paper rakusu

When I took the buddhist “lay” (non-monastic) precepts in the soto zen tradition, I had to sew a small rectangle of cloth called a rakusu. It hangs around my neck from little straps, like the bib they use at the dentist to keep your shirt clean. The rakusu is a miniature version of a monk’s robe, which in turn is based on the robe the Buddha made for himself from worn and discarded pieces of cloth, dyed to a somewhat consistent color with vegetable matter. Our rakusus are made from new black cotton, purchased and cut into small squares and rectangles. The design is based on a pattern of fields of rice. We carefully sew the pieces together with double rows of tiny, parallel blue stitches, like seeds or seedlings planted in a field. The parallel rows of stitches demarcate paths between the fields. 

From the outside, the stitches appear to be separate entities, but seen from behind and inside, it is clear they are all connected.

The wide outer border is sown with three rows of the same tiny blue stitches. Those small stitches still fascinate me, like breaths, or the small steps we take in walking meditation. They are irregular—striving for a rhythm. But the effect of the whole is breathtaking in a quiet way, like an accumulation of moments over a lifetime.