The Mystery Guest: A True Story by Gregoire Bouillier (and) Hojoki: A Buddhist Reflection on Solitude, Imperfection and Transcendence by Kamo no Chomei
how to use a broken compass
When Kamo no Chomei was in his early 20’s, he lost out on a promotion to his cousin. Humility is a wonderful thing, but acquiring it can be painful, and Chomei was devastated.
Then, things got worse.
A terrible fire went through the city where Chomei lived. Homes, government buildings and an entire university all burned to ashes, in a single night.
And then, things got worse.
When Chomei’s was in his 30’s, a tornado hit his hometown, then, after that, there was a famine and if it’s starting to feel like a lot to read about all of this, you can only imagine how Chomei felt living through it. Rich people tried to sell their possessions, but the contents of an entire home, and all the materials used to build it, got them no more than a single day’s food. Grain was literally more valuable than gold, and what were once beautiful houses and furniture became, “firewood with crimson paint, flecked with silver and gold”. Worst of all, Chomei saw that love came at a terrible price, since parents and spouses were dying because there was rarely enough food to feed entire families. Those who loved the most died after giving away what they themselves needed.
Then an earthquake struck and everything that had survived all that other stuff, got leveled.
I can see where you might think that Chomei’s poem, ‘Hojoki’, might not be a happy read. And yet, it’s not only joyful, it’s a manual for discovering joy.
Having learned that nothing lasted forever and that wealth and power only provide the illusion of safety, Chomei built a tiny hut on a mountain and found that “the simpler my food is, the sweeter it tastes”. He accepted that in a world of impermanence, striving for things prevents you from experiencing what already surrounds you and in doing so he found a life of joy.
Gregoire Bouillier, who wrote The Mystery Guest, lives in Paris. He has never known hunger, but he did once get invited to a party by an ex-girlfriend, and then wrote this book about it.
If you want to know how to be miserable, Bouillier is your man.
Of course, Bouillier does look really cool and French in old photos where he’s smoking Gauloise cigarettes. I don’t know how Chomei looked, because he was born in 1153.
You really have to wonder, sometimes.
Also, I’m fairly certain Bouillier and Chomei wrote about the exact same thing.
The only that actually happens in The Mystery Guest is that Bouillier’s ex invites him to a party. He goes and then comes home. But the book is longer than just those two sentences because Bouillier keeps trying to guess what his ex is thinking. He wonders how to win her back and how to show how well he’s doing. He looks for secret signs in everything she says and does and he never ever stops churning and obsessing. And it’s all just noise. Because all that’s actually happening is the stuff that’s actually happening. Which of course is the point.
In a way, both Bouillier and Chomei act as compasses. Chomei points North. Follow him and you’ll arrive at a place of serenity and joy. Bouillier is a broken compass that only points South. But a broken compass can guide you just as well; the trick is to remember that you just look at his needle and go in the opposite direction.
Chomei experienced terrible tragedies, but it’s the life described in The Mystery Guest that’s awful: life the way most of us live it, spinning furiously on hamster wheels of our own creations.
There’s nothing wrong with looking at a cloud in the sky and thinking that it looks like a race car. The problem most of us have is that we spend our lives trying to climb into those clouds and drive them. We confuse our thoughts and our fears for life. And in doing so, we miss out on actual life.
I spend most of my own life talking to people who aren’t there, preparing for the wrong disasters and thinking about what I’ll do after the thing I’m doing now. The hardest thing in the world, an especially annoying Buddhist once told me, is to walk down 23rd street while you’re walking down 23rd street.
It’s worth mentioning, by the way, that I only bought Chomei’s book, the one about how meaningless possessions are, because it looked really cool and I wanted to possess it, so I could feel cool.
You really have to wonder sometimes.
Best yet!