Kamogawa

The sweetest of love songs. 

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Back Home in Kyoto

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Sept. 13 The morning agenda was taking a bus to Daitokuji, a famous Rinzai Zen temple, and visit several gardens on the grounds. After walking to several bus stops and watching several full buses pass by with no room for 18 Americans we finally arrived. I took the lead and followed three male pilgrims up to the main gate, finding myself quite amused at the image of these three men dressed in traditional garb (they could have actually been from the 16th century I think) walking alongside a young girl in a short minidress and tall boots whose hips swung side to side with each step. I probably giggled out loud at least a few times. The man at the main booth pretended to not understand my Japanese, and I kept hearing strange Eastern European languages whispering by, coming from a never ending stream of ungainly and gangly tourists I wanted so badly to distance myself and our whole group from. Thankfully there was a tea ceremony at Daitokuji this day, so these two unpleasant points were ...
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Sept. 9 I left Nara with an aching foot, shoulder, shin, and kneecap. Not to mention the equally injurious hangover. Let’s skip to something good…we were headed to Mt. Kōya! The beautiful mountain scenery on the trainride cleared my bad mood. I looked out at ancient tombs and wrote poetry. Civilization gradually turned to mountain vistas, and we passed through at least ten tunnels on our way up the mountain. The final push to the top required a short but impossibly steep cable car ride. I had another of those how-the-hell-did-anyone-establish-a-temple-complex-here moments. Short bus ride to Henjōkōin where Takayama-san, head temple administrator, greeted us with rosy cheeks and a huge smile. One of my favorite things about visiting temples in Japan is the happy-go-lucky demeanor of most people who reside therein. Inner peace and contentment really shines in their faces. We were led past an unbelievable garden that rose into the steep hillside to our tatami rooms on the second ...
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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 ...
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