Showing posts with label Japanese legends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Japanese legends. Show all posts

Sunday, May 15, 2016

The Bell Tolls for Myomanji

-- Susan, every other Sunday.

During my research trip to Japan last summer I visited Kyoto Seika University, an art college in the northern part of Kyoto (most of us would consider it "just north of Kyoto" but given Japanese city lines, it's technically within the boundaries of Kyoto-shi). When I arrived in Japan, my son had just completed a 15-week study abroad program at Kyoto Seika, and wanted to show me both the school and some of his favorite nearby sites.

One of the places he wanted to visit was "this really cool little temple and monastery" about a fifteen-minute walk from the university campus. He said "it's not really crowded, or famous, but it's special to me"--and given my love for Japanese shrine and temple architecture, I gladly went along.

The temple measures about the size of a small city block, and has no English-language signage. The entrance identifies it as "Myotzan Myomanji" - a name that initially rang no bells for me. (Pun intended...you'll understand when we get there.)


"Myotozan Myomanji"

On first impression, Myomanji is a lovely, quiet temple approached along a wide stone bridge that spans an enormous, decorative koi pond:

It's even more idyllic in person.

Directly inside the gates, I noticed a beautiful--and very large--bronze bell, which reminded me of the famous bell in a Japanese Noh play called Dōjōji.

The bell itself is almost ten feet high.

In the play, a monk named Anchin goes on a pilgrimage and meets an innkeeper's daughter, Kiyohime, who falls in love with him. Although Anchin promises to marry the girl, he tricks her and returns to his monastery via a different route. Enraged, the girl transforms herself into a giant snake, and pursues Anchin to the temple, where he has hidden himself inside the temple's giant bronze bell. Kiyohime wraps her body around the bell, and the scorching heat of her anger burns Anchin to death inside the bell - after which, Kiyohime flung herself into a nearby river and drowned...and her spirit possessed the bell. In the final act of the play, the monks exorcise Kiyohime's spirit from the bell, restoring order to the temple.

Remember this...it's going to be relevant later.  


Inside the temple grounds, a large, Indian-style stupa rose up near the center of the temple, directly in front of the worship hall.

One of these things is not like the others.

It seemed out of place in a Japanese temple, and also strangely familiar, though I didn't place it immediately. In fact, it was weeks later that I remembered where I'd seen it: the stupa is a replica of the one a Bodh Gaya (in India) where Buddha originally attained enlightenment.

Myomanji Stupa

After paying respects before the altar, my son and I paid the small admission fee (300 yen - about $3) that allowed us to tour the monastery, including the abbott's hall (filled with art) and the lovely monastery garden, called Yukinoniwa.

This is where I'd normally put a photo of Yukinoniwa; however, it felt like a very sacred space, and I respected it far too much to take any photographs. 
(Sorry / Not Sorry )

While we sat and appreciated the garden (and waited out a light summer rain that started falling while we toured the monastery) one of the monks came running through the hall with a paper in his hand. This was rare, and unusual, because most of the Buddhist monks I saw in Japan moved peacefully about their business. When he saw us, the monk lit up with delight, bowed, and presented the paper to my son (who thanked him in Japanese).

To our surprise, the paper contained an English-language print out telling the history of the temple. The monk had printed it out because he worried we wouldn't understand the temple's history based on the Japanese-language signage. (He was correct...most of the Japanese was technical enough that neither my son nor I could read it well.) 

Here's what we learned:

Looking through the entrance gate toward the main hall.

Myomanji was established in 1389 by the founder of the Nichiren school of Buddhism--a monk named Nichiju.

Myomanji's greatest treasure is a bronze bell, originally dating to 828, under which the monks of Dōjōji Temple sheltered a monk named Anchin when he attempted to hide from the wrath of an innkeeper's daughter whose love for him transformed her into a dragon. According to legend, the dragon's wrath made the bell so hot that it burned poor Anchin to death, and melted the bell.

In 1359 the bell was re-cast (from the melted bronze of the original). During the inauguration ceremony for the new bell, a beautiful but unknown woman appeared among the dancers, circled the bell, and disappeared beneath it. Thereafter, disasters occurred every time the bell was rung, and the monks became so terrified of the haunted bell that they buried it in the mountains.

In 1585, a samurai dug up the bell and brought it to the monks of Myomanji, appointing them to act as its guardians. Since that date, the monks have guarded the bell and held an annual ceremony for the souls of Anchin and Kiyohime.

Please Do Not Ring Bell.

And no...they still don't ring it.

The bell at the monastery gates is a bronze replica, cast from a mold of the original bell, which is kept away from public view in the heart of the monastery.

I had so many takeaway lessons from this "cool little temple" my son wanted me to see.

-- Don't turn up your nose at humble things - they're often more important than they seem.

-- Be kind to strangers - your actions may transform their understanding.

And, finally,

-- Don't ring strange bells. You might accidentally summon a really angry dragon from the lake.

Sunday, January 17, 2016

Following the Eight-Span Crow

--Susan, every other Sunday

Western legends often portray the crow as a harbinger of disaster, lurking about like Poe’s raven to observe the misfortunes of man.

In Japan, the crow is more often seen as evidence of positive divine intervention in human affairs. The Shinto pantheon even includes a crow god, Yatagarasu (“the eight-span crow”), who symbolizes guidance. A crow’s appearance portends rebirth, new growth, and supernatural guidance. According to the Kojiki (Japan’s oldest historical record), the eight-span crow led Jimmu, a human descendant of the sun goddess Amaterasu, to the site where he assumed the throne and became the first Emperor of Japan.



During my research trip to Japan last summer, I hoped to see a Japanese crow (Corvus macrorhynchos), also known as the Jungle Crow or Large-Billed crow. These intelligent birds are larger (and louder) than the crows we see in the United States, and since they feature in a couple of my upcoming novels (one of my Shinobi Mysteries and another project I'm writing on the side) I hoped to see one and get some notes about its behavior and appearance.

Little did I know that Yatagarasu had something even more special planned for me…

On my second day in Kyoto, I visited Fushimi Inari Taisha, one of Japan’s most important Shinto shrines. 

Torii gates. Many, many torii gates.

The shrine consists of buildings at the base of Mount Inari and a path that winds up the side of the mountain to another shrine at the very top. Numerous sub-shrines dot the mountain, and the walk itself is lined with thousands of torii gates, which represent the movement from worldly places to a sacred space:

Moving from the worldly to the sacred.

The climb takes several hours, so many people don’t do the entire thing, but I wanted the full experience, so up I went…alone.

A little way up the mountain, a path branches off from the main one. Visitors who opt to follow the “road less taken” are rewarded by a sub-shrine with statues memorializing the dragon guardians of Japan:

Dragons: they show up when you least expect them.


Another, even less traveled path, leads out and away from this sub-shrine, through a primeval bamboo grove. I knew I had a long hike ahead, but I couldn’t resist the temptation to follow the bamboo path for a little while.

The road less traveled...Japanese style

Ten minutes later, deep in the heart of an undisturbed primeval forest, I heard a flutter of wings and found myself face to face with a giant black crow. 

Japanese god or curious corvid? I'm not taking chances.

It landed not three feet away, on the side of the path, and looked at me with absolutely no fear. We stared at each other for several minutes—me, memorizing his every detail, and him doubtless expecting something more edible from the encounter. Sadly, I lacked the desired--or required--offering.

The crow flew away when it heard another couple approaching along the path, and I continued up the mountain. I reached the top:

The highest point of Fushimi Inari Taisha

and returned to the base, without another spotting of the crow.

Several days later, I visited Kasuga Taisha, another major Shinto shrine, and a primary setting in one of my upcoming novels. As I approached the entrance, a giant crow swooped down and landed on the entry post. 

Apparently, he heard I was coming.


Like the crow at Fushimi Inari (over a hundred miles away) he watched me approach and waited for me to come and stand beside him.

No fear, but disappointment when I had no food.

Japanese crows, like their brethren around the world, are confident birds with little fear of people. It’s common to see them at Shinto shrines and they often watch the visitors with interest.

Even so, I couldn’t help but feel that the crows at Fushimi Inari and Kasuga—and several other crows that appeared at critical moments throughout my trip—were a positive sign that my travels (and my writing) are taking me in the right direction.

I’m not superstitious by nature, but these eerily timely encounters with Japanese crows made me understand why Japanese people consider the crow both wise in itself and also a sign of heaven’s favor. I look forward to seeing them again, on my next visit to Japan.