Kurama…

Last weekend, my hiking club planned a hike in Kurama (Kyoto Prefecture). The timing was excellent, since I’m currently doing research on Kurama-dera Temple and its history for my novel. My research has been hindered by two restrictions. The first is that the current Kurama-dera Temple converted from the Tendai sect of Buddhism to a newly formed sect called Kurama-kokyo in 1949 and as a result there is not much information to be found regarding the details of rituals, beliefs, rules, etc. The second restriction, which is more frustrating because it directly involves the subject matter of part of my novel, is the Temple’s apparent embarrassment concerning Reiki. Reiki is a form of healing and spiritual practice developed by Usui Mikao at Kurama-dera in 1922. However, despite the widespread influence of Reiki in many countries and in many forms of alternative medicine, it was never recognized by the headquarters of the Tendai sect (the form of Buddhism at Kurama-dera during Usui’s time) at Enryaku-ji as a Buddhist spiritual practice. Subsequently, the Kurama-kokyo sect also rejects Reiki as a Buddhist discipline and has kept very little record of its development at Kurama-dera. In fact, to find any reference at all to Usui or Reiki at Kurama-dera, one must know exactly what to look for.

Given these restrictions, my research has turned up very little helpful information. With the hiking trip planned, I finally had the opportunity to go to the source, as well as enjoy a beautiful hike and one of the most unusual temples in all of Japan.

The group met at Demachiyanagi station, a small hub station in the northeast of Kyoto City. We were soon on our way after waiting for some stragglers and boarded the tiny two-car diesel train. The train ride was mostly spent talking with friends about various subjects: living and working as a foreigner in Japan, new iPhone applications, future plans, etc. We disembarked at Ninose, a tiny station with a boarding platform barely 60 feet in length and where one must literally walk on the tracks in front of the train to exit. The station is built on the mountainside overlooking the tiny valley village of Ninose. We caught up with the club’s leader in the valley gathering Ginnan (Ginko nuts). Suffice it to say, everyone kept their distance from him after that (FYI: Ginko nuts smell terrible. They absolutely reek like rotten cheese.) The hike began as all hikes in Japan begin, going almost straight up for at least the first 40 minutes or so. I was unusually quiet for the most of the ascent. I was operating on very little sleep and was in a bit of funk. I was fourth or fifth in line on the way up and was hiking below my usual pace. After we reached a short plateau and took a short break to regroup (the group always spreads out a lot on the first bit of the ascent), I happily took the lead and continued on at my normal pace. Soon the conversations and tramping steps faded behind me and I could hear only a single hiker behind me. We decided to stop and wait for the others to catch up. My companion was the 14-year-old son of one of the club’s organizers, delightful young man who loves his basketball and with whom I conversed on several topics. The hike continued uneventfully. We hiked through a dense forest of evergreens and cedars. The air was cool and laden with a heavy sweet smell that I couldn’t identify. There was snow still scattered on the ground in patches from the previous week. All in all, it was a pleasant hike.

We had lunch, my customary peanut butter & jelly, and tried to keep from freezing on the top of the mountain. Then came the descent. The descent on this particular mountain takes you down a steep ravine formed by the melting snow. In fact, it’s so steep and washed out in places that ropes and chains have been anchored into the rock to provide an element of safety on the way down (Though, they’re not as helpful as they might appear. Case and point: the last time I made this descent, I literally caught the hiker in front of my by the loop on her backpack as she slipped from the edge over what would have been a nearly 30 foot drop.). We made it down without injury, thankfully. I was much more talkative at this point, having been sobered slightly by the freezing cold and the threat of death. I think I even cried for my “mommy” a few times during the descent, evoking laughter from some of the English-speaking hikers in front of me.

We descended into the town of Kurama, a lovely little village that stretches along the river that winds along its main (and only) road. We briefly visited two shrines in the town. The first is a small shrine dedicated to sailors (which is odd, because it’s miles from the ocean). The legend says that there is a boat buried behind the main structure of the shrine, though no one has bothered to try to dig it up. The second shrine in the town is the more significant of the two. Up until the Meiji period, Kyoto was the capital of Japan and the seat of the Imperial household. It is said the Emperor himself came to the small shrine in Kurama to sacrifice a horse for the continuation of Kyoto’s main water supply, the river that runs through the village. There are statues of horses in front of the main shrine to pay homage to this legacy. Some of the girls in the hiking group said that the shrine is famous for fortunes regarding love and proceeded to buy a kind of o-mikuji (fortune) that one must float on a pool of water for the ink to be revealed. It was pretty cool actually, though I couldn’t read any of the fortunes. I wasn’t particularly interested, having already been fortunate in love (^_^).

We continued through the small village and passed small bed & breakfast style inns and restaurants and little souvenir shops. In the summer, wooden planks are laid across the river and lanterns are lit in the evening. Meals are brought to customers so they can eat over the river and enjoy the view. I think I’ll go back with the Mrs. next summer and give it try. Our next challenge was the climb over the mountain that descended into the Kurama-dera Temple. Several of us devised a cunning and dangerous plan to sneak past the ancient-looking old lady who sits in a booth and collects 200 yen from anyone who wants to climb the mountain. The plan succumbed to the voice of reason and we paid our fees (200 yen is around 2 dollars). Unfortunately, the path on this mountain was constructed with stairs all the way up. This might sound like a good idea on paper, but stairs are so hard on your knees after climbing for 30 minutes straight. With much tongue-in-cheek complaining from the hikers in front of me, we made it to the first stopping point, having been passed by our Australian friend who suddenly announced, “this is something I have to do alone.” 3/4 of the way up, the rest of the group took a break and I went ahead alone to give the monks at Kurama-dera a good shake-down. At the top of the mountain, I caught up with our resident Aussie and he joined me on the descent into the temple grounds.

The temple is made up of many buildings scattered across the steep mountainside. The main hall, built in the 1970′s, is a reconstruction of the original one, built 1300 years ago, which was destroyed by fire and subsequently rebuilt many times in its long history. It’s a beautiful building of white walls and vermillion columns covered by a steeply pitched gabled roof constructed in the traditional Japanese style using ceramic tiles. The three sets of main doors are massive and propped open so one can see the interior of the temple. Inside, there is a huge Buddhist altar decorated with deep reds and golds and polished lacquer blacks. The altar is covered in deity figures, religious symbols, candles, offerings, flowers, urns, and statues. The amount of gold is astounding. Unlike most temples in Japan, visitors to Kurama are allowed access to the cellar beneath the main temple floor. In the cellar, the walls, floor, and low ceiling are all concrete. Small golden lanterns hang from the ceiling in rows, but are little more than decorative and provide almost no light at all. The entire basement is almost pitch black. The whole level is labyrinth of wooden shelves that form narrow alleys and twist in every direction. Lining the shelves in neat rows are small ceramic urns labeled with names in Japanese. Some are old and dilapidated, some are new and ornately decorated, and some even bear the names of foreigners. If you follow the course of the maze, it leads you to a small open room with a large rectangular pedestal in the center. On top of the pedestal stand three Buddhist deities that represent a trinity of manifestations for a single entity known as Sonten, a central figure in Kurama-kokyo Buddhism. The statues are the only things that are well-lit in the room, giving the area a very eerie atmosphere. The basement is dotted with the orange light of candles painted in Chinese characters and permeated by the strong smell of incense. The hundreds of urns that line the walls of the labyrinth are not filled with human ashes as you might expect. Rather, they are filled with human hair cut from the heads of the living.

I have received two different explanations for the urns of hair, which are not mutually exclusive. The first is that in ancient Japan, hair was viewed as a representation of the self, which is why both men and women grew their hair very long. Long hair was a sign of affluence and was considered very beautiful. Hair that extended all the way to the floor was common among the aristocracy. To cut one’s hair was to cut a piece of one’s self, not in the sense that we think of the hair as a part of our bodies, but in the sense of the severed hair represents our soul or spirit. Since the centers of Buddhist healing were often located on the tops of distant mountains or other hard to access places, many people cut their hair and had it taken by proxy to the temples in special urns. As the hair represented the person as equally as if the person had gone in the flesh, the monks at the temple could pray over the urn and the person would receive healing indirectly. Thus, avoiding a long and potentially dangerous journey.

The second theory I’ve heard is that there is a natural energy that emanates from underneath Kurama Mountain. This energy enters visitors’ bodies through the feet and resides in the hair. The hair is then cut and placed in special urns to remain at the temple for the same reason as the above explanation.

Anyway, I questioned several monks in the main hall about the origins of the Kurama-kokyo sect and specific rules and customs contained therein. They timidly answered a few of my questions, but were rather standoffish. I finally talked to a woman behind the souvenir counter that recommended some helpful reading. I have yet to visit the library and follow up on it, but I plan to do so during my winter break when I have some time to dedicate to hard research.

This was my second trip to Kurama and it was just as mystifying and interesting and beautiful as the first. Kurama is definitely one of my favorite places in Japan. There is a wealth of history and legend surrounding the temple and the mountain, most of which I didn’t mention at all in this blog. I’m over 80,000 words in my novel, but I’m beginning to lose confidence in my writing, worrying that it has become unfocused and drawn out. I’m not sure how to regain my sense of direction, but for the time being, I’ll just focus on research and keep writing in spite of my uncertainty.

Until next time.
Much love…