Chapter 6 Pilgrimage Day 19

Diary of the White Bush Clover

Day 19 (24 October) Shimizu to Fujishi

Dawn was late because it was late autumn. In the main room the praying had already started. I sat behind the priest for two hours and prayed with him. My notebook was in front of the Buddha so I felt sure that the many people who died in the war would be happy. I had breakfast and the priest’s wife made a box lunch for me.

I set out along Route 1 to the east. The road became narrow and there was a lot of traffic. The cars drove slowly, filling the air with fumes, and I put a handkerchief over my nose. This road was not good for pedestrians and I felt a little unhappy. I found a small road and turned that way. The air was clear. I looked at the handkerchief. The white cotton had two black holes where my nostrils had been. But then the little road came back to Route 1 and the cars went by slowly like cows.

I arrived at the Oda family house. Looking out the window I could see Fuji-san. The mountain looked like it was right in front of me. I thought they must be happy to live in a place like this. The wife was very kind. I thought of the sutra that says the Buddha changes his body to human form to help people, so that family was the Buddha. I thanked them very much for taking care of me. At night we talked and I had a very nice time with them.

Chapter 6 Pilgrimage Day 18

Diary of the White Bush Clover

Day 18 (23 October) Shizuoka to Shimizu

I hurried to Nihondaida, without any breakfast as usual. Looking at the hill from far away, I thought it was not so high but the road up was very long. There was another toll gate. The toll road I walked on a few days ago had many trees and bushes with a valley on one side but this was only a wide grassy hill. I reached a viewpoint at the top but it was a pity that I could not see Fuji-san because of the fog. The road going down was smooth and there were mikan orchards and tea fields on both sides of the road. Soon the fog lifted and I could see the Bay of Suruga.

After three and a half hours I reached the foot of the hill and was already in Shimizu City, the birthplace of Shimizu Jirocho. His bones were interred in Beiin-ji, a Zen temple. There was a statue of him in the temple garden and in the little exhibition hall I saw the clothes, swords and cups that had belonged to him and his wife. At his grave site I found something very interesting. Many people had chipped his gravestone to take a memory of this great, kind man, hoping to be like him. But now we could not get close because there was a fence around the grave.

Next door was Ryuge-ji, the grave site of the famous Nobel peace prize author, Chogyu Takayama. In the garden there was a big, old cycad tree, a natural monument. The bent tree trunk looked like an elephant’s trunk. Higher up was a stone garden with a statue of Chogyu. He believed in the Buddhist sect, Nichiren, and he loved Fuji-san.

Since I was so close to Mihonomatsubara, a famous row of pine trees protecting the road from the sea wind, I decided to go that way even though it was a longer distance. On the way many trucks passed me carrying big logs to make paper pulp so I walked on the beach. It was hard to walk in the sand. At last I arrived at Mihonomatsubara and I could see Fuji-san over the sea. I recalled the story of the angel’s shawl. It is said that an angel came from heaven to the seaside. She was wearing a flowing shawl, which got caught on a pine tree. A passing fisherman untangled it but he did not want to give it back to her. She danced beautifully for him and he finally returned the shawl. Then she was able to go back to heaven.

I stood looking at this scene for a little while, my heart filled with deep silence. After I finish this journey, I thought, my life will be changed from silence to busy activity. A sightseeing bus arrived and many people took pictures in front of this famous pine tree. A little wave washed over my feet. I picked up a small stone as a souvenir and left. I went back the same way I had come and hurried to Monyou-ji.

In the evening I arrived at the temple at last. The last time I sat down in front of an image of Buddha was three days ago. As I prayed before the statue of Buddha once more, I remembered the proud old man’s face in Sagara, covered with tears.