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Spirituality

March 7, 2015 / John D.

Meditation at a shaman's rock in Korea. Candles, alcohol and nature...

Previously Green Shinto carried a posting on agnosticism, which resonated with several readers, and it’s a theme I’d like to develop further as thoughts turn towards the celebration of spring. It’s a time when, in tune with nature, new ideas spring up and blossom.

"Nature is my god." - Mikhail Gorbachev

Spirituality as a concept is increasingly attractive to many in advanced countries, as outmoded belief systems give way to individual development. In a recent poll in the US about a quarter of the population described themselves as spiritual but not religious. Many such people see nature religions as a modern alternative to a God-based religion. The pragmatic proponent of Perestroika, Mikhail Gorbachev, put it this way: “I believe in the cosmos. All of us are linked to the cosmos. So nature is my god. To me, nature is sacred. Trees are my temples and forests are my cathedrals. Being at one with nature.”

The modern aversion to traditional religion stems from it being rooted in a non-scientific past with a tendency to create barriers between believers and non-believers. ‘Religions are divisive and quarrelsome,’ said the late, great Alan Watts. ‘They are a form of one-upmanship because they depend upon separating the “saved” from the “damned,” the true believers from the heretics, the in-group from the out-group.’

Sam Harris, one of ‘the Holy Trinity of Atheism’, has written a book on the subject, seen from a modern scientific angle. In Waking Up: A Guide to Spirituality without Religion, he explores the subject by integrating scientific and spiritual viewpoints. Harris is a well-known sceptic with no belief in God or gods, yet he sees the possibility for a more fulfilling life than the simple pursuit of materialism:

Rediscovering ties to nature...

“Although the claim seems to annoy believers and atheists equally, separating spirituality from religion is a perfectly reasonable thing to do. It is to assert two important truths simultaneously. Our world is dangerously riven by religious doctrines that all educated people should condemn, and yet there is more to understanding the human condition than science and secular culture generally admit.”

Harris considers the nature of happiness, and how in the modern age it consists of repeated acts of gratification. ‘Is there a form of happiness beyond the mere repetition of pleasure and the avoidance of pain?’ he asks.

His book pursues the possibility of lasting fulfilment at a deeper level, and the solution he comes up with has to do with attaining a state of ‘selfless well-being’. Meditation is one of the practices he advocates.

The gateless gate of torii, open to all who wish to commune with the transcendent, is a potent symbol for those seeking greater spirituality. It neither demands membership, nor imposes a mandatory doctrine. It is a belief system with no belief. It calls us back to nature, back to the contemplation of the mystery of life, back to a state of grace. It calls us home.

The torii – symbolic opening into a sacred world and open to everyone

Kojiki translation (Heldt)

March 2, 2015 / John D. / 1 Comment

Green Shinto previously carried a review of last year’s Heldt translation of Kojiki by Quin Arbeitman. He noted that the new translation was “A much needed development, as the Basil Hall Chamberlain translation is generally considered a needlessly difficult read, and the well-regarded Philippi translation sells for hundreds of dollars due to the fact that reprints are prevented by legal squabblings over his estate.”

The Japan Times this weekend carried another review of Gustav Heldt’s translation by Stephen Mansfield, whose writings on Japan are to be commended. Mansfield praises the translation for its ‘beauty of language’, though his main concern lies in the way the mythology lends itself to nationalist feelings.

It’s pertinent to point out here that until the Edo period Kojiki was a little known work, considered more or less to be the family history of the imperial lineage. Only through the exhaustive work of Motoori Norinaga, a chauvinistic figure who hated China and upheld the superior qualities of the Japanese, did the book become more widely known.

In the review below, Mansfield considers the political usage that the Kojiki has been put to in the past. Indeed, since Meiji times the Kojiki has been upheld as Japan’s prime piece of mythology, though by all accounts it is the Nihongi, published eight years later in 720, that presents a more balanced and objective view. It is for that reason that Green Shinto hopes that Gustav Heldt, or someone like him, will do a similar job for Japan’s other great work of mythology.

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The origin myth that beat the drums of war
BY STEPHEN MANSFIELD SPECIAL TO THE JAPAN TIMES FEB 28, 2015

Since the 18th-century — the age of English historian Edward Gibbon — Western theories of history have held that the past consists of causes, effects and events; there are no determining laws or theorems, and no divine purpose. This is the opposite of the view held by the classic Chinese historians, who saw history as preordained but manageable by decree; its purpose was to legitimize the current dynasty. The Kojiki is closer to this view of history — a past that can be used to validate the present.

Izanagi and Izanami, primal creators of Japan according to the 'Kojiki'

It is interesting to conjecture whether the earliest readers of the Kojiki, a complex work compiled in the Nara Period (710-794), understood the contents of this work as historical documentation or as a great hanging mirror — a surface of symbols and fictive events. Gustav Heldt, the latest scholar to translate this “account of ancient matters,” hopes it will grant the contemporary reader a broader understanding of the foundations of Japanese history, religion and literature.

Far from being a chronicle obscured by the blur of time, Heldt regards the Kojiki as a “monument to the human imagination, worthy of inclusion in the pantheon of world mythology,” finding in it parallels with sacred books such as Hesiod’s Theogony, the Hebrew Bible and the Popol Vuh. In his elegantly crafted introduction, Heldt establishes his credentials not merely as a translator, but a writer. This enabling gift is significant: It is what makes, for example, Junichiro Tanizaki’s modern rendering of The Tale of Genji so engaging as literature.

If you thought the casts of literary classics such as John Galsworthy’s The Forsyte Saga or Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude were difficult to follow, the Kojiki will be an equally demanding read. Heldt’s decision to name practically all the locations, spirits and human figures in the narrative requires readers to stay on their toes. Many of these names, however, such as Moorland Elder, Flickering Flame and Root Splitter are distinctive enough to stick. And how could anyone forget the name Water Gushing Woman?

Susanoo slays the eight-headed monster, Orochi, part of the Izumo cycle of stories in Kojiki

The well-formed structure of the account helps in its negotiation: the first book focuses on the spirit world, the second on mortals and the third on complex succession issues. The clarity of the narrative improves considerably when figures from the Kojiki are linked to events, such the exploits of heroic warriors, or the journey of the mythological first emperor, Jimmu (who supposedly lived 711-585 B.C.), from Kyushu to the vale of Yamato. Or when the realm of spirits coexisting with legendary figures is superseded by the elemental and human. In a section of song, translated by Heldt as “Withered Moor / was burnt for salt / the charred remains / made into a zither,” we understand implicitly the transformative influence exerted by mortals over nature.

The first translation of the Kojiki into English was made by Basil Hall Chamberlain in 1882. When I asked Heldt if he felt any competitive pressure producing a fresh translation of the work, he expressed satisfaction at having created a more accessible version of the work, one that, unlike its predecessors, is defined by more textually nuanced content.

The co-opting of the Kojiki in the 1930s and ’40s as a text to validate — even sanctify — the political ideologies of the far right, was perhaps inevitable given that the Emperor was regarded as a god until as recently as the end of World War II. It is not surprising to find that in a 1940 film version of the Kojiki, Japan’s mythological Sun Goddess, Amaterasu Omikami, is seen benignly casting the light of civilization over Asia, or at least the nations under the heel of Japan’s imperium.

Butoh rendition of Ame no Uzume, whose provocative dance lures Amaterasu out of her cave

My review copy of this book turned up a few days before Kenkoku Kinen no Hi (Foundation Day), a national holiday that suggests the Japanese still take their creation myths seriously; not perhaps literally, but as a component of their national heritage. When asked what he considered to be the relevance of these ancient accounts today, Heldt highlights the ongoing reappropriation of its characters and stories in forms of popular culture that are now spread across the world.

Of particular interest was his remark concerning the relevance of the myths in the Kojiki to a resurgent Japanese nationalism. Heldt cited the name Izumo, which is used for the country’s first helicopter carrier warship constructed for the Maritime Self-Defense Force. According to Heldt, this associates the helicopter carrier with the WWII battleship Yamato — Izumo and Yamato being major rivals in the Kojiki. As Heldt puts it, “Izumo’s mythical, cultural and historical ties with the eastern coast of the Korean Peninsula also signal Japan’s growing concern over its maritime border with the continent.”

Ultimately, mythology is what might be termed pure fiction, or original literature. Like faith, it requires an immense suspension of disbelief if the reader is to plunge into the narrative and be buoyed along unimpeded by doubts — the skepticism associated with the rational, inquiring mind. For the reader willing to surrender his or her empirical insistencies — to luxuriate in the beauty of language — the Kojiki is time well spent.

Okuninushi, lord of Izumo, who according to the Kojiki was forced out by the Yamato lineage and became master of the underworld. It's said that Izumo Shrine stands on the site of his palace.

In praise of trees

February 28, 2015 / John D. / 4 Comments

Getting in touch with the power of trees at Ise Jingu

It’s rare to find a Shinto shrine without a sacred tree. Indeed, the origins of shrines may well have started with trees, and their symbolic nature may permeate the human consciousness… Deeply rooted below the earth and rising up to the skies, they span the three worlds of shamanism and there’s a very real reason why The Tree of Life came to dominate spiritual thought in ancient times.

‘Why is it that when we behold the oldest living trees in the world, primeval awe runs down our spine? We are entwined with trees in an elemental embrace, both biological and symbolic, depending on them for the very air we breathe as well as for our deepest metaphors, millennia in the making. They permeate our mythology and our understanding of evolution. They enchant our greatest poets and rivet our greatest scientists. Even our language reflects that relationship – it’s an idea that has taken “root” in nearly every “branch” of knowledge.’ – Maria Popova, writing in Brain Pickings.

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The piece below comes from the introduction to The Book of Trees by Manuel Lima:

“In a time when more than half of the world’s population live in cities, surrounded on a daily basis by asphalt, cement, iron, and glass, it’s hard to conceive of a time when trees were of immense and tangible significance to our existence. But for thousands and thousands of years, trees have provided us with not only shelter, protection, and food, but also seemingly limitless resources for medicine, fire, energy, weaponry, tool building, and construction. It’s only normal that human beings, observing their intricate branching schemas and the seasonal withering and revival of their foliage, would see trees as powerful images of growth, decay, and resurrection. In fact, trees have had such an immense significance to humans that there’s hardly any culture that hasn’t invested them with lofty symbolism and, in many cases, with celestial and religious power. The veneration of trees, known as dendrolatry, is tied to ideas of fertility, immortality, and rebirth and often is expressed by the axis mundi (world axis), world tree, or arbor vitae (tree of life). These motifs, common in mythology and folklore from around the globe, have held cultural and religious significance for social groups throughout history – and indeed still do.”

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Here too is a wonderful passage by Herman Hesse (taken from Bäume: Betrachtungen und Gedichte [Trees: Reflections and Poems], originally published in 1984:

sacred tree festooned with shimenawa rope and shide paper strips

“For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche. In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfill themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves. Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree.

When a tree is cut down and reveals its naked death-wound to the sun, one can read its whole history in the luminous, inscribed disk of its trunk: in the rings of its years, its scars, all the struggle, all the suffering, all the sickness, all the happiness and prosperity stand truly written, the narrow years and the luxurious years, the attacks withstood, the storms endured. And every young farmboy knows that the hardest and noblest wood has the narrowest rings, that high on the mountains and in continuing danger the most indestructible, the strongest, the ideal trees grow.

Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life.

A tree says: A kernel is hidden in me, a spark, a thought, I am life from eternal life. The attempt and the risk that the eternal mother took with me is unique, unique the form and veins of my skin, unique the smallest play of leaves in my branches and the smallest scar on my bark. I was made to form and reveal the eternal in my smallest special detail.

Korean shaman tree

A tree says: My strength is trust. I know nothing about my fathers, I know nothing about the thousand children that every year spring out of me. I live out the secret of my seed to the very end, and I care for nothing else. I trust that God is in me. I trust that my labor is holy. Out of this trust I live.

When we are stricken and cannot bear our lives any longer, then a tree has something to say to us: Be still! Be still! Look at me! Life is not easy, life is not difficult. Those are childish thoughts. . . . Home is neither here nor there. Home is within you, or home is nowhere at all.

A longing to wander tears my heart when I hear trees rustling in the wind at evening. If one listens to them silently for a long time, this longing reveals its kernel, its meaning. It is not so much a matter of escaping from one’s suffering, though it may seem to be so. It is a longing for home, for a memory of the mother, for new metaphors for life. It leads home. Every path leads homeward, every step is birth, every step is death, every grave is mother.

So the tree rustles in the evening, when we stand uneasy before our own childish thoughts: Trees have long thoughts, long-breathing and restful, just as they have longer lives than ours. They are wiser than we are, as long as we do not listen to them. But when we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy. Whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is home. That is happiness.”

Sacred tree at Fuji Sengen Jinja

Tree shrine, captivating in its simplicity

Fortune slips in a wrapped up tree

Sacred tree with rope and coin offerings for good luck

Senja Fuda (shrine stickers)

February 25, 2015 / John D. / 1 Comment

Senjafuda placed improbably high on the central beam of a shrine building

When visiting shrines and temples, you’ll sometimes find stickers on the building, as in the picture above. What are they, and what do they say? From my experience they usually bear the name of a person or company, but to what end I wasn’t sure. For an explanation I looked to two different sources on the subject: the first by Timothy Takemoto (Timothy runs the Shinto mailing list), the second from the authoritative website on Japanese religions run by Mark Schumacher (Onmark Productions.com). My thanks to both of them.

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For the full version of this extract by Timothy Takemoto, please see here: Senjafuda – One Thousand Shrine Labels.

Photo courtesy ebookworm on Flickr, who notes that in Edo times wealthy merchants competed with fancy designs such that the Shogunate tried to ban the practice.

If you visit shrines in Japan, you’ll find some that are covered in stickers. It is traditional to print one thousand of them and then visit one thousand shrines and paste them to the roof of the entrance as a sort of “I was here” type marking. If one pastes one’s name on one thousand shrines (Senja) then a wish will come true, apparently.

The pasting of the labels is often done under the cover of darkness, or otherwise when priests are not looking, but some shrines and temples charge for the privilege of pasting one’s mark on their shrine gate. The practice of labelling shrines may be similar to the way in which Japanese travellers and other tourists visit famous spots (meisho) such as shrines, and associate with them and their previous visitors such as Basho, often in poetry in a travelogue, and to the practice of leaving small stones on the gates of Shinto shrines.

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According to Mark Schumacher on the onmark website, Senja Fuda (which he spells senjya-fuda) are “Name stickers that pilgrims paste or stick on the temple gate or shrine gate to prove that they visited that location. In modern times, most pilgrimage sites no longer allow this, primarily as a means for protecting the aging temple/shrine structures. Instead, pilgrims now offer prayer slips. In the old days, you needed a special long (telescope-like) pole to stick them really high up on the rafters and ceilings of the gates. The senjya-fuda tradition apparently became popular during the Edo Period (1603-1867), when many believed that good fortune would come to them while their sticker remained attached to the temple or shrine gate.”

Senja stickers stuck to a pillar of a shrine - proof to the kami that the pilgrim or pilgrim group was really here

Kumano

February 22, 2015 / John D. / 0 Comments

Kumano Hayatama Taisha, one of the Big Three Shrines in the area

Kumano is one of Japan’s most appealing areas, a spiritual heartland and part of a World Heritage site. It’s winning increasing attention from tourists, particularly for the opportunities for trekking and hot springs. In the article below, from the Japan Times, Alon Adika highlights the religious and syncretic heritage of the region.

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By ALON ADIKA (Japan Times, Jan 11, 2014)

An old tale from Kumano tells of a hunter who was out one day with his dogs when he spotted a large boar. Stretching his bow, he took aim and loosed an arrow deep into the body of the beast. With its last strength, the boar fled and led the hunter to a yew tree at Oyunohara, where it lay down and died. After gorging on its flesh, the hunter fell asleep under the tree, only to waken in the night to see that three moons — which revealed themselves to be manifestations of the three Kumano deities — had descended onto the tree.

Those gongen — native gods that merge indigenous beliefs with avatars of Buddhist deities — remain to this day as intrinsic to the verdant mountains of the Kumano region of the Kii Peninsula straddling parts of Mie, Wakayama and Nara prefectures as its rushing rivers, towering waterfalls and magnificent Pacific Ocean coasts.

The Buddhist pagoda overlooking the sacred Shinto waterfall of Nachi

Considered since time immemorial a mystical realm where the boundaries of the celestial and terrestrial worlds are blurred, Kumano — now a Unesco World Heritage Site — has for a millennia and more been crisscrossed by a network of pilgrimage routes. As well as linking with the ancient capital of Kyoto and other sacred sites in the Kansai region of Honshu, these routes also connect the Kumano Sanzan, the Three Grand Shrines of Kumano — Hongu-Taisha, Nachi-Taisha and Hayatama-Taisha.

But no matter how splendid the Shinto shrines and Buddhist temples, in Kumano it’s nature that commands center stage. When I left Osaka in the early morning, it was overcast and a little cool. By the time I reached Nachi Station, a light but steady rain was falling. I got off a local bus at Daimonzaka, from where it was just a short walk to Nachi Grand Shrine on a well- preserved portion of the pilgrimage route.

Two large trees flanked the stone path, like a natural gate into the forest. The rain had turned the forest into an enchanting place: the patter of raindrops hitting the dark-green leaves, the slick and shiny stone path and the old trees towering above me made me feel like I had been transported to a different time and space.

After visiting the shrine, I fixed my eyes on the mountain face across from me. I knew it was there; I had seen it in photographs numerous times. However, through the heavy mist, I could not see it. Then, as if someone had waved a magic wand, the mist dissipated and the powerful Nachi Falls were revealed, thundering down a 133-meter cliff and pounding the pool below.

Kumano eventually became an important training ground for holy men and followers of Shugendo, a syncretic faith that fused native Japanese animism, Buddhism and elements of Taoism. They practiced mountain asceticism to gain spiritual and supernatural power.

Legend has it that in the 11th century, the renowned and much-pictured monk Mongaku sat under Nachi Falls in the dead of winter and was saved from certain death only by divine intervention. In more recent times, Hayashi Jitsukaga, a Shugendo practitioner, flung himself over the lip of the waterfall after a session of zazen meditation in 1884. When his fellows found him in the pool below, it’s said his body was still in the zazen position.

Kamikura Shrine with the sacred Gotobiki rock onto which the Kumano kami descended

Thus fortified, late in the afternoon I made my way through the slick streets of Shingu to the Kumano Hayatama Grand Shrine. It was nearly 6 p.m. and the shrine was empty save for a few attendants getting ready to close it for the night. As I admired the shrine, a mother and daughter entered and paid their respects silently in front of the dripping roofs.

I was searching for a sacred boulder, the Gotobiki Iwa: another legendary landing spot of the Kumano deities, which was also the original site of the Hayatama Shrine. A young attendant gave me directions and a map. It didn’t look very far, but little did I know it was up a mountain.

Behind the Shinto gate, a stone stairway led up the hill, the steep and irregularly sized steps seemed never ending. The stones were slippery from the rain and the sun was already low in the sky. Nobody else was around. The combination of the rain, dense foliage and the waning light all made for an eerie atmosphere. Several times I stopped and pondered turning back, only to force myself onward. I later learned there are more than 500 steps up to Kamikura Shrine and the sacred rock.

At the top, a clearing opened up and I saw the great boulder in front of me. It seemed about the size of a small house and was roundish in shape. One explanation for the “gotobiki” in its name, meaning “toad” in the local dialect, is that it supposedly resembles one. I took out my camera and tried awkwardly to take some pictures while still holding up my flimsy umbrella. After a short while, I started making my way back down, not wanting to be on the mountain alone in the dark.

The roofline of Hongu Taisha in springtime, one of Kumano's Big Three Shrines

Relieved to be back in town, I walked through its nearly deserted shopping arcade in search of some dinner. It was only a little after 7 p.m., but most of the shops were already shuttered and the few still open were preparing to close. I ended up getting something from a bento (boxed-lunch) shop and returned to the small Japanese-style hotel I’d checked into earlier.

The next morning I headed off to Hongu, the third of the Kumano Grand Shrines that I’d just learned also have a dim and distant association with the early gods Izanami (Nachi) and Izanagi (Hayatama) who created the Japanese islands — while Hongu itself boasts a bond with Susanoo, the son of Izanagi and mischievous brother of Amaterasu, the sun goddess.

As I again wanted to approach the sacred site on foot via one of the old pilgrimage paths, I took a bus to Hoshinmon Oji, about 7 km distant from it. In contrast to the day before, the skies were deep blue and the sun was shining brightly.

Pilgrimage routes run through the thickly wooded Kumano hills

I first passed through a small mountain hamlet. The buzz of a lawn mower echoed through the valley. There were some unattended stalls, with local products for sale, by the sides of the street. Most had the salty and sour Wakayama umeboshi (pickled plums), which are supposed to be especially tasty.

The path next took me into the woods. Patches of sunlight created a dazzling chiaroscuro on the ground. After a while, the forest, with its scent of damp earth and wet wood, abruptly ended at a road that cut it in two. On the other side in front of a wooden shelter an elderly lady sat by her stall.

I approached and pointed to the succulent-looking cucumbers she had on ice. After choosing one for me, the woman peeled off some of the skin and sprinkled salt onto the fruit. I was just about to take a bite when she had me hold it out and drizzled some honey on top. It was so good that I devoured it in no time — and then had another.

I reentered the forest and took a small detour to a clearing from where I could view the giant torii gate at Oyunohara in the valley below: the place where, in the ancient legend, the Kumano gods revealed themselves to the hunter. Oyunohara is the original site of the Hongu Grand Shrine, which now stands nearby on higher ground after being damaged in a flood in 1889.

Arriving there was somewhat anticlimactic after walking through Kumano’s magical landscape. I had originally planned to walk much more on the old paths and I felt some regret I had not been able to do so. On the train back to Osaka, I studied the pamphlets and maps I had collected, and began planning a future visit I knew I would have to make.

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A trip to Kumano requires planning. The following websites will help get you started: tb-kumano.jp/en; hongu.jp/en;nachikan.jp/en; kumano-shingu.com

One of the largest torii in Japan, marking the original site of Hongu Taisha before it was washed away in floods

Saidaiji Naked Festival

February 21, 2015 / John D. / 0 Comments

Picture courtesy of Asahi

There are many ‘naked festivals’, though what this generally refers to is men in fundoshi loin cloths who parade through the streets. Some of the naked festivals centre around cold water, some around wooden floats, and some as the one at Saidaiji in Tokyo today are about fighting for lucky charms. Anyone who has been to a festival of this kind will know how the normally polite and patient Japanese can become aggressive in getting hold of the lucky charms. Call it faith, or superstition, or tradition, but the motivation and sincerity is impressive. If you’re in Tokyo today, go see it for yourself…

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Izumi Iwaki writes in the Japan Times about the Saidaiji Eyo…

This festival is believed to be nearly five centuries old and to have started after a rumor spread that a talisman distributed by a local temple brought its owners lots of good luck.

Men in fundoshi at Kyoto's Gion Matsuri

On hearing this, so many people went to the temple that the staff had no choice but to throw the talismans into the crowd, who fought their way to get at them. It is said that sometimes the scramble was so fierce that the visitors ripped each other’s clothing to shreds.

These talismans — originally paper, now wooden — are known as shingi and every year on the third Saturday of February, thousands of men compete to get hold of one. Wearing only loincloths, despite the cold wintry night, they perform ritual ablutions at Saidaiji Temple until 10 p.m., when the light in the main hall is turned off and two sacred shingi are thrown into the crowd.

The men who catch the shingi could become fuku otoko (lucky men) for the year, but to claim the talismans, they must first carry them out of the main hall and off the temple grounds. This is a lot easier said than done when the rest of the men — who even if they can’t see the shingi can still follow their distinct smell of incense — all battle each other for the lucky charms — right up to the gate of the temple.

Every year, many are injured during this unusual festival, so if you dare to participate, make sure to read through the instructions carefully.

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Saidaiji Eyo (Naked Festival) takes place at Saidaiji Temple, which is 10-min. walk from Ako Line Saidaiji Station. For more information, visit the website.

Photo courtesy Japan Times

People jostle frantically to get a piece of rice cake at the Nagemochi event, part of the Hounen Matsuri at Tagata Jinja

French conference

February 20, 2015 / John D. / 0 Comments

Presenter Masatsugu Okutani at the Feb 12 conference in Paris

Masatsugu Okutani explaining 'What is Shinto' to his French audience

Green Shinto has previously featured the work of Shinto priest Masatsugu Okutani in Paris. Now comes news of a conference and photo exhibition held on Feb 12, ‘the first time for France to have such a conference specially in French by a Japanese Shinto priest.’

The meeting centred around the topic of ‘What is Shinto?’ and was held, ecumenically, at the ‘Association Culturelle Franco-Japonaise de Tenri’.

Masatsugu Okutani, who is a priest from the Yabuhara Shrine in northern Japan, has been working in Paris for some time as a company employee while at the same time helping to spread awareness of Shinto among the French, who he reports are surprisingly open to learning more about the traditions involved.

The exhibition of photographs featured the work of Yamaguchi Katsuhiro, Executive Director of the Society of Japanese Photographers who specialises in cultural heritage such as kyogen, kagura and kabuki as well as the Ontake sacred mountain cult.