Chapter 6 Pilgrimage Day 2

Diary of the White Bush Clover

Day 2 (7 October) Hama Ōtsu to Moriyama

Next morning at 5 o’clock the prayers began. I was in a hurry because the prayers had already started. I sat down behind the priest and prayed an hour and a half for the people who died in the war. Outside, the sunrise came. I had breakfast, gave a donation and started to walk again at 8 o’clock. From Hama Ōtsu I walked along a narrow path by the lake, where some people were enjoying fishing. I could not walk on the road because it was under construction. The old houses lining the shoreline and the narrow paths in this area reminded me of the past of Tōkaidō, the famous “town road” from Kyōto to Tōkyō.

I found Gichu-ji. I was happy to visit this famous temple. It is famous because the ashes and bones of Kisoyoshinaka of the Genji samurai are placed there. It is also well known because the poet Bashō used to frequent the temple and write haiku there. To this day people who love haiku often visit that temple.

In the garden I walked around and stood in front of the stone monuments, reading the poems carved on them, which are called hi. I felt inspired to write two haiku.

gichu-ji ya

hi ni kakomarete

kaki akashi

I came to Gichu-ji –

many hi carved in rocks all around,

one deep orange persimmon left on the tree.

The poems carved in the rocks are so old, whereas the persimmon has just grown this year. The poem contrasts the eternity of the rocks with the transience of the fruit. It is as if the persimmon wanted to show its utmost beauty before it died, this incredible deep orange color. It is like humans who hope to die quickly in a moment of beauty rather than fading away in suffering and ugliness. Standing there surrounded by the stones and poems, I felt as if the persimmon were saying to me, look at my beauty.

aki no hi ni

ura omomote naru

ishi no fumi

Autumn sun on stone poems –

simple letters carved on the back,

graceful script on the face.

It was autumn when I came to Gichu-ji. I noticed the moss on the stones carved with hi appeared black, deep green or bright green, depending on whether the moss was in light or shadow. I was thinking about the effect of the sun striking the stone monuments and their ancient poems. The stones were not lined up in an orderly way. Some had their backs toward the sun, some faced the sun. I could feel the continuation of history of the old stones. Yet the color of the moss and the color of the stones are all different, depending on how the sunlight hits them. There is only one sun but the rays touch many stones containing many poems, with varying results.

The autumn sun striking the old poetry made me feel melancholy. The low angle of the sun in autumn has to do with change. The atmosphere of autumn is sentimental. It is a little bit of a sad season because the leaves are falling, not like spring where everything is bursting with energy. Depending on the carving on the rock face, how the light strikes it is different. On the front the poem is carved with beautiful calligraphy. On the back there are a just a few simple characters giving names and dates. Again, the sun is the same and the rock on the back and front is the same. The thing that appears different is the lettering, the contrast between the exquisite calligraphy and the plain characters.

I had a rest in front of the hut and wrote a letter. Then I started walking again. I was a little tired and had some trouble with my foot so it was hard to walk.

Beside the road there was an old cherry tree that had fallen over and the exposed roots had no soil. This sakura was a very old tree. I stood and looked at it with deep concentration, imagining the history of this ancient tree. The tree must have seen very noisy times with many people coming to picnic under the cherry blossoms in the spring but now there was nothing. The tree has died and the people who saw the blossoms are also nothing, all gone. Both the tree and the human beings have their span of life. Life is transient, everything has its end. We cannot win against nature so it is good to live by the grace of nature. Before I left that place I wrote a waka about what this old tree taught me.

yowai tsuki

horioko sareshi

ro-ō no

hana no sakari o

mishi hito mo nashi

The old cherry tree has fallen down.

Perhaps someone will dig it up.

Also the people who used to see

the beautiful blossoms –

gone.

The next town was Kusatsu Oiwake, an old border town. It must have been crowded in ancient times. There were old houses on both sides of the road. Some had been remodeled. I felt sad that the old town might change completely to the modern style in the near future. The town was noisy because of an election and there was a lot of traffic.

I was walking on the shoulder of the road next to a ditch filled with water. My feet were tired and I slipped and fell down. My leg hurt but I could not check to see how badly it was injured. In spite of the pain I continued walking toward Moriyama. People waiting for a bus were looking at me so I did not want to limp. Some part of me said, you can take a bus but another part of me said, no, no, no, you are so chicken-hearted! I passed the bus stop and walked another ten minutes and still the bus had not come. If the people waiting for the bus had walked as I did, I thought, they would already have come as far as I have.

I had eaten breakfast in the morning but at 3 o’clock I had not had anything more to eat. There was no place to get water and few houses. I walked patiently on my painful leg. Finally I found a food shop and bought some bottles of juice. I felt like someone drinking water in the desert. The taste was delicious and different. I will never forget that taste. Afterwards I walked again feeling refreshed. By late afternoon I started wondering whether there were any ryokan in Moriyama. I was worried but determined. If I could not find an inn I would sleep on a bench at the station.

At 5 o’clock I saw the sign for Moriyama but I could not see any place to stay. I walked further and finally came to a big, fancy ryokan. The receptionist took one look at me and said, “No, this was not a place for simple travelers.” I told her the purpose of my walk from Kyōto to Tōkyō. The woman said, “Wait a moment.” A little while later she showed me to a special suite in a small building separate from the main ryokan. There were two rooms, very comfortable and quiet. Hotoke, the Buddha’s universal power, saved me. I could sleep on a bed. The shiki-buton underneath and the kake-buton on top were both soft.

An attendant came, made the futon and served tea. Too much service! Then I took a look at my leg. I had a blister on my heel and a long cut on my knee. It hurt to move. I went to a pharmacy nearby, bought medicine and bandages, and dressed the wound.

I had been walking all day, more than twenty kilometers, and I was really tired. When I could finally rest in the ryokan I looked out the window and suddenly the autumn rain started. If it had rained while I was walking I would not have felt that wonderful feeling of the sound of rain because I would have been getting all wet. I felt incredibly relieved and happy that I had made it there before the rain. Because I could sit back and rest the sound of the rain was magical.

Dinner was gorgeous and delicious and I was thankful for the meal. I made a haiku and spoke it aloud while the attendant was serving my meal.

moriyama ni

tsuku ya shigure no

yado no mado

Finally arriving at Moriyama,

resting in a small room –

autumn rain outside the window.

The serving woman asked for a copy so I wrote it down and gave it to her. I tried to sleep because I had to walk again tomorrow. But then I heard someone say, “Sumimasen.” It was the same woman, bringing washi, handmade calligraphy paper. “Excuse me,” she said again. “The owner wants a copy of the haiku too.” So I wrote the haiku on that special paper with love and gratitude.

I was awakened by sounds from next door. Alarmed, I opened my fusuma and looked out. Through the open fusuma of the next house I saw an old woman cleaning up the kitchen and an old man who appeared to be sick, sitting on the bed. Seeing that everything was all right I closed my fusuma and went back to bed but I lay awake thinking about the old couple. I wondered if they were the owner’s parents. The owners were making noise with the wealthy guests while the two old people were living in simple circumstances and perhaps sickness. There was such a contrast between the two lifestyles. The impression of the old woman taking care of her husband stayed with me for a long time.