This is an excerpt from the still-being-edited biography of Jun Po Denis Kelly Roshi.   

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Japanese monasteries are, as mentioned, benign dictatorships, with a rigid hierarchy in place. It had worked this way, and worked well, for a dozen centuries, and Eido Roshi saw no reason to change that. As such, he ran his monastery very tightly. He was always aware of exactly what was happening, from back alley politics, to personality conflicts, to problems with the building, to things the board of directors might be considering. He knew exactly what was happening at all times, a testimony to his detail-oriented personality and his belief that it was, in the end, his monastery.

Dai Bosatsu, founded by Eido Roshi, saw him in residence most of the year and leading trainings all year round. One of those trainings always fell during the week of the 4th of July. Roshi absolutely loved fireworks, and it gave him tremendous pleasure to be able to watch the spectacular fireworks in New York City once a decade or so. But his service to the monastery came first, and so he settled for his students placing candles inside of floating paper bags on the lake that sat on Dai Bosatsu's property. He would come down to the dock on the night of the 4th, in his robes, hands held neatly behind the back, and watch as the hundreds of candles inside of paper bags floated across the water peacefully. After twenty or thirty minutes, he would walk softly back to the Zendo and go to bed. It lacked the dramatic punch of a firework's display, but it was very Zen.

Kelly knew that his roshi loved fireworks and knew even more certainly that it would be almost impossible to surprise him. In the middle of the winter of 1989 he pulled aside a handful of trusted conspirators, secured a lot of extra cash - almost $20K, most of that his own - and set about preparations. 6 months later, he was ready.
Roshi was leading a very large 7-day sesshin with a few dozen people who had signed up to do the intensive 17-hour days of sitting and walking. Bedtime was normally 9pm, but on the 4th of July they stayed up a little later than usual so Roshi could make the walk from the temple to the lake, and watch the hundreds of candles floating on the stillness of the water in the recently settled darkness. He had, very uncharacteristically, failed to notice how Kelly had been vanishing that week whenever he had the chance, and getting up nearly two hours before the 4:30am wakeup call. He failed to notice too that Kelly and a few other senior disciples were not part of the group walking down to the lake.

Roshi, hands clasped behind his back, walked out onto the dock, watching as the candles floated serenely. It was a warm and still night where a gentle breeze pushed the candles in beautiful, peaceful eddies along the water's surface. The trees were heavy with leaves, and they murmured quietly in the evening air. The night was clear, and the stars stood out starkly.

Several hundred yards away, on the far side of the lake, Kelly was running around in all black clothing, moving between three foxholes that he and the others had dug. Inside each hole was about $6,500 worth of professional fireworks, and two of his co-conspirators were hunkered down there as well. Kelly had not only secured the permits to have the show legally, he then used those permits to contact professional fireworks manufacturers. He had made more than a dozen trips to pick up scores of high-powered explosives, planning exactly how they would be lit to ensure the most spectacular show. It took him hundreds of hours of work, all done in the most intensive secrecy.

EIdo Roshi stood on the dock, his senior attendants behind him, his face a mask of contentment, restraint, and discipline. The sesshin attendants lined the shores and, forbidden to speak on retreat, took in the candles silently. On the far side of the lake, masked in darkness and conspiracy, Kelly lit the fuse of the first firework, with the battery of explosives arranged in the order in which they would be lit. The fuse hissed up into the body of the large missile and, with an arch of flame it fired off into the sky, leaving a thin trail of smoke and sparks behind it. Kelly then darted out of his hole to the others, whispered instructions to the other two helpers on which fireworks to light and when.

On the dock, Roshi's attention went to the single streaking firework and he allowed himself a smile, thinking someone had lit off a large bottle rocket from the woods. But when it exploded a ¼ mile in the air into a huge red-and-orange ball with blue highlights, his mouth popped open. A few seconds later, the entire sky was suddenly alight in fireworks, with huge explosions and amazing colorful lights reflecting off the waters, the tranquil candles providing a striking backdrop. Kelly darted from one foxhole to the other, making sure that everything was being fired in the correct order, then tore back to his own hole to light more fireworks. He was burned and blacked by the huge rockets taking off so close to him, but the burns only made him laugh all the louder. The finale was carefully planned, and the skies over Dai Botsatsu burned orange, and red, and yellow, and blue and green as the explosions echoed for miles around.

The show lasted fifteen full minutes, and by the end of it the students attending retreat exploded into cheers and chatter, whooping and hollering. Eido Roshi's arms had fallen to his sides. His normally composed face was a mix of awe, gratitude, and utter shock, but he quickly tucked his arms behind his back and set his face. Without a word or gesture he left the dock and made his way back to the monastery, indicating that his attendants should leave him alone.

Kelly was waiting for him by the rear entrance, blackened, burned, covered in mud and mosquito bites, his eyes beaming. He had, after a decade of training, finally gotten Eido Roshi. Kelly watched as the diminutive, intense shadow of the roshi came up the path and into the circle of light, and he took a step back at the sight that greeted him. Tears streaked Eido Roshi's disciplined face, and his lips trembled with uncontrollable emotion. He threw himself onto Kelly's chest, beating him with his fists, sobbing in joy and gratitude and love. After a few moments Roshi released Kelly, composed his face and body into that of the master once more, and entered the building without saying a single word.

Kelly sat outside in the sweetness of the summer night air. That night would become one of the very sweetest memories of his life. Despite all his experiences, that one - sharing a moment of profound humanity with his teacher - was one of the most profound, the most cherished, and the most moving of his entire life.

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