There were no words to describe what I felt when the first real view of the peaks surrounding Koyasan were visible beyond the cedars rushing past the train. It was if I had just breathed fresh air into my soul. I was captivated by the incredible beauty surrounding me: the brilliantly lush spectrum of green reflected in my own eyes as I took everything in. Weaving through endless mountains and tunnels I saw little old houses nestled in the valley, the lotus-shaped mountains around Koyasan looming over the village. I looked down the cliffs, following the cedar trees with my eyes all the way to the forest floor where their roots lay.
When we arrived at the station we were ushered onto the cable car, beginning our ascent to the top of Koyasan. I was like a little child with my nose practically pressed up against the glass, taking in as much as possible of the beauty around me. I was awestruck. Once at the top, I took a bus to the very last stop where the temple I would be staying the night at resided. Though there were many temples on Koyasan that offered lodging to pilgrims and the like, I chose Shojoshin-in because of its proximity to Okunoin, the largest cemetery in all of Japan.
As I walked through the large wooden gates surrounding the temple I was quickly greeted by one of the monks who offered me an umbrella and a genuine smile. From there he guided me through the maze-like temple, explaining where I would have my meals and at what times the ofuro would be accessible, ending the mini-tour at my room. It was perfect. I smiled inwardly and bowed more deeply than I usually do. After he took his leave I tapped my slippers off by the door and stepped onto the tatami mat. There was a futon bed in the middle of the room and shoji screens separating it from the dining area where the kotatsu (low sitting table that you put your legs under and a heated cloth curtain quilt surrounds it) lay in wait. Hardwood floors rested up against the balcony in which traditional wooden-paned sliding glass doors allowed me to let the cool night air sweep through the room. Peering down, I took in the exquisite beauty of the courtyard garden below.
After changing into my evening yukata I shuffled down to the room where dinner was to be presented. The monks entered the room and set down three elevated tray tables before me, including a large bowl of rice and a tea pot. Each one displayed several artisan ceramics featuring a different local dish, all vegetarian as was the custom for their cuisine (shojin ryori). There were many flavours that I could not identify, both surprising and delighting my senses. I think I must have spent the entire meal with a peculiar smile on my face.
Once I had finished my meal I tip-toed across the tatami mats and quietly slid open the shoji screen, catching the eye of the monk who had been watching over me. Bowing in thanks for dinner I smiled and glided away as gracefully as I could with garments that I was thoroughly unaccustomed to wearing. Back in my room I changed into something with much more give and made my way down the stairs, borrowing an umbrella on my way out.
The sun was low in the sky, yet difficult to see through the mist and rain. The lanterns lining the path through the ancient Okunoin cemetery were aglow, marking the descent of the sun and the transition into nightfall. I didn’t see anyone else on the path, but I felt safe regardless. It was more peaceful than anything I’d ever felt before. I stopped to take in my surroundings. The sky darkened further and I smiled, basking in the sound of the rain falling all around me.
As I met the first bridge I bowed and looked up from under my umbrella. My heart skipped a beat and my mouth fell open ever so slightly. Breathtaking. Just ahead of me lay the largest cemetery in all of Japan. There were thousands upon thousands of moss-covered gravestones in all different shapes and sizes. Some were almost stacked on top of each other while several more were nestled into the trunks of the ancient cedar trees guarding them. I stared curiously at several stones along the way that had been carved into what looked like people smiling, wearing what seemed to be little red bibs. I later found out they were of the deity “Jizo,” protector of travelers, children, and the souls of the deceased. Walking on I discovered stone stairways wound dangerously up the sides of the mountain, leading to somewhere that I could not see. I felt compelled to climb one in particular and as I followed the twisted path I eventually stepped onto level ground. An ancient shrine, small and detailed sat amidst various gravestones in a field. I moved in closer, said a prayer and bowed twice before I left the way I came.
The cemetery stretched on for what seems like an eternity. I could feel all the spiritual energy around me… all those souls. I felt a sense of time, of how it passes. How many people had lived before me, creating a path to trace?
What path will I leave to trace?
As I came to the final bridge I bowed once more and crossed over, my heart picking up its pace in anticipation of what I would find at the end. The rain let up a little and the clouds started to disperse just as the cedars parted before me, revealing a sea of glittering white. I walked forward as if in a trance. The moon shone brightly through the clouds, illuminating millions of small, rounded pebbles. I picked one up to inspect it, feeling its smooth surface between my fingers. They were the purest white, showing a subtle sparkle when the light hit it just right. They appeared to create a moat surrounding the mausoleum of Kobo Daishi, the founder of Shingon Buddhism. It is said that he rests in eternal meditation, awaiting the Buddha of the Future, Miroku Nyorai.
The warm glow of what must have been thousands of lights caught my eye and invited me closer until I found myself in front of the Hall of Lanterns. What a sight to behold. I had read that there are over 10,000 lanterns inside, kept eternally lit. By this time it had grown much darker and although the rain was warm I felt that I must begin my journey back.
Upon returning through the large wooden doors that marked the entrance to Shojoshin-in I felt as though I had journeyed far, not as much in distance but in spirit. Realizing that my clothes had almost soaked through, I felt the ofuro beckoning me. The wooden bath was made from the cedar trees that had thrived on the mountain for ages. After showering off I slipped slowly into the steaming waters that spilled over the sides of the bath and felt my muscles instantly start to relax. Soaking in a hot ofuro at the end of the day is certainly one of life’s simple pleasures.