Tag: shamanism

Stone Power

March 4, 2024 / John D. / 0 Comments

Readers of this blog will know of the fascination Green Shinto has with the sacred rocks of Japan, known as iwakura. No one I have asked, including several Shinto priests, can explain their significance, and books ignore them altogether. Yet they often stand at the heart of a shrine, and in many cases are said to be the very reason for the establishment of the place as sacred. The topic has been addressed in several previous postings, but an article in Sacred Hoop magazine covering the use of sacred stones in shamanism casts them in a new light. For one thing there is the historical background, stretching back to a time before homo sapiens even emerged. For another there is explanation of their origin as a natural ‘god-given’ phenomenon. A third point of interest is the suggestion some stones ‘flash’ to attract attention. I believe this may be tied to the mirror rocks in Japan (kagami iwa), which are often found at sacred sites. A fourth point is the commonality of Native American thinking with Shinto, unsurprising given the former’s supposed origins in East Asia. Finally, the last paragraph may help explain the tradition in Japan of keeping sacred rocks secret or hidden from view. In the past this would have been a powerful element of mystery, and still today the tradition is maintained in such shrines as the ancient Omiwa Jinja in Nara Prefecture, claimed by some as the oldest shrine in Japan.

Mt Miwa casts a protective eye over the settlement below it. The mountain is a ‘goshintai’ (sacred body) for Omiwa Jinja and worshipped directly. The sacred rocks on it are not to be touched or photographed.

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Extracted from ‘Stone Power’ by Nicholas Breeze Wood Sacred Hoop no. 123, 2024

The oldest example of a stone which had caught someone’s eye is the Makapansgat pebble, a naturally formed stone which resembles a
face, or a skull, around 8cm high, discovered in a cave in the Makapan
Valley, in South Africa. It was found in remains of human habitation which has been dated to around three million years ago.

The stone shows no evidence of having been worked, no tool marks, and is therefore a naturally formed pebble which someone found and prized. Naturally formed stones are the origin of the famous Zuni stone fetishes, from the Southwest of the USA, which are carved to resemble animals, the original one
however were ‘nature carved’ and highly prized as sacred stones.

Inland Sea natural rock said to represent the hawk sent by Amaterasu to help guide Jimmu in his voyage of conquest for the Yamato

Such stones – and also naturally shaped bits of wood or roots – have long been prized as sacred objects, within which a spirit resides, or which a spirit has touched in some way. They are natural treasured gifts from our Grandmother the earth. Of course, stones don’t have to be of a special or unusual shape, they can come in special circumstances which make them special.

In Native American traditions, the Lakota call such special stone woti, they are ‘rock friends’ powerful rock spirits who protect a person. They come in unusual
ways, often brightly flashing light at a person to draw their eye so the stone is found. Carried in small bags or suspended on cord, they are worn close to the body, specially in times of danger, and many Native American warriors – both historically and in modern times, will carry such a rock.

The Crow Nation, who lived close to the Lakota on the Great Plains, often made elaborate ‘nests’ for their medicine stones, which they wore on cords around
their necks. These nests were generally beaded and hung with larger glass trade beads, which provided additional decoration.

Stones can be used as a temporary home for a soul part during soul-retrievals; the shamanic practitioner carries the stone in some way while they are on their shamanic journey, and the spirit of the stone will then accompany them on their journey and be with them in the ‘dark world’ – the ‘spirit world’ – when they find the lost soul part of the client. Then, the soul part is ‘popped’ into the stone, and the journeyer returns to the ‘light world’ – the every day – and gives the stone to the client, who keeps it close to themselves while the soul part fully returns and is integrated. The client should really keep the stone close, perhaps putting it into a small cloth or leather bag which they wear around their neck.

In many traditional healing rituals the client avoids touching – or sometimes even seeing – the released energy container, so as to avoid taking back the heaviness again.

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For more on rocks, see here or click the button under Categories in the right-hand column.

Pair of iwakura at Achi Jinja in Kurashiki, Okayama Prefecture

Myth Understanding

June 8, 2019 / John D. / 1 Comment

Our friend, the scholar Robert Wittkamp, has posted an illuminating paper on academia.edu posing the question, ‘Why does Nihon Shoki possess two books with myths but Kojiki only one’? (Click here to see the original paper. Last year he published a longer work on the subject in German: Robert F. Wittkamp, Arbeit am Text: Zur postmodernen Erforschung der Kojiki-Mythen, Gosenberg: Ostasienverlag 2018.)

Kagura featuring Ninigi no mikoto, who first descended from heaven to Japan

My initial reaction to Robert’s question was that the answer must be because Nihon Shoki (720) is a historical record of episodes with variant readings, whereas Kojiki (712) is a slimmed down propaganda piece to bolster the mythological roots of the imperial family. The former would obviously be longer than the latter.

However, Robert’s paper answers the question in a much more layered and informed manner. He begins by dividing the myths into two main groups: the southern line from South China, Polynesia and the Pacific, as against the Northern Line from Siberia, Korea and North China.

The southern line is horizontal and concerns the kuni tsu kami who inhabited Japan in early Yayoi times. Their origins lay overseas, hence there are sea myths with paradise somewhere beyond the horizon (one can read about them in Carmen Blacker’s Catalpa Bow).

The northern line, however, is vertical in orientation, with descent from ‘heaven’ (i.e. Korea) by ama tsu kami. This type of myth has roots in Siberian shamanism and looks upwards or downwards to origins. They are more recent in time, arriving as conquerors. To my surprise, Robert suggests this occurred in the fourth century when there was upheaval on the continent with sixteen kingdoms in northern China and a request by Paekche to help fight Koguryeo. (I would have presumed it happened much earlier than that, with the coming of the new Yayoi civilisation in the centuries around year 0.)

Chamberlain’s translation of The Kojiki was the first to open up the stories of Japanese mythology

As Robert notes, important to an understanding of Japan’s myths is the situation of the rulers who ordered their compilation (Tenmu and Jito). They ruled at a time before the title of tenno (emperor) was used and they aspired to greater authority, being dependent on the support of powerful families and feudal clans. (Though Robert doesn’t mention this, Temmu was a usurper and therefore on shaky ground in terms of legitimacy.) By showing ancestral alliances and subordination in the past, it was hoped that the myths would bolster the standing of the rulers.

A key episode in all this is the episode in the myths known as Tenson Korin, when the heavenly kami descended onto Japan. There exist six different versions of this event – one in Kojiki, the main version in Nihon Shoki togetther with four different variants.

Today it is generally assumed that Amaterasu gives the order to her grandson Ninigi-no-mikoto to spread the benefits of their civilisation to earth (a colonial rationale still used today by powerful countries to invade the weak). However, as Robert points out, three of the six extant versions feature Takami Musuhi as issuing the command (Nihon Shoki main version, plus variant 4 and 6). In these three versions it is Takami Musuhi who is the great ancestor of the imperial line. The names of descendants are different. (The usual reading is Takami Musubi, but Robert who is an expert in early Japanese texts prefers Musuhi.)

Ame no Uzume whose dance drew a curious Amaterasu from her cave

According to Robert, “Kojiki adds the elements of the two lines together. Consequently it can be described aa ‘ntegration type'”. Later it integrates too the Ise myths into the Amaterasu theme to make one overall narrative, fixing her as the great ancestral spirit. An intriguing conclusion to be drawn from this is that Kojiki may well have been a later compilation than Nihon Shoki, even though it was published eight years earlier.

The question about why Nihon Shoki has two books and Kojiki only one still remains, however. Here Robert suggests that the answer has to do with Nihon Shoki drawing a difference between the Takami Musuhi line in Book One and the Amaterasu line of Book Two. Kojiki on the other hand “tries to connect them and to create a single and coherent narrative.”

At the same time Kojiki puts much greater stress on promoting ties with distant clans away from the capital. The Izumo myths are an example. Robert goes into detailed statistics about the difference between the ancestral groups mentioned in the two books, and his conclusion is that, ‘The Kojiki puts much weight on the powerful groups around Yamato and demotes the muraji and banzo groups close to the Court”.

And here, brilliantly, Robert solves one of the most intriguing puzzles about the myths: why for many long centuries was the Kojik almost totally forgotten (interest was only revived by the historical work of the Kokugaku scholars in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries)?

The answer Robert suggests is that the Fujiwara clan, who rose to dominance after the publication of the myths, did not care for their relatively lowly level played by their ancestors in the myths. The book was therefore put to one side and neglected by nearly all save the imperial household.

The rock cave myth still continues today to play a vital role in Japanese culture and imperial legitimacy

Baikal and Back 6: Rocks

August 28, 2018 / John D. / 3 Comments

Hawk rock

My guide in Busan, Ryu Dong-il, was warm and sensitive to a tourist’s viewpoint. By the end of the day I’d got to know about his family, hobbies and a whole lot about Korean culture. The son of an illiterate dock worker, he had got his first job at twelve, paid for his own schooling and left to become an engine driver.

For years he’d combined driving trains with his pastime of rock-climbing, and the pictures he showed me was the stuff of nightmares. What on earth would move a human to even want to do such a thing? ‘It makes me feel alive,‘ he told me. ‘It makes me comfortable.’ Comfortable?! Short of being tortured, clinging to a cliff was as far from comfort as I could imagine.

Ryu told me of a close friend with whom he used to go climbing. Halfway up a rock face, his friend had suddenly frozen motionless. Asked what was wrong, he did not reply but started to descend. His eyes were ablaze, and the very next day he applied to be a monk. It had been twenty years ago, and though Ryu had often visited the small temple where his friend lived, he had never learnt what exactly happened that day. Clearly it had something to do with the power of the rocks. ‘Now he lives a simple life. He’s poor, but he has a purity in his eyes. You feel that he has a detachment from life,’ said Ryu. ‘He’s free.’

‘And how about you?’ I asked. It turned out Ryu too had had an unusual experience. ‘It was very special,‘ he said. ‘I was lying on a giant rock, taking a rest after a difficult climb, when I felt as if I was floating. I lost control of my body, couldn’t move, yet there was something pleasant about it as if I’d entered a realm of weightlessness. Since then I never had a feeling like that again. Even though I tried sometimes lying down on rocks, but never that same feeling. I think it was something to do with that particular rock. Each rock is different.’

Rocks are known to have different physical properties. Some have a powerful magnetic field, granite gives off radiation, and the blue stones of Stonehenge may well have been dragged all the way from Wales because they had special healing properties. There are rocks of worship, rocks of transcendence, rocks that convey authority and rocks conducive to contemplation. They were seen by the ancients as manifestations of a living Earth, and they served as vessels for otherworldly spirits. With their rockhard solidity, they represented the eternal and the permanent. This stood in contrast to the temporary world of vegetative matter to which humans belong.

Rocks and roots. As a land of mountains, I couldn’t help feeling Korea had a lot to teach.

Rocks rock

August 6, 2016 / John D. / 4 Comments

The Shaman’s Rock at Lake Baikal has a cave in which a monster was said to live. It’s one of the oldest shaman sites in the world.

The awesomeness of rocks
Green Shinto has written several times of the spiritual significance of rocks in Shinto (see the righthand column for previous postings). It’s a much overlooked subject. Why? Partly because it is associated with the kind of primitive superstition that Meiji era Japan sought to put behind it. But also partly, I suspect, because rock worship leads back to Korean shamanism and shows that far from being unique, Shinto is inextricably linked with continental nature worship. Just how this conflicts with the insularity of mainstream Japan will become evident in the remarks below.

It was with some delight that I recently came across a video entitled “Okayama: the profound spirit of the rocks” (28 mins). 70% of Japan is covered in mountains and forests, so it’s not surprising that ancient Japanese felt some kind of kinship with them. They even named tribes after the protective mountain beneath which they settled.

‘Since ancient times,’ runs the commentary, ‘people in Japan have felt a deep sense of awe towards particularly impressive rocks.’ It’s not limited to Japan, of course. The same could be said for ancient cultures around the world – you only have to think of Stonehenge, the pyramids and Machu Picchu for example.

Rock power
The commentary goes to feature a cave and group of rocks in Okayama, where according to local folklore a demon is said to live – reminiscent for me of the ‘demon’ said to have lived in the Shaman’s Rock on Olkhon Island in Lake Baikal. Rocks as an abode of spirits was part of the Ural-Altaic culture that spread down into the Korean peninsula. In Japan’s syncretic tradition, it is a Buddhist temple rather than Shinto shrine that guards the area, though in times gone by there would have been no such artificial division.

Rocks can provide boundaries and guidelines

‘In Japan we believe that massive rocks such as these are occupied by divine spirits,’ says the guide, typically emphasising the singularity of Japan rather than its continental heritage. It is in such beliefs, deliberately furthered by Japan’s education system, that the roots of Shinto nationalism lie.

‘In the face of this massive power of nature, we can only put our hands together in awe,’ continues the guide, perfectly expressing the animistic roots of the religious impulse in cultures throughout the world. The belief that Japanese are somehow unique in this stems from a binary opposition of ‘we Japanese’ versus ‘Christian Westerners’, so deeply ingrained in Japanese education. Is it too much to hope that one day school textbooks will talk of ‘we East Asians’ and of Shinto as part of ‘shamanistic cultures worldwide’.

Rock of ages
Kitagi Island in the Inland Sea is famous for its granite rock (which was used for building Osaka Castle). One of the quarrymen there says, ‘My father would always tell me the rock is alive,’ and the discussion goes to suggest that newly cut rock is like a baby, freshly brought to life. After hundreds of thousands of years, the pieces of rock are liberated from their deep seclusion by being severed from the base of the parent mountain.

The programme notes that the grandeur of rocks gives humans a sense of their insignificance in the grander scheme of things. Perhaps it is from this that their spiritual power emanates. As in Zen, the effect induces a diminishing of the ego in face of the sheer immensity and longevity of the rocks. And in the end all we are left with is ‘Gratitude’, as an ink-stone grinder puts it.

Rocks are thus shown to be a true object of worship, and it is to the larger rock on which we live that we owe our very existence. As the programme shows, rocks truly rock. We can only live in awe.
(For more of Green Shinto on the mystique of rocks, click here.)

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Christian Storms, climber and video maker

Christian Storms, climber, actor and tv producer

Christian Storms, the American featured in the NHK programme, writes:

‘Climbers like me tend to view history via geology, a primordial time before man. Each type of rock tells a different story about the history of the earth. Much like the people I have shared special moments with, rocks come in all kinds of forms, compositions and hardness: just like the characters I have met.

On this trip, I learned to appreciate rocks that I can’t climb, which was a first for me. I met Sugita-san, an old-school climber who has put up over 150 routes in the world-class limestone Bichu climbing area, which now has 400 routes. Climbing his first ascents was a real pleasure because he designed the routes. It felt like picking his brain or dating his ex-girlfriend.

Formed underwater in ancient coral reefs and from shells and skeletal fragments of living organisms, those limestone cliffs I climbed were once underwater, before Japan was ever Japan. I promised Sugita I’d return to develop some of my own routes – and I will.

There is nothing like a ferry ride, and Kitagi Island [out of Kasaoka port] is a real gem. Tsuruta-san was all smiles as he showed me an old quarry for limestone and marble, that s now filled with crystal clear water. Watching limestone being quarried using the old fashioned method was quite something. And the death-defying ladders I had to climb down were scarier than any mountain I’ve climbed.

Finally, finding an inkstone was special. But more than that, I got to make one, together with the master, Nakashima-san. To create something from rock, and to make something that has been used for over 700 years – it felt so primitive. Without this rock, there would have been no written world, no literature, no history.

As the musician Bob Dylan said, “How does it feel? To be without a home, like a complete unknown, like a rolling stone.” Okayama felt like home.’

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Places spotlighted in the NHK programme (see here):

Takahashi City in Okayama Prefecture is a popular destination for sports climbers. Rock climbing courses were first set up here in the late 1980s, and the area is now known by the name Bichu. TV producer Christian Storms is an avid sports climber. On this edition of Journeys in Japan, he scales one of the rock walls of Bichu. He visits an island that has a long history of producing high quality granite and inspects an existing quarry. He meets a traditional craftsman who uses the local slate to carve calligraphy inkstones by hand. And he discovers the profound connection that people here have long felt for their rocks.

Mt. Yoze-dake in Takahashi City is one of the most popular areas for sport climbing. The main climbing area, known as Bichu, is equipped with a parking lot, a rest house and a car camping ground.

Mt. Kinojo Visitor Center

On the summit of Mt. Kinojo you can visit the site of an ancient castle. The beautiful landscape is dotted with places associated with a legendary demon who is said to have ruled this area. Inside the precincts of Iwaya-ji Temple is an impressive rock formation that is believed to have been the demon’s residence. The Mt. Kinojo Visitor Center is 20 minutes by car or taxi from Soja Station on the JR Hakubi Line.

The most famous rocks in the world? The Zen garden at Ryoanji shows how Buddhism absorbed the native tradition of rock worship

A triad of sacred rock deities. This and the following pictures are from a remarkable collection of outstanding rocks by power spotter, Kara Yamaguchi (see https://www.greenshinto.com/2013/12/05/power-spotter/)

DH000059 地蔵岩　御在所　三重県

舞台石　飛鳥

DH000050 石の配例　唐人駄馬遺跡　高知県

Zen and Shinto 10: Shaman Mirrors

March 12, 2016 / John D. / 2 Comments

Shinto altar mirror This post follows up the previous post on mirrors in Zen and Shinto. It consists of an article adapted from the latest issue of Sacred Hoop (no. 91), a magazine about shamanism. The article is useful in placing the context of mirrors in Zen and Shinto within their wider use in East Asia, and thereby illustrates the syncretic roots out of which the two religions developed. The author is not only a modern-day practitioner, but a sacred mirror-maker with years of experience and insight. Since the religious use of mirrors stems from the shaman tradition, it’s instructive to learn what that has to teach us about present-day usage in both Zen and Shinto. The article is particularly good at describing the ‘energy container’ that the mirror represented to early people.

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The author of the following article, Marco Hadjidakis, was born in 1957 in Holland and has studied altered states and healing since 1991, and made mirrors to commission since 2010. He is an artist,
mystic and mirror-smith.

Shamanic mirrors are metallic discs made of bronze or other metals, polished on one side – their ‘face’ – and usually decorated on the other – their ’back’ – in the centre of which is often a knob or boss with a hole in it. This hole is to allow a cord, silk ribbon or scarf to be passed through it, which enables the mirror to be suspended or tied onto a costume etc. Some mirrors have a loop on their top edge for this purpose rather than a boss on the back. Suspending a mirror makes it easier to handle it without touching and dirtying the polished metal face.

The origin of ceremonial mirrors developed in Neolithic times with the art of grinding and polishing stone. Obsidian and jade were often used in ancient mirrors, and these stones are found in different locations around the world, such as Mexico, Anatolia and China. Polished, iron-rich meteorites may also predate cast bronze mirrors, and these have been used for a very long time in Tibet to create mirrors and other sacred objects. Ancient arrowheads, made from iron-rich meteorites, have also
been found on the Eurasian steppes, and clearly show the early use of this powerful material.

Model of a Yayoi-era ritual, with mirror hanging in the tree to the left of the altar

Since the early Bronze Age [Around 3.000-2.000 BCE ] the development of bronze casting spread quickly across the world. The nomadic tribes who lived on the Central Asian steppes spread their bronze technology across a wide band, stretching from Eastern Europe, all the way to the Pacific coast of Northern China. They influenced Chinese Bronze Age culture, and subsequently Chinese influence then spread to neighbouring cultures, such as Japan and Korea to the east, and Iran and Anatolia to the west.

MIRRORS AND THE ANCESTORS
Ancestor cults are China’s root connection with mirrors; the durability of bronze created the possibility for a Chinese person to inherit an ancient mirror, dating back perhaps as far as 30 generations in their ancestral line. Such a mirror is very powerful, it has connections with all those spirits of the family lineage, and such mirrors are highly respected, and consulted with if there are important issues within the family. There is evidence to suggest that the ritual use of mirrors grew out of this ancient Chinese ancestor practice, with ideas about mirrors then spreading to regions outside of China, enabling the use of mirrors to be taken up by the shamanic cultures there. However, there is also evidence to suggest that shamanic cultures greatly influenced ancient China, which makes it seem likely that there was cross pollination of ideas regarding the ritual use of mirrors between China and the shamanic cultures of Central Asia – each influencing the other.

Over a long period of time, shamans have found many ways to use their mirrors. Some shamans use mirrors – often known as toli – to give to spirits as a house for the spirit to live in. Some shamans use them by entering a trance and working with the energies amplified by, or inherently present, in the mirror. Shamans use them for performing healings, for exorcism, for soul retrieval, and for divination. Mirrors also form part of a shaman’s armour, protecting their bodies while spirit-travelling in trance to the other worlds. When a shaman dies, traditionally their body was left in a remote place, far out in nature; often on a platform in a tree. There they were laid – with all their mirrors, their drum and other sacred items. Later generations would then accidentally ‘find’ the deceased shaman’s mirrors and other bronze objects, and after consulting the spirit of the deceased shaman to ask for permission to adopt the mirror, the shaman who found these ancient objects could use them in his own work.

The original mirror in Kyoto National Museum, thought to be that of Himiko

Two sides of a mirror in Kyoto National Museum, thought to have belonged to Himiko

Ancient bronze mirrors did not only become sacred tools in shamanism, they also became adopted into Buddhist practice. Buddhist mirrors are called melong in China and Tibet, and darpan in Sanskrit, and these mirrors are used in Buddhist initiations to represent the nature of the enlightened mind. At one point in these initiations, the Lama shows the student the melong and tells them: “Your mind is like this mirror, in itself empty, but it will reflect everything that is exposed to it without changing because it has no judgment or attachment on what it reflects.” Many Buddhist altars contain metal mirrors, which can be truth- revealing mirrors, or part of an offering to the five senses, the mirror representing the offering of sight.

The syncretic blend of Buddhism and shamanism found in Tibet, which is sometimes called ‘Lamaism’, has followers in Mongolia, China and Nepal. In this tradition, mahasiddhas (great adepts or mystics), oracles and healers all have melongs or ‘heart protecting mirrors.’ I have also been told that a melong is involved in hungry ghost offering ceremonies. Another magical use of mirrors within Buddhism can be seen on a relief on the C9th Borobudur stupa in Java. The relief shows the Buddha surrounded by monks, who are lifting their handled mirrors, so as to charge them with the high energy of his enlightened being. This use of mirrors as a sort of ‘sacred battery’ which holds a spiritual charge also occurs in medieval Europe as Christian relics were sometimes viewed in a mirror, the mirror capturing and holding the reflection of the sacred relic for the pilgrim to take away with them.

Mirrors are multi-functional sacred objects, and shamans use them for: divination, finding lost objects, healing, exorcism, soul retrieval, and protection. They are also used when working with harmful spirits, and both to create, and also fight against, ‘black’ magic too. Depending on their culture of origin, they can also be used in Sun worship, divination, as a door to communicate with the ancestors, as protector of a house or sacred place (for example the use of mirrors in traditional feng shui), as an initiation tool, as a house for spirit helpers to live within, as a healing tool, or to direct energies and intentions. They can also act as a shield to reflect negative energies, as a symbol of authority, as a representation of a divinity or a kami (a Shinto nature spirit), as a tool for introspection, as a signal device (by reflecting light, so another can see the ‘flash’) and simply as an everyday mirror.

Ceremonies held to assist the soul of a person who has died are a major part of many shamanic traditions, and when using mirrors for this, two mirrors are required – one to protect the shaman in trance, during their travels in the underworld, and one to shine light and illuminate the ‘path of the soul,’ to help the soul find the land of the ancestors. Some mirrors are very large – over 30 cm across, while others are small – perhaps only 2 – 5 cm across, and are more like amulets. These have been made since ancient times, and in literature they are sometimes called ‘inch mirrors.’ The smaller ones could easily be mistaken for bronze buttons, they are so small. Some have simple designs on their backs: perhaps a yin-yang, four Chinese characters, or the eight trigrams (I Ching trigrams). Some have flowers, or the animals of the Chinese zodiac. In Mongolia these small toli are often attached to ceremonial headgear and other ritual objects such as phurbas and divination arrows. Shaman’s ritual objects don’t need to be large to be effective in the spirit world, and small objects can be used without attracting too much attention. Small, inch mirrors, are perfect for protection while travelling, or to work with when the shamanic work needs to be unobtrusive.

A WORLD OF MIRRORS

Mirror at a Zen subtemple of Nanzen-ji

The face of a bronze mirror is generally convex, although some are flat. Concave mirrors are rare. In historical and ancient China, household fires were kept alive both day and night, but once a year all the fires had to die. The next day, at noon, new fires were ceremonially lit by a shaman or priest, who used a concave bronze mirror. When using such a mirror, the sun’s rays are reflected back from the mirror into a single point, which generates enough heat to light the kindling. Today we can achieve the same result by the use of a glass lens. Himalayan melong mirrors, with a bronze loop on their top edge, are sometimes polished on both sides. These are convex on the one face, and concave on the other. As a heart protecting mirror, the convex side is worn outward. Once I heard a shaman explain: ‘The convex side is to see into the future, and the concave side to see into the past’.

Some rare shaman’s mirrors have a face full of small concentric waves – almost looking as if a drop of water had fallen into a pool. Mirrors like this can not produce a recognisable reflection, and I think their function could be to disintegrate spirits during exorcism rituals, so as to disperse their power. Both before and after the shaman works with them, mirrors are generally smudged in the smoke of herbs or incense. Bronze is very sensitive to oxidation, and the acid from our skin can easily affect their polished surface. Therefore, the tassel or silk scarves that are attached to the knob provide for a handle. Bronze mirrors are wrapped in silks, or stored in bags or boxes when not in use. This wrapping up and putting away also helps to protect them from energetic intrusions and accidental reflections – just as a blessed reflection can be held in a mirror, so too can the reflection of something harmful.

Some traditions say that only ‘altar mirrors’ should be displayed openly. In the case of a Buddhist altar, these are placed to symbolise radiant emptiness, or, on a shamanic altar, they are placed as homes for helper spirits and symbols of shamanic power. Ritual mirrors – as living things in their own right, with their own ‘master spirits’ – may have their own preference as to how they are cleaned, stored and ‘dressed.’ One needs to ‘listen’ to them to find the correct way to work with them, including what kind of offerings they require. Some traditional offerings to mirrors are incense, juniper or sage smoke, alcohol – generally vodka – songs and the sounds of drums rattles and bells. In Mongolia, shaman’s mirrors were, and still are, blooded in the blood of a sacrificed sheep. The blood is said to transfer the life force of the animal to the mirror.

Dressing a mirror with silk complements the ‘hot’ male energy of the bronze by the use of the ‘cool’ female quality of the fabric. This cloth becomes part of the sacred nature of the mirror and the combined qualities of heat and cool both play a role in healing or other work done with the it. Silks are one of the traditional offerings which people who had been cured could offer a shaman to express their gratitude. The colours of the silk fabric used to ‘dress’ a mirror represent connections with both the four (or five) elements, and the sacred directions. Some spirits ask for additional offerings to be attached to their mirror, such as beads, stones, shells or small bells too.

FORGING A MIRROR PATH
Bronze is an alloy of copper and tin (Cu and Sn), and the percentage of tin varies from about 10% to 30%. The tin content changes the colour and hardness of the bronze; for example, a high level of tin
makes the mirror brittle, and it will be prone to break easy, whereas a low level of tin gives a warm red shine, but will easily oxidize. Sometimes quantities of gold, silver, lead and sometimes zinc, can be added to the bronze, which all influence the resulting metal. (In the Tibetan language there are five different words for bronze.)

Mikoshi in Shinto festivals have mirrors on their side as a form of protection

To add a personalised element of magic into the mix, I often like to add – and recycle – an old ring or other precious metal object that already belongs to the owner of the new mirror, to create a stronger bond between practitioner and ceremonial tool. Back in July 2001 I met the Japanese doctor, Masaru Emoto who presented his work about human consciousness having an effect on the molecular structure of water. Doctor Emoto’s theory is that, in the liquid stage, the water molecules can absorb information, which in a solid stage as ice, is frozen into the ice crystals. It seemed very obvious to me that this would also apply to metals; and any programming done in the liquid stage would, when the bronze cools, become permanently stored in the crystal structure of the solid mirror or other object. This programmed intention – through prayer and mantra – added to the intent in the original wax design – made me realise that a cast bronze mirror could be a powerful holder of intent and focus.

Because I was making sacred objects it was important to me to do them in a sacred manner. So, while the bronze is melting, I make an offering to the fire and I smudge the work. When the bronze is ready to be poured, I focus on the person that will work with the mirror, and whisper the intentions into the liquid bronze. I then pray and recite mantras while I do the pouring, which has to be done smoothly, without any interruptions, as interruptions will cause flaws in the casting. After breaking the mould, the airways – through which the bronze was poured in, and through which the air inside escaped out – have to be removed. Then the mirror needs to be cleaned and polished. At the end of my process – as a mirror smith – I add a prayer to welcome the mirror into the world, which has the potential to be around for the next few millennia. Now it is up to the practitioner to “dress” it and to initiate it in its first ceremony.

The most powerful shamans we know of are the smiths. They are called white smiths. They made the sacred things, like drums and jaw-harps and bells and such. Their relationship must be with all four of the elemental Master Spirits – Earth (which includes the ore of metals), Air, Fire and Water, or their work cannot be completed. So, long ago, when the first white smith journeyed about making these sacred things, he was given knowledge of a special metal, a hard yellow metal, not the
gold we know of today, but another alloy we call bronze today. He culled and cultivated the metal and sat wondering what its form was to be, and it was then that the Mater Spirit of the metal spoke to him: “I must be light enough to carry on a shaman’s person. “I must be fitted with a knob so as to have silk attached, so I may be fashioned to begin new life with the green silk; preserve life with red silk; teach with yellow silk; heal with the blue silk; and for the maker of the toli and all things Spirit I must be fitted with white silk. “One side shall be polished so that I can mirror this world and take from it and give to it, and the other side may be for anyone to touch and see.”

The smith shaman thought and thought, and pondered the problem, and started making metal things: boxes, trays, crowns, cuffs, all manner of things, but the Master Spirit of the metal was never satisfied. So after much effort and time, the smith shaman finally came up with a disk, which had a place on one side to attach silk khadags, and which was smooth on the other side. He took the disc to the other shamans and told them about this story. At first they did not believe it, but then one of the lesser shamans, a healer, attached his own blue khadag and said: “So, mirror of life, will you work with me?” The disc said: “Yes, there is a burn on the white smith’s hand, go and place my shiny side against it.” The healer went and did as he was told, but nothing happened. “Did I do it wrong?” asked the Healer worriedly, for failing was dangerous. “Take me outside and let me commune with the Great Mother” said the Master Spirit, and as the healer did so and placed the disc on the Earth he could hear excited voices from the inside of the ger. The burn had disappeared!
So the toli‘s creation was completed, and the white smiths told the shamans – who would each be receiving one of these mirrors – that there could not be a relationship between the toli and the shaman, unless the spirits of the shamans were properly linked with the Master Spirits of the toli they were to receive.

shrine mirror

The three-sided torii that stands in the grounds of Konoshima Jinja

Hata Part 4: Triangular torii

May 7, 2015 / John D. / 3 Comments

According to the internet, there are seven triangular torii in the whole of Japan. Most of these are modern constructions, and may simply be copies of Kyoto’s Konoshima Jinja. Only one other has a genuine claim of antiquity – on the island of Tsushima, close to Korea. I happen to have visited that too.

A noticeboard in the grounds of the Konoshima Jinja says that the original construction of the triangular torii is unknown, but records show it was rebuilt 300 years ago after a fire. Regarding the purpose, there are two theories. One concerns the descent of the kami into the pile of stones in its midst, with the ‘spirit-body’ open to worship from all sides. The cosmic connection, open to the heavens, would thus have been complemented by the all-round access and immersion in nature.

The triangular torii should be standing in water, known in one variant as Moto Tadasu no Ike. The name suggests it was the original of that at Shimogamo, and as with the Kamo clan shrine there is a festival in which participants wade through the water for good health.

‘There’s another theory that it’s connected to Nestorian Christianity,’ the board states cryptically, without explaining what it is exactly. Fortunately, the Wikipedia entry for Mihashira Torii (three-legged torii) amplifies the theory somewhat:

The primary historical example of a mihashira torii is found in the records of Konoshima Shrine in Kyoto. These records states that a triangular torii was rebuilt in 1716-1736, after a fire. The text hints at a reference to Nestorianism in the construction of the torii, and says that the three pillars represent the heavens, the earth, and mankind. This is not an interpretation common in Shinto beliefs.

This, to me, is bizarre. First of all, no one in their right mind in eighteenth-century Japan would claim to possessing anything connected to Christianity. The Tokugawa were paranoid about the European religion, and every single known Christian in Kyoto had been burnt, crucified or forced into hiding in the remotest of villages. Persecution was so intense that mere suspicion could lead to the most excruciating torture. (See my book on Hidden Christians.)

Secondly, there is nothing at all odd about the three pillars representing heaven, earth and mankind. This is the Taoist triad, and as anyone familar with Shinto knows, there was a huge amount of borrowing from Taoism. The emblem of the mitsudomoe (mitsu tomoe) is a prime example, with its three commas twirling round each other. ‘Some view the mitsudomoe as representative of the threefold division (Man, Earth, and Sky) at the heart of the Shinto religion,’ says the Wikipedia page on mitsu tomoe. Wikipedia here confounds Wikipedia – a glaring instance of why it’s not to be trusted!

So if the torii has nothing to do with the Trinity, what has it to do with? As mentioned, there is another three-sided torii in Tsushima, and there are striking similarities between the two. Both were built at an unknown date and for an unknown reason. Both have a pile of stones or rocks at their centre. And both are in watery settings, the one in Kyoto standing in a pond, that at Tsushima standing in seawater as the incoming tide covers its base.

The three-legged torii at Watatsumi Shrine in Tsushima, close to the Korean peninsula. The notice says that this is how the structure is thought to have looked originally. That at Konoshima Jinja has been rebuilt in modern times.

Here I’d like to put forward a theory of my own, linking the two torii with the Hata. Since the clan moved en masse from Korea into Kyushu, it’s almost certain that the first port of call would have been Tsushima. You can actually see the island from the tip of the Busan shoreline.

The torii stands in the grounds of Watatsumi Shrine, which faces directly towards Korea. It would have made a natural landing ground. Indeed, this is almost spelt out by a row of torii running down into the sea to welcome visitors. Could not the torii mark the spot where a Hata leader first set foot upon the shore – the ‘descent’ of an ancestral kami? There are similar markers along the Inland Sea shoreline where ‘kami’ ‘descended’ onto sacred rocks (the one at Kamikura Shrine in Wakayama Prefecture being a notable example).

The Hata had spent centuries under the influence of the Koreans, whose religious outlook was shaped by Siberian shamanism. Rock worship is a notable element, with the permanence embodied in the rocks contrasting with the perishable nature of human life. For Koreans, you could say, immortality is carved in rock.

A characteristic of shamanism is the summoning down of spirits, and the pile of stones in the middle of the torii would have acted as spiritual vessel. In a material world, rock gives the insubstantial spirit substance. In Shinto mythology, gods are described as descending in ‘rock boats’ for a similar reason. Wooden boats rot; rock-boats last forever.

The Shinto emblem commonly seen at shrines, particularly on drums, is the mitsu tomoe (mitsudomoe), thought to symbolise Earth, Heaven and Humans.

The three-sided torii that surmounts the stones might well have represented the harmonious coming together of Heaven, Earth and Mankind in the shamanic ceremonies. The Hata would thus have been reflecting their continental origins, with Chinese teaching underpinning Korean shamanism.

Interestingly, Tsushima has a tradition known as the Tendo faith, in which a temporary altar is constructed in a lush forest for spirits to descend. ‘Such practices also appear as elements of rituals on the Korean peninsula,’ notes the Kokugakuin encyclopedia.

Torii only developed in Heian times, so one can presume the three-sided version dates from then or afterwards. But that doesn’t mean there wasn’t a three-sided structure of some kind before that, peculiar to the Hata (clans developed their own distinctive beliefs and rituals). Prototypes certainly existed in Korea in the form of gates at the edge of villages which were used as a chicken roost. (Torii literally means ‘bird roost’.)

Though gateways are two-legged, it’s worth noting the universal appeal of the number three in religious terms. It speaks to the tripartite nature of human thought. Past, present, future. Father, mother, child. Beginning, middle, end. Birth, life, death. Earth, Sun, Moon. Or in shamanic terms, the Upper, Middle and Lower Worlds. It’s worth noting too the structural solidity of the triangular structure itself, which makes it robust enough to withstand the elements and even the natural disasters that plague Japan.

When the Hata settled in Uzumasa, they would have brought with them the memory of their legendary migration with them. In place of the sea over which they had travelled, they turned a flowing stream into a pond. And in the middle they piled stones to assist the descent of their clan ancestors. Water, earth, wood, wind and sky – all the elements were there for drawing down the spirits of the past.

As the imperial regime tightened its control over the clans, the shamanic element of their early ways died away in favour of a centralised priesthood. Uniform officials replaced feathered shamans. And as the ritualists took charge, the whole purpose of the three-legged torii was forgotten as the art of summoning spirits was replaced by formulaic utterances. With the openness of outdoor worship replaced by buildings that housed an unseen ‘spirit-body’, the three-sided torii was left to decay in the water in which it stood. A once magical triangle had lost its magic.

The torii at Watatsumi Shrine lead significantly down to the sea with the outermost becoming semi-submerged at high tide. The shrine is on the side of the island facing towards Korea: what ancestral spirits might they be welcoming?

For an Overview of the Hata, see Part One of this series.
See Part Two, about Hata Kawakatsu, founder of Koryu-ji.
Or see Part Three about Konoshima Jinja (Kaiko no Yashiro).
For part five of the series on ties with Buddhism, please click here.