The Okada's
The Okada Guest House is the only place to stay between Sankakuji and Unpenji temples. It's a cozy little place and only accommodates 10 people. The Okada couple have two houses on their property: their house and the guest house with an awning in between where you can hang your rain-soaked clothes out to dry. I arrived there around 3pm, although it felt so much later! Immediately upon my arrival, a little woman came running out with a towel and started vigorously wiping me down while giving sharp, military instructions to do exactly what I craved: sit down and take off all my wet clothes! "Put your bag down there! Wipe down here! Let's get this rain coat off! Hang your pants here! Get those wet shoes off!"
I tried asking if I could have some newspaper to put in my - "Stuff your shoes with those newspapers there, come on now!"
By the way my name is Jennifer and yours is - "Well of course I'm Mrs. Okada!! Anyway, hang that umbrella over here!"
She didn't stop wiping me up until I went inside. She stuck a bath towel in my hands and said, "Go get in the hot bath!!"
I followed her orders and was soon soaking in a tub as big as a laundry machine. Small and cozy, like a big wet hug.
After drying off and brushing all sorts of forest bits out of my hair, I went to my room. It was a tatami room with a big window that overlooked a river. The pouring rain and the sound of the river made for rather loud background noise. I turned on a heater and managed to tie certain hangers and clothes together to make a drying rack for my wet socks, towel, and pants. In a little alcove there was a pitcher of hot tea, four piles of books and paraphernalia, and a tiny table with a lamp. I spread out all the pamphlets, maps, and other things I'd collected that day and began checking the meaning of some new words and learning about Buddhist folklore. In the middle of all this, I ended up falling asleep on the floor. I woke up an hour later to a weird orange light coming through the flower-patterned glass of the window. At first I figured it must be night and the light was the glow of a street lamp. But when I opened my window, I found the greenish-golden light of the sun setting somewhere behind the rain, and little bits of its rays making their way across the storm clouds and lighting up a little rainbow right in my view.
This is not the first time in my life that a rainbow has woken me up from a sleep. On two other occasions I have been sleeping deeply, then woken up suddenly with full energy and an urge to open a window, to find a rainbow waiting for me outside. Maybe it was an omen.
Dinner was at 6pm. There were only four of us guests at the dinner table and Mr. Okada sat at the end as the host, dishing out rice and filling up drinks. Despite being total strangers, we settled down at the table like friends. "How far did you walk today? How did you handle the rain? How far are you going tomorrow? What experiences have happened on your journey so far?" We all had so much to talk about.
There was a woman from Miyagi prefecture, from one of the cities where I'd volunteered after the Tohoku earthquake. She was doing the route backward. She'd climbed up to Unpenji in the pouring rain, given up, taken the ski lift back down the mountain and ended up on the completely wrong side of the range. Then she'd taken a taxi all the way to the Okada's. She'd heard about the high reputation of Okada Minshuku and wanted desperately to get a picture with Mr. Okada.
There was a man from Kasaoka in Okayama. He was determined to walk every single foot step that the Kobo Daishi walked in all of Japan. He missed a temple because of the awful rain, so he planned on backtracking the next day and visiting there before climbing Unpenji. "You're going to be walking for an extra 5 hours, you know?" "Yes, I know." "You won't let me give you a lift?" "I'm fine." Mr. Okada tried to go out of his way to make this man's life easier.
There was a man from Niigata who's mother had passed away. He decided to go on the pilgrimage to pray for his mother at each temple. This is called "kuyo" in Japanese. (This pilgrimage experience is really adding to my vocabulary!) He told me a lot of stories about getting stuck in bad weather, sleeping in unexpected places, and the long, long walks that brought on bouts of loneliness. He laughed through all of these stories. I felt we had something in common. Something about our outlook on our experience. The thrill of a challenge, and being able to laugh at things that went wrong.
While chatting away, I of course brought up my love for animals and how I'd love to see the wild animals in Tohoku. We started talking about national animals and I think I remember that Colorado's state bird is a lark. The woman from Miyagi, Miwako, started singing a song about a lark that she'd learned as a kid. I marveled at how all of us from so many different backgrounds, different childhoods, different songs, had such a strong connection here at the dinner table that we didn't mind sharing our intimately personal stories and singing in front of each other.
After dinner I went back to my room, but I wasn't tired. There were piles of books and things to look through, but that wasn't what I felt like doing just yet. I started sketching Fudo in my notebook, but that wasn't what my soul was craving to do at the moment. Finally I took my notebook and went over to the Miwako's room. "Excuse me, could I come in? Could you teach me your lark song?"
(Here I was going to write a translation of the children's song, but just now another song came to mind instead. "Walk on through the storm with your head up high and don't be afraid of the dark/At the end of the storm is a golden sky and the sweet silver song of a lark")
Thus started a 2 hour conversation about traditions, religion, customs, and pilgrims. She told me about the somberness with which people view Buddhism. From the outside, it seems like a religion that focuses on the dead. In Japan, it's mostly temples which handle funerals and contain cemeteries. To be Buddhist is to focus on improving your life now in preparation for the afterlife. All the gods that have been tacked on by different cultures as the religion made its way into Japan are gods that await you in the afterlife. You won't interact with them until you enter that world. The Japanese indigenous religion of Shinto seems a lot more upbeat in comparison, with no clear idea on an afterlife but lots of fun festivals and folklore. Miwako had a very practical view of Buddhism, like most Japanese people, seeing the practices of religion as just an aspect of culture and not something to dwell on. She said that Buddhist related holidays and events are rather serious and not the money-making fun holidays that have come over from the US. However, she also assumed that Christianity was just as somber. She assumed the Japanese fixation on Santa Clause and St. Valentine's Day were Japanese fabrications that aren't as light-hearted in other parts of the world. But I told her about how fun it was to celebrate Christmas and Easter and changed her mind.
I asked about Miwako's reverse route along the pilgrim trail. She said it was her third time along the route and she enjoyed seeing all the temples in a different season from before. There is a legend about a wealthy man named Emon. One day a monk came to his door with a begging bowl. Emon, feeling so much richer and mightier, treated him with disrespect but the monk continued coming back each day. Emon eventually broke his bowl and cudgel-ed him over the head. After that, Emon's eight sons began to die. Emon realized his mistake at mistreating those poorer than himself. After all, his family was more important than riches. He made the pilgrimage around Shikoku to atone. But Buddha did not forgive him. He spent the next 4 years circling the island 20 times but still his sins were not forgiven. Finally. he decided to make the trip in reverse order. While along the route, he fell ill and began dying. Then Buddha appeared before him. Emon begged for mercy and forgiveness and said that if he was reborn again as a rich man, he would help the poor. Buddha forgave him. After Emon passed away, a baby was born in the same village with a stone in his hand. Inscribed on the stone was, "Emon reborn."
Many people now believe that the best way to connect with Buddha is by doing the route in reverse order.
We also talked about her home in Ishinomaki. I told her about my experience there, and she told me about her home. I asked if I visited there again if I could pay her a visit. She said that would be fine and then began fishing for something to write her address on. Various things began appearing from her bag. Her Goshuin book, a box of incense, a box of candles, matches, all the little papers she received from temples. . . Finally she brought out a packet of little slips of paper that had pictures of Kukai on them and a lot of calligraphy. These are the "fuda" that pilgrims leave like calling cards at each temple. I realized I didn't even think of getting any of my own.
Again, am I really a pilgrim? Do I really count?
She wrote her name and address on the fuda for me, and then gave me a fuda to write my own information on. Then she began putting away the other things. "Can't go anywhere without these!" she said as she put away her candles. I realized I'd never offered a candle at a temple before. Was I supposed to? Is it something everyone does? Do you offer both a candle and incense, or is just one or the other okay? Is there an order in which to do it? She said she couldn't go anywhere without these things, and I here I was going everywhere without these things.
I went back to my room, but I still wasn't ready to sleep. I looked up at the stacks of reading materials in my room. I found three notebooks of a man's sumi-ink paintings of every single temple and sight he saw along the pilgrimage. Each notebook was dated a different year, so he must have made the month long journey at least 3 times. Perhaps today he is out there again, still making gorgeous ink paintings, and waiting to get to the Okada's to leave his book there.
I found a giant book of photos, one of those coffee table books, done by some famous photographer as he followed some famous person along the pilgrimage.
Next, I found a pamphlet about "What is a pilgrim" and "how to be a good pilgrim."
This!
This is what I need!
I took it to my futon and began reading.
One of the articles was about proper etiquette. Each temple of the 88 designated ones has a main hall, Hondo, and a Daishi hall, dedicated to the Kobo Daishi. It doesn't matter which one you go to first. When you enter temple grounds, you are taking up the chance to meet with Buddha. If Buddha were really there in the temple, you wouldn't just pass it by. You would take off your hat, approach him humbly and relay your prayers to him. In this way, one greets Buddha at the Hondo and Kukai at the Daishi-do. This is such a simple concept, and yet I hadn't considered it before. I was so concerned about doing things "the right way" and "fitting in with other pilgrims" that I didn't think about the simple fact of what a temple really is. It's just a place to meet with Buddha without having to die first.
Next it introduced a phrase for pilgrims. "Dogyo Ninin"
Do - together
Gyo - going
Ni - 2
nin - people
How could I translate this? "Kobo Daishi goes with you on your pilgrimage" "No matter where you go, you are always with the Kobo Daishi." "Kobo Daishi is always with you." "You are never alone."
I've heard the phrase, "God is always with you" before, and this seemed like an interesting Japanese take on it.
With that new phrase in my head, I fell asleep happy.
I knew when I woke up, the rain would be over.
I was going to climb a mountain.
I wasn't alone.
To be continued. . .