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 3

Diary of the White Bush Clover

Day 3 (8 October) Moriyama to Omihachiman

I had already paid the ryokan fee, so before the attendants woke I started to walk again. All along the way I kept looking at the triangular shape of one big mountain. In this area the surrounding mountains were low but this mountain stood out, shaped like a mountain made of sand. I liked this mountain. From some places it appeared to be one mountain but in fact there were three peaks, so it was called Mikami-yama, Three Spirits Mountain. I walked along the busy road, looking at these peaks in the clear morning air.

I was hungry because I started without breakfast. In a small shop I drank a bottle of milk. I just stood because when I sat I felt pain in my knee.

Walking on I found a very nice house on the right with a low stone wall. The stone was very old and every stone had a groove running straight across the face. I touched the groove. I could tell it was not carved by anyone but it looked like a design. I asked an old man working beside me, “Is this stone made of lodestone?” It looked like the lines made in old times by iron wheels on the stone pavement. This line is wonderful, I thought, it’s very interesting. The design is very smooth, not sharp. It could not have been made by human hands. This house has precious treasures.

Afterwards I walked and walked but there were no houses. I wanted to ask someone about a ryokan for the night but there was no one around. Someone had told me I could find places to stay if I went to the train station so I hurried there. As far as I could see there were only rice fields, golden colored, the heads bending down. The time was near sunset. The sun would go down soon so I was worried and hurried on.

As I walked through the golden rice fields, a mendicant monk came toward me from the opposite direction. He was powerfully built and walked with long strides. He was wearing a kasa, a wide domed hat made from wheat straw, and black koromo, the robes flapping in the wind. When we passed I caught a glimpse of his bearded face under his kasa. It was an extremely stern face but just in the moment we passed we both smiled a little. We bowed to each other. We moved on and the distance separating us grew and grew. I walked to the east, he walked to the west. We did not know each other but at that moment I felt a very warm Buddhist teaching. That one tiny point in time was magnificent. I thought of the saying, ichi go ichi e, one time, one meeting.

aki ōmi

tabi yuku so to

emi kawashi

Autumn in Ōmi –

crossing paths with a wandering monk,

exchanging little smiles.

After that I arrived at the station. I asked, “Are there any ryokan around here?” They told me the location of one. Standing in front of it I wondered if I should stay there. The sign on the house said it was a ryokan but it looked rather decrepit. I decided I would not stay there. I went back to the station to check the telephone book for another inn. I found one, a youth hostel, and called. They said ōkē. But I was surprised to hear where this yūsu-hosuteru was, twelve kilometers away. I thought it was impossible to walk there this late so I apologized to Buddha and took a bus.

When I got there I found that the hostel was built halfway up the mountain and you had to walk up. As I started climbing up an old lady in a shop called to me. She said, “You’ll need a walking stick but you don’t need to rent it. I’ll give this tsue to you for free.” Even though the road to the hostel was very steep I thought I did not need a walking stick, I could climb by myself, but I accepted her offer. Bending forward I climbed step by step, clasping the walking stick behind my back.

At last I reached the hostel and gave thanks for the day’s trip. I had already walked three days but I still had not walked half way around Biwa-ko and the lake seemed as big as the sea. I felt really tired. I took a bath, massaged my legs and put menthol plasters on all the sore spots on my body. My daughter had put the shippu in my bag and now I really appreciated her thoughtfulness. I went to bed still sore. It was hard to write in my notebook but I knew I would forget if I did not. Sitting beside the window I wrote a letter and an entry in my diary.

I could see the moon reflected on the lake and the lights of Ōtsu bridge. I had seen these lights for the past two nights. I really liked this bridge and I got a little nostalgic when I realized I would not see it again as I journeyed on. Because I had been walking slowly on my pilgrimage, the impressions of the lights on the bridge went much deeper in my heart. Thinking of Ōtsu bridge, I went to bed.