Komachi on the stoop: Writing and the threshold life

Komachi:

It was already lying down, this stupawhy should it be wrong that I also rest?

The Priest:

That goes against Right Action.

Komachi:

But Wrong Action may lead to salvation too!

The Priest, the Attendant, and Komachi then begin to speak the following words together, in alternating lines, though within the conventions of No it is clear the thoughts are hers:

There are stories that even a wicked man can know the mercy of the teachings of Compassion, that even a fool can become awakened through the teachings of Wisdom. Evil may become Goodness, even the Passions can lead to the Mind of the Way. The root of enlightenment is not some tree that can be planted or not the clear mirror of awakening has no need of a stand In truth, when all things are known as One, there is no difference at all between Buddhas and sentient beings. If to save foolish mortals by any means has been the one true vow from the beginning, then surely even wrong actions must lead to Awakened Mind

At this, the Priest and Attendant give in:

You are an outcast beggar who is truly enlightened!

And saying this, they touch their heads to the earth three times in homage.

That is the culmination of the first part of the play. Next, the priests ask the woman who she is, and discover to their amazement that they are speaking with the legendary Komachi. They reminisce about her former beauty and glory, and comment on her circumstances now: her white eyebrows and hair, the sack she carries around her neck with only a few grains of dried millet and beans for food, her clothing covered with dirt, her tattered raincoat of straw, her ravelling hat of woven reeds, and the madness which comes over her at times.

Then, that madness is visibly played out-Komachi's spirit is taken over by the angry ghost of one of her former lovers, who recalls the nights he waited outside her door in the darkness and wind, through first the time of falling leaves and rain, then of falling snow. Reliving this, Komachi cries out in pain and ultimately, also, in compassion for the lover, who died on the ninety-ninth night of the hundred she had asked him to prove his steadfastness. The play ends with her vow to continue traveling the path of enlightenment until both their spirits are freed.

There are many ways to look at this story and its images. It invites our contemplation in its presentation of Buddhist understanding, as a protofeminr st story, for the luminosity of its poetry, and for the pathos and dignity of the human tale it holds. Here though, I would like to consider the play in the light of a concept from anthropology-to look at the aged poet Komachi as a figure who exemplifies the realm of the liminal, a word derived from the Latin limen, or "threshold."

In The Ritual Process, anthropologist Victor Turner describes the liminal as a period of transition which occurs in all rites of passage. During the time spent in this condition, a person abandons his or her old identity and dwells in a threshold state of ambiguity, openness, and indeterminacy. Only after undergoing this process may the initiate enter into new forms of identity and relationship, and rejoin the everyday life of the culture-but now as adult or married person, as healer or holder of clan secrets.