Hasu Transitoire (The Transient Lotus)

On the night of February 6 each year, upwards of 2,000 men brave the cold of winter to perform the Otō Matsuri, a wild rite of purification and renewal—by fire—designed to supplicate the mountain god(s) and pave the way for an auspicious year. In principle, the men have followed a strict code of abstinence for a week leading up to the event: performing daily water ablutions and bathing (naked) in the ocean; consuming only white-colored foods such as tofu, polished rice, and white fish cakes; and swearing off all contact with women. Today, the purification protocol extends for some only to the day of the event. Their minds and bodies pure, the “nobori-ko” (lit. “ascending children”), as they are called, don white clothing (robe, hood, headband), wrap straw ropes around their chest (7, 5, or 3 times, depending), and strap on straw sandals. Completing the get-up is a hand-held torch made of cypress wood, carved in the shape of a five-sided pyramid and stuffed with wood shavings. The

February 16 in Ōno City of north Fukui prefecture means its time for “Isekō,” a radish-eating extravaganza for men with an alleged 300-year-old history. Ōno City is a modern municipality of just over 30,000 residents (and steadily declining), a postwar merger of the Edo-period castle town of Ōno and a handful of nearby villages. Lining Ōno’s northeastern horizon line are the frosted peaks of Mt. Haku (lit. “White Mountains”), a National Park reputed as one of Japan “Three Great Sacred Mountains” (alongside Mt. Fuji to the southeast and Mt. Tateyama further northeast). A ring of mountains wraps all around the city, in fact, and the region was not easily accessible until mountain tunnels were blasted in the 20th century. A beautifully scenic and rather isolated place, to say the least. In the city’s Tsuchifugo ward (once an independent hamlet), at the confluence of three rivers (Kuzuryū, Mana, Akane), local men gather on this day to munch on “logs” of miso-simmered radish. This is

Several seasons have passed since last I visited Ōminesan. Returning to a place. A place that exists outside of Facebook, emails, and even phone calls at times. You know and you care, so you just show up. This was my sixth visit in about a year. My perspectives and indeed my person have changed much since that first visit. I knew no one then but was drawn to come since first I saw the name – this I am well used to by now as my life and adventures in the big world progress.  Here I am again, new and old, same and different. Settling into ‘my room’ at the inn, greeting the family, drinking tea. Go over my rough plan for the next few days with Kino-san, the innkeeper. He worries about me when I go into the mountains, or anywhere really, so I have to make sure he approves of what I have in mind. First stop is the gate marking the climbing entrance from which women are prohibited, and then the glorious hike along the heavenly river (literally, Tenkawa 天川 ) to the caves, past the teahous

From the bustling chatter of an active monastery – full of presence and thoughtful life that may seem quiet at first glance but is in fact teeming with, well, aliveness – to the sleek dark lacquer chairs and tables of the large lecture hall where we spend most of our time, the cheerful student volunteers who pour cup after cup of hot water for tea, the faces of tired students and scholars at the end of another fourteen hour day of lectures and seminars, we all made this a special time and place. The cozy morning wake ups, the warm coconut milk at breakfast, cold morning walks to the temple, setting ins with tea and settling the mind to receive, negotiate, and process wisdom and intellect. Meals with the monks and nuns, their singing prayers and speedy appetites, delicious food prepared with love aplenty. The woman who scoops the rice gave me a special smile each time and said what I expect were endearing words, although I’ll never be sure. The young monk, petite and size with suc

I woke today and rode my bicycle through winding alley streets across Kyoto to her northeast edge. There I met a friend from Africa who's been eager for me to 'share my mountains, even just a little' with him. We hopped an almost empty northbound bus.  One and a half hours later it dropped us at the entrance of Daihizan 大悲山 (Great Compassion Mountain), and drove away with a cheery mechanical song. From there we walked just over two kilometers into the dripping green along a milky green river, cicadas promenading us in song, until the road ended, at the entrance of Bujōji 峰定時, a hidden gem among Japan's sacred mountain temples. Mrs. Nakamura, the sweet older lady who managed the temple, smiled widely when we met, eager to converse and share stories of the mountains and their glory. I imagine such opportunities are somewhat rare for her, being posted here in the center of Great Compassion Mountain, which certainly doesn't appear in many guidebooks. We picked

There is much to be learned about life from the art of making soup - patience, planning, risk, creativity, union, process, etc. I am a happy student.