As soon as I walked out of
the car and breathed in, I saw how the rain made the temple’s appearance -- leaves
covered in dew; rocks glistening; statues smiling -- magnify the stillness only an early
morning can command.
The foggy air, encompassing the outer edge of
the temple like a child’s unshrinking embrace, created a dreamlike atmosphere.
Looking through the temple’s gates, one could sense its one thousand year history
outlining the massive trees and the contours of the architecture -- remnants of another
era.
I looked curiously at the guardians of the
gate, strong deities who protect the Buddha as well as the temple, as they looked sternly
back at me. I bowed, spellbound by the sacredness of this place -- as the nature’s
quietude can make one feel -- and walked through the temple’s gates to explore all of
its misty beauty.
On this serene morning, I could only hear the
singing of birds. There were not many other pilgrims; no hordes of Japanese people dressed
in white, bells ringing, but just a few plain clothed people resting near the
priest’s office.
Temple number 21’s constant incense
burning on the temple grounds smelled like a man wearing musky, mild cologne. The wet wood
added a damp, fresh scent to the already sweet air.
I took in the structure of the temple: two
halls flanking each other straight ahead, a statue of Jizo in the middle, the
priest’s office to the right, stairs leading to a pagoda on the left.
Jizo, dressed as a monk -- with the lost souls
of babies praying underneath him -- looked compassionate yet sad.
Jizo
is the saviour of unborn, or aborted, babies and he works to ease the suffering of those
serving time in hell.
I wondered if he had always had that green
colour, or if it had turned that way with age. In the next moment, my peaceful
contemplation was suspended due to a large group of Japanese pilgrims entering the temple
from a bus. They entered the temple, worshipped, and soon left; as they had a strict
schedule to maintain.
The 88 Temple
Pilgrimage of Shikoku has a long history of discipline and ascetic
practice.
Walking from temple one to temple 88 and back
again, along the coast of the 4th largest island of Japan, was a test for the body as well
as the mind.
Nowadays, it is rare for a pilgrim to choose
to walk the long, arduous path, when there are several easier methods, such as driving,
bus tours, and public transportation.
This pilgrimage’s history began with
dedicated walking pilgrims who had plenty of time to examine their souls; their spirit has
always embodied the disciplined and contemplative side of Japanese religion.
When a pilgrim voluntarily walks today, it is
an even more remarkable accomplishment than it used to be. But long stretches of the henro
path, which pass through Shikoku's forested mountains and its beautiful seacoast, have
been widened and paved.
One may no longer feel they are walking the
same path as many before. Now o-henrosan in private taxis or on chartered buses speed by
the very few walking pilgrims, and many traditionalists believe they no longer reap the
rewards that those who walk did and still do today.
When I saw those bus tour pilgrims, I
wasn’t concerned that they might not receive all of the rewards a walking henro
would. I wasn't disturbed that they had jolted my reverent state. They helped me to see
the sacredness of the temple in a different way.
It isn’t just the physicality of the
temple and its history that makes the pilgrimage, but how the tradition is carried out
today through the people. Even with their short visit, my thoughtfulness was enhanced by
their warmth and genuineness. They chanted loudly, they smiled warmly, and they bowed
reverently.
The pilgrimage
grew out of the legends of a great man in Japanese history, who goes by many names: Kukai,
Kobo Daishi, or just The Daishi. He gave himself the name Kukai, which means sky and sea,
at the time when he is said to have attained Enlightenment. His posthumous name, Kobo
Daishi, means Great Saint. He is seen not even as a man but almost a deity who walked on
earth, so that he transcends sect and religion.
Kukai was born in Shikoku and lived in the 9th century. He was a top
student in University but was not satisfied with what he learned. He was granted
permission by the government to study Buddhism in China. After two years he came back to
Japan with a new kind of Buddhism called Shingon (True Word).
His new ideas were integrated into the
Japanese Buddhism of the time and he became a leader in the monastic community. He
predicted the day he would die and is said to now be in an eternal state of meditation.
Apart from being a Buddhist leader, he is also celebrated for his linguistic abilities (he
is credited with creating the Japanese syllabery, called hiragana), for his mastery of
calligraphy, and for being involved in educational reform. From these natural abilities
and opportunities he took, many stories and legends have been created about him.
After his death, in 835, many holy men and
monks wanted to spread his teachings and establish a pilgrimage in his honour on his
homeland. It developed gradually, beginning in the 14th century.
When a pilgrim is journeying on the Shikoku
pilgrimage, he is said to be walking with the Daishi.
“Who’s that?” my friend
visiting from America asked me in surprise.
She had seen an older man, wearing all white
clothes with a brown straw hat. He carried a colourful walking stick, and looked as if he
had been walking all day. His facial hair was scruffy. It wasn’t just his appearance
that my friend noticed but the constant ringing noise he made when he walked. He had bells
attached to his waist so everyone knew when he was near.
I felt the same surprise that she did when I
arrived on the island of Shikoku, but after living here for over a year, I have become
used to seeing walking ohenro-san: pilgrims.
The pilgrims who choose to walk these days are
my heroes. They are strong enough, physically and mentally, to endure this 1000-mile
pilgrimage on foot. The walking pilgrims are usually middle-aged to older men.
Occasionally, a man and woman walk together. And rarely, I see a woman walking alone. At
the temples they rest. They remove their long and heavy backpacks, take off their shoes,
and rub their feet. After they get up and pray, they talk to the priest about their
journey.
In the pilgrimage’s beginning, thousands
of men and women walked all, or part, of the o-henro path each year. The experience
developed a person’s strength of character and sense of discipline, like a spiritual
boot camp experience.
The pilgrimage
to all of the temples on foot takes from 40 to 60 days.
In the old days, the young people of Shikoku
were told to make their pilgrimage and then worry about getting married. Today, with
modern transportation, a pilgrimage can be made within a week; with the number of pilgrims
journeying to the 88 temples reaching 100,000 a year.
Most Japanese pilgrims now arrive by car, or
as part of a bus tour. The latter pray aloud in a group, with the leader banging on a
drum; to keep everyone chanting in beat. These people are usually elderly women and men.
It is rare to see a young person join a pilgrimage tour.
The retired Japanese seem to pray in earnest
and enjoy their pilgrimage journeys. They joke with each other, take pictures, and bow to
the statues as the bus driver waits in the parking lot for their return.
Though the methods may have changed, the
purposes of the journey have remained similar over time.
In the past, pilgrimages were made mostly by
commoners who sought the healing powers and ever-present influence of Kukai at these
temples. Crutches piled on top of temple altars bore witness to the therapeutic aspects of
the pilgrimage.
People still believe in its healing powers
today.
There were also those who endured the
pilgrimage simply for gratitude of life's rewards, and this is a major reason today as
well. Prayers, money and gifts are still offered at each temple. People who have suffered
due to the loss of a child or parent, do the pilgrimage to heal their hearts. Others want
to give thanks for accomplishments or recovering from a disease.
All pilgrimages,
such as the 33 temple pilgrimage in the Kansai area -- called the Saigoku Kannon
pilgrimage -- and the ones to Mount Fuji and the Ise Shrine, contain one or many holy
places where the journey to the place is as important as seeing the place itself.
The temples of the Shikoku Pilgrimage are as
ancient as the idea of the pilgrimage itself in Japan. Over time the pilgrim’s
journey has changed from a walk through the natural elements and small villages of
Shikoku, intermittently stopping at 88 temples, to a series of day trips and guided tours
travelling through expressways and tunnels.
There are many
objects pilgrims use on their journeys, such as candles, incense, and a
walking stick.
This wooden stick, with decorative fabric at
the tip, helps them to remember that they are walking with Kukai and that he is protecting
them.
Pilgrims also wear white clothes as a sign of
the journey they are undertaking.
Name slips, for writing not only one’s
name but also one’s address and purpose for the journey, are also necessary. There
are six different coloured name slips, indicating how many times a pilgrim has gone
around.
But one of the most important things in the
pilgrim’s bag is the nokyo-cho, or the signing book. In this book there are 88 and
some odd pages with the names of the Shikoku temples printed on them. At each temple the
priest signs the book, for a fee of about $3, as a record of the pilgrimage.
Buying all these religious implements becomes
an expensive endeavour. Yet these items have always been necessary to mark the pilgrim as
being out of society.
They are not “Matsuda-san,” or
“Nakamura-san,” while wearing these clothes and carrying these things, but just
ohenro-san.
This religious experience has become an
important, moneymaking tourist attraction. In the old times, pilgrims saved for their
pilgrimages and relied on the help of strangers they met along the way. Then, as well as
now, non-pilgrims help pilgrims in the form of food, money, or lodging -- called o-settai.
In the past, o-settai was more necessary for the walking travellers.
When I first told some Japanese people that I
was interested in Japanese Buddhism, I was surprised at how they would often reply,
“Oh, you’re studying Japanese religion?”
From the tone, it sounded more like, “Why
are you studying our religion?“
They would go on to relate quite bluntly that
they didn’t have religion in their country, as if 1300 years of tradition could just
disappear.
In the beginning of my year in Japan, I
believed them. I said reassuringly, “Don’t worry, I want to study ancient
religion,” to which I often wished to add, “when people had passion and belief
and Buddhism was thriving with many clergy and patrons.”
I didn't think to argue that I could find
something interesting in the antiquated state of modern Japanese religion.
Modern Japanese people do have religious
sensibilities, though, just not in the sense that the word 'religion' is often
interpreted.
The Japanese word religion, shukyo, was
created when Christian missionaries came to Japan. Broken down, shu means sect and kyo
means doctrine. Both of these words go against the fluidity of Japanese religion. Those
words describe the rigid tenets of some Western religions, but not Japanese Buddhism or
Shintoism; Japan’s indigenous religion.
Most Japanese people are born Shinto, marry
Christian, and die Buddhist.
They participate in Shinto rituals when in
youth, have their wedding ceremony in a church with Christian vows, and have their funeral
taken care of by a Buddhist temple.
In the in between times, these religious
distinctions are blurred, and they don’t see much difference between praying at a
temple or a Shinto shrine. These two religions have blended together in history, owing to
the fluidity of religious ideas for the Japanese.
Japan, as most people know, has adapted
rapidly to become a highly technological, industrialised, and almost Westernised country.
The people have shown that they can change, but at what expense to their traditions?
Since the end of World War II, Japan has been
trying to balance these two vital factors -- keeping pace with the present without
disregarding the past.
Many young people have lost the connection to
their culture, and are only concerned about “being Western” -- drinking in
coffee shops, living in the biggest cities, and watching American movies. These Japanese
people will go to a shrine or temple during a family event or a stressful time, when
studying for an exam or feeling frustrated with their work.
Usually young people believe they will go on
the pilgrimage when they are older and have more time.
The pilgrims, however, reflect a different
side, one that is able to maintain both Western and Japanese influences.
When I became a pilgrim, it was hard to
believe that some Japanese think of their country as mostly secular. Even if the pilgrims
use modern comforts, they are thinking about something outside daily and worldly affairs
as they pray and chant together.
True, they ride a comfortable bus with their
friends; but some of the mountain temples require steep uphill climbs on foot from the
parking lots.
The pilgrims spend a lot of money, but they
are earnest in their admiration for Kukai.
After a day’s journey visiting a cluster
of temples, they return to their homes; but they will go back the next month and the next
until they visit all of the temples.
Many pilgrims make the journey more than once.
One name slip I received on my pilgrimage was multi-coloured, which indicates that this
person had gone around over 100 times. When I turned the slip over I discovered that the
actual number was 122.
These pilgrims reflect the heart of Japanese
people. They negotiate the complicated terrain between traditions and the modern culture
of materialism that is Japan.
As I left Temple 21, I bowed at the gates
again, this time in gratitude and respect. I stared at the guardians once again, chipped
red paint peeling off their wooden figures. Their figures were weather-beaten and aged,
except for their eyes, in which the paint looked brightly white with clearly dark pupils,
revealing recent attention. This reminded me of the stout-hearted o-henrosan, whose
traditions are deep-rooted, but who also see with modern eyes.
On my way out I passed a walking pilgrim who
was sitting on a large rock near the entrance, talking on his cell phone. He laughed and
talked loudly.
Here is the allure of the pilgrimage: the
excitement of living in the past, coupled with the comforts of modernity.
© Brooke Schedneck |
