Chapter 6 Pilgrimage Map

Diary of the White Bush Clover


Day      Map number     Location (overnight*)

1                      1          Kyōto

                        2          Yamashina

     3          Hama Ōtsu*

2                      4          Zeze

     5          Kusatsu

     6          Moriyama*

3                      7          Mikamiyama

                        8          Omihachiman*

4                      9          Hikone*

5                      10        Samegai

    11        Kashiwabara

    12        Sekigahara*

6                      13        Ōgaki*

7                      14        Ichinomiya*

8                      15        Nagoya*

9                      16        Okazaki*

10                    17        Gamagori*

11                    18        Toyohashi*

12                    19        Mikkabi

    20        Kanzan-ji*

13                    21        Hamamatsu*

14                    22        Iwata*

15                    23        Osugacho*

16                    24        Sagara*

17                    25        Shizuoka*

18                    26        Shimizu*

10                    27        Fujishi*

20                    28        Numazu*

21                    29        Mishima

                        30        Ashino-ko, Hakone*

22                    31        Odawara*

23                    32        Kōzu

     33        Ōiso

                        34        Hiratsuka*

24                    35        Atsugi

                        36        Haramachi*

25                    37        Shibuya, Tōkyō*

Chapter 6 Pilgrimage Day 25

Diary of the White Bush Clover

Day 25 (30 October) Haramachida to Tōkyō

Today was finally the last day. I woke up earlier in the morning because I had to return to the road at Haramachida, far from where I had stayed last night. I left at 7 o’clock and went back to my starting point, which took one hour. There were rice fields on either side of the river. It was the harvest season but after the typhoon the stalks of ripe grain had fallen down into the waterlogged fields and turned black. I remembered the beautiful flat rice fields at Omiheia, twenty days ago. In that area the people worked only as farmers so the power of agriculture was strong there. But in this place the farmers sometimes worked at another job and I did not feel the same power of agriculture. I felt sorry for these rice fields. There was a lack of agricultural manpower here because they could only cut the rice on Sunday. We can get good results only when we focus on one thing.

At the border of the prefecture I found a sign board, City of Tōkyō. At last I had entered Tōkyō. I was within two hours of my final destination. I stood and stared at the sign board. My twenty-five days of walking from Kyōto through Shiga, Gifu, Aichi, Shizuoka and Kanagawa prefectures would soon be finished and all my troubles had changed to good memories.

I walked through the landscape of rice fields. After that the number of houses increased and I could see familiar names, a sign that I was getting closer to Tōkyō. I knew the places around here and I felt I had almost reached my goal. I sat down on the bank of the Tama-gawa and took the persimmons and tangerines from my rucksack, preparing to eat them. Some construction workers sat down to eat lunch close near me and I gave them the fruit instead of eating it myself. They were very happy.

I crossed the bridge over the river and walked beside the railway line toward to Shibuya. When I was an elementary school student I used to walk to the Tama-gawa to play. It made me feel very nostalgic. Who would ever guess that I would walk the same road on a pilgrimage? No one knows the future. Compared to the old days the town looked very busy, full of many people and shops. I began walking faster and forgot my travel fatigue.

At Josen-ji, the last temple on my pilgrimage, I greeted the priest, asked him to write in my notebook and gave thanks for safely completing my journey. My travels were over at last but I did not feel any deep emotion at all. I do not know why. Every day my purpose had been to walk to Tōkyō. Finally when I arrived in Tōkyō my purpose was gone. At the start no one had been there to see me off and in Tōkyō no one was there when I arrived. I did not speak to any of my family or friends the day I returned. Instead I sat in the main temple with a feeling of deep serenity. My journey seemed long but at the same time short and now it was over. My heart was calm and quiet. I sat there remembering my journey, which was both a distant memory and fresh in my awareness.

I had walked from west to east for twenty-five days. The right side of my face was tanned and the color of my left and right hands was different. This contrast was a good memory for me. I went to the post office and sent over thirty telegrams to let my family and friends know of my safe arrival. A newspaper reporter from the Asahi Shimbun showed up but I said, “No, no, no, I do not want to be in the newspaper.”

Then I returned to my home in Nara, a three hour trip by shinkansen. At dinner that night they served a big sea bream fish in celebration of my safe return. I was filled with great satisfaction. I would never be able to do this kind of pilgrimage again and I felt deep appreciation for the many people who supported me and the many people I met during my journey.

One week after I got back to Nara, I went to Jakko-in. Jakko-in is the number one sub-temple of Hie-zan, the main temple where all the Tendaishu monks do their training. My teacher, Chiko-san, the head nun, made sekihan, sweet sticky rice with red beans used for special celebrations, and many other special dishes in honor of my return. She gave me a kesa, a special red-gold silk stole. Kesa can be bought by believers but they are usually given only to monks. The color is very special. Believers usually wear white kesa but I received one signifying the highest rank.

Chapter 6 Pilgrimage Day 24

Diary of the White Bush Clover

Day 24 (29 October) Hiraska to Haramachida

At the Yoshida family house they served breakfast at 6 o’clock. I thanked them for their warm hospitality and went back to Jogyo-ji. At the main temple the head priest, Kawade Nisho, in a scarlet reifuku indicating high rank, was chanting a sutra. In front of him was my notebook, which he prayed over. I sat behind him and prayed quietly for the victims of war. Tomorrow I would be in Tōkyō. This would be the last prayer session at a temple on my pilgrimage. Through my prayers I hoped the war dead would rest in peace. After the prayers the priest returned the notebook to me. I told him the story about the events yesterday at the Kōzu coast. The priest said, “That is your Buddha wisdom. It is the result of your pilgrimage.” And he wrote a message in my notebook: “Your hope has been achieved.”

The Yoshida couple also came to the temple and said sayōnara to me. With many thanks to them, I started toward the east. Later I crossed the bridge over the Banyu. When I looked back I could see beautiful Fuji-san under the autumn sky and I could also see Hakone-yama. This experience of crossing the Hakone mountains during a typhoon was the greatest treasure of my life. It had been very difficult but now it was a good memory. I realized how all my experiences become just a memory. Only two days had passed but it already seemed like a long time ago.

The Fuji-san I could see now was on the opposite side of where I had stayed at the Oda family’s house in Fujishi. I had walked all the way around to the far side of the sacred mountain. Once more I started walking. I walked and walked but I could not find any shops. While I was taking a short rest, the long white body of the shinkansen streaked by in a flash. I calculated the time and distance I usually walked in a day. The shinkansen could cover the same distance in just ten minutes. People must think my walk is very silly or pointless, I thought. I am a rare person to make such a journey on foot. But for me this was the first and last chance in my life. Only Buddha could understand my pilgrimage.

After a while I found a shop at Ayase where I could buy bread and milk. The woman who owned the shop looked at me with curiosity. I said I would be in Tōkyō tomorrow and told her the story of my travels. She was another war widow. She was so impressed with my story she refused payment for the food. She also gave me a few tangerines and persimmons. I was very happy that she understood my pilgrimage.

I looked for a ryokan. In the first one, I found a few noisy American soldiers with Japanese girls so I left quickly. This place was really close to Atsugi Army Base, with many soldiers wandering around. I heard that every inn was like this so I decided to go to Enoshima. It might be far from here but I had to go there.

Today was Sunday and most ryokan were closed but I went to a big ryokan and found a room. Even though the town was very crowded with travelers I had a big room all to myself and I could relax. 

Chapter 6 Pilgrimage Day 23

Diary of the White Bush Clover

Day 23 (28 October) Odawara to Hiratsuka

In the morning the youngest daughter came back from a school trip and we all heard her story. Her manner was polite and she was also pretty. After breakfast I left the house. Today I planned to go to Hiratsuka. The distance was not far. I walked along Route 1 a little while and then I remembered that I had forgotten my umbrella. I phoned them. The daughter brought it to me by bicycle. I thought I might still need an umbrella sometime.

Suddenly an ambulance went past me and stopped just ahead. I hurried there and looked. An old woman about eighty years old had fallen down unconscious. She might have been walking alone through the town and had no relations nearby. Soon people gathered but no one knew her. She was carried by stretcher into the ambulance. We never know what will happen to us. It reminded me of the expression, shogyo mujo, all is vanity. I prayed for her to recover.

Around Kōzu the sea is nearby. I could see big white waves on my right, which called me to the seashore, so I took the road to the coast. The waves were still very high because of the typhoon yesterday. They came toward me, surging up and down and crashing into each other. I gazed at the scenery for a while because I love the waves.

When I looked at the horizon I saw a ship. It quickly went below the horizon but it was still floating. I suddenly realized that I could not see the ship because the earth is round. Anyone standing on the shore could see the horizon but could not see beyond the horizon. No one could see that far even if that person was rich or famous. In that way everyone is equal. I suddenly understood the fundamental condition of human life. This insight was satori, a spiritual awakening for me. Up to the horizon is in this world but beyond the horizon is Buddha’s realm. Our spiritual practice has a purpose but when we reach that goal we find another one beyond that. We never reach the final destination.

From Ninomiya I walked to Ōiso. Long ago, Yoshida, the prime minister of Japan, lived in this town and built the road to Tōkyō. I arrived at Jyogyo-ji in Hiratsuka at 4 o’clock. It was already getting dark. This was the last temple I would stay in on this journey. I greeted the priest and left the notebook in front of the temple’s statue of Buddha. I stayed in the Yoshida family’s house that night. They had been in Nara before so I thought of them with affection. The priest’s wife made dinner for me and I gratefully ate the meal. 

Chapter 6 Pilgrimage Day 22

Diary of the White Bush Clover

Day 22 (27 October) Ashino-ko to Odawara

Early in the morning I woke up to the sound of the storm beating against the glass window. In the news they said the taifū would pass the Izu peninsula today. Looking out at Ashino-ko, sightseeing boats were rolling up and down and pitching back and forth in the gale. I wondered whether I should go into the arashi or not but I felt Buddha was testing me so I decided to go. After breakfast I put on a raincoat. The people in the ryokan said not to go but if I took a rest for a day my pilgrimage would be useless so I left the ryokan.

The rain pushed me from the side so hard I could hardly walk. I used my umbrella like a shield. When the road changed directions the wind came from behind, pushing me hard. The kasa went inside out so I could not use it anymore. My shoes in the water made the sound, jabo jabo jabo. The rain was like a waterfall on my raincoat. My body was bishonure ni naru, wet to the skin, and my stomach hurt. I walked fast, thinking of warm food on my arrival in the town. The road became like a river. The flow of water was so strong it had washed away all the sand that filled the little holes in the road so the going was rough. The soles of my shoes were getting thin and would soon be full of holes but I had vowed to use the same shoes until I reached Tōkyō.

I saw a bus stop and thought about taking a bus because I was so tired and wet. But I knew I must keep walking and anyway I realized the bus would not come because of the typhoon. Instead of waiting I walked down further. The rain grew a little weaker. The golden leaves made beautiful patterns on the road. When the weather cleared the cars would come again and the beautiful patterns would disappear at once. I enjoyed the scenery for a while, all alone.

The storm was ending and the road became flat. Now Hakone Yumoto was near. The sun was shining through the clouds with soft beams. It was so strange. I could not believe the typhoon had vanished so suddenly. I was being strengthened through the trials of this pilgrimage. Moved, I wiped away tears of gratitude.

I found an udon shop so I dashed inside. No other customers were there.

The owner was surprised and said, “What happened to you?”

I told him about my journey since that morning.

He was astonished and said, “Change your clothes quickly. Otherwise you’ll get a cold.”

Then he took me to another room where I could change into my dry clothes. Once more I had the good fortune to meet kind people. The noodles were warm. I recovered my energy, thanked him and walked from Yumoto toward Odawara.

This road was the same one I passed a month ago by car on another trip and I compared the power of the human with the power of the machine. At 3 o’clock I arrived at the Kojima house in Odawara, which was also a hair salon. The sun was still high in the sky. The daughter washed and set my hair. In the evening I had a wonderful dinner with the family and went to bed early. I recalled the day’s suffering and the joy of passing through it. I also learned a lot about human kindness. It became a good memory.

Chapter 6 Pilgrimage Day 21

Diary of the White Bush Clover

Day 21 (26 October) Numazu to Ashinoko

We talked together until late at night. Early in the morning Hayashi-san prepared breakfast for me. I was so happy. The Hayashis took a picture of me with their family, which they would send to me later. I did not want to say goodbye but I left the temple.

Today I would cross Hakone-yama. This would be a test of endurance. Until now the weather had been fine, raining at night but clearing by morning. But now that I was going to cross the Hakone range a typhoon was coming and the weather had turned strange. Even though the weather was getting worse I decided to keep to my original plan to reach Ashino-ko, the crater lake, that day. I was a little worried but then, I thought, I am traveling with Buddha so I do not need to worry.

I took courage and walked to Mishima, at the foot of Hakone-yama. The road started gradually going up. Route 1 had too much traffic. I took a side road but after awhile it rejoined Route 1. Looking back I could see the town of Mishima below. In front of me were many mountains forming a ring around the ancient Hakone caldera, with dark clouds descending on the peaks.

The road went into a forest and the air became cool. Under a big tree there was a statue of Batō Kannon, a special Kannon for animals. It was very rare because instead of just a rock with the inscription, Batō Kannon, it was a statue of a human body with a fierce face and the head of a horse in the crown. I prayed in front of the statue and thought of the horses, dogs and messenger pigeons that died in the war. Yes, humans died in this war but also animals. I had not thought of that until now. I felt very sorry for them. Who prayed for those animals, which worked very hard in battle without complaining and died for the people? I prayed many times for them with great care. After that I left.

No one was walking on this road so the drivers looked at me with surprise. The truck drivers were used to being kind to hitchhikers and one of them offered me a ride. But my journey was a pilgrimage so I had to walk. Cars often passed me and I wondered if the exhaust fumes would kill the cherry trees. The buds were covered with black soot and had not bloomed even though it was already autumn. The thistle flowers were also blackened. But the mountains far away were beautiful, covered with golden leaves.

I walked up around many curves but I did not arrive at the top. I could see a bus driving far above on the mountain road. It looked like a toy. I had to go up there but my feet felt heavy. The road had been climbing since morning. I walked very hard until noon. Then I sat on the grass and ate onigiri, which the priest’s wife had given me that morning. There were no hikers around here. I walked again, singing the Hakone-yama song, heading for the next mountain, but when I arrived there was another mountain. I wondered how I would ever reach the top. Usually I could walk four kilometers an hour but now I could not even walk three.

Suddenly a truck stopped beside me. A middle-aged man asked me, “Where are you going? I saw you before.”

I answered, “To Ashino-ko.”

“It’s a ways yet to Ashino-ko, so please get in.”

“My journey is for pilgrimage so I cannot get in but thank you for your offer.”

“Take care,” he said and drove away.

The sun was setting but I still had not reached the top. The same truck driver came and stopped his truck beside me. He said, “You won’t reach the top until after the sun sets so I will take you.”

What shall I do? But this is also Buddha’s help so I said, “All right, please take me a little while but when I see the top I will walk again.” I did not feel comfortable accepting a ride in the truck because I felt obliged to walk to the lake at the top.

After I got out of the truck I walked another hour to the top. This kind driver always drove this way from Chiba prefecture and I thanked him. I arrived at Ashino-ko before sunset. It was getting dark and I could hear the sound of the typhoon. I felt ill at ease. Walking along the sugi namiki, a row of Japanese cedars, I arrived at Ashino-ko at 6 o’clock in the evening, two hours later than my schedule. I chose a ryokan nearest to the road. I had finished this day’s long trip, climbing up the whole day. My legs were tired, as usual. I massaged them in the o-furo but they did not recover. 

Chapter 6 Pilgrimage Day 20

Diary of the White Bush Clover

Day 20 (25 October) Fujishi to Namuzu

Last night we talked about our religion and I heard about their experiences. Oda-san said, “Humans don’t always have good circumstances so we must live the right way. Only then will we succeed.” He was the president of a big company. Every morning and evening he prayed to a statue of the Buddha in his room. I thought his employees must be happy that they had such a good employer.

I looked outside. This place was at the foot of Fuji-san. Even though the weather was cloudy I could see the sacred mountain, covered with snow on top.

Starting out I looked at the map and walked along Route 1 once more. Too much traffic, I hated it. It might be further but I chose a smaller road. A typhoon was coming and the weather was getting worse but it was still good for walking. Later I encountered construction for the new Tomei Expressway, with many dump trucks passing by.

At noon I bought bread and milk in a shop. The owner asked, “Where are you going?”

“I am walking from Kyōto to Tōkyō,” I replied, “praying for the people who died in the war.”

She was surprised to hear I had walked all the way from Kyōto and asked me to sit on a zabuton and talk. She told me, “My brother also died in the war. I don’t always remember him because I’m so busy. You are walking and praying for many people who died in the war, including my brother. I feel sorry that I don’t remember him often so thank you for what you’re doing.”

We told stories about the war and life after the war. She gave me apples and sweets, saying, “Please eat them when you feel hungry. I will pray for my brother and others who died from now on.”

I decided to pray for the woman’s brother at the temple where I would be staying that night. Again I thought of the saying, ichi go ichi e. I have all these memories of meeting with people yet I have only met them one time in my life. I felt I was saying sayōnara to someone I knew very well.

I walked on the beach. I could still see the row of pine trees far in the distance. After awhile I arrived at Hara. This place was on the old Tōkaidō. Pine trees lined the road so people called this Senbonmatsubara, Thousand Pine Trees Row. I walked along this road, looking at the sea blowing in the wind, until I reached Numazu.

I found Monpō-ji easily so I arrived earlier than I had expected. Two priests with many believers welcomed me warmly. Hayashi-san looked after me from my arrival until my departure. I was very happy.

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.

Chapter 6 Pilgrimage Day 17

Diary of the White Bush Clover

Day 17 (22 October) Sagara to Shizuoka

Last night I slept on a cold futon and did not sleep much. I got up at 4:30. It was still dark outside. I waited until dawn and started to walk at 6:30. I had already paid for my room so I went out without saying anything. I walked, stretching my arms above my head and breathing deeply. Today was Sunday so there were many fishermen on the shore. With so many fishing lines the fish must have been confused. I crossed over Ōi-gawa. This bridge was also long but there was no fee. The bridge shook from the passing of many cars, bouncing me up and down. In ancient times people said, “You could cross Hakone-yama by horse but you could not cross Ōi-gawa because there was too much water.” Nowadays there was not much water and I felt sad.

I stopped for a rest in the town of Katahama, where I saw a demolished car. It was so damaged I thought maybe people had died in an accident. I prayed in front of the car. Human life is transient, I thought. I am fine right now but any moment I could die. The more people use cars for convenience, the more dangerous life will become. We must live each moment with great care.

An old man, about eighty years old, came toward me. I asked him whether someone had died in this car accident. He said, “There have been four or five accidents in this place so we put up a Jizō for the people who died but still another accident happened.” He sat down on an empty wooden box on the shore and offered me a seat. He asked about my trip.

I told him, “I am walking for the people who died in the war. Today is the seventeenth day.”

The old man listened with his head bowed. When he looked up at me, his sunburned and deeply creased face was covered with tears. Suddenly I realized he had lost someone in the war. A moment later he said, “I can see Izu peninsula on the sea, Fuji-san to the east. I have enjoyed my long life in tranquility.” Then he told me, “My name is Morita Taido. I am a twenty-eighth-generation descendent of an assistant to the daimyō of Shizuoka-ken. I was a Tōkyō palace guard. My ancestors were great but I did not have good fortune. In the war my brother died in Taiwan and my son died in Singapore. Now I am in my eighties but I still feel sad for them.” The old man looked at me with tears in his eyes. “Many people bow to me. I do not bow to anyone. But now I bow to you with all my heart. I pray for your safe journey and hope you will complete your trip for the people who died in the war.” He bowed deeply to me.

I also bowed to him because I felt he had given me too much respect. I left him sitting on the box. When I looked back he kept waving at me for a long time. There was no chance to meet him again but I would never forget what happened that day. He would remain in my heart forever.

komiageru

namida koraete

gouchoku no

yasojī no okina

yukisi ko kataru

Remembering his son,

he tried to stop the tears.

The old man was in his eighties,

seemingly strong but soft inside.

He talked about his son

who died in the war.

Chapter 6 Pilgrimage Day 16

Diary of the White Bush Clover

Day 16 (21 October) Osugachu to Sagara

Early in the morning the hotel owner came with paper and calligraphy materials and asked me to write the poem I had recited last night. She said, “This poem will be my treasure. If I don’t meet you again my thinking will never change. Now I feel I’ve woken up.”

In my notebook I wrote her son’s name and told her I would pray for him at the temple at Shimizu. She had tears in her eyes.

In the morning it was raining hard. But when it was time to go the weather cleared up. It was strange the way it would rain at night but be fine in the morning. Perhaps Buddha was protecting me. There were many shade trees on either side of the road so it was nice for walking.

I came to a place where steep stone steps led up to a shrine. In front of the steps there was a big stone with the name of the shrine and on the back the name of the stone mason, Hayashi Senjuro. I had met him. He was a relative of my mother. It was a surprise to see his name there. Hayashi Senjuro had been the head of the army during the war so perhaps many soldiers came to pray at this shrine. I rested beside the stone for about twenty minutes. There was nobody there and no cars passed. I wanted to climb the steps but I did not have much time so I looked up at the shrine and clapped my hands three times in the traditional Shinto custom.

I began walking again. It was Saturday and the students were going home. Kindergarten children were walking in a line along the busy road. Many older students rode bicycles. In front of me, two students wearing long-sleeved uniforms walked with short steps. They looked like seventh-grade students. I walked behind them. One of them turned toward me and I smiled. They must have thought I was very strange because they walked faster. I also walked faster. They walked even faster. Finally they both ran away, swinging their heavy school bags. I stopped teasing them but they had already disappeared.

I arrived at Jitougata, which had been my destination on my original schedule. I tried to find a ryokan but this town was too small so I walked on for more than an hour, coming to Sagara at sunset. It was a sad village with few people. I opened the front door of a ryokan and a woman asked, “Are you alone?” She was wearing heavy makeup. I thought this ryokan might be special. I had no partner so I could not stay there.

I left and tried to find another ryokan. I decided that I would take what I could find whether it was good or not. The next ryokan had seen better days. At one time it had been a nice ryokan but now it was falling apart. Not many people would stay there but it was getting dark so it could not be helped. I thought it was better than sleeping outside. The innkeeper was a bit scruffy. He said, “Just stay anywhere you like.” It was a big ryokan but there were no other customers around.

I decided to stay on the second floor because it was a bit cleaner, in the room closest to the front door. The room was damp and there was one dirty zabuton for sitting on the floor. The fusuma were broken and did not close properly. I had to slam them to get them closed. A woman came, carrying a tray of tea for me. Her hair was messy and covered with a towel. Without saying anything she set down the tray. The bath was decrepit, with one weak light. I could see through the window, which meant people could see inside, so I hurried back to the room without taking off my clothes or washing. The futon were dirty so I slept in my clothes and I only put the comforter up to my chest and used my towel near my face. I could not relax.

In the middle of the night there was a big crash. I heard the sound of the front door opening. It sounded like two or three men were coming in. I thought they might be traveling salesmen. I was nervous because the fusuma had no lock. What should I do? There was nothing protecting me. So I took the fusuma off the closet and put it against the fusuma to the hall so no one could open it. Then I sat there quietly listening. I heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs, clunk, clunk. But they went into a different room. I knew I was probably safe but still I could not sleep and I stayed awake all night long.

I had stayed in the ryokan of my choice until now but this broken-down ryokan was not the kind of lodging I would choose. But there were tatami, there were futon and I had food. It was enough for me. If I did not have a place to sleep and food to eat, what would I do? Maybe Buddha was giving me the opportunity to change my desire for luxury. I wrote a haiku about this experience.

yuki kurete

koson no aki no

nami makura

Autumn dusk, difficult to arrive –

a sad village with few people.

Pillowed on the sound of waves.

After putting so much effort into walking all that way, finally darkness came and I could rest. Listening to the sound of the waves was like resting on a zafu, a soft meditation pillow. I felt pillowed on the sound of the waves.

Chapter 6 Pilgrimage Day 15

Diary of the White Bush Clover

Day 15 (20 October) Hamamatsu to Osugachu

At half past 5 o’clock in the morning the prayers had already started in the main room of the temple. The priest and his son said prayers for the people whose names were written in my notebook and for my journey so I thanked them. Half a month had passed since the beginning of my pilgrimage. The end of autumn had come and I felt the cold.

I had breakfast with the priest’s family. I tried to give the priest an offering but he gave it back to me and said, “Money is very important for your journey so it is better that you keep it.” He did not speak much but he was filled with love. I was deeply impressed by him. He worried about where I would go next so he called and arranged for me to call on a family he knew and gave me a map with directions to their house. The priest told the Suzuki family I would visit them at noon and asked them to please prepare lunch.

I took a little bit of a roundabout way because I wanted to see Fuji-san from Enshunada, a beautiful viewpoint. I walked toward Iwata, hoping to reach the Suziki house by noon. At 9:45 I crossed the Tendu-gawa. The river was so wide I could not see the end of the bridge. It took me fifteen minutes to walk across the bridge on the pedestrian walkway. In the middle I stopped and looked down. The water was dark blue and clear. The river was very low with many rapids because there was a dam upstream.

A little before noon I was still walking. I searched for the fire lookout tower in the town but I could not find it. Finally I found the Suzuki house. It was already 1 o’clock. They had prepared a big lunch and waited one hour for me even though they did not know me. I thought it was too much for me alone but I was walking for Buddha so I thanked them and ate. Usually I only had a quick lunch of pastry but today’s lunch was very delicious and I thought my stomach must be very surprised. After I rested for half an hour the kind family saw me off and I continued walking.

There was not much traffic in the city so I could walk easily. On both sides of the river there was a windbreak of pine trees but I could still feel the wind blowing through the trees. Maybe in places like this the heroic Jirocho family, who had helped the poor people, would walk with their shoulders thrust forward, breaking the wind. The road continued, with golden stalks of rice bending their heads on either side. I could see people working in the fields far away, cutting the rice.

A small stone Jizō, the deity who helps children, stood on the side of the road wearing a red baby bib. The name of an eight-year-old girl was carved on this Jizō and there were fresh flowers in front of the statue. Perhaps she had died in a traffic accident. I prayed for her in front of the Jizō.

I did not have a reservation for a ryokan that night and the houses were becoming fewer and farther apart. The sun was already setting and the lights were coming on. I stopped at one house and asked if there was a ryokan nearby. They said there was one in the next town, Yaojin. I had to walk another half hour. I was already tired so I tried to cheer myself up. At last I arrived at the ryokan. I was exhausted. This hotel looked so old I thought perhaps a servant would come with a bucket of water to wash my feet, the way they did in ancient times when people traveled by foot wearing waraji, straw sandals.

I was an unexpected customer but they were very polite and took me to a room. I spoke with the owner of the ryokan, a lady who was nearly seventy years old, telling her about my journey. She told me the story of her son. Before the Great Pacific War, when he was eighteen, he volunteered to go to Manchuria to cultivate the land, which was controlled by the Japanese government at that time. While he was there the war started and he was drafted into the army. He was sent to Siberia and died there. She was crying because she had not been able to take care of her son. Her old face full of sorrow, she said, “His friend told me the reason he might have died in the war. Every night the soldiers drew straws to see who would go out to steal food. One night my son was chosen to go out and did not return so perhaps he was killed by a farmer in the area. The government sent me a white box but there were no bones inside so no one knew how or where he died. He was an unfortunate boy.”

She said, “Please forgive me. It’s very noisy in the next room, but I want to talk to you about my son and my life.” A party was going on but the woman talked until midnight. I wanted to listen to her story all night long.

I said to her, “Your son died for the lives of his fellow soldiers. His sacrifice made him bosatsu, a servant of life. I am sure he is with Buddha now.” I made up a poem for mothers who lost their son in the war and recited it for her.

sen’yu no

kate o motomete

senjyo ni

chirishi sonomi wa

bosatsu narubeshi

In the war

you tried to find food

for your friends

and died on the battleground.

You are a servant of life.

The old woman was very happy. Before, she thought her son’s death had no meaning but now she could think of his death in a new light. Because he died for someone else he was godly. “Thank you very much,” she said.

I too felt happy. I had a wonderful experience in this ryokan.