The convivial discussion group I belong to meets monthly and discusses Japanese poetry in translation. Recently we’ve been looking at the eighth-century collection of poetry called Manyoshu, first of the great imperial anthologies.  There are 4516 poems in all, some dating back as far as the fifth and sixth centuries. We’ve been focussing on the Best 100, which you can view for yourself. It’s rewarding stuff, and the conversations have been so rich we’ve only managed about ten short poems in two hours.

Amongst the Manoyshu verse can be found glimpses of the early religious sentiment of the Japanese. ‘Shinto’ as a concept was first used in the Nihon shoki of 720, to differentiate the native tradition from imported Buddhism. Before that there was a holy mess of differing cults and beliefs, comprising everything from fertility rites to shamanistic rituals and rock worship.

The Yamato basin showing one of its three hills

One of the most famous poems concerns the three hills of Yamato, the ancient heartland of Japan located near modern-day Nara.  About five years ago I took part in an organised outing around the three hills, which made for a pleasant day’s hike full of historical associations. The walk finished at Mt Unebi, at the base of which Emperor Jimmu was supposedly buried and where Kashihara Jingu now stands.

In the poem the three hills are imagined to be in a love triangle, with two males vying for the hand of the female.

Mt Kagu strove with Mt Miminashi
For the love of Mt Unebi;
Such is love since the age of the gods;
As it was thus in the early days
So people strive for spouses even now.

Naomi Kawase, director of Hanezu

By one of those odd coincidences, I saw a film last week based on the poem.  It was called Hanezu and featured a love triangle in present-day Yamato, where a young woman living with one man was having an affair with another.  The film has a slow pace, voice-over rendition of the poem, and a rural lifestyle suggestive of unchanging ways and traditional patterns.  It isn’t ‘a must-see film’, for the characters were not fully developed and the story unconvincing.  It did give a sense though of the ancient poetry being embedded within the landscape, and within the Japanese soul.

Religious sentiments

But what of the proto-Shinto elements in the Manyoshu? There’s an interesting piece about this in the foreword to 1000 Poems from the Manyoshu written by Seichi Taki.  He was writing at a time of State Shinto in 1940 and glosses his remarks with sycophantic imperial sentiments as one might expect.  Nonetheless, he makes some key points.

The spirit of the sun, personified

1) The move from non-personfied to personified
At the beginning of the Manyo period (around the fourth and fifth centuries) there were various beliefs in non-personified mysterious powers, through natures spirits, to personified deities such as ancestral and tutelary beings.

With the rise to hegemony of the Yamato state, personified kami come to dominate.  In other words, as the power of the emperor increased, so did the significance of Amaterasu and clan deities allied with the imperial cause. This encouraged the personification of nature and other spirits.

2) The will of the gods
The will of the kami made itself felt in a variety of ways, through dream, divination, oracles, omens, superstitions and the random acts of everyday life (such as being struck by bird droppings – there’s an amusing story of Abe no Seimei pondering the mess on the head of one unfortunate nobleman).  Official divination, carried out by the Urabe clan, included deer shoulder and tortoise shell techniques, which from what I’ve gathered consisted of reading the cracks in them after they had been roasted, much like reading tea leaves.

One of the techniques particularly appeals to me: the Evening Oracle.  This comprises going to a crossroads at dusk and listening to the snatches of conversation of passers-by.  The words would contain hints as to the will of the kami. How very New Age!  A Dark Age equivalent to the I Ching casting that was so popular in the 1960s…

As for omens, the coming of a lover was signalled by an itch in the eyebrow, a sneeze, or the girdle coming loose (!).  One of the poems makes reference to the belief that thoughts of those at home are transmitted in some way to those travelling.

As I pass over Mt Shiotsu,
My horse stumbles;
Perhaps my dear ones at home
May be thinking of me.

3) Styles of worship
Worship was either in supplication or thanksgiving.  The description Seichi Taki gives of “Manyo man” is oddly familiar and yet engaging in its directness and difference from the modern day…

“Generally in worshipping his god, he set in the earth before the altar a sacred jar filled with saké brewed with special rites of purification; hung up mirrors and beads on the sacred posts; tied his shoulders with a cord of yu fibre, presented the sacred nusa (purification wand) ‘with the sakaki branch fresh from the inmost hill’, and bending on his knees receited his litany (norito)… It was his ideal of life that he should keep himself clean in body and soul, and in constant communion with his gods, to obtain their protection and thereby live and work in a happy world.  The Manyo man lived in a world peopled by multitudes of gods and spirits, genii and fairies.”

Next week I’ll be going to see that multitude of gods at the kamiari festival at Izumo on the Japan Sea.  All of the country’s eight myriad kami gather there and are welcomed in an ancient rite held on a beach at dusk.  It should be an exciting occasion. More of that anon….

I’m back from a brief visit to the wonderful island of Shiraishi.  I don’t know how many times I’ve been round the island, but I do know that each time I wander about I always find something new and intriguing. This time it was the shrines to the side of the Shingon temple, another graphic illustration of shinbutsu shugyo (Shinto-Buddhist syncretism). I’ll write of them in a separate entry, but for the moment I want to strike a seasonal note with some more extracts from my long haibun (essay with haiku).

The autumnal tone is apposite, as I learnt to my shock that the population which had been 740 when I wrote my haibun six years ago has sunk as low as 625. It’s an alarming loss, and one that’s mirrored in many of the rural communities of Japan.  Moreover, at least 60% of the population are aged over 60 years of age. Desolate shrines, diminished festivals, dejected kami is one of the effects as traditions come to the end of the line.  All things must pass, but one can’t help feeling some melancholic mono no aware at the prospect…

(The full haibun can be seen here, and information about Shiraishi here.)

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Autumn drew me back to spring discoveries. Retracing half-forgotten paths, I found the views had not changed, and the rocks looked like familiar old friends. Yet everywhere nature showed signs of winding down. A dead snake, drowsy wasps, mosquitoes too torpid to evade a casual swat. No caterpillar visitors now, barely any butterflies.

There was warmth in the greetings of human friends. These included the folk at the island’s sole café-bar and the delightful Amy Chavez, a free spirit who settled on Shiraishi to become the resident gaijin. Freelance writer and entrepreneur, she had managed to set up a yearly cycle divided between island summer, Bali winter and visits back to the US. Many dream of such a life, but few are brave enough to carry it out.

By now the beach lay empty, abandoned by the summer frolickers, yet the clear October days were sensual and warm. Others seemed to enjoy them just as much as I did.

Autumn daze –
Even the bees
Are basking

I was upbeat at being back, and it was not long before I turned to untrodden ways. Like a magician’s pocket, the island seemed able to supply a never-ending series of surprises. Rocks perched on the top of ledges, threatening to topple over at a touch; a bamboo grove of delicate finery filtering rays of golden sunshine onto the darkened ground; a mysterious cave which once housed a ritual round stone. It seemed impossible such a small island could offer so much.

For the islanders the primary concern is self-sufficiency, and in the early mornings one would pass old women on the way to their allotments. These island folk are doughty souls. I once fell into conversation with a sprightly seventy-five year old and complimented him on his vigour. ‘That’s nothing. You see those two,’ he said pointing at a small fishing boat. ‘He’s eighty-six and she’s seventy-nine.’

You could see the dogged diligence in the island gardens, all neat trimmed bushes and orderly plants in the bare ground. I had passed by in springtime but hadn’t taken the time to stop and stare. Now I delighted in the details. Here would be a bonsai, there a collection of chrysanthemum, and over there a spirit house. Round this corner a roof tile with a ferocious devil, round that one a twisted pine.

November drizzle —
The dozing cat
Opens one eye

Bit by bit, I was getting a grip on the island’s history. There were tombs and artifacts from prehistoric times. It was said that the brother of Emperor Jimmu had stayed here in the legendary sweep of the Yamato clan across the Inland Sea. The Shingon temple had been set up in 1183 to pacify the souls of those killed hereabouts during the Gempei Wars, and the harbour dated from Edo times when its construction served to reclaim land from the sea.

Autumn fruit - persimmon

Autumn flowers - cosmos

Manji applying some healing power.

At the temple’s autumn festival, which featured traditional dancing and the ceremonial burning of prayer sticks, I was given some protective healing by the island eccentric, Manji, using his ascetic powers. A cuddly uncle of a man, he lives in a dilapidated house by the harbour where he exhibits a display of kitsch such that one might take it for a junk shop. A friend to the wild life, he is followed wherever he goes by hungry birds, like a Japanese St. Francis. A friend to children too, he had once dressed up as Urashimataro, the Peach Boy, to welcome visitors to the island. The world needs more like him.

Falling leaves –
But you’re as chirpy
As a child

On my walks I had often come across small shrines and recognised them as part of a miniature ‘88 temple pilgimage’. Many of the Inland Sea islands have them because of their closeness to Shikoku, where Kukai (aka Kobo Daishi) had founded the original. I imagined the Shiraishi trail would take a few hours at most, like others I had walked. I was wrong.  It takes two full days.  Pretty amazing for an island that takes an hour and forty minutes to walk round.

The Edo-era follk who set up the route knew the topography well, for the small shrines are set with geomantic care in places with a numinous aura. Some are in the thick of groves, some on cliff edges overlooking the sea, and some in the clefts of enormous boulders. One even sits inside the ruin of a sixth-century tomb.

On a walk one day I had an unexpected surprise. Rounding a corner, I found myself faced with a hillside palette of multicoloured hues. There must have been something about the location that compelled the trees to dress up before their colleagues. It felt as if I’d stumbled on hidden treasure. No showy colours, no fiery red maples or bright gingko yellows, but subtle shadings woven into an evergreen background. Not a soul was to be seen: the picture was mine alone.

Autumn beauty —
The deafening silence
Of birdsong

With winter approaching, island life was winding down and it was getting time for me to leave. Morning walks had given way to afternoon strolls, and I spent the last few days walking the western side of the island to view the spectacular sunsets. Sometimes the beauty was so poignant that it tugged at the heartstrings.

A wintry chill –
Hard to hear the sound
Of the setting sun

Before I left, I revisited the table where I’d sat in the spring sunshine and written with such enthusiasm. There was little of the vibrancy that had been so evident before, only the persistent cawing of crows as they returned home. One group flew right across the face of the sun, black spots against the liquid orange, before heading for a small uninhabited island for the night. And as the fiery red glow spread slowly along the far horizon, the busy boats merged into darkness. My cycle of seasons had run its course.

Winter departure:
My heart reaching out
In its wake

In 2006 I spent four months on the island of Shiraishi in the Inland Sea and fell in love with it. I’ve often been back and I’m heading off there again tomorrow.

Following my sojourn on the island, I wrote a long haibun about it entitled Spring Buds and Autumn Leaves, the theme of which was, appropriately enough, arriving in spring and leaving in autumn (I skipped the summer as it was too hot).  Amy Chavez, who lives on the island and has become a good friend, was kind enough to put an illustrated version on the net. It runs to nineteen pages in all and can be seen in its entirety here. (It takes a minute or two to load because of the many colour pictures.)

The excerpts below are taken from the spring section and focus on Shinto themes.

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Arrival at Shiraishi from the Okayama mainland. The island has a population of about 740, no traffic lights and not a single convenience store. On the other hand, it has a wealth of history, sacred rocks and island trails.

Spring in Shiraishi. Springtime sunshine and falling-in-love time. Late spring when the days are warm and golden, the blues brilliant, and nature alive with the joys of creation. Here one passes from the frantic pace of modern Japan and into a world of unhurried ways. Here time slows down, days lengthen, and anxiety kicks off its shoes to enjoy the lulling massage of gentle waves. Here is a world apart.

What is it about small islands? Self-contained, secluded, surrounded by water, perhaps they remind us of our origins. Here we can return to a private paradise, away from the busy bustle of the mainland. Here one feels closer to nature, closer to the eternal verities, closer to the source of life itself.

Urban blues dissolve
In golds and greens and marine:
Still ocean mind

Japan is a country of islands, yet sadly many have been destroyed by the rapacious demands of industry. From Okinawa to Tsushima to the islands off Hiroshima I had travelled in quest of an island getaway, yet it seemed wherever I went the Concrete State had always got there before me. Tacky and tasteless tourist traps mar the most famous, and one soon learns to avoid them.

By contrast, the places where people tell you there’s nothing to see are often the ones with most allure. I once came across an appealing place with a population of just fifty people, not a single one of whom was under pensionable age. A few dilapidated houses, a sad-looking shrine, and one sole vehicle to drive the one short stretch of tarmac. You could understand why the young had left. Yet you’d never find a more cheerful community, all hearty, laughing and toothless. It was like the mythical island of Chinese legend where people live happily forever.

Benten island, with its shrine dedicated to the female muse of art and song

It was not with high hopes that I first came to Shiraishi, for an island with an International Villa hardly speaks of seclusion. Yet from the moment I got off the boat and walked round the headland I was entranced. There in front of me, serene on the blue sea, was a small island with evocative shrine and torii. It was a gorgeous sunny day, and in my enchantment I seemed to hear the sound of sirens singing.

Wave after wave;
There’s music softly playing
On Benten Island

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Not far from the island’s sole temple is a landscaped area beneath a hillside shrine to Inari, deity of rice and business. Follow the path and on turning a corner you are greeted all of a sudden by the magical sight of red torii leading up the hillside. It was such a pleasing sight, with such a strong sense of rightness, that it brought an involuntary smile to my face.

Inari shrine. The trail leads up to a small cave in the rocks.

What spirit of place
Could possess these mountainsides:
Red torii rising

The trail leads up to a large rock beneath which a cave-like opening houses a rock shrine. Mysterious, dark, womb-like, it brought to mind the narrow recesses where Taoist sages sought inner peace. It was surely in such places that early Shinto was cultivated, for incomers from Korea brought with them shamanistic notions of rocks as vessels for un-seen spirits. It was with quickening heart-beat that I entered the dark, cramped space, only to find an offering that spoke not of ancient mystery but rather modern consumerism.

Some rocks just stand out

Spring bounty –
But for the kami
Tinned pineapple

Beyond the cave the path leads up to a hilltop. Here as elsewhere on the island one can’t help being struck – if that is the right word – by the remarkable rocks that are such a feature of the island. They tell of elemental forces, and some are awe-inspiring.

‘Until you can feel, and keenly feel, that stones have character, that stones have tones and values, the whole artistic meaning of a Japanese garden cannot be un- derstood,’ wrote Lafcadio Hearn. The same could be said for the Shiraishi landscape.

Hawk rock

As I wandered the island hills, I came to realise how vital the rocks are to the spirit of place. There is one shaped like a hawk’s head, one like a phallus, and one that hovers magically on the edge of a cliff. Some draw one like a magnet, their solid surface vibrating with a special resonance, and when I stood for a while by one such rock, soaking up the atmosphere, I was joined by a small bee:

Hovering, buzzing –
Can it be that you too
Sense the rock’s power?

The native reverence for rocks is evident in the way that many are used to house small religious statues and offerings for the gods. It brought out my pagan inclinations, awakening spiritual yearnings deadened by an urban existence. Under one massive boulder, on the edge of a precipice, I came across the threefold manifestation of Zao Gongen, patron of mountain ascetics. It seemed delightfully impish.

Zao Gongen, tucked delightfully under a rock

Shinto rocks:
Stones drinking saké
Spirits stoned

Amy Chavez getting into the spirit of things with one of the island characters

Island festival

Barefoot
On the way to heaven:
Island of the gods

Beach shrine: love the setting, love the simplicity

Simply divine:
Across the Inland Sea
Red carpet

Shiraishi sunset seen from the International Villa – it was time for me to say goodbye till autumn

A shugendo practitioner blowing his own conch-horn

The haiku group I belong to published a small volume in 2007 entitled Seasons of the Gods on the theme of Shinto. It contained an afterword by Toji Kamata, who has described himself as a freelance Shinto priest. He’s written some great articles about prehistoric times, and he’s fond of shugendo (mountain ascetism).  I attended one of his lectures once at the Kyoto Arts College, which he started off by blowing on a conch-horn. That got students’ attention!  He then went on to talk about the Shinto aspects of Hayao Miyazaki’s films, thereby linking the ancient traditions with the mindset of today’s young.

Here are a couple of short extracts from Toji Kamata’s short piece on ‘Haiku and Shinto’.

The stillness –
Great rocks take in
Cicada cries.

In this haiku by Basho, the ‘voices’ of both rocks and cicadas may be heard in communication, or interpretation, with each other: a living world networked together.  Animal, vegetable or mineral; wind, snow, earth or stone; sun, moon, and stars; mountains, rivers, grasses, trees – in haiku, any one of them may take centre stage.

…….

The shortest poem in the world, haikai (or haiku), is a form of literature that expresses itself by catching both the dynamism and the inner workings of the life creation energy residing in all the phenomena of the universe.  The enjoyment of this haikai world, in which ‘not only people, but everything speaks’, is something I truly love.

Heaven, earth and man,
Each to tell its story –
A banquet indeed!

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For a selection of Shinto haiku from the same volume, please click here.

The Hailstone Haiku Circle has a webpage called Icebox. 
Seasons of the Gods was co-edited by Stephen Gill, Duro Jaiye, Hisashi Miyazaki and Jane Wieman.
Orders can be made here: http://hailhaiku.wordpress.com/publications/