Author: John D. (Page 5 of 202)

Japan by Train 22: Fukuoka

December 24, 2022 / John D. / 0 Comments

This is part 22 of a series following a three-month journey the length of Japan, beginning in northern Hokkaido and finishing in the south of Kyushu. This extract from a forthcoming book concerns Fukuoka, which in the form of Hakata Bay was invaded by the Mongols twice, once in 1274 and the second time in 1281.

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Nokonoshima in Hakata Bay was occupied by the Mongols, showing just how close they came to the Japanese defenses along the coast

For the Japanese, the invasions mark as glorious a victory as the Spanish Armada of 1588 for the English. In both cases an island country was attacked by the most powerful continental force and secured an unlikely victory, leading to an upsurge in national pride. And in both countries the victory was aided by the weather, fuelling the notion that the countries were divinely blessed.

In Japan’s case, the invasion was initiated by the formidable Kublai Khan, who demanded the country become a vassal state. When this was refused, he put together a large force which overwhelmed the outnumbered Japanese and burnt down Hakata Town. The samurai were skilled in single combat, but the attackers used hand-thrown bombs and huddled together in a tight-knit group. Just when it seemed all was lost for the Japanese, a timely storm destroyed some 200 Mongol ships and the invaders fled home.

For their next attempt, the Mongols amassed a much larger force, estimated at 1500 ships and some 70,000 soldiers. This time the Japanese were better prepared and prevented the Mongol army from taking control of the mainland. Instead the invaders set up base on an offshore island. Fighting was more or less at a stalemate when a typhoon intervened. In the chaos that followed, hundreds of ships collided or sank, and over half the invasion force perished. For the victorious Japanese it was proof that the gods were on their side, thanks to what they dubbed kamikaze – divine wind.

Hakozaki Shrine and its inscription warning invaders

There remain some physical reminders of the events even now, centuries later, such as decaying defensive walls and look-out spots. Hakozaki Shrine, razed in the first invasion and rebuilt by the time of the second, still acts as a locus for thanks-giving and bears an intimidating slogan on its tower gate: Tekikoku Koufuku – Submission of Enemy Countries. This is Shinto in its guise of national rather than nature religion.

To get a feel of the past, Hirota san and I headed for Higashi Park, which was the site of fighting in the first invasion. It hosts a Mongolian Invasion Museum in which are shields worn by the two sides, as well as armour made of hardened animal skin. ‘It is said the Mongolians were very cruel,’ said Hirota san. ‘I saw a programme with Marco Polo.’

‘Marco Polo?’ I said in surprise. ‘What did he have to do with the invasion?’
‘They said he was involved in the negotiations.’
‘Really? That must be fiction, surely’
‘Maybe. It was NHK drama, because Marco Polo brought a Japanese to meet Kublai Khan’s son. And there is a manga based on history. Angolmois: Record of Mongol Invasion. It was very popular, so it became anime on television.’

In the middle of the park stood a bronze statue of Emperor Kameyama in an exaggeratedly tall eboshi, the black-lacquered hat worn by aristocrats.’ He was retired, but he kept power,’ said Hirota san. ‘The length of the hat shows masculinity,’ he added. A signboard noted that in a prayer at the time of the invasion the retired emperor had offered his own life in return for peace.

To my surprise the park hosted a much larger statue for Nichiren. Bigger than the emperor; what was that about? His belief in the supremacy of the Lotus Sutra had led him to denigrate ‘false prophets’ who thought differently to himself, and he ascribed to them all the ills of the country. As a result he predicted Japan would be invaded, and when the Mongols appeared it seemed to validate his teaching. For the Buddhist Nichiren, you could say the kamikaze was doubly divine – not only heaven sent, but testimony to the truth of his preaching.

Japan by Train 21: Shimonoseki

December 11, 2022 / John D. / 0 Comments

For lovers of Japanese literature, the Kanmon Straits mean above all the tragic climax of Tale of the Heike. The fourteenth-century epic is Japan’s great equivalent of The Iliad and charts the rise and fall of the Heike clan, underwritten by Buddhist notions of karma and transience. It is history raised to the level of art.

The story centres on the Gempei War (1180-85), fought between two rival clans, the Heike (based in Kyoto) and the Genji (based in Kamakura). As the war turns in favour of the latter, the Heike are pushed further and further away from Kyoto, retreating along the Inland Sea until their boats are encircled at Dan-no-ura in the Kanmon Straits. Rather than be captured, the mother of the child emperor Antoku, just eight years old, jumps with him into the sea. He is drowned, but she is hauled out of the water by her hair.

Gateway to Akama Shrine, with imperial motif

Such is the power of the epic that it has spawned countless retellings – in Noh and Kabuki, television and film, manga and anime. Akama Shrine serves as focal point, for it deifies the child-emperor at the place where he died. With its imperial connections, the shrine is kept in pristine condition; bright red doors and golden chrysanthemums are highlighted by the clean white walls. Alan Booth found it garish, but on the day I visited it positively sparkled in the sunshine. In the adjacent cemetery are graves for fourteen Heike warriors, commemorated in an inscribed verse.

the waning moon –
from the bottom of the sea
the Heike harp

In a corner of the shrine precincts is a statue of an earless man, and I stood behind a young mother as she explained to her child its significance. It is Japan’s most famous ghost story, retold by Lafcadio Hearn in Kwaidan. But for Hearn, it is said, the story might well have been forgotten. The mother told her son the story this way…

A blind biwa musician named Hoichi used to come to the temple here to rest and sleep. He was skilled at reciting The Tale of the Heike, and one night was bewitched into giving a performance for the Dragon King, who lived at the bottom of the sea. To protect him from this happening again, the temple priest wrote onto Hoichi’s body the words of the sacred Heart Sutra. However, he omitted to paint the ears, so when the bewitching spirit returned, only Hoichi’s ears were visible. To prove he had tried to fulfil his task, the spirit cut off Hoichi’s ears to present them to the Dragon King. Hence the earless statue in front of us, which the young child, having listened to his mother, was now looking at in awed fascination.

What dreams would assail him that night, I wondered?

Looking out over the straits where the famous battle took place

Japan by Train 20: Hagi

October 28, 2022 / John D. / 2 Comments

This series of extracts are spiritually related material culled from a longer account of travelling the length of Japan, from Wakkanai in the far north to Ibusuki in south Kyushu. The journey took three months in all, and one of the highlights was my discovery of the charms of Hagi, famous for its pottery. In this case, spirituality is linked with Japan’s dedication to craftsmanship.

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‘The first time I took an interest was in Paris, when my cafe au lait was served in a handmade mug. I thought, that’s artistic, that’s attractive. It made the coffee taste special.’

Masanori was talking, a forty-eight year old potter with an unusual life story. Unlike the hereditary lineages whose families have been potters for centuries, he was a vocational potter who had to struggle to survive. After university he took a job as a documentary cameraman, but there was a yearning for something different. One day he woke up and knew with absolute certainty he was going to be a potter. He was twenty-seven, an age at which in Japan’s unforgiving career structure a person’s fate is often sealed. But for Masanori there was not the slightest doubt.

‘Pottery raises the human spirit. It is not just something for use, not just an object. It is organic, with its own character, and feel, and history. Once I sensed that, I couldn’t forget it.’

The light in his eyes showed that he still resonated with a youthful passion. It had moved him to drop his job and get apprenticed to Saka Kouraizaemon, a 12th generation potter whose family were descended from a Korean immigrant in the early seventeenth century. As in Zen and the tea ceremony, lineages matter.

The hereditary principle in Japan means more than just blood and DNA; it means being steeped from birth in the family business. It remains an important element in Shinto. You can see it most clearly in kabuki, where child-heirs appear on stage not long after they have learnt to walk. The principle is so rooted in the artistic and religious worlds that it survived the imposition of democracy after World War Two and continues to be widely accepted today. The emperor system is the supreme example.

As an outsider, Masanori had to start from scratch, meaning a low salary and menial jobs like packing or preparing clay. When his master died after just four years, he survived on low wages by working for a pottery company, all the while aiming to be independent – tough when Hagi alone has over 100 potters competing for a limited market.

‘How did you go about setting up on your own?’ I asked.
‘At first I rented a climbing kiln, which I worked on in my spare time, but there was a problem with firing it so I decided to make my own. It took a long time to find suitable land, and luckily there was an old house nearby in bad condition which we renovated.’
‘It looks good,’ I said, looking around at the renovated walls and neatly arranged shelves.
‘Thank you. It took a lot of time.’
‘How about the pottery?’
‘Well, I decided something crazy. I decided to make a traditional kiln. It is very difficult and took two years. That’s why no one does that any more. People called me “crazy potter”!’

Many modern kilns are automatically fired, using electricity. The traditional kiln, fired by wood, is not only less controllable, but needs more time and money to set up. By some estimates there are only around fifty in Japan. Though Masanori was told his idea was impractical, it simply made him more determined. Fortunately there was one person who supported him, emotionally and practically – Izumi, his devoted wife.

To make his kiln, Masanori needed a suitable piece of land, which was no easy task because of safety standards. It took a while, but eventually he found somewhere. Then the hard work began. First he cut down trees and cleared the vegetation. A professional was hired to do the levelling of the ground, and a professional carpenter constructed the roof. The climbing kiln was built with the help of a specialist team of three from Kyushu, possibly the last of their type, following which Masanori did the chimney and extended the roof on his own.

There had been several setbacks, but finally the big day arrived when the kiln was fired for the first time. It was a success. It lasted twenty-eight hours, during which he had no sleep because of the constant need to add wood (roughly every fifteen minutes). The result was the production of 1000 pieces. At the age of forty-seven Masanori’s dream had come true. It must have been a great feeling? ‘Yes,’ he said with a big smile. ‘It took a long time.’

Contrary to the popular image, shaping clay at the wheel is but a fraction of a potter’s work. It takes three minutes to shape a vessel; it takes months to prepare for a firing. Apart from the mixing of clay and preparation for the glaze, the traditional kiln necessitates masses and masses of wood. Where did it all come from?

‘Old houses and wood from timber merchants,’ he told me.
‘Why were you so determined to have a traditional kiln?’
‘Because the pottery is true,’ Masanori said. ‘It has more character, more colour and texture. Modern kilns are too controlled, so pieces look similar.’
‘What do you think makes Hagi pottery different from other styles?’
‘It is soft texture, plain, because it is fired at a lower temperature. The earth here makes it a reddish orange. It was made for the tea ceremony, for special occasions.’
‘And the glaze?’
‘Transparent, white. To show the colour of the clay. The white is from burnt rice straw. Sometimes it has a purple tint. Heat, amount of oxygen, position in the kiln, all can change the colour.’
‘Your pottery looks very traditional. Was that your intention?’
‘Yes, it’s strange. I am from outside but I try to keep Hagi tradition. But potters from Hagi, especially young ones, they want something new. For example, they sometimes add painting.’

Masanori and Izumi now run their own business, called Makino Hagiyaki Studio, which emphasises the product’s rootedness in Hagi. Masanori digs part of the clay himself, and the wood is sourced locally. He may not have been born here, but the pottery is Hagi through and through. ‘We believe that there exists an ethereal beauty in the traditional and simple Hagi pottery,’ states the Makino website.

Izumi offers me some green tea in one of her husband’s cups and tells me that because of the soft texture the liquid seeps into the cracks of the glaze. With the passage of time it affects the colour, and tea masters appreciate the nanabake (seven levels of change) acquired over long years of use. In this way the consumer shares in the creation. ‘When you drink, you too are adding to the colour,’ Izumi said, and the tea took on an extra tang.

The hours with Masanori and his wife had been edifying and transformed my view of pottery. I saw it now as a quest for perfection, as much a spiritual pursuit as a craft. As I looked at the cup I was drinking from, I thought of all the dedication and personal investment that had gone into it. ’Follow your bliss,’ said Joseph Campbell. It felt a privilege to meet someone who so thoroughly had.

Home-made shop display of the finished ‘Hagi-yaki’. To visit their website, click here.

Japan by Train 19: Tsuwano

October 11, 2022 / John D. / 0 Comments

The small community of Tsuwano (pop.. 7,500) is a castle town that has lost its castle, a ‘little Kyoto’ with the emphasis on little. Squeezed in-between steep mountains, it is compact yet intriguing. I was lucky enough to be shown round by a volunteer guide called Akemi, who worked as an international goodwill officer.

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‘The town is known as ‘the “little Kyoto of San’in”,’ Akemi explained, ‘because it’s in a river basin with harsh winters, like Kyoto. We have merchant houses too, like Kyoto. There is an Inari shrine with a torii tunnel, like Kyoto’s Fushimi Shrine. And we have Yasaka Shrine with Gion Festival, like Kyoto. Especially we have Sagiodori (Heron dance), which came here from Kyoto in the sixteenth century.’

She motioned towards two striking statues of the costumed dancers, with improbably long necks and balanced like the bird on one leg. The all-white costumes used in the dance are intricate creations, the upper part made of paulownia, the lower part bamboo, and the wings from strips of cypress. In all, they weigh twelve to sixteen kilograms.

After all the walking it was time for something to eat, and Akemi showed me an English-language flyer she had prepared that featured nineteen different outlets. The town was clearly making an effort to attract the wider world. I asked for something typically Tsuwano, and Akemi took me to a shop that catered specifically for tourists. ‘Typical,’ I thought. Tourists want the local food, and the locals want pasta and steak.

For the first course, I tried Tsuwano potato soup, consisting of taro potatoes in a light dashi broth with slivers of sea bream and yuzu citrus peal. Delicate taste, but solid substance. Afterwards we enjoyed a green tea set with Tsuwano’s most famous product, Genjimaki, which featured anko (sweet red bean paste) sandwiched between thin strips of a type of sponge cake.

Over lunch Akemi told me of two other aspects of the town. One concerned Hidden Christians; the other mythological plays known as kagura. The Christian connection derived from the descendants of sixteenth century converts. The religion was banned in Edo times because of a fear of colonisation, and Meiji reformists continued the policy. Yet despite the risk of torture and death, many families handed down their faith in secret, though as far as the authorities were concerned Christianity had been completely eradicated.

In 1868, thousands of Hidden Christians were uncovered in Urakami, a district of Nagasaki, and were dispersed to different domains for ‘re-education’. Their treatment varied from place to place, and here in Tsuwano their reception was amongst the worst. They were starved, tortured and made to stand naked in the bitter cold of winter. Of the roughly 150 sent to the domain, thirty seven perished. Tragically it came just before Christianity was tolerated in 1873. Now there is a campaign to canonise those who died and make Tsuwano a ‘sacred place of martyrdom’.

The spectacular costumes of Iwami kagura

A happier note is struck by the kagura plays, which enact scenes from Shinto’s rich store of mythology. The costumed dramas with musical accompaniment can be truly spectacular, and the district’s Iwami Kagura has a reputation for putting on the best in the country. Unlike Noh with its wooden masks, the local tradition is for masks made of Japanese paper (washi), which makes them sturdy but light. It means actors can perform speedier actions, including acrobatics.

For those lucky enough to time their visit right, there are performances in Tsuwano proper, but the real deal are the autumnal all-night sessions in village houses. For that you need to plan ahead. Iwami troupes occasionally perform elsewhere, and I’ve been lucky enough to see them several times in Kyoto, The stage effects would not disgrace top Broadway productions. The slaying by Susanoo of the eight-headed monster, Yamata Orochi, is their showpiece, for the serpent writhes and wriggles in such improbable manner that it takes on a life of its own. The rapt audiences reminded me of village plays in Bali, at which mesmerised children sit open-eyed, soaking in the larger-than-life mythical stories of their ancestors.

The Iwami serpent, skilfully manipulated by performers within the coils

Japan by Train 18: Izumo

October 5, 2022 / John D. / 0 Comments

My favourite places are those enriched by myth and unspoilt by the ravages of modern life. The west of England, for instance, with its Arthurian tales and Glastonbury mystique. Here in Japan the time-honoured pathways of Kumano have similar appeal, but they pale in comparison to the allure of Izumo. It is the setting for almost one third of Japan’s mythology in Kojiki (712), and in ancient times it was capital of a kingdom that rivalled that of the dominant Yamato in the Nara basin.

Izumo Taisha (Grand Shrine), pictured above, is an imposing structure. But more than that, it is an institution, a symbol, a reminder of a once glorious past. It has claims to be the oldest of all Shinto shrines, dating back to a time before the imperial line ‘descended from heaven’. It is Japan’s foremost shrine for enmusubi (love connections), in addition to which it has the biggest Inner Sanctuary in the country and the largest shimenawa rope in the world. And as if that is not enough, experts think the shrine may once have been the tallest building on earth. Just imagine that.

Models of how the world’s tallest building may have looked

In terms of prestige, Izumo ranks second only to Ise Shrine. It stands on the dark side of Japan, opposite the sunny Pacific, and is associated, fittingly, with the unruly storm god Susanoo no mikoto. Brother of the sun goddess Amaterasu, he held an exalted position amongst the heavenly array, but the youthful rebel was a complex character, impetuous and temperamental. Not surprisingly, today he haunts the imagination of manga and anime creators.

Distraught by the death of his mother, Susanoo upset the heavenly harmony with his grief and howling. Such was his tantrum, he went on a rampage, excreting in the sacred rice fields and throwing a flayed horse among the women in the weaving room. One of them was so startled she stabbed her private parts with a needle.

Susanoo slays the giant serpent, yamato no orochi

For his sins Susanoo was exiled from heaven, and descended to earth at Izumo where an eight-headed serpent called Yamata Orochi was terrifying the locals. The chieftain had eight daughters, seven of whom had already been devoured by the monster, and Susanoo vowed to save the eighth. Cunningly, he put out eight buckets of saké for each of the serpent’s heads, and when it was befuddled he attacked and killed it.

In the tail of the serpent Susanoo found a sword called Kusanagi no Tsurugi (Grass-cutting Sword). It was so precious that he presented it to Amaterasu, who forgave him for his bad behaviour. Later the sword was handed to her grandson when he descended to earth, and today it continues to play a part in Japanese affairs, for it is one of the three imperial regalia used in ascension rites.

There are many ways of interpreting myth – culturally, literally, historically, psychologically, spiritually. My instinct is to view it as history adorned in fantasy. In this case Susanoo may represent the leader of immigrants from Scilla (a Korean kingdom), who arrived on the Shimane coast near Izumo and defeated a many-headed coalition of chieftains. (There are seaside shrines that claim to be the landing spot.)

By contrast, the Yamato clan, who eventually took over Japan, are thought to have arrived from Paekche, a different Korean kingdom. The Yamato and Izumo leaders were thus related, but rivals with different origins. This equates in myth to the imaginative brother-sister pairing of Amaterasu and Susanoo. Excavation of imperial graves would no doubt reveal the truth of the matter, but it is strictly forbidden to disturb the emperor’s ancestral spirits. The real reason, it is said, is fear of unearthing Korean origins.

At some point the Yamato Kingdom achieved hegemony, though historians disagree about the date. Accounts compiled later tell of Izumo ceding temporal power in return for spiritual dominion. In this regard, Matsumoto Naoki of Waseda University poses an interesting question to his compatriots: ’When did we become Japanese?’. He points out that Yamato rulers integrated into their mythology the gods of those they subdued, similar to the colonising policy of ancient Rome. In this case Yamato may have absorbed Izumo myths by integrating their hero, Susanoo, into Yamato mythology as a younger and unruly brother of Amaterasu. Looking at the available evidence, Matsumoto believes the ceding of Izumo to Yamato took place in 380 AD, which is the answer he gives to his question. So there we have it: Japan began in 380, and Izumo was key.

Susanoo no mikoto may have been an early settler in Izumo, but the kingdom flourished under his descendant Okuninushi, pctured above. He is worshipped as the main deity of Izumo Shrine, and in the mythology he relinquishes power to the Yamato and becomes ruler of the underworld.

Japan by Train 17: Matsue

September 20, 2022 / John D. / 0 Comments

Matsue is associated with the writer Lafcadio Hearn (aka Koizumi Yakumo), whose house near the castle can still be visited. It stands close to the Lafcadio Hearn Museum. (To read more of Hearn and his house, see here.)

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The taisha style of shrine, here exemplified by Yaegaki Jinja, and a contrast with the simpler Ise style

The Ou pilgrimage comprises six rural shrines near Matsue. The most popular of them is Yaegaki Shrine, at the entrance to which a noticeboard proclaims, ‘Hearn was here’. It is popular as an enmusubi shrine (love connection), which owes itself to the shrine being dedicated to Susanoo no mikoto and his bride, Inaba-hime. Also enshrined is their son, which gives the shrine a fertility focus too, and dotted around the precincts are a number of phallic objects.

Phallus worship at Yaegaki Shrine in Shimane

As noted previously, promotion of the life-force is a vital part of shamanic religions, which is why in Bhutan you can find phalluses painted on the outside of houses for protection (the vigour of the phallus wards off pestilence and evil demons). It is also why stone and wooden phallic symbols are venerated here at Yaegaki. Somehow they survive into the present, despite the widespread removal of fertility objects in modern times, all because sexual organs were seen as shameful by a religion that champions death on a cross.

At one of the subshrines stands a large erect phallus, and in a vaginal opening at the base of a nearby tree are placed a number of smaller wooden phalluses. There are too several ‘enmusubi trees’, whose split trunks symbolise the union of lovers. And in the street outside the shrine is a shop that sells phallus shaped sweets and does a lively trade in souvenirs.

Tree trunk at Yaegaki with opening in which are placed phallic objects

Yaegaki Shrine is part of a Hearn trail in Matsue connecting sixteen sites associated with the one-time resident. Most are not of much interest except for a Hearn fan, but there is one with wider appeal – a prestigious Zen temple called Gessho-ji. Hearn loved it; so did I.

The prime attraction is the atmospheric cemetery, home to imposing tombs, quirky statues and vigorous vegetation. Here lie the feudal lords of Edo times, drawn from the Matsudaira family. So enchanting is the spirit of place that the forty year old Hearn said he wanted to be buried here.

Other items of interest include a monument to thank tea whisks for their service; a rock with the giant hand print of a legendary sumo wrestler; a tea room used by the feudal lords; a gate by a celebrated sculptor with openwork of grapes; a ‘spirit house’ with memorial tablets; and in June every year a riot of hydrangea in bloom.

Pride of place is held by a giant statue of a seventeen foot long turtle (or tortoise), the head of which is over six feet from the ground. This is the Cosmic Turtle that carries the world on its back, an image that occurs across cultures in Hindu, Chinese and Native American mythology. Local lore holds that the turtle sips water at night from the temple pond and has even been seen roaming around town. If you like this kind of thing, then Hearn and Matsue are definitely for you. If not, well, you might be better off in Fukuoka.

Japan by Train 16: Tottori

September 15, 2022 / John D. / 0 Comments

Hakuto Shrine, where the Hare of Inaba is enshrined

My next visit was to Hakuto Shrine, notable for enshrining a white rabbit. Not Alice’s white rabbit, of course. In fact, not a rabbit at all but a hare, as the Japanese language makes no distinction between the two. The Hare of Inaba is its name, and it appears in Japan’s oldest book, the Kojiki (712).

‘Do you know the story?’ my guide asked.
‘More or less,’ I said. ‘There was a hare living on Oki Islands which came to the mainland where it was skinned and tortured by some bullies, but rescued by a younger man, who is now known as the kami, Okuninushi.’
’Oh, you know very well,’ she said. Although the story is well-known, she had made a point of learning the details to explain to her customers. ‘The hare wanted to get to the mainland,’ she continued, ‘so it challenged some sharks to see which animal had more followers.’
‘On the Oki Islands, right?’
‘Yes. The cunning hare persuaded the shark leader to line up its followers all the way to the mainland so that they could be counted, then used them as stepping stones to hop its way across the sea.’

The rest of the story reads like a moral tale of animal rigts. When the sharks realised they had been duped, they seized the hare and tore off its fur in revenge. Then along came the sons of the Izumo king on their way to court a princess, and when they came across the poor hare pleading for help, they told it to wash in the sea and let the breeze dry it off, knowing full well the salty water and wind would bring more pain. However, the youngest called Onamuchi (aka Okuninushi) took pity on the hare and after the others left told it to use fresh water and wrap itself in healing medicinal leaves. Like all good folk tales, there was a reward for the hero when the hare revealed itself as a deity and granted to Onamuchi the right to marry the princess.

The Tottori coast where the hare successfully landed after stepping on the heads of sharks

Hakuto Shrine is sited next to the beach where the hare supposedly arrived onto the mainland. A small step for the hare, a big step for mythology. The nearby Mitarashi Pond is where it supposedly purified itself., and one way of decoding the story is to see it as marking the arrival of a ‘heavenly’ (I.e. undefiled) migrant clan from Korea.

Since animals sense the unseen better than humans, they are usually regarded in Shinto as mediators between this world and the other. Here, however, the hare is the main kami of the shrine. The colouring may have played a part in this, for Inaba hares turn white in winter, and white is a signifier of purity. It is an attribute widely shared amongst the religion’s sacred animals – white foxes, white snakes, white horses, white deer, white doves.

Purity underwrites the story in another way, as washing in fresh water suggests misogi, a Shinto practice involving ritual immersion in cold water. The purpose is to refresh and renew the human spirit, ‘polluted’ through being in a material world. The striving for purity has left a mark on modern-day Japan with its emphasis on cleanliness, reflected in the tendency for white cars, in politicians who wear white gloves, and in the readiness to wear white masks.

Next to the steps leading to the Worship Hall is a statue of a youthful looking Onamuchi together with the hare, and at the shrine office white stones are on sale for tossing onto the lintel of the torii for good luck. I watched my taxi driver throw a coin into the offertory box, ring the bell and do the standard two bows, two claps and one final bow. Afterwards I asked if she had prayed, and she told me she was making a wish for the health of her family. I wondered to what she had made the wish – kami, the white hare, God, Onamuchi? All of them, she said, everything in fact. The universe in general. Wonderful, I thought. The nameless mystery that has neither shape nor substance.