculations.
Whatever our concerns and issues, we do our best and then get out of the way. We cannot rely on ourselves alone to resolve difficulties, nor do we have to. Fukashigi, fukasetsu, fukasho—the wonderfully awesome, inconceivable working of great life. Namo Amida Butsu.
In gassho,
Rev. Patricia Usuki