A Return to Fushimi Inari

-- Susan, every other Sunday

Fushimi Inari Taisha (shrine) in Fushimi-ku, just south of Kyoto, is one of my favorite places in Japan.

Main Gate, Fushimi Inari Shrine

The mountain's iconic torii - sacred gates that mark the division between the secular and the holy - speak to me, as they do to the thousands of visitors (Japanese as well as foreign) who travel to the mountain every day, throughout the year.

I love the shrine, and its sacred mountain, enough that I took a day out of my scheduled research trip last autumn to visit and re-climb Mount Inari.

As usual, the mountain did not disappoint. Also as usual, I noticed many new and different things this time around.

For example, the Inari fox that watches over the entrance:

Foxes (the magical ones are known as kitsune) are Inari's messengers.

And the shrine cat (a kitsune in disguise?) who greeted me near the start of the climb:  

Waiting for attention. Cats are pretty much cats wherever you go.

The torii were lovely, mysterious, and haunting. It's easy to see why Shintō considers them gateways to a divine space:

Another pilgrim, ahead of me on the trail.

I love the way ancient consistency and constant change intersect on Mount Inari. The shrine and its mountain are simultaneously unchanged and completely different every time.

Visitors inscribe prayers or wishes on the small red torii, which are left as offerings.

Since I'd blocked out an morning for the mountain, I took my time on the ascent (and descent), stopping at each of the many subshrines and stations that dot the mountain's slopes.

A subshrine on Mount Inari.

I also paused for a plate of inarizushi at my favorite little restaurant, about halfway up the mountain, which also offers striking views of Kyoto:

How's that for a lunchtime view? (OK, it was brunch, but who's counting?)

On the way down, the morning mist burned off and the sun appeared, changing the mountain yet again.

Sunshine at the bottom of the mountain.

Since I visited on November 1, the trees in Kyoto had just begun to show the first hints of autumn.

Kitsune guardian with foliage.

(I was a little early for full foliage in this part of Japan, but I'd timed my trip for the foliage farther north, in the mountains, where it was spectacular.)

As I left, I wandered down the secondary approach to the shrine, where vendors line the road selling an amazing (and delicious) variety of treats.

Vendor street at the base of Fushimi Inari Shrine.

Most of the vendors don't allow photographs when the shops are open (I took the photo above when I arrived, knowing I wouldn't be able to photograph the area later on) but there's no ban on capturing the treats you buy.

Spiral potato with flavored salt. (The vendor lets you choose from over a dozen varieties.)

I only wish I hadn't been too full of inarizushi to eat any more.

Me, after too much inarizushi and fried potato.

My visit to Fushimi Inari Taisha took half a day, and I'm glad I made the time to return. It's one of my favorite places in Japan, and one I hope that everyone who visits Kyoto takes the time to see.

Go-Shuin-Cho: the Pilgrim's Book

--Susan, Every Other Sunday

Historically, devout Japanese would undertake pilgrimages to Shinto shrines and Buddhist temples. These pilgrimages had many purposes, from the pursuit of knowledge to an attempt to gain merit and curry favor with the "Kings of Hell" who judged the soul of the deceased (and determined his or her eternal fate) in the weeks that follow death.

Many pilgrims carried a Shuin-cho (or Nōkyō-chō), a special notebook in which the temple's priests (or the kannushi, at a Shinto shrine) would place a special stamp, often supplemented with handwritten calligraphy.

Left to right: shuin from Nanzen-ji, Ootoyo Jinja, & Ginkaku-ji

The custom dates at least as far back as the Edo period (1603-1868) and continues to this day. No longer confined to religious pilgrims, go-shuin-cho ("go" is an honorific) are popular with religious and secular visitors; relatives of religious Buddhists and Shinto practitioners lay the stamp books open across the coffin of a deceased relative, as a sign of the merit they acquired (by visiting shrines and temples) during life. For secular visitors (including many foreigners), collecting shuin is an alternative to more traditional souvenirs, and provides a lovely reminder of their shrine and temple visits. (And no, it's not considered inappropriate or rude to collect shuin for other-than-religious purposes. Many, many people do, including many Japanese visitors.)

During my trip to Japan last summer, I started my first go-shuin-cho and had it stamped at each of the shrines and temples I visited. The book itself costs about ¥1000 (roughly $10.00 U.S.) and can be purchased--conveniently enough--at almost any temple or shrine that offers shuin.

My shuin-cho (the covers differ - this one shows the pavilion at Ginkakugi, where I bought it)

 

Each shrine and temple offers a distinct shuin, or stamp, usually in return for a small donation (typically in the ¥200-500 / $2-$5 range). Some places have pre-printed, pre-calligraphied pages that visitors can insert or paste into their books, but most have a monk or priest "on duty" to stamp and write calligraphy in visitors' individual books during temple hours.

After stamping the book in vermilion ink and writing the inscription, the calligrapher typically inserts a slip of tissue to protect the stamp from smearing or bleeding across to the next stamped page. In the image below, the paper on the right-hand side is a slip of tissue that (conveniently) explains the shuin for an English-speaking visitor.

Sometimes, the tissue serves double-duty as a translation aid. 

Upon arriving at each shrine or temple, my son and I went straight to the proper building and deposited our books (with a donation -- it's nice to leave one, even at places that don't have a set charge for shuin). The monk or priest gave us a numbered claim tag, much like the ones you see at restaurant coat-checks in the United States. When we finished visiting the site, we returned and retrieved our stamp books, one beautiful memory closer to full.

Left to right: Kasuga Taisha, Tofukuji, Fushimi Inari Taisha 

Most go-shuin-cho have 40-60 "pages" - though, in truth, they're a pair of hardback covers connected by a single, accordion-folded sheet, which allows for proper display of the stamps across a coffin -- or, in less morbid circumstances, in photographs like these:

Yes, that's my couch. Don't judge.

The slips on top of the pages are the tissues, which I removed to take the pictures.

A better view of the pages - and the couch.

Some stamps contain the name of the patron deity, as well as the shrine name, date, and vermilion stamp. At some shrines and temples, the calligrapher is male, while others have female priests (or shrine caretakers) who attend to this duty.

While many people find the calligraphy difficult to read, for me, each page brings back a special memory of a highly sacred space. For example, I obtained this shuin at Itsukushima, a sacred Shinto shrine on Miyajima--an island off the coast of Hiroshima:

That day (June 15 - as it says on the lower left side of the page) was also my mother's 70th birthday. We spent the night at Iwaso, a 160 year-old ryokan (traditional inn).

and took a walk along the shore to see the Great Torii by night:

That stamp reminds me of much more than words, or a check-box on a temple list. It recalls a host of precious memories, reminding me not only that I visited, but that I saw and felt this place as well.

I don't know how much merit a non-Buddhist can obtain from collecting go-shuin, but I know that the book and its stamps have a great deal of merit to me.

Tomb to Temple: a Visit to Ginkakuji

-- Susan, every other Sunday

During Japan's medieval period, many wealthy samurai sponsored construction of Buddhist temples, Shinto shrines, and other structures, some of which began as something else entirely.

Ashikaga Yoshimasa (1436-1490) was the eighth member of the Ashikaga family to become the Shogun (the military leader of Japan, and by the 15th century also de facto ruler of the nation). In 1460, Yoshimasa commissioned plans for construction of a massive retirement villa surrounded by gardens. He selected a site in the hills of northeastern Kyoto, and construction commenced in 1482.

Temple map of Ginkakuji

Yoshimasa based the plans for his retirement villa on Kinkakuji, the "Temple of the Golden Pavilion" built by his grandfather, Ashikaga Yoshimitsu (the third Ashikaga shogun). Originally constructed as a retirement villa, the pavilion now functions as Yoshimitsu's tomb and the grounds as a Buddhist temple.

Most of Kinkakuji burned to the ground in the 1460s, but a reconstructed version of Kinkakuji (built from the original plans) exists today:

My son ("the Junior") at Kinkakuji

Because of its resemblance to the one built by his grandfather, Yoshimasa's villa came to be known as "Ginkakuji"--The Temple of the Silver Pavilion--because the original plans called for covering the entire roof of the massive pagoda in silver foil. Unfortunately, the cost proved prohibitive during Yoshimasa's lifetime.

The Silver Pavilion, now Yoshimasa's tomb.

After his death, the complex became a temple, and the temple was left in its unfinished state, partly in recognition of the Japanese Buddhist view that life is imperfect and incomplete, and more beautiful because of its transient state.

Bamboo garden, Ginkakuji

In addition to the pagoda, which also serves as Ashikaga Yoshimasa's tomb, the temple complex includes a famous hillside garden and a Zen dry garden with a pile of sand designed to represent sacred Mt. Fuji.

Zen garden. Mountain not included...

We visited in June, at the start of the summer rainy season, which made the steps up the hillside slick and dangerous.

Watch your step.

Undeterred, my son and I made the climb to the top--well worth it for the fantastic view:

Silver Pavilion, seen from the hill.

Despite its popularity, which often translates into summer crowds, Ginkakuji's gardens feel surprisingly private, especially if you take the trail that leads up into the mountains.

My son, a good sport for the camera.

Like so many Buddhist temples and Shinto shrines, the grounds of Ginkakuji are still, quiet, and beautiful, an oasis in the center of crowded, busy Kyoto.

Garden, Ginkakuji

It's easy to understand why the Japanese people love these sacred sites, preserve them, and visit them often. Their restorative beauty, different in every season, serves as a living reminder of history,  nature's transient beauty, and the Japanese awareness of (and respect for) sacred space.

From death to life, indeed.