Sleeping in a Buddhist shelter for homeless men
[Adventures in Faith: Japan; 1991] On a bitterly cold night, Tom and I slept in a Buddhist shelter for homeless people.
During our time in Kamagasaki in Japan, Tom and I were almost always homeless. By choice.
Our goal was to live in solidarity with the homeless people we were ministering to.
But there were two exceptions. The first exception was when I was very ill. I had slept in a Doya.
The second exception was when it was bitterly cold. Neither Tom nor I were eager to sleep on the ground in Dogshit Park.
We had heard that there would be a temporary shelter for the homeless people in Kamagasaki. It would only last for a few nights.
So we searched for it. We trudged around in the cold for what seemed like hours. Finally, we found it.
It wasn’t quite a shelter. A group of volunteers had commandeered an open area. It was beneath the overhang of a large building.
The area measured roughly 70 feet by 75 feet. The floor was concrete.
We were told that it was provided by a Buddhist group. We gladly accepted the Buddha-like compassion of these Buddhist volunteers.
We stood in line. From our position in the line, we could see ahead to the concrete. On it, they had placed futon.
By my count, they had 100 futon. They were crammed right next to each other with no gap in-between.
Obviously their goal was to accommodate as many people as possible.
When we arrived at the head of the line, the volunteers seemed a little surprised.
We were white foreigners, and we were in the queue for their homeless shelter.
But with their Buddha-like inner calm, they quickly recovered their composure.
They guided us to their pile of blankets. We took a few blankets each. Then we each picked a futon to sleep on.
The temperature was about 35° F.
We each laid down on a futon, then covered ourselves with the two blankets.
Underneath the blankets, we were still wearing all our clothing and sweaters and coats.
Perhaps an hour later, I had warmed up a little. My shivering had almost stopped.
I found that if I lay perfectly still, I was enclosed in a cocoon of pseudo-warmth.
It was highly unstable, though. If I moved even slightly, bitter cold would instantly invade my cocoon and the warmth would vanish.
I’m not sure I slept at all that night.
That concrete was a heat-sink. It had an infinite capacity to absorb the warmth from our bodies.
But it was better than sleeping on the ground back in Dogshit Park.
I’m thankful for that temporary shelter. And for the compassionate Buddhist volunteers who made it happen.
RESOURCES
At Wikipedia
Futon (Japanese mattress)
ADVENTURES IN FAITH
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