Hasedera 長谷寺

The rain pounds down outside, a sweet song the skies have really been enjoying of late. I don't mind, in fact it inspires a soft creativity in my mind. Thoughts drift to mountain adventures, which continue to reveal themselves as the path of my heart. I've just returned from a four-day run in Nara. A quiet and thoughtful reconnecting with sites, sights, and a few familiar faces. I collected a new gem for my mountain treasure chest, and beautiful indeed she is.

Hasedera in southern Nara Prefecture is the reward of a meandering journey: south and east about an hour from Nara, alighting then descending stone steps from a lonesome train station, crossing through a small and sleepy town situated on a hillside, over a lulling river, and then up another hillside and hundreds more stone steps. Nestled is a good descriptive fit; nicely exhausting a good,  realistic reflection.

The air shifted as I moved, thick near the river, and ever so subtly lighter and more accommodating by the time I reached the main hall at the top. The hall itself is a National Treasure, reconstructed in present form in the 17th century. The temple complex, however, traces back to the late 7th century, according to a Nara period bronze plaque enshrined on the grounds. Succumbed to fire some ten times throughout the history of Japan, it's a true testament to spirit and staying the course. The visual image of this grand, and grandiose, collection of wooden buildings in flames raises the hair of my neck. In calm times, it was well-enjoyed by Heian aristocrats, including the author of The Kagero Diary, a woman who wrote of life as a noblewoman. It was the first book about Japan that truly struck a chord in me and propelled my world to unfold the way it did...

The bronze bell came to life just as I arrived, struck by invisible hands from my perspective below the tower. I maneuvered to see another monk singing a giant conch shell, the traditional instrument of mountain ascetics. I was right on time, it seemed. Midday...

A cooling breeze swept around and I sat on the porch of the main hall, seemingly on top of the world. I read, I wrote, I listened. Strolled to see the Jizo enclave, lunched quietly on persimmon leaf-wrapped sushi while listening to three middle aged gentlemen with sweat towels wrapping their necks boisterously chatted. I paid no ostensible mind until I unconsciously responded to a question...they were naturally quite surprised that I spoke Japanese and I a little embarrassed that I hadn't greeted them sooner. They love American sports, and immediately reminded me of the LA Kings' Stanley Cup win. I'd see them sporadically at least three times before I headed back to Nara...and always we met with a big smile. 

A vast cemetery leads back into the mountain. Several people lined up, filling buckets with water to clean family gravestones (this is Obon, Japan's spiritual homecoming week when people go to their hometowns to celebrate and revere family). I walked, slowly and deliberately, through narrow trails. Peaceful and comforting somehow. I followed a trail back into the woods until it got a bit too dark for comfort and soft, moist dirt began seeping into my woven brown sandals - a natural sign to turn around.

A long and thoughtful walk down the mountain, deep in conversation with myself. Back down the mountain, over the river, up the opposite side. Watermelons sorbet to cool my overheated reality. Notes penned of my life, dreams, aims, visions. 

My sun umbrella was lost on a train that day, but my heart was inched open a tiny bit wider to the truth of where I am and where I am going. Always up.