Oceans, Forests, and Kami: Environment, Location, and Spirituality in Miyazaki’s Films By Anna Blagrove, University of East Anglia PhD Researcher
Anime director, Hayao Miyazaki. (pic by Alberto Pizzoli, AFP/Getty Images)
(The following is the outline of a longer paper which can be read in full at this link. For those interested in the subject, there are details about ecological themes in the films.)
Anna Blagrove writes: In this paper I examine how environment, space and place is used in the films of Studio Ghibli and to what effect. I link these ideas with the representation of traditional Japanese spirituality in the form of Shinto and Buddhism.
I argue that the narratives of Studio Ghibli’s films often have a strong sense of location, community, and harmony which is threatened by industry or pollution. Frequently there are spirits or kami, that communicate these themes. I refer specifically to My Neighbour Totoro, Spirited Away, and Ponyo whilst also commenting on the wider Ghibli filmography. I frame my arguments by focusing on the themes of environment, location, and spirituality in turn.
Through textual analysis, I examine how the characters (both human and magical), and narrative, as well as Ghibli animation aesthetics convey these themes. I review existing literature on the subject and access published interviews with Miyazaki to inform my conclusions.
Totoro, from the Miyazaki Hayao film – an exemplar of local folk Shinto? (courtesy fanpop.com)
I will look at the wider context of environmental issues in modern-day Japan, including urban sprawl and the threat of earthquake and tsunami. Finally I will draw some conclusions of the overriding ‘morals of the story’ relating to environment and spirituality.
Shinto is the ancient indigenous belief system of Japan. Not as dogmatic as a religion, it is a set of beliefs that connect the past to the present. It has elements of ritual, folklore, and animism. Shinto is concerned with the interrelatedness of all things including nature and humans. It recognises that deities ( kami ) are inherent everywhere in the natural world, and the need to pay respect and worship at shrines ( jinja ) and their sacred gates (torii ) in places of natural beauty. Buddhism is intrinsically linked to Shinto but has more of a focus on the afterlife and ancestry.
The very special spirit of place on Yakushima was celebrated by Hayao Miyazaki in the anime film, Princess Mononoke
In our modern times, Mt Oyama (1,252 meters) in the Tanzawa mountains of Kanagawa Prefecture makes for a pleasant excursion from Tokyo or Yokohama, but historically Oyama was a site of religious pilgrimage particularly popular with Edoites (modern Tokyo was known as Edo before the mid-19th century).
The tour I joined began at a Tougakubou, a shukubo inn at the foot of the mountain. Shukubo are inns that specifically serve the needs of religious pilgrims. As we donned our gyo-i (a kind of happi worn by pilgrims), the guide explained that Oyama has been a sacred site for at least 4,000 years, although the mountain’s Shinto shrine, Oyama Afuri Shrine, dates back to the 10th emperor (ie, approximately 2,000 years ago) and its affiliated Buddhist temple, Oyama-dera Temple, was founded by a priest named Roben in 755.
We were then told how during the Edo Period (1603-1868), merchant associations, guilds and neighborhoods of Edo would send representative groups to worship on the mountain at least once a year. Travel in those days was highly restricted by the shogunate. Traveling all the way to Mt Fuji, Japan’s ultimate religious mountain, required special travel permits, while Mt Oyama was designated as a “short trip” for which permission was not required. Consequently, Mt Oyama became a popular substitute pilgrimage among Edoites. Needless to say, even with the goal of religious pilgrimage, traveling as a group meant there was plenty of lively fun, too. Our tour was designed to emulate the experience.
We began with a blessing in the shrine room of the inn, a Shinto priest offering prayers for our safe ascent and return. Each of us was given a small wooden “sword” on which to write our particular prayer for the journey while one of the guides carried a large wooden sword (about a meter long) representing prayers on behalf of all of us. This, too, emulated the Edo Period experience, when groups came to the mountain as representatives of their friends, neighbors, or colleagues, and so carried their prayers, as well.
Our first stop was the Roben Waterfall, a thin stream of water
dropping nearly four meters from the mouth of a dragon and then flowing
into the Oyama River that forms threads through this
community. Traditional pilgrims bathed in one of several similar falls
in this area before beginning their ascent. Roben himself is said to
have used this one, hence the name. These days, visitors can only look,
but not enter the water.
Next we passed by a number of shukubo inns and tofu restaurants on Tofu-zaka, a long slow incline. Because of plentiful pure water, this area is particularly known for its excellent tofu. We are promised a tofu meal upon our return.
Just across the Oyama River is the start of Koma Sando, regarded as the initial approach to mountain. Pilgrims ascend 362 steps, lined with shops and restaurants, to reach the trailhead. It takes about 15 minutes to traverse the Koma Sando, more if you stop for a snack or to admire the wares. Koma means spinning top, a popular Japanese wooden toy that is made and sold in this area. In the Edo Period the spinning of a koma was seen as an analogy for money circulating — something desired by merchants — making these koma a popular talisman among the merchant class.
Photos: VICKI L BEYER
Fortunately, the 362 steps are broken by 27 landings. Tiles depicting tops connote which landing one is on. There is a signboard explaining the “code.” Trivia questions are posted in Japanese on some stairs, taunting that the answer is just a little further on. Finally, a sign informs pilgrims that they have reached the top step.
But this is by no means the end of the journey.
From here one must choose whether to walk or ride the cable car. Our group chose to continue on foot, up more stairs to a small shrine from whence the trail divides into the “otoko slope” (steeper and more arduous) and the “onna slope”. We went for the “onna slope”, resulting in a 40-minute climb to Oyama-dera. Along the way, we could enjoy lush woodland and a burbling stream. We also spotted four deer grazing on the hillside above us. Our guide explained that deer and wild boar were common in the area, and recently bears had also been sighted.
Along the trail were signs explaining seven “mysteries” including a spring of pure water associated with Kobo Daishi (774-835), the great Buddhist evangelist who travelled the length and breadth of Japan, and a Jizo relief in stone said to have been carved by Kobo Daishi using his fingernails.
When we reached Oyama-dera we were greeted by another long steep staircase, divided by stone lanterns and lined with small bronze statues of Fudo Myo-o, a Buddhist guardian deity. The guide explained that the maple trees growing in this area were brought in from the Kyoto area. In the late fall they turn a spectacular red, a sight that draws huge crowds.
The temple at the top of the stairs boasts a spectacular view of Enoshima, Sagami Bay and the Miura Peninsula beyond. The temple itself is covered with intricate wood carvings and houses three 13th century Buddhist images cast, unusually, in iron.
Our final destination was Afuri Oyama Shrine. Here we were met by a Shinto priest who told us more about the shrine’s history and practices, while leading us up a last flight of stairs and into a small worship hall. We placed the small wooden swords inscribed with our prayers onto a special table between our seating and the inner sanctuary of the shrine. The priest performed a small ceremony to send our prayers to the gods and concluded by waving his purifying white pom-pom over our bowed heads. Next, two local boys performed a kagura dance for us. The priest explained that kagura means “entertaining the gods”, but we are also entertained by this rare and special spectacle.
After the ceremony we had time to explore the shrine grounds before catching the return cable car. One feature we were advised not to miss is the spring underneath the main shrine, where we filled our water bottles with the shrine’s sacred water.
And, of course, having gained higher elevation, there is also the
view. Michelin has awarded two stars to this expansive view, which now
includes not only Enoshima, Sagami Bay and the Miura Peninsula, but also
extends all the way to Tokyo Bay and the Boso Peninsula.
We made our descent by cable car and then back down the stairs of the Koma Sando to regroup at Tougakubou for a sumptuous lunch featuring the local tofu fixed in a variety of ways. In keeping with the theme of emulating Edo Period pilgrims, we were entertained throughout our meal by traditional entertainers including acrobats, musicians and dancers, as well as by a few audience participation games that were, apparently, popular in those times.
The explanations and entertainment provided by the tour made this a
much deeper experience than merely ascending the mountain would have
been. It was easy to see why Edo people were so eager to make these
religious pilgrimages with their additional entertainment and
conviviality, and I felt like I had become one of them.
Throughout this year, a series of elaborate ceremonies are being
held in Japan to mark the enthronement of Emperor Naruhito and the
beginning of the new imperial era, named Reiwa, said to mean “beautiful
harmony.”
The Daijosai, the most secretive and arguably controversial part of those ceremonies, was set to begin Thursday evening and continue into the early hours of Friday. The ceremony is a Shinto rite during which a new emperor prays for peace and a rich harvest for the nation.
The ceremony, which originated centuries ago, is mysterious
because the exclusive ritual is attended only by the emperor and a
handful of female assistants, all wearing traditional-style dress, and
according to Shinto beliefs involves deities descending to the ground
during the ceremony.
What exactly is the Daijosai, and what will
happen inside the two temporary shrines at the Imperial Palace in Tokyo?
Here we examine in more detail the Shinto rite set to take place from 5
p.m. Thursday until 3 a.m. Friday:
What is Daijosai? The Daijosai, which can be roughly translated to mean “great food offering ritual,” is the last of the three main imperial ceremonies making the enthronement of a new emperor, following the Kenji to Shokei no Gi in May and Sokui no Rei last month. Compared to the two other events, the Daijosai is a more religious and private ceremony for the emperor and is held in autumn after the year’s rice harvest.
It is a variation
of Niinamesai, an annual ceremony in which the emperor offers gratitude
for the year’s rice harvest and prays for the peace and prosperity of
the nation.
The Daijosai is the first such ceremony following an enthronement, and is considered the most important rite for an emperor.
What’s the origin of the Daijosai? According to the Imperial Household Agency, the Daijosai originates from the Niinamesai, which is mentioned in the Kojiki, Japan’s oldest existing historical record, which was compiled in 712.
Until the
mid-seventh century, there was no clear distinction between the first
Niinamesai after an enthronement and other Niinamesai conducted
afterward.
Emperor Tenmu, who reigned from 673 to 686, was the
first to distinguish between the Niinamesai and the Daijosai, the agency
said.
Has the imperial family carried out the ritual every time a new emperor ascended to the throne since then? No. Although often touted as the world’s oldest monarchy, the emperor lost control of the country in ancient times, and samurai effectively ruled the country for centuries from the late 12th century to the late 19th century.
Hit hard by financial difficulties, the emperor did not
conduct a Daijosai ceremony for more than 220 years until the late 17th
century.
What exactly will the emperor do during Daijosai?For the rite, two temporary shrines called the Yuki Hall and the Suki Hall respectively are set up within the compound of the Imperial Palace in Tokyo.
On Thursday evening, the emperor will enter the main room
of Yuki Hall, the interior of which will be lit dimly by only
traditional-style oil lamps. In the room, newly harvested rice, fish,
abalones, fruit, chestnuts, sake and other food from across the country
will be placed on wooden plates.
The emperor will pick up each
food item and place it on leaves, dozens of which will be arranged on
the floor, to dedicate it as an offering to Amaterasu Omikami and other
Shinto gods that have descended to the room. In Shinto belief, the
goddess Amaterasu Omikami is said to be the ancestor of the imperial
family.
The emperor then will read out a prayer offering gratitude for peace and the harvest, and will wish for the same for the nation.
The
foods are then eaten by the emperor together with the gods in the room.
The same rite will be repeated in the Suki Hall, where it will continue
until 3 a.m. Friday.
Why does the emperor repeat the same rite in two halls? The Yuki Hall, located in the east, represents eastern Japan and the Suki Hall western Japan. For that reason, rice from eastern Japan is dedicated to the gods in the Yuki Hall while rice from western Japan is used for the rite in the Suki Hall.
In ancient times, the Yuki
Hall in most cases represented the Omi region, which is today’s Shiga
Prefecture, while the Suki Hall represented Tamba or Bicchu, which are
today’s Hyogo and Okayama prefectures respectively.
For the Reiwa
succession, rice from Tochigi Prefecture represents eastern Japan and
that from Kyoto Prefecture western Japan. Those areas were chosen based
on an ancient-style fortune-telling ritual using sea turtle shells.
In
the ritual, a fortune-teller reads signs indicated by cracks on turtle
shells heated with fire, and locations of the rice fields are chosen on
that basis, according to the Imperial Household Agency.
What is controversial about Daijosai? The act of the emperor praying directly to Shinto deities, including Amaterasu Omikami, marks the event as highly religious. Some scholars and activists are concerned that the Shinto ritual violates Article 20 of the Constitution, which stipulates the separation of state and religion.
The principle is considered particularly important
by historians given Japan’s past militarism in the 1930s and 40s, which
was grounded in state-centered nationalism that centered on people’s
worship of Emperor Hirohito, posthumously known as Emperor Showa, as a
living god.
The Article 20 of the postwar Constitution reads: “No
religious organization shall receive any privileges from the State, nor
exercise any political authority … The State and its organs shall
refrain from religious education or any other religious activity.”
The
state government plans to spend ¥2.44 billion for the Daijosai,
including ¥1.9 billion on construction of the two main shrines and other
temporary structures — which will be all dismantled after the planned
public viewing.
Hundreds of people have filed a lawsuit against
the state government, arguing that such funding violates Article 20 and
that their freedom of religion has been damaged.
What does the government say about the claim? The government at the same time has acknowledged that the Daijosai is more religious, unlike other enthronement-related ceremonies.
For that
reason the government is handling Daijosai as a separate imperial
activity, rather than a “matter of state,” to allow the emperor’s
involvement while respecting the Constitution.
Who will attend the Daijosai this year? Besides the emperor, only a handful of female assistants are allowed to enter the two halls, to help him, according to public broadcaster NHK.
About
700 guests are invited to wait outside the Yuki and Suki halls during
the ceremony. They will not be able to see anything happening inside the
halls.
Invited guests include Prime Minister Shinzo Abe, current
Cabinet ministers, speakers of the Lower House, the president of the
Upper House, Supreme Court judges and dozens of Diet members. No
representatives from foreign countries are invited.
Can the general public watch the ceremony live? No. However, general visitors will be allowed to enter the compound and see the structures used for the ceremony from Nov. 21 through Dec. 8, from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m.
Visitors are asked to come to the entrance of Sakashita-mon Gate of the Imperial Palace by 3 p.m.
For those who wish to read in detail about the sacred space in Daijosai and its connection with Ise Jingu’s twenty year renewal, please see this article by Gunther Niitschke.
How did you get the job? It was through my senior in my college club. She recommended me personally as I was looking for a job. I had good manners so that’s why I was chosen.
How long did you do the job? I worked for two years at the Shiramine Shrine in Kyoto. It’s famous for kemari (traditional kick-ball). When I graduated, I gave up being a miko as I got a full-time job.
What training did you get? Very little that I remember. Just about bowing at the right places and keeping good behaviour. No fooling about, that sort of thing.
How about the clothing? We could borrow red hakama and white kimono from the shrine. Because you have to tie the belt very tightly around the middle, it felt a bit restricted and uncomfortable. I remember sweating a lot in summer.
How often did you work? Actually I wasn’t there every day, but just called for special occasions such as festivals, weddings, New Year and Setsubun etc.
What did you have to do? Selling things in the shrine shop mostly. Cleaning up and sweeping too.
How long was your working day? We worked from 10.00 in the morning to 4.00 or 5.00 in the afternoon. We could get a free meal for lunch. I think we got something like ¥5000 to ¥7000 a day.
How would you describe the experience, looking back? It was good. There were three priests and two miko, and we could enjoy working together. At festivals it was very busy, but we did not have to work too hard.
Is there anything you regret? Yes, I wish I had studied more about shrine life while I was there. At the time I was just a student and not interested in history and things like that. Still I’m not religious, but now I feel I should know more than I do.
Ema of Shiramine Shrine depicting kemari played by Heian nobility. The shrine now claims to be the home of Japanese football with visits by the country’s top soccer players.
On Thursday evening, Emperor Naruhito will dress in pure white robes and be ushered into a dark wooden hall for his last major enthronement rite: spending the night with a “goddess.” Centered on Amaterasu Omikami, the sun goddess from whom conservatives believe the emperor has descended, the Daijosai is the most overtly religious ceremony of the emperor’s accession rituals after his father Akihito’s abdication.
Scholars and the government say it consists of a feast, rather than, as has been persistently rumored, conjugal relations with the goddess. Although Naruhito’s grandfather Hirohito, in whose name soldiers fought World War Two, was later stripped of his divinity, the ritual continues.
That has prompted anger – and lawsuits – from critics who say it
smacks of the militaristic past and violates the constitutional
separation of religion and state, as the government pays the cost of 2.7
billion yen.
WHAT HAPPENS? At about 7 p.m., Naruhito enters a specially-built shrine compound by firelight, disappearing behind white curtains. In a dimly-lit room he kneels by piled straw mats draped in white, said to be a resting place for the goddess, as two shrine maidens bring in offerings of food, from rice to abalone, for Naruhito to use in filling 32 plates made from oak leaves.
Then he bows and prays for peace for the Japanese people before eating rice, millet and rice wine “with” the goddess.The entire ritual is repeated in another room, ending at about 3 a.m.
John Breen in 2011, researcher at Kyoto’s Nichibunken
Long a secret, the ceremony was re-enacted this year by NHK public television, an unprecedented move scholars say may have been a government initiative to dispel rumors.”There is a bed, there is a coverlet, and the emperor keeps his distance from it,” said John Breen of Kyoto’s International Research Center for Japanese Studies, adding that de-mystifying the ceremony could be a government defense.
“Kingmaking is a sacred business, it’s transforming a man or a woman
into something other than a man or a woman,” he said, pointing to
mystical elements in Britain’s coronation functions. “So the Japanese
government’s denial that there’s anything mystical to it is bizarre, but
the purpose is pretty clear – it’s to fend off accusations there’s
something unconstitutional going on.”
HOW ANCIENT IS THE TRADITION? Believed to have started in the 700s and observed for about 700 years, the ritual was then interrupted for nearly three centuries, a gap that Breen said led to the loss of much of its original meaning.
Although believed to have initially been one of the less important
enthronement rites, the ceremony gained status and its current form from
1868, as Japan began to turn itself into a modern nation-state, unified
under the emperor.
WHAT IS THE FUNDING CONTROVERSY? At a news conference, the emperor’s younger brother, Crown Prince Akishino, wondered if it was “appropriate” to use public money, suggesting instead the private funds of the imperial family, which would necessitate a far smaller ceremony.
But Koichi Shin, the head of a group of 300 people suing the government to halt the ritual, and demand damages of 10,000 yen each for “pain and suffering”, says that would still not be satisfactory, as the private funds are still tax money.
With part of one lawsuit thrown out by the Supreme Court and another set for hearing after the rite, the court battle is mostly symbolic, as concern over nationalism and the emperor fades.
At then Emperor Akihito’s accession in 1990, protests were louder and bigger, including rocket attacks ahead of some of the rituals, while 1,700 people sued amid harsh media coverage.
“Emperor Hirohito was responsible for the war, but Akihito has done a lot to soften the family’s image,” said Shin, a 60-year-old office worker. “But I think showing these ceremonies on television solidifies the idea of the emperor as religion.”
*********************
For those who wish to read in detail about the sacred space in Daijosai
and its connection with Ise Jingu’s twenty year renewal, please see this article by Gunther Niitschke.
Yasukuni Shrine in Tokyo remains a highly disputed space because of its symbolic role. This is seen most clearly in the adjacent museum, which takes a one-sided view of Japan’s role in WW2. The use of the shrine for nationalist ends has been highlighted in a popular manga by Kobayashi Yoshinori.
The popularity of the manga helps shed light on the bitterness of Korean and Chinese feelings towards Japan, for it claims in no uncertain terms that the Japanese Army did not invade Asian countries, but liberated them from colonial rule and goes on to assert that Nanking Massacre was a fabrication, that comfort women were volunteers, and that Japan was victimised by the West as exemplified by the war crime of Hiroshima.
The following paragraphs are extracted from ‘Revisioning a Japanese Spiritual Recovery through Manga’ in The Asia-Pacific Journal, Vol. 11, Issue 47, No. 2, November 25, 2013, by Mark Shields, Associate Professor of Comparative Humanities and Asian Thought at Bucknell University (Lewisburg, PA), and Japan Foundation Visiting Research Fellow at the International Research Center for Japanese Studies (Kyoto, Japan, 2013–14). (Please note that the headings are mine, not those of the original article.)
*************
What is State Shinto? The basic “theology” of State Shinto, at least in its later, wartime incarnation, might be summarized as follows: (a) all Japanese belong to a single national body (kokutai), whose “head” is the emperor—not any specific person so much as the “unbroken” Yamato imperial line; (b) the Imperial House, by virtue of its lineal connection to the heavenly kami, as confirmed in the sacred classics, is sacrosanct and inviolable; (c) all Japanese, by virtue of being members of the national body, owe their complete allegiance and filial piety to the emperor, a living kami; (d) by extension, all Japanese must obey the directives of the (imperial) state, even to the point of giving their lives for the kokutai. This is also the theological foundation of Yasukuni Shrine—albeit with a greater emphasis on the glories of self-sacrifice and martyrdom.
Yasukuni background The shrine that would become Yasukuni was founded in 1869, a year following the Meiji Restoration, as a place for “pacifying” the spirits of all those killed in wars fought for the “nation.” Originally known as Tokyo Shokonsha (literally, Tokyo shrine for the invocation of the dead), the name was changed to Yasukuni Jinja in 1879 at the behest of the Meiji Emperor. As Kobayashi notes, “Yasukuni” was chosen to imply “pacify the nation,” and in a (State) Shinto context this was understood to mean that the primary if not sole purpose of this shrine was to pacify the spirits of the war dead, which would help bring tranquility (and protection) to the national body (kokutai).
Administered directly by the ministries of the Army and Navy, by the time of the Russo-Japanese War (1904–1905), Yasukuni had entered into popular consciousness as a symbol of Japanese imperial conquest and a focus for the state-sponsored cult of the war dead. Today, Yasukuni enshrines the “souls” of 2.5 million people, including roughly 57,000 women, 21,000 Koreans, 28,000 Taiwanese, at least three Britons and, most controversially by far, 14 individuals indicted as “Class A” war criminals.
All of these men and women “offered their lives to the nation in the upheavals that brought forth the modern state” between 1853 and the present. As such, according to [manga writer] Kobayashi (and Yasukuni itself), those enshrined at Yasukuni are anything but “mere victims”. They are rather “martyrs” (junnansha), “heroic spirits” (eirei), and “(protective) gods of the nation” (gokokushin). As we shall see, the intertwined tropes of martyrdom and victimhood play an important role in the attempt to “restore” Yasukuni—and by extension, the true Japanese spirit and identity.
State Shinto and the Kokugaku roots In contrast to the coverage of the various political issues raised by Yasukuni, the more specific religious or “theological” elements are often overlooked in popular coverage as well as within scholarly analysis. Yasukuni is, after all, a “shrine,” and one that has played a central role in the formulation and expression of a particular religious ideology that is known today as “State Shinto”.
While there remains much debate over the precise meaning of State Shinto, there is consensus that modern Shinto nationalism has roots in the so-called National Learning or Nativist School (kokugaku) of the mid- to late Edo period (1600–1867). While Motoori Norinaga (1730–1801) is the most significant early Figure in Shinto revivalism, it was his self-proclaimed successor, Hirata Atsutane (1776–1843), who transfigured nativist doctrine into a more “heroic” and populist form, focused on loyalty, patriotism and attunement to the spirits of the dead.
Continuing role of Yasukuni as a symbolic space Although State Shinto was officially “disestablished” after the war, and has, along with ultra-nationalism and militarism, come to be repudiated by the vast majority of the Japanese people, the institutionalized form of Shinto as embodied in the postwar Association of Shinto Shrines (Jinja Honcho) contains more than a few hints of its more obviously politicized forerunner.
This is most clear in the promotion (and widely accepted notion) of Shinto as a cultural (if not “ethnic”) form that is somehow inherent to being “Japanese” (a belief that often goes hand-in-hand with a reluctance to label Shinto a “religion”). Indeed, Shinto-consciousness—or, since the word “Shinto” itself is not commonly employed in Japanese, kami, jinja, or matsuri-consciousness—plays a significant role in contemporary Japanese national identity, though only when reframed in terms that make it appear “cultural” rather than religious or political.
Explicitly anti-political and anti-religious, this “folkism” or ethno-nationalism (minzokushugi) as a general pattern of thought remains strong in contemporary Japan, and can be readily tapped into by those whose aims are in fact political.
On a recent visit to the charming town of Tomonoura I was delighted to come across an alternative to mainstream Shinto in the form of the two ladies pictured above. It happened at a so-called ‘power spot’ on the island of Sensuijima, a ten-minute ferry ride from the Tomonoura port.
Because of the power spot boom in recent years, it is not uncommon these days to come across places advertising themselves as power spots, as in the poster below. Though it proudly proclaims Sensui Island to be a ‘powerspot’, the main image is of leisure activities. It shows how the spiritual frisson of ‘a powerspot’ gives an extra dimension to sightseeing attractions.
While walking around the attractive coastline of the island, I came across two females playing music on a sandy beach. They were facing out to sea and I recognised from the sound of the flute that they were playing music for the kami. What I didn’t recognise was one of the instruments – a handmade kinderharp, so I took the opportunity to ask about it (see top picture).
It turned out that one of the women was from Nara and the other from Izumo, and that they shared an interest in spiritual matters. This was of their own devising, based on intuitive response to place and person.
On this occasion the two women had come to Sensui Island because the island had the same kind of rock as Nushima, the small island off Awajijima where the primal pair of Izanagi and Izanami are said to have descended in the origin myth of Japan. (See here for details.)
Having sensed a spiritual power on Nushima, the women had learnt that Sensui Island had the same kind of rock formation and were exploring whether there was a similar energy. And to aid them in their endeavour, they were beseeching the kami of place to favour their cause by offering music on flute and harp.
Power spot Sensuijima, seen from the ferry boat to Tomonoura
When talk turned to the transmission of energy, one of the women claimed to have special ‘hand power’. She performed a brief healing ceremony by holding her hand over my heart while her friend played a musical accompaniment. It had a calming effect, and I felt a strange kind of internal warmth.
Being socially conservative, Japan is often thirty or more years behind the West in emerging fashions (smoking, gay rights and vegetarianism provide examples). The activities of the two women not only spoke to a New Age influence, but recalled the search for authenticity by the hippies of the 1960s who turned to standing stones and ancient sites – ‘power spots’.
But quite apart from the Western borrowings, I couldn’t help feeling that there was here too a throwback to the ancient Japanese tradition of direct communication with the kami by ‘miko’ shamans. As in the past, the women represent an unconventional and unregulated form of spiritual practice that is threatening to the male guardians of authority. It helps explain why the Association of Shrines is wary of endorsing the phenomenon of power spots. Clearly it is out of step with the ‘invented tradition’ of post-Meiji Shrine Shinto, with its emperor-centred policies and nationalistic leanings.
For those of us in search of communion with nature through heightened consciousness, the women offer a living alternative to the fossilised rituals of orthodoxy. They embody indeed an inspiring example of an independent search for truth conducted outside the narrow perimeters of religious dogma and prescription.
Here were free spirits on a power spot pilgrimage. It was a most liberating encounter.
Sacred Benten Island, en route to Sensui, dedicated fittingly to the female deity of music, creativity and the arts
