Trees In the Town

 

Sarashina Diary: Retold in the present tense (12)

 

I write down events separated by two, three, or four to five years, without explaining any of the background context. It suddenly makes me look like a dedicated pilgrim on a non-stop journey. But that is hardly the case at all; it is simply that huge gaps of years lie between them.

In the spring of 1047, I stay at Kurama-dera Temple. It is a mild spring day, with mist trailing across the mountainside. Locals dig up and bring some tokoro (wild yam) roots from the mountains for food, and I find them delicious. When I leave the temple, the blossoms are already gone, and it loses its beauty.

However, when I visit again in October, the mountain scenery along the way is beautiful beyond comparison. The mountainside looks as if a brilliant brocade is spread out and displayed. The stream, rushing headlong and overflowing, looks like a torrent of shattered crystals.

When I arrive at the temple and reach the monastery, the maple leaves, damp from a sudden shower, are brilliant beyond comparison. I compose a poem on the scene:

Every passing shower in the autumn sky

Dyes the deep mountain leaves a richer hue;

See how the rain has woven this bright brocade,

Far more brilliant than any earthly loom.

After two years or so, I stay again at Ishiyama-dera Temple. It rains hard all through the night. Having always heard that rain on a journey is a melancholy thing, I open the wooden shutters, only to find the waning moon casting its light even into the depths of the ravine. What I took for the sound of rain is actually the mountain stream, rippling beneath the roots of the trees. Inspired by the scene, I compose a poem:

The mountain brook, cascading through the night,

Resounds so clearly, mimicking the rain;

Yet high above, the waning moon shines bright,

More radiant than I have ever seen.

I pay another visit to Hase-dera Temple in Hatsuse. This time, my family provides much more generous support for my journey than before. Along the route, people invite me to formal banquets here and there, so we make only slow progress. At the Hosono Forest in Yamashiro Province, the autumn leaves are breathtakingly beautiful. As I cross the Hatsuse River, I feel encouraged and think to myself:

Once more I come back to the Hatsuse stream;

Last time, a cedar twig was but a dream,

A faint and fleeting sign of grace divine—

This time, I pray to make its blessing mine.

We depart after staying at the temple for three days. On our return, we are too numerous to lodge in that small hut at the foot of Narasaka Hill, so we camp out in the open field. Our attendants pitch a makeshift shelter with grass and branches for us to stay in. They passed the night lying on mukabaki fur spread over the grass, covering themselves with straw mats. With the heavy dew falling upon us, we could scarcely catch any sleep all night long. Yet, the moon was clear and incomparably beautiful:

Across the endless sky where I must stray,

The waning moon refuses to depart;

The selfsame light that graced the Capital’s way,

Still follows me, to soothe my weary heart.

Although he is not like protagonists in romance tales, my husband, Tachibana Toshimichi (1002–1058), satisfies me economically and socially. Even when I go on distant pilgrimages, I can humorously write about my pleasures, suffering, and fatigue on the journeys. Naturally, I can not only dispel frustrated feelings about my husband’s lack of romance but also feel secure and dependent on him. I have no pressing sorrow in these days and try to bring up my young children as best as I can think of. I look forward to seeing the years pass. I just hope my husband, upon whom I depend, will be happily successful in life like other noblemen. Having that hope encourages me.

A dear friend of mine, who used to talk with me a lot and exchange tanka poems with me day and night, still continued to write to me, though not so often as of old. However, she has now gone down to Echizen Province as the wife of the Governor. All communication between us ceases. Finding a means of sending a message to her with great difficulty, I write her a tanka poem:

Our constant bond of old,

Which I believed would never die,

Now fades beneath the freezing cold,

Where Echizen’s deep snows lie.

She writes back:

Though Haku-san’s deep snows may hide

The pebble far from passing sight,

The devotion that glows inside

Will never lose its shining light.

I go down to the depths of Nishiyama in the western hills of Kyoto on March 1st. There are no people to be seen, and a spring haze mildly and calmly encloses us. Quietly and melancholically, cherry blossoms alone bloom all over the place:

Deep in the mountains, far from town,

The lonely cherry blossoms gleam,

Shaking their silent petals down,

Unseen by all except a dream.

Trees In the Town

 

Virtual Kako County Saigoku 33 Kannon Pilgrimage #18 Enko-ji Temple

 

     Enko-ji Temple, the 18th temple of the Kako County Saigoku 33 Kannon Pilgrimage, originally served as the shrine-temple (jingu-ji) of Kuniyasu-Tenman Shrine. Its chronological history is tied closely to the shrine:

653: Founded as Oji Gongen (the original site is now near the torii gate of Kuniyasu-Tenman Shrine).

675: Construction of Oike Pond.

893: Moved to the current site; Ike Daimyojin enshrined.

901: Sugawara Michizane (845–903) visited and rested here after landing at Futami.

1390: An island was built in the pond to enshrine Benzaiten, following a Buddhist priest's advice.

1565: The main shrine was rebuilt. Michizane became the primary deity due to a severe water shortage. Presumably, the pond was renamed "Tenma Oike" around this time.

1701: The current shrine building was constructed.

Historical Insights and Speculations:

     For context, Michizane was deified in 947. "Futami" refers to present-day Futamicho (Akashi, Hyogo). In the 10th century, the coastline would have been much closer to the Kuniyasu area than it is today.

     Even so, why did Michizane walk over four kilometers inland instead of staying at the port?

     Historical topography and records offer some fascinating clues. It is believed that a clan or figure named "O" arrived in the area in 653. They likely reclaimed rice fields from the rather wetlands without a main river, leaving Oike Pond as a remnant of that original landscape in the 7th century. They kept using the pond to regularly irrigate their rice fields. By the 9th century, locals began worshipping the pond itself as a deity. Hearing of Michizane's great prestige as a scholar and poet during his journey, a powerful local family likely invited him to rest at their residence.

     Centuries later, during the Nanboku-cho (the Southern and Northern Courts) period (1336–1392), their descendants may have built the island in the pond as a strategic place of refuge. Later, during the turbulent Sengoku (Warring States) period (1467-1568), the community faced severe hardships. To protect themselves, they likely sought to connect with the powerful network of Tenmangu shrines across the region. They may have emphasized their historical connection—the debt of gratitude for providing Michizane with a night's lodging and a meal—to justify making him their primary deity. This would explain why they chose to enshrine Michizane as a protective god, even though he was widely known as the deity of learning not the deity for rain.

     While the exact founding date of Enko-ji Temple remains unknown, it was relocated to its current site following the Shinbutsu Bunri Rei (Gods and Buddhas Separation Order) issued by the Meiji Restoration government in 1868.

Address: 14 Nakamura, Inami, Kako District, Hyogo 675-1122

Phone: 079-492-0078

Kuniyasu-Tenman Shrine

Address: 539 Kuniyasu, Inami, Kako District, Hyogo 675-1114

Phone: 079-492-0741

Kuniyasu-Tenman Shrine Torii Gate

Address: Address: 348 Rokubuichi, Inami, Kako District, Hyogo 675-1114

Trees In the Town

 

Virtual Kako County Saigoku 33 Kannon Pilgrimage #17 Zenryo-an Hermitage

 

     The history of Zenryo-an Hermitage is wrapped in a local mystery. Its recorded address is 108 Nishitani, Hiraokacho, Kakogawa, Hyogo (675-0102). However, a look at the area today reveals private houses at numbers 106 and 109, but number 108 is nowhere to be found. While one record notes that this former Caodong Chan hermitage eventually became a private house, local maps indicate that Zenryo-ji Temple stands adjacent to number 106.  Number 108 seems vacant.

     Whether known as Zenryo-an or Zenryo-ji, its past is completely untraceable. Where is its sacred Eleven-Faced Kannon statue now? Is it being preserved secretly within a private residence, or has it found a new home in a distant temple?

     Nishitani Village was developed in 1679 and Nishitani-Hachiman-gu Shrine was invited in the same year.  Zenryo-an Hermitage could have been built about that time or later.

Zenryo-ji Temple

Address: Nishitani-107 Hiraokacho, Kakogawa, Hyogo 675-0102

 

Nishitani-Hachiman-gu Shrine

Address: Nishitani-129 Hiraokacho, Kakogawa, Hyogo 675-0102

Trees In the Town

 

Sarashina Diary: Retold in the present tense (11)

 

On October 25, 1046, Kyoto is in a state of wild excitement over the purification ceremonies preceding the grand harvest ritual, celebrated for the first time by Emperor Go-Reizen (1025–1068) since his accession to the throne on April 8, 1045. 

As for me, I am completely immersed in my own purification and ablution routines to visit Hase-dera Temple, packing up to set out on this very day. My family tries their hardest to block my way, exclaiming, “This is a once-in-a-reign spectacle! Even those countryside folk from around the capital are flocking to see it! You must be out of your mind to abandon Kyoto on this exact day, when you have countless other dates to choose from. Your bizarre behavior will surely become a laughingstock for generations!” My brother flairs up in a spectacular rage. My husband, however, shrugs and says, “Oh, just let her go. There is no stopping her when she gets like this.” Following my own whim, my husband lets me depart. His weary indulgence toward the desperate single-mindedness of my peripheral soul pierces my guilty conscience.

I do feel a bit of pity for my attendants. From their peripheral positions, their hearts are yearning to catch a glimpse of the glamorous central ceremony. Yet, I think to myself, “What use do we have for such worldly shows? The Buddha will surely be pleased with someone who possesses the frantic single-mindedness of a misplaced soul to visit Him at a chaotic time like this. Divine favor will definitely be ours!” And so, we steal away before the break of dawn.

The grand ceremonial parade is to head east along Nijo Oji Street. We, however, march deliberately west against the tide. My attendants dress in pure white, with our blazing pine torches flaring before us. Everyone on horseback, in carriages, or on foot—scurrying past us toward the viewing stands—stares in utter amazement and gasps, “What on earth is that? What is that?” They certainly do not miss us. Some even openly jeer or mock our bizarre little procession.

As I pass by the mansion of Fujiwara Yoshinori (1002–1048), the Commander of the Bodyguards, his attendants are standing outside the wide-open gates. They burst out laughing and sneer, “Look at them crawling off to a temple, when there are countless other days and months in the world to choose from!” Yet, one of them says with unexpected gravity, “What is a fleeting show to entertain our eyes for a mere moment? They must have an unshakeable resolve. Divine favor will surely be theirs. How foolish we are! We ought to fix our minds on what truly matters, just like them, instead of wasting our time sightseeing.”

I wanted to escape Kyoto before the streets were exposed by the morning sun, so we sneaked away in the dead of night. We wait for our lagging attendants at the grand gate of Hosho-ji Temple, wondering if this suffocatingly thick fog will ever thin out. Meanwhile, those local rustics keep flowing in from the countryside like a relentless river. Nobody even dreams of stepping aside to make room for us. Even the local children are ill-mannered and vulgar enough to squeeze past my carriage with reckless friction, tossing words of bewilderment and contempt at us.

I feel a sharp twinge of regret for setting out on this exact day. Yet, praying to the Buddha with all my might, as if to drown out the awkward ache in my soul, I finally arrive at the ferry crossing of the Uji River. Even there, the local crowds are surging up toward Kyoto in thick throngs. Seeing this endless sea of people, the ferrymen become entirely full of themselves, swelling with instant pride. Tucking up their sleeves and turning their faces away, they lean idly on their poles, refusing to bring their boats to the riverbank anytime soon. They just look around, whistling with an infuriatingly indifferent air.

Stranded there for what feels like an eternity, unable to cross, I begin to scan the scenery—and suddenly, it all comes rushing back. Looking at this very river, the raw obsession of my youth flashes back with terrifying clarity. This is the place I used to dream of while devouring The Tale of Genji, which tells of Princesses Oikimi, Nakanokimi, and Ukifune, the nieces of the Shining Prince, who lived right here. After the long illusion, I find myself on a ferry and we manage to squeeze across the river and go to view the Uji Mansion. Gazing at the secluded residence, I am caught in another haunting delusion: if I were Ukifune, how would I be abandoned and hidden away within these very walls?

[Editor's Note: Princess Yushi's foster father, Fujiwara Yorimichi, converted the Uji Mansion into Byodo-in Temple in 1052.]

As we started before daybreak, my attendants are utterly exhausted. We rest at Yahiroji to eat. There, our guard thoroughly spooks us, warning, “Isn’t that Mount Kurikoma ahead, the notorious haunt of bandits? Since evening is drawing in, keep your weapons ready.” I listen to his words with a shudder, but we manage to pass the mountain safely. The sun is just touching its summit when we finally reach Lake Nieno. My attendants scatter in several directions to seek lodging, only to return with bleak news: there is no proper place to stay, save for a wretched, low-class hut. Having no other choice, we take it.

[Editor’s note: Yahiroji is believed to be around modern-day Noroji Tono, Joyo, Kyoto 610-0111.]

The house to which this hut belongs is occupied by only two humble caretakers, as the owner’s family have all gone up to Kyoto. Those two men do not sleep a wink that night. They keep pacing in and out, restlessly patrolling around the house. The women waiting in our screened recess finally ask, “Why are you walking about so much?” The men reply, “Why, you ask? We’ve rented this place to perfect strangers. What if they steal our only cooking pot? Fretting over what we’d do, we just can’t stop walking.” Hearing this, I find the situation both eerie and utterly hilarious.

In the early morning, we set off again. We stop to pray at Todai-ji Temple. We also visit Isonokami Jingu Shrine, which looks ancient and stands on the very verge of ruin. That night, we lodge at a temple in Yamabe. Although I am dead tired, I manage to recite a few sutras before drifting off to sleep. In my dream, a woman of exquisite nobility and purity appears. I draw closer to where she stands. A harsh wind is howling. She notices me, and with a gentle smile, asks, “For what purpose have you come all this way?” I answer, “How could I possibly help coming?” She then tells me, “You belong in the Inner Palace, conversing with the lecturer's wife.” I awake finding the dream profoundly delightful and promising, and I begin to pray even more fervently than before.

We cross the Hatsuse River and arrive at Hase-dera Temple in the evening. After purifying myself, I go up to the temple hall. I stay there for three days. On the final night before our departure, I doze off. In the dead of night, I dream that someone throws a cedar twig into my room, saying, “This is a token bestowed by Goddess Inari.” I am startled awake, only to find it is nothing but a dream.

We leave the temple far before dawn. Unable to find proper lodging, we are forced to spend yet another night in a wretched, pint-sized hut before crossing Nara-saka Hill. “This place looks incredibly shady and suspicious—no one dares sleep!” our people whisper, while others hiss, “Even if something catastrophic happens, don't you dare panic! Just play dead and stop breathing!” Hearing these frantic, paranoid warnings, I endure the night in miserable terror, feeling as though I survive a thousand years in a single night. When the day finally dawns and we skedaddle out of there, we are flabbergasted to learn the truth: we have been sleeping right inside a literal robbers' den all along, and the mistress of the house is up to some deeply sinister, shady business behind our backs.

We cross the Uji River in a howling wind, our ferryboat passing close beside the traditional ajiro fishing nets:

I have known the ajiro net only by its name,

Yet here I am, desperately counting each wooden pole,

Trying to anchor my mind caught up in waves of delusion

That endlessly crash and close in between them.

Trees In the Town

 

Virtual Kako County Saigoku 33 Kannon Pilgrimage #16 Ozo-ji Temple

 

     Ozo-ji Temple was founded in 653 by Hermit Hodo, who is believed to have traveled from India through Tang China and the Korean kingdom of Baekje to Japan during the late 6th to early 7th centuries. Hodo, who is supposed to have originally borne the Sanskrit name Dharmapatha, might have been called Puap-dauh in China, Papp-do in Korea, and [ɸapotaɯ] (an archaic bilateral sound akin to 'Fa-po-tau') when he arrived in Japan.

     On August 4th, 897, Emperor Uda (867-931) suddenly proclaimed the coming-of-age of his Crown Prince, Atsuhito (885-930), abdicated the throne on the very same day, and became the retired emperor. In 899, ex-Emperor Uda took the tonsure at To-ji Temple and entered Ninna-ji Temple as a monk, thus becoming a Cloistered Emperor. He is believed to have donated a tract of land to Ozo-ji Temple sometime between 898 and 901, and the surrounding areas subsequently evolved into the private manor (shoen) of the Cloistered Emperor.

     At its peak, the temple boasted immense prestige in Harima Province, encompassing a grand main complex and numerous sub-temples. Historical records from 1235, during the reign of Emperor Shijo (1231-1242) and the regency of Fujiwara Yoritsune (1218-1256), confirm a deed of donation granting the temple a precinct of approximately 50.5 hectares (about 11 Tokyo Domes) and surrounding woods and fields of 79.4 hectares (about 17 Tokyo Domes). This domain also included Kanpei Pond, originally constructed around 893 during the Kanpei era (889-898) and later renamed Terada Pond during the Kamakura period (1185-1333).

     However, this era of grandeur came to a violent end in 1578. During Hashiba Hideyoshi’s brutal siege of Miki Castle, the temple complexes and sub-temples were completely destroyed by fire, leaving only a single hall and one sub-temple standing.

     Sometime during the Genroku era (1688–1704), Priest Senkaku, a prominent monk from Keifuku-ji Temple in the Himeji castle town, revived the temple, converting its affiliation from Shingon Buddhism to the Caodong Chan (Soto Zen) sect.

     And they lived happily ever after... or did they?

     A fascinating historical mystery lies in the very geography of the temple: Ozo-ji is located within the former site of Yokura Fortress, the stronghold of the Noguchi family. The name "Ozo" (横蔵) can historically be pronounced Yokokura. Over time, the character for "kura" (蔵) was replaced with a simpler character (倉) to form Yokura (横倉), which eventually corrupted into the present name, Yokura (よくら).

     Who caused this linguistic simplification and corruption? It may well have been the ancestors of the Noguchi family. Whether they were samurai stewards (jito) dispatched from the Kanto region, local estate officials (shokan) who took up arms, or simply a band of fierce opportunists living at the "mouth of the wild fields" (No-guchi) who seized power during the chaotic Warring States period (1467-1568), remains unknown. Yet, instead of being eradicated after the fall of the fortress, they clung to the land around Yokura.

     In the early Edo period, the temple re-emerged within the newly registered "Shinzaike" (新在家) village. Since the name Shinzaike literally signifies newly organized or developed settlements, this suggests that the local survivors reclaimed and tilled the vast, desolate ruins of the destroyed temple's former precincts, eventually securing official recognition for their temple during the Genroku era (1688-1704).

     Can we live happily ever after with this solution? Perhaps, but the landscape of modern Harima silently hints at deeper secrets. One might wonder if Kanpei Pond, constructed in 893, was the work of the descendants of Baekje immigrants who inherited Hermit Hodo’s ancient engineering lineage. Furthermore, the name Shinzaike, distinct from ordinary newly reclaimed fields known as Shinden, powerfully suggests a grand resettlement: a community founded by the temple's former warrior-monks (sohei) who laid down their arms after the ashes of 1578, chose to become secular householders (zaike), and reclaimed their sacred land.

     The true depths of Yokura’s history still wait to be fully unearthed.

Address: Shinzaike 900, Hiraokacho, Kakogawa, Hyogo 675-0101

Phone: 079-424-0345

Yokokura Fortress Site

Address: Hiraokacho Shinzaike, Kakogawa, Hyogo 675-0101

Terada Pond

Address: Hiraokacho Shinzaike, Kakogawa, Hyogo 675-0101

Keifuku-ji Temple

Address: Keifukujimae 7-1, Himeji, Hyogo 670-0027

Phone: 079-292-4807

Trees In the Town

 

Virtual Kako County Saigoku 33 Kannon Pilgrimage #15 Enmei-ji Temple

 

     Enmei-ji Temple was founded in 1549 by Tairyo Gakuko in Futamata Village, Kako County, Harima Province—a village first documented in 1354.

     The temple’s birth coincided with a period of intense geopolitical upheaval. In 1549, the bitter power struggle between Miyoshi Masanaga and Miyoshi Nagayoshi reached a climax, shifting the tides of power across Settsu, Yamashiro, and notably, Eastern Harima. Founded at this critical turning point, the temple stood at the threshold of an era where the region would be relentlessly swept into the chaotic wars of national unification.

     Given these perilous times, the name "Enmei" immediately brings to mind the Japanese word for the "Prolongation of Life" (延命). It would make perfect sense if Gakuko had founded the temple as a prayer for survival, hoping to prolong the lives of the locals as well as his own.

     And indeed, the temple itself seemed to possess a miraculous longevity. Although it transitioned from Shingon Buddhism to the Caodong Chan school in the mid-1600s, it survived for centuries. Even after the Meiji Restoration of 1868, it weathered the fierce government-sanctioned anti-Buddhist movement. When a tragic fire destroyed the main hall on November 30th, 1877, the community refused to let it die. By 1879, thanks to the tireless efforts of a local devotee named Sakata Tozo and the parishioners, a sub-temple of Kakurin-ji was dismantled, transported along the Arai irrigation canal, and rebuilt as the new main hall. The locals had successfully "prolonged" the temple's life.

     One might be tempted to praise Gakuko for his foresight in naming the temple "Enmei" (Prolongation of Life) to ensure its survival. However, there is a brilliant twist to this story: the temple's name is not written as "延命" at all. Instead, it is written as "円明" (Enmei)—meaning "Perfect Enlightenment" or "Bright Circle."

     Gakuko may not have intended to name it after survival, but through centuries of wars, purges, and fires, the history of this temple turned a prayer for wisdom into a literal miracle of long life.

Address: Futamata 690, Hiraokacho, Kakogawa, Hyogo 675-0111

Phone: 079-437-9866

Fukusho-ji Temple

Address: 3 Chome-13-11 Furuta, Harima, Kako District, Hyogo 675-0146

Futamata Community Center

Address: Futamata-584 Hiraokacho, Kakogawa, Hyogo 675-0111

Phone: 079-435-0838

Kakurin-ji Temple

Address: Kitazaike-424 Kakogawacho, Kakogawa, Hyogo 675-0031

Phone: 079-454-7053

Trees In the Town

 

Sarashina Diary: Retold in the present tense (10)

 

Nowadays, I deeply regret the idle fancies of my past. As my parents have not accompanied me to temples or shrines, I feel impatient. Now, I wish to be wealthy and influential, and to bring up my children as I desire. For myself, I wish to become a wealthy person and to do my best to pile up virtuous deeds for my future life in the next world.

So, encouraging my heart, I travel to Ishiyama-dera Temple in late December. It snows a lot and the scenery along the route is lovely. As I see Osaka Pass, I remember my past self, a girl from the provinces who crossed it with a heart full of yearning for the capital. I recall that it was also in winter, on a similarly windy day, when I passed it on my way up. As I stand here, the bitter winds of the world blow as relentlessly as they did then:

The winds across Osaka Pass

Blow with the same fierce sound as long ago,

When a girl’s distant dreams first crossed this crest;

Now, exiled from the center, my years have tripled in the cold.

Seki-dera Temple has been made magnificent. That reminds me of the old, roughly hewn head of Buddha. It touches my heart to realize how many years have passed. The beach at Uchide does not look changed, serving as a cruel contrast to the years I spent in the capital, where I was forced to face my own marginality.

Towards evening, I arrive at Ishiyama-dera Temple. I go down to the purification house and then go up to the main hall. No voice is heard, and the mountain wind is dreadful. During Buddhist practices, I fall asleep. I hear a voice saying, "From the inner shrine, musk perfume has been bestowed. Tell her at once." At these words, I awake and find it to be a dream. Feeling that even a peripheral soul like myself was embraced in the equal mercy of the Buddha, I took it as a comforting omen and passed the rest of the night in quiet prayer.

The next day, the wind rages and it snows heavily. I comfort my lonely heart by sharing deep conversation with my companion, who is a lady-in-waiting to Princess Yushi (1038–1105) and who is an equal before the Buddha. We leave after staying there for three days.

Trees In the Town

 

Virtual Kako County Saigoku 33 Kannon Pilgrimage #14 Kyoshin-ji Temple

 

     Kyoshin-ji Temple was founded on the site of the hermitage of Monk Kyoshin (786-866).

     Kyoshin was born in Nara in 781, studied at Kofuku-ji Temple, and, at the age of 16, left the temple to travel throughout Japan. It is said that after more than 40 years, he arrived at Kako Station (Kako no Umaya) and built a hermitage. Kyoshin's activities in the Kako area involved chanting Buddhist prayers and assisting travelers along the highway, sometimes even transporting luggage from Akashi in the east to Amida-shuku (present-day Amida-cho, Takasago City) in the west. It is also said that Umaya-ga-ike Pond, located south of Kyoshin-ji Temple, was dug by Kyoshin and local people.

     In 866, realizing his impending death, Kyoshin instructed his wife and child before passing away to leave his remains beside the hermitage and give them to birds and animals. At the same time, Kyoshin appeared in a dream to Sho’nyo, a monk at Katsuo-ji Temple in Settsu Province, and announced his own death. The statue of Kyoshin's head, preserved at Kyoshin-ji Temple, is said to represent Kyoshin's appearance in the dream.

     Later, Emperor Seiwa (850-880), in remembrance of Kyoshin's virtues, built a temple on the site of the hermitage and named it Kannen-ji Temple. Emperor Sutoku (1119-1164) is said to have later renamed it Nenbutsu-zan Kyoshin-ji Temple in 1126. When Toyotomi Hideyoshi (1537-1598) besieged Miki Castle in 1578, Noguchi Fortress was captured, and Kyoshin-ji Temple was completely burned down. Some Buddhist statues and paintings were saved from destruction by the monks, and the temple buildings were rebuilt sometime between 1615 and 1623.

     Kyoshin was revered as a mentor by Ippen (1239-1289) and Shinran (1173-1263). Ippen stopped at the temple during his travels throughout the country. The temple's appearance at that time is depicted in the Ippen Shonin Picture Scroll.

     It is said that when Ippen stayed at Kyoshinji Temple, he performed a Nembutsu dance, which is considered the origin of the current Banshu Ondo.

Address: Noguchi-465 Noguchicho, Kakogawa, Hyogo 675-0012

Phone: 079-422-7189

Umaya-ga-ike Pond

Address: Noguchicho, Kakogawa, Hyogo 675-0012

Katsuo-ji Temple

Address: 2914-1 Aomatani, Minoh, Osaka 562-8508

Phone: 072-721-7010

Noguchi Fortress Site

Address: Noguchi-391-3 Noguchicho, Kakogawa, Hyogo 675-0012

Trees In the Town

 

Sarashina Diary: Retold in the present tense (9)

 

The ladies-in-waiting who are accustomed to the company of court nobles seem to attract all the attention, but nobody cares whether a simple-hearted country woman like me exists or not. On a very dark night at the beginning of October, when sweet-voiced reciters are to read sutras throughout the night, my companion—another lady-in-waiting—and I go out to the entrance door of the hall to listen to them. After talking for a while, we sit nodding and napping. Then, I notice Minamoto Sukemichi (1005–1060), whose father worked with my father in 1001, approaching the hall. "It would be awkward to run away to our room to call the more prominent ladies-in-waiting. Let’s remain right here and see what happens," says my companion, playfully encouraging me to stay. I sit beside her, listening to him.

Sukemichi speaks gently and quietly. There is nothing regrettable about his demeanor. "Who is the other lady?" he asks my companion, casting a curious glance toward me. He says nothing rude or amorous like other men, but talks delicately of the moving and sorrowful things of the world; many a phrase of his possesses a strange power that keeps me from leaving. My companion and I engage in a witty, refined exchange with him. "I did not think there would still be someone so charmingly unfamiliar to me in this residence," he says. He seems completely captivated by me and does not appear inclined to leave anytime soon.

There is no starlight, and a gentle shower falls in the darkness. Its soft patter on the leaves is utterly charming. "On a night of such deep, hidden beauty," Sukemichi says, "the full, naked moonlight would actually be mismatched. It should never be too dazzling." Discoursing elegantly upon the rival beauties of Spring and Autumn, he continues, "Although every season possesses its own unique charm, how exquisitely lovely is the spring haze! When the sky is tranquil and softly overcast, the face of the moon is not too bright, appearing as if it is floating upon a distant, misty river. At such a time, the calm, gentle melody of the lute is nothing short of exquisite.

"In Autumn, on the other hand, the moon shines with piercing clarity. Even when mists trail over the horizon, we can see things as clearly as if they are right before our eyes. The sighing of the wind, the delicate voices of insects—all sweet, sorrowful things seem to melt together. When, at such a moment, we listen to the poignant autumnal music of the koto, we think but little of the Spring.

"In Autumn, we cannot help but think that way. Yet in Winter, when even the sky looks frozen through and through, it is magnificently cold; the snow blankets the earth, its pristine light mingling with the pale moonshine. Then, when the piercing notes of the hichiriki vibrate through the crisp air, we forget both Spring and Autumn entirely." Having spun his silver-tongued tale, he turns to us and asks, "Which season, then, lingers most fondly in your mind?"

My companion answers in favor of Autumn, and I, not wishing to imitate her, reply with a tanka poem:

In the pale green night,

Flowers all melt into one,

Blending like the soft haze,

As the spring moon shines so faint.

He, after repeating my tanka poem to himself over and over, says, "Then you give up Autumn?” and replies:

If I am to live after tonight,

I will cherish the Spring,

Holding it in my heart forever

As a tender memento from you.

My companion, who favors Autumn, chimes in:

Others seem to give their hearts to Spring.

Even if it be so,

I shall remain alone,

Gazing at the lonely Autumn moon.

He seems deeply intrigued, and, as if playful yet embarrassed, says, "Even in Tang China, poets were divided between Spring and Autumn. Your choices make me think that there must be some personal reasons which make you judge in your own ways. When I feel deeply unhappy or heartily joyful, my mind inclines to be dyed with the colors of the sky, the moon, or the flowers of that very moment. I desire so much to know what inclines your hearts to Spring or Autumn.

“The moon of a winter night is usually spoken of as an instance of dreary bleakness. As it is bitterly cold at night, I had never seen it intentionally. However, I went down to Ise Province in November, 1025, to serve as the Imperial messenger at the coming-of-age ceremony on December 5th for Princess Senhi (1005–1081), the Saigu, the High Priestess of Ise. I thought about leaving for Kyoto in the early dawn, so I went to take leave of the Princess. Days of snow had accumulated, and the moon illuminated the snow with dazzling brightness. As I was on my journey, I felt very uneasy.

"Her residence, compared with others, was awe-inspiring, as I regarded it as a sacred place. I was ushered into an elegant room. There was an old lady-in-waiting who had started serving during the reign of Emperor En’yu (959–991). She looked incredibly holy and ancient. In a most refined manner, she told of the things of long ago with tears in her eyes. She then brought out a beautifully tuned Japanese Biwa lute. The music she played did not sound like anything belonging to this world. I regretted that the dawn should ever break, and was touched so deeply that I had almost forgotten all about Kyoto. Ever since then, the snowy nights of winter always remind me of that scene. I have never missed going out and gazing at the winter moon, sometimes even bringing a brazier out with me. You, too, must certainly have your own reasons for favoring your chosen seasons. Hereafter, as a matter of course, every dark night with a gentle rain will touch my heart. I feel tonight has been in no way inferior to that snowy night at the residence of the Saigu."

With these words, he departs, and I wonder if he could have known who I was.

In August of the following year, Princess Yushi goes again to the Inner Palace, where entertainment continues throughout the night. I do not know that Sukemichi is present there, and I pass that night in my own room in the Fujitsubo House. When I look out in the early morning, opening the sliding doors onto the corridor, I see the morning moon, very faint and charming. I hear footsteps, with someone among them reciting a sutra. The one who is reciting stops right in front of the entrance of the house and calls out a greeting. As I am the only one awake in the house, I reply. He, suddenly recognizing my voice, exclaims, "That night of softly falling rain—I have not forgotten it, even for a single moment! How I have yearned for you." As the situation does not permit me many words, I compose a tanka poem:

Why do you cherish so deeply

The memory of that gentle shower,

Whispering softly upon the leaves,

Lost in the fleeting mood of that night?

I have scarcely uttered these words when other people approach, and I quickly steal back inside.

After that evening, I return home. Later, I hear that he visited my companion—the one who had debated Spring and Autumn with me before—and left with her a tanka poem composed in reply to mine. According to hearsay, he said, "If there should ever be another night as tranquil as that of the winter shower, I would dearly love to play my lute for her, sharing every melody I know."

How I wished to hear him play! I waited for the perfect occasion, but alas, it never came.

In the following Spring, on one tranquil evening, I hear that Sukemichi comes to the Princess's residence. I creep out of my room with my companion—the very one with whom Sukemichi and I had debated Spring and Autumn. However, the hall is already filled with the usual crowd: guests visiting from outside and the regular ladies-in-waiting inside, all seemingly waiting with bated breath to see what will happen. Finding no quiet moment under their watchful eyes, I stop creeping forward and turn back. I fondly convince myself that he must share the very same mind as me—surely, he has come precisely because it is such a tranquil night, but has retreated simply because it is too noisy.

The tempting sounds of whirling currents

Urge a sailor to venture out to sea.

Does a beach fisherman, I wonder,

Share the very same mind as he?

Having composed this tanka poem, I have nothing more to do. His personality is, in truth, very honest and sincere; he is not just another ordinary man. Yet, time simply passes by, without him approaching me, or me approaching him.

Trees In the Town

 

Virtual Kako County Saigoku 33 Kannon Pilgrimage #13 Kannon-ji Temple

 

     The exact founding date of Kannon-ji Temple (also known as Kannon-do) in Sakamoto Village, Kako County, remains shrouded in mystery. The earliest historical record of the village itself dates back to 1515, a period when the surrounding Harima Province was plunged into political turmoil.

     In those days, while Akamatsu Yoshimura (?-1521) was the official shugo (samurai guardian) of Harima, his vassal Uragami Muramune (1498-1531) held the actual power as the province's hegemon. Local warriors were deeply divided, clashing between the Akamatsu and Uragami factions. Amidst this chaos, historical documents indicate that Kakurin-ji Temple held various pockets of land scattered across local villages, including Sakamoto. However, the ancient authority and wealth of such traditional temples were gradually chipped away as Sengoku warlords aggressively consolidated their territorial control.

     Records show that Kakurin-ji managed to retain its land in Sakamoto Village until as late as 1534. The instability of the region peaked in 1558, when Kodera Masatomo (1529-1584) launched a military coup within the Akamatsu Clan, forcing the clan head, Harumasa (1495-1565), to cede power to his son, Yoshisuke (1537-1576). It was through this turbulent era of shifting borders and fading temple estates that Kannon-ji Temple quietly endured.

Address: Sakamoto-505 Noguchicho, Kakogawa, Hyogo 675-0018