Posted 13/11/2015
The Zen Hijrah: My Journey to San Francisco and Beyond
Sometime around 1983 or 1984, I landed at San Francisco International Airport after departing from Austin Straubel Airport in Green Bay, Wisconsin. It marked a turning point in my life—a Hijrah, a migration both inner and outer, a change of pace and place, a conscious shift from chaos to clarity.
I didn’t leave Wisconsin entirely by choice. It was more of a gentle push by an elderly fellow printmaker at the University of Wisconsin at Green Bay, Rosella Kelly. She was like a guardian angel with sharp eyes and a compassionate heart. She told me point-blank: I was becoming self-destructive, and my energy was affecting others, too. Her advice? "Go to New York. My son is being ordained as a Zen priest. He plans to open a monastery after that. Perhaps you'll find your peace there."
I agreed. That very day, I gathered whatever funds I could to support my journey to the Daibosatsu Zen Center in the Catskill Mountains.
"On America's Bicentennial, July 4, 1976, International Dai Bosatsu Zendo Kongo-ji, a Rinzai Zen Buddhist monastery, opened its doors. Located on 1,400 acres high in the Catskill Mountains Forest Preserve, DBZ continues to offer an ideal setting for authentic Zen practice. Students from all over the world gather here to receive traditional monastic training."
But fate intervened. That evening, Rosella told me her son, Dennis Kelly, had changed plans—he was headed to the West Coast to set up a monastery in the San Francisco Bay Area instead. So I rerouted my plans, bought a plane ticket to California, and left to meet a man I’d never met, newly ordained as Junpo Kelly, Zen priest.
When I arrived at the airport, just as I was about to turn away, overcome by fear, I bumped into a bald man in full priest robes, holding a large staff. We apologized to each other, and his assistant handed me a brochure. It announced a Zen talk in Berkeley by an old Korean monk. I took it as a sign.
I hopped onto an airport shuttle to the city, then found my way to the BART train headed to Berkeley. I wandered the main street, asking strangers until I stumbled upon the Old Plum Mountain Zen Center. There I met Mel Weisman, not yet abbot at the time. I asked to stay the night but was gently refused and directed to the City Zen Center on Page Street in San Francisco.
On my way back to the BART station, I saw a flyer in a laundromat window. Lord Ganesha’s image stared at me above an announcement for a Deepavali celebration at Golden Gate Park hosted by the Hare Krishna movement—free food and drinks, it said. Hungry and tired, I headed there, only to find books on Hinduism, a statue of a swami, and saffron-robed devotees chanting and dancing wildly—no food, no drink.
I was worn out. My heavy backpack and portfolio weighed me down—prints I’d hoped to sell to support myself. I asked a passerby where Page Street was, and he pointed right above my head. I looked up. Page Street. I had arrived at its very end, where it meets the park. Only one way to go: forward. I started walking.
As I passed a curious little shop filled with incense and colorful candles, I was drawn in. A striking woman with long black hair smiled and invited me inside. I ended up having my tarot read for $25—a luxury I couldn’t afford, but she was persuasive. “You need this,” she said. The card that stuck with me? The Devil. She told me, “Don’t be afraid. The Devil can be your ally in times of need.” I left the shop disturbed but intrigued.
Thus began my path into Zen. I never did attend that Korean monk’s talk in Berkeley. Instead, I found myself living at the Green Gulch Zen Center in Sausalito, Marin County. Strange how destiny unfolds.
Along the way, devils came in many forms—some wore robes, others sold drugs. Yet some of these “devils” were also my deepest spiritual allies. Among them:
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Dennis Kelly, once a drug dealer, later Junpo, a Zen priest and founder of the Hollow Bones order.
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Buddha Ron, who lived at Stinson Beach, a hippie haven of spiritual driftwood and seekers.
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Joshua Bowes, who resided at the legendary corner of Haight and Ashbury—the cradle of the hippie movement.
Without their friendship, I might never have survived, let alone thrived, during those early days in San Francisco.
Places that shaped this chapter:
📍 Stinson Beach – A quiet coastal town in Marin County, home to surfers, mystics, and Zen poets.
📍 Haight-Ashbury – The soul of 1960s counterculture, still echoing with chants, incense, and the ghosts of the Grateful Dead.
📍 Page Street Zen Center – Where I first sought shelter and found a foothold.
📍 Green Gulch Farm Zen Center – Where I eventually lived, worked, and practiced.
Postscript: Who is Jun Po Denis Kelly?
Jun Po began his Zen journey at San Francisco Zen Center in the 1970s. Later, he trained under Eido Shimano Roshi in New York. Ordained and recognized as a Zen master in 1992, he eventually left the traditional monastery setting to found the Hollow Bones lay Zen order. Also a yoga teacher, his spiritual lineage ties back to B.K.S. Iyengar and Pattabhi Jois. He created seven-day Zen retreats under the Mankind Project—a blend of warrior spirit and meditative clarity.
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