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Kita-Komatsu at the intersection of worlds

At an otherwise nondescript station on the west bank of Lake Biwa, one can see from the train windows a graveyard of bicycles, piled up haphazardly, but without obvious defect. I was drawn to the mystery. With barely even an entry in the Japanese wikipedia, I could gather little information about Kita-Komatsu beyond what I saw.

The Bicycle Graveyard

In this part of Japan—far enough away from the regional metropolis of Kyoto, and just into the rapidly aging part of the countryside—solitude is common; I saw not a single person after leaving the station.

The Cemetery

But the evidence of life exists among the dead. Beyond the bicycles, I passed into another world of glistening stone grave markers, damp with morning dew; beer, sake and fresh cut flowers offered by the living.

About half an hour north east from Kyoto on the Kosei line, nestled into the shore of lake Biwa is the little, unassuming town of Kita-Komatsu (it has been the thin, northern edge of the city of Otsu in Shiga Prefecture since it was absorbed in 1955). To the east, with the sudden stop of the black tiled roofs, is the lake. its water disappearing into the mist of a cool spring morning. To the west are mountains, at their feet the Buddhist Temple Kozenji.

The Pilgrimage

Snaking up the mountain is a pilgrimage path marked by numbered bodhisattvas. On this damp, lonesome day, I left the world again and I began the climb.

7 – Sho Kannon
The beginning of the path
4 – Sho Kannon, again

The only sounds where birds and the rustling of leaves. The place smelled richly of a damp spring day, the fullness of life re-emerging from winter.

13 – Kobo-Daishi
23 – Yakushi Nyorai

Ascending to 23, I turned to look out on the lake.

The mountains of the opposite shore hovered, perfect, disconnected, like a vision of the Pure Land. I half expected the clouds to part and the Buddha Amida to descend to earth to carry me to the Western Paradise where I could live free of the suffering of the human world and in time attain the salvation of enlightenment.

27 – Hotei
29 – Fudo Myoo

At 29, a little tired, I looked at my feet and worldly concerns returned to me: slippery, sharp rocks, dirt marked by dear hooves. With no way of knowing how far along I was*, heading the warning of the flame-engulfed Fudo Myoo—and lest the unseen monks need to rescue a lost American who had slipped and broken his leg—I returned the way I came. This was at the hight of the path before it veered off along the ridge to the right...

* The path is 88 stations, I was almost a third through it. At first glance, one might expect this to be a miniature reproduction (utsushi reijo) of the 88 temple Shikoku pilgrimage (Shikoku Henro) which commemorates the travels of Kobo Daishi—the founder of Pure Land Buddhism, depicted above at station 13—however the votive markers feature a different image than the corresponding temples on the Shikoku route thus making that connection uncertain (additionally, the temple associated with this path is of the Rinzai Zen tradition who’s focus on meditation is quite different from the otherworldly salvation of Pure Land.). Utsushi reijo became more common from the Tokugawa period on, when a rising middle class and improved security made pilgrimage more accessible. While the original courses may take months to circumambulate, the reproductions often are much smaller. The pilgrimage here would only take a few hours. These offer a spiritual experience to those who, due to infirmity or economic circumstance, are unable to take the time and effort of the longer pilgrimages.

30, 31
And standing at the top of this Buddhist of experience, a torii gate marked off a small shinto shrine.

In the syncretism of Japanese spiritual life, Buddhism offers the possibility of enlightenment even to Kami, the deities of Shito, while the Kami—powerful and this-worldly, often associated with mountains, trees and rivers—offer protection to the Temple in return. This specific shrine may well be dedicated to the guardian Kami of the mountain, and is likely tended by the monks of the associated Buddhist temple.

My unseen companions on the path.

And Back Again

As I returned to the station and the world of humanity, I discovered this signage. A crude, hand painted map with expired information now covered in thin white paint. A warning to aging women of cackling purse snatchers... or is that a groper?

Hanging from a rusting sign, was a set of Christian tracts bearing cherry blossoms—a Buddhist-inflected symbol of transience—wrapped up in plastic to keep it safe from the rain.

Created By
John Hensel
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