Descent from 高野山 (Mt. Kôya)

My lack of Buddhism at our temple was mended this morning.

At 5:50AM, guests of the Shojoushin-in awoke to an amazingly clear sound of the temple's bell in a modest belfry. If you haven't heard a large, well constructed bell tolled correctly, then you don't really understand the expression "clear as a bell". The harmonies and harmonics that it creates penetrate your skull, and not necessarily in an unpleasant way.



By 6:00AM the guests were seated to view the morning ceremony. 3 monks dressed in traditional robes carried their beads and sutras. The center monk hits the singing bowl (an upturned bell), and all monks begin their mantra. I've heard several styles of chants, and I've got to say, Buddhists have it pinned. Though often repetitive and monotonic, when all three monks were chanting in time, again my skull was penetrated, and indeed my soul. With so few monks, every interruption of the mantra could not be overlooked. If one ran out of breath, or caught a cough, or was out of time, I longed for them to find unity again. The ceremony was modest yet ornate, repetitive yet transcendent, complex and simple all at the same time. My language may seem stereotypically contradictory, but I believe one has no choice but to talk of paradoxes when something transcends their understanding.

What I loved about the ceremony was that it was all about the individual monk's relationship to their sutra and to the symbols and metaphors within their rituals. There was no ego that I could see, and the "audience" was mostly ignored (even the monks had little interaction with each other). This is different than most western organized religions that I have observed. I was so honored to be able to view this ceremony, but also felt that it should have been more private. I felt out of place here, and again felt the guilt of supporting the commercial enterprise of an overnight temple stay. Yes, the profits would benefit the temple, but we must be a distraction to the monks. And I have just figured out what bothered me most about it; we were making a spectacle out of something that should not be spectacular: prayer, meditation, connection with something greater than ourselves. By making it a spectacle, we distance ourselves from it, and by the end of the ceremony, I only wanted to be closer to the wisdom within those sutras.

But does this mean that the temple stays are worthwhile? Spreading a way to enlightenment for those who might not be able to experience it in their own country? Needless to say, I am still conflicted.

After a vegetarian breakfast, I ventured to see the Okunoin cemetery in the daylight. It was no less moving. I was braver, and traveled further into the groves of trees, battling mosquitos to gain breathtaking views of miles of gravestones.


I walked to the end of the cemetery to find a large temple. Outside, mounds of smaller gravestones housed statues of monks and lesser deities. Like most of Japan, the experience was humbling.


You cannot look up without seeing a temple on Mt. Kôya. 120 temples and countless shrines propagate Mt. Kôya's gentle mountains. Above is konpon daitou, the central pagoda, which has probably 6 other temples within 30 seconds walk of each other. Only on a place like Mt. Kôya can something so grand become mundane.


To escape the "just another pagoda" effect that oversaturation can have on a human being, I walked away from the hordes of people to the eastern edge of Mt. Kôya. There I found a mountain path entering the hillside. A short climb up and I was confronted with the above, rows of Torii marked the path as sacred ground. Finally I had found my spiritual place: physical exertion, solitude, peace. I began the hike, unsure of where it would take me.

The sounds of birds, cicadas, and the scuttle of underbrush composed the soundtrack. The winding mountain path sometimes opens its green walls of trees to reveal breathtaking views of the mountainside. At 840 or so meters, Mt. Kôya is litearally blanketed in green. I continue to hike in solitude, thanking every step that I have found this path away from the tourists that flock to the mountain to witness its holiness.

After 3 or 4km and two separate shrines, I reach the end of the path feeling accomplished, masculine. I had entered the wilderness alone, survived the journey, and gained a bit of enlightenment to boot. I look down at a sign that says: Kôya Women's Pilgrammage Path. So much for my masculinity. I am reminded that spirituality and religion transcend gender. Above is featured a statue of Koba Daishi, founder of Mt. Kôya as a place of meditation, and creator of kana, the Japanese alphabet.

I returned down the cable car, into a mountain train, through Osaka's subway system, and back to Kyoto by shinkansen to rest my mountain weariness in the comfort of the hostel; to reflect on what I had experienced on Mount Kôya.