Mountain Magic Part II

Sept. 11

Somehow it feels easier to wake up at an ungodly hour like 5 o’clock AM than at a semi-normal hour like 7. At least that is the justification I used to get my ass out of bed in what seemed like the middle of the night. Besides, I was excited for the morning’s adventure – the goma (fire) ritual at Muryōkōin, a nearby temple devoted to performing the otherwise monthly ceremony on a daily basis. As I exited the main doors, I was first struck by the moon still hanging high in the sky. The sky was not yet blue and a fiery lining clung to the distant clouds, the sun beginning its ascent. As we walked down the empty streets of Kōya, a blue shade followed us, illuminating the still-sleeping shops and houses.

Before we stepped into the well smoked ritual room of Muryōkōin the sky had achieved a perfect state of quiet morning beauty. The dark cave-like room instantly transformed that image into a mere memory. All that was visible now was golden lanterns engraved with memorial inscriptions and two similar looking ritual tables. A monk offered me incense as I stepped inside, which I rubbed between my palms, making them smell like nutmeg and anise. The spectators (us, a few Japanese men and women, and several other European tourists) took seats and knees and watched priests and their students file in, walking gliding across the floor as if on air. An elderly nun arrived last, taking a seat right next to us. She shut the door, blocking out the only light. Then the chanting began. Beautiful chanting…songlike. I was given permission to photograph the affair (!) so I had taken a seat directly behind the fire altar, where a single monk sat next to a pile of thin sticks. He emitted a very low and slow chant, barely perceptible. He began to construct a fire with great precision, creating a mandala with the space before him.

The fire was not visible to my anxious eyes until it grew to a considerable size, sparks flying up at the charred ceiling. The fire building continued, along with the chanting and occasional gongs and bell taps, for about forty minutes. At that point a young female student came to me and told me to enter the ritual space. All other spectators followed behind me (I was so happy to be first, though.) I walked past the roaring fire to the corner of the room. She poured pure water into a small ceramic cup and instructed me to place it on some type of altar. Then we bowed to each other and she signaled me to continue to the other ritual space where another monk was standing with incense. I took a pinch and offered it to the altar, then returned to the boring realm of spectatorhood. After everyone present completed this process we all took seats again and watched the fire slowly die. The head priest of Muryōkōin then began to chant memorials for specific individuals, saying names, places, associated deities, and intended wishes. I forgot the hour entirely and could have stayed there all day without noticing it. You can imagine my unpreparedness to enter the world of daylight, then, and indeed the natural light made me squint and sneeze. But there those clouds were again, even more splendid than before! I felt refreshed and accomplished, being privy to a traditionally secret ritual that most Americans would never even know about.

After breakfast we toured the mountaintop museum, the Reihōkan, and experienced book knowledge come to life when our eyes made contact with some of the most treasured esoteric icons in Japan. We were the only patrons on this morning, until a group of pilgrims (mostly elderly men and women) with jingly bell sashes and crisp white robes came to offer their respects as well.

I had a special mission on this day to visit the library of Koya University and search for research materials related to women’s history in the area. I was slightly nervous to make this solo trek, since the world of polite Japanese conversation and connection-making is not the easiest to succeed in. I thought I was off the hook when I learned that the library was closed on Fridays, but knew I had to put on my game face when the delightful librarian received me with a big smile and instantly unlocked the door and led me upstairs. I told him of my interest, he told me how excellent my Japanese was (“no, no,” I said), then he disappeared into the back room and did not come back for some time. When he did, however, he was walking hurriedly with some papers and a wide grin. This nice man proceeded to locate and bring me every bit of relevant information (books, articles, etc.) he could find in his seemingly nervous state. And not only did he find me the materials, he made photocopies of them all while I stood nearby and tried my hand at small talk. I left the building with the biggest smile I could possibly crack….HAPPY!!!!

After grabbing lunch at a noodle house, sitting at the counter alone watching a foreign couple be very foreign and funny (I like to pretend I am not a gaikokujin myself and mock them sometimes…), I met back up with the group at the ceremony grounds of Kongōbuji, the main Shingon headquarters. A Swiss priest who Professor knew from previous trips (and who had performed the fire ritual earlier) was kind enough to guide our group around the grounds and through the Okunoin (very large cemetery!). He was so knowledgeable about everything, being an Indian philosophy expert as well, and proved to be the perfect guide. We toured the largest pagoda I’d ever seen, and circumambulated its mandalized interior of gilded images (at the center of which was Dainichi Buddha) and magnificently painted pillars of wisdom bodhisattvas. Then the troops followed the 36 stone markers to Kūkai’s eternal meditation site, heading back through town and into a grove of sacred trees (towering cedars planted in ancient times in intentionally linear rows).

We had intended to walk the entire grounds (1.9km each way) but Genso-san (Swiss priest) had so much to explain about images, the configuration of mini pagodas in five layers (representing the five elements), and so on that we could only complete about half in order to make it back home for bath and dinner. And the mosquitoes had been following us quite vigorously (Genso advised us to be generous with our blood – he is so wise, but left the cemetery with bites all over his shaven head!). Thankfully I survived the mosquito feast with only a few ankle bites…

Not satisfied with our incomplete graveyard hike, a small group of us set back out after dinner in the dark of night, guided only by lanterns on the stone path. It was a completely different experience at night, and I wish I had the words to describe how magical it was. Stillness, softness, sadness, oneness. We passed through the three bridges of the Okunoin, which Genso told us represented death, purgatory, and rebirth/enlightenment. With each passing layer I felt the weightiness of the entire experience bearing down on me (in a good way). Before entering the final phase, I stopped to splash water on fifteen bronze statues lined up along a running stream. The group is called the Mizumeko, and the act of splashing water is intended as a physical manifestation of your thoughts of a deceased loved one. Needless to say, this held special meaning for me.

The emotional journey only intensified when we reached the large mausoleum and its lantern-filled halls. Kūkai is said to be in eternal meditation in a cave further beyond, but an empty alter flanked with large gold lotus stands draws one in just as a perfectly crafted wooden or bronze image would. Perhaps even more so. The next thing I knew I had tears in my eyes as I looked out into the darkness. The walk home back through the lanterns allowed for contemplation of my time here in Japan, and of my life in general. One foot in front of the other. Taking it all in. Deep breaths. Soft rain began to fall, and it was serenity if I have ever experienced it.

Long train rides back home in the rain, misty mountains, and all the way through Osaka with far too much luggage. Daishin’in was a sight for sore eyes. Home sweet home