Templed Out?

In Europe, it is easy to get churched out.  I have few distinct memories of cathedrals; there's just a cold, gray haze of feeling vaguely impressed.  Heading to Japan, we were warned of a similar experience, particularly in Kyoto, of becoming templed out.

I have to say, it didn't happen to me.

I am sure it is possible. Temples (Buddhist) and shrines (Shinto) are everywhere - and I do mean everywhere: tucked between old buildings in historic districts, hidden in the midst of rows of shops, at the end of every street. Markets have their own shrines; city corners and country roads have little Jizo buddhas. Torii gates are omnipresent.

It's interesting, when you consider that Japan is not a particularly religious nation. But despite the sheer quantity, my interest never waned. 

For one thing, shrines and temples in Japan are interactive experiences - even for outsiders. Take my favorite temple experience, Todai-ji, which sits in a giant park alongside other shrines and temples in the center of Nara: like an amusement park for the soul.  Tame deer approach looking for treats and pause, like zen masters, to be petted. The deer, messengers of the gods, defy cynicism: they are simply too, well, endearing.

Todai-ji itself is ginormous, built to house a ginormous bronze statue of Buddha. 

The Daibutsu (giant buddha) of Todai-ji.

At the entrance, everyone pauses before a fittingly ginormous incense burner to waft clouds of incense over their bodies. 

Inside, families with little children line up for hours to crawl through a hole the size of the giant Buddha's nostril. (OK, so maybe something is lost in translation here - but it's very sweet in person, like the equivalent of having your picture taken on Santa's lap - which, if you think about it, probably loses something in translation, too.) 

A booth near the exit sells fortunes that you choose for yourself by drawing numbered matchsticks. (As usual, I overachieved and drew extreme good fortune. Like I said, this was my favorite temple experience.) 

On their way out, people stop to pay their respects to a fittingly oversized wooden Jizo wrapped in a giant red bib and beret. Between the weather-worn wood of his face and the intense red of his draperies, he looks almost alien - which makes sense, as this statue is said to have supernatural powers. (Who/what is Jizo? See my Koyasan post.)

At the entrance of a Shinto shrine (in Takayama).

Shinto shrines can be even more interactive. At the entrance of every shrine, visitors ladle water from ornate basins to purify their mouths and hands.  Shoes are removed before walking on the pliable tatami mats, and coins clatter into lacquered receptacles for offerings. Sturdy ropes can be pulled to ring bells that draw the deities' attention.

Painted wooden plaques are sold at most shrines, which supplicants personalize with prayers and leave behind in offering: good health, good fortune, love, luck, the usual suspects. At the end of a holiday weekend at my favorite shrine, Fushimi Inari outside Kyoto, the prayers numbered in the thousands:

Fushimi Inari, like Koyasan, embodies an even deeper level of interaction - meaning full-on physical engagement. Built on a small mountain, Fushimi Inari is designed as a mini-pilgrimage: you could simply visit the traditional shrine buildings at the entrance (ring bells, make offerings, leave prayers), or you can walk up the mountain - up through literally thousands of vermillion torii gates, up stone steps and winding paths, up through forest and past smaller stone shrines dedicated to Inari, the fox deity of rice (which in Japan is equivalent to wealth). To reach the very top is enough of a hike that most find the upper shrine rather anti-climatic. But it is the hike itself that is the prayer.

And this is just the beginning...

We timed our visit for sunset, when the last rays of golden light filtered through the trees and warmed the orange of the torii gates. Dusk on our descent transformed the shrine into a mysterious labyrinth; the tall trees, the smell of the woods, the nocturnal sounds of animals reasserting themselves after the crowds had left. Like the graveyard of Koyasan, the shrine belongs not to mere mortals, but to the forest and the mountain.

This is the second thing that I love about temples and shrines in Japan: that so many of them are inextricably intertwined with their natural setting - that the beauty of the man-made is secondary to the beauty of the trees, or the water, or the vista, or the garden.  

At Nikko, in the mountains north of Tokyo, shrines, mausoleums, and temples radiate outwards along forested paths.  The process of walking between them, in the stillness of the ancient cedar forest, draws you into a different, quieter world.  

The shrine of Iemitsu Tokugawa at Nikko.

The famous shrine to Ieyasu Tokugawa, the first shogun who unified Japan in the early 1600s, competes with the forest and mountain with its wild colors and extravagant gold leaf. I liked better the shrine of his grandson Iemitsu, further up the mountainside and most removed from the center of activity.  This "lesser" shrine somehow manages to melt into the forest and the landscape even with all of its intricate carvings and glowing gold interior.  There I felt drawn deep into the silence of the tall cedars, a tiny person in the midst of their height and depth and eternity.

At the other end of our trip, on the sacred island of Miyajima just outside Hiroshima, the Itsukushima shrine straddles the land and the sea, and its giant torii gate - marking the official entrance to the shrine - is surrounded by water at high tide.  The shrine itself seems secondary to the forested mountains behind it, the calm bay that stretches before it, the sunset it faces every evening.

A resident boulder in Ryoan-ji's "wet" garden.

Other temples celebrate controlled nature: the nature encapsulated in Japanese gardens.  At Ryoan-ji, on the northern edge of Kyoto, in the early morning before the crowds descend, the temple gardens enfold the visitor in peace and beauty.  The lake is covered with lilies, the stillness punctuated by the flight of a long-legged stork.  The "wet" garden is built around boulders with character, cloaked in moss and lit by green sunlight filtered through the canopy of trees and bamboo.  

And in the temple's renowned "dry" garden, rocks that tell a different story to each visitor are clustered around a courtyard of groomed gravel. In the morning, alone (or nearly so) with the garden, you can find yourself communing with stones that in any other setting would be silent.

Communing with rocks.

Indeed, all Japanese gardens are inherently spiritual; nature and religion in Japan seem inseparable.  In Kenroku-en, the renowned gardens of Kanazawa, the boughs of ancient trees are tenderly trained to cascade down over the lake; paths are designed to provide ever-changing views of the lake or the trees or the vista out to the green mountains.  In the early morning, workers thin the needles of trees by hand and gently rake away any leaf that has gone astray.  At least before the crowds arrive, quiet nooks offer space for reflection, the views accompanied by the sound of brooks or the wind in the leaves.

Kenroku-en

It is the traditional tea ceremony that brings this all back together: reuniting the spiritual fabric of the gardens with communion among a few select individuals.  As an outsider, I cannot fully understand the nuances of the tradition, but sitting in a quiet garden in Kanazawa, being gently led through the tea ceremony by a gracious host, I can at least appreciate the ceremony's guiding principles of harmony, purity, respect and tranquility.  And for me, a high church Episcopalian, that is pretty much what I am seeking each Sunday at church.

[We loved the private tea ceremony at Gyokusen-en in Kanazawa: it's the real deal complete with a lovely and gracious host, though we had to have a Japanese speaker call on our behalf to make the reservation. Be sure to get to Kenrokuen and Ryoan-ji early: your experience will be vastly superior in the absence of tour groups. Nara is a good day trip from Kyoto, as is Nikko from Tokyo. Thanks to Sharon for telling us Ryoan-ji and Fushimi Inari were her two favorite spots in Kyoto: we agree entirely.]