Chapter 6 Pilgrimage Day 8

Diary of the White Bush Clover

Day 8 (13 October) Ichinomiya to Nagoya

Today I plan to arrive in Nagoya. It has been a week since I left my home. Thanks to Harami-san, who is looking after my children, I am free now because of you, and my family also helped me very much. I hope they are not too inconvenienced by my absence. Saigyo, a samurai who became a monk, left his home to walk with the Buddha. He became very famous but he also thought of his family as he was walking.

I concentrated on walking east but thoughts of my family still came to mind. I looked down at my feet, walking step by step. Suddenly I heard the noise of the city. Looking up I found that I was already in the city. The smog looked like dust in the air. I had been walking in the countryside so I hated the noise and polluted air.

At noon I arrived at Nagoya Castle. Walking on the pebbled path made the soles of my feet hurt. I had walked four hours without any rest. I took a break in a small shop where I bought milk and bread and ate them. The girl who worked in the shop had a sharp tongue and some of the customers seemed timid and nervous. Her hair and makeup were done nicely but she was not kind. Looking at the situation for a while I could see that it was due to the attitude of the sempai, the supervisor, who was also not kind. She should have trained the workers with her heart.

I sat in the park and wrote letters to everybody. Then I began walking again but I misread the map and walked away from the temple by mistake. The town looked like Tōkyō, with many shops selling clothes and goods. I did not want to look at them at all. I just felt as if I were wearing the black robes of a monk.

At last I arrived at Kenkoku-ji. The temple had been rebuilt recently and looked like a modern building. I thought it must have been a great undertaking of labor and finances for the people connected with this temple. The priest and his wife were very kind, warm people. Before I left on my journey I had received an express letter from them saying it was all right to stay at the temple so I already felt their kindness. I prayed in the temple and then the wife made dinner for me and served it in a special room usually used only by the head priest. I was deeply grateful because I felt perhaps I was not worthy of such an honor. But they allowed me to use this special room so I gave thanks to Buddha.

After dinner I took my notebook to the priest and asked him to put it on the altar in the temple, as I always did. The notebook contained the names and dates of the people I knew who had died in the war as well as my purpose to include everyone who had died. The priest explained about the temple’s honzon, the principle image, and prayed over my notebook.

Chapter 6 Pilgrimage Day 7

Diary of the White Bush Clover

Day 7 (12 October) Ōkagi to Ichinomiya

At 5 o’clock in the morning I went back to the temple for a one-hour prayer session with the priest. Then I began walking once again. I had to cross bridges over three big rivers, Ibi-gawa, Nagara-gawa and Kiso-gawa. After walking nineteen kilometers I took a break. A bullet train passed right beside me, startling me. I wanted to compare my pace with the shinkansen and I calculated that one day of my walking was equivalent to ten minutes on the train. It might be the same distance but the meaning was completely different. I was very happy to be walking and praying.

When I reached Nagara-gawa I saw that there was a special pedestrian path along the side of the bridge. Usually I had to hurry across a bridge because it was only for cars. I stopped in the middle of this bridge and looked at the river. The water was very low and I realized it was because there was a dam upstream.

Nagara-gawa is famous for ukai, fishing with trained cormorants, big water birds that catch fish by scooping them up in their large beaks. The fishermen capture the birds and put them on a tether with a band around their neck so that they cannot swallow the fish they catch. I looked at the river and wondered whether right now someone was making the birds catch fish and then stealing the fish to eat for themselves. I stood there reflecting on that as I looked down at the water.

After crossing the river I arrived at Ichinomiya. I was hungry so I went to a crowded soba shop. I had not spoken to anybody the whole day. When I went into the noodle shop I felt as if I was stepping into a completely different world because it was so noisy and crowded.

Ichinomiya is famous for textiles and I could hear the sound of the looms as I walked through the streets. At last I arrived at the temple. The priest there had the same family name as myself, Goto. When I first saw his face he appeared a bit scary but after talking to him he appeared to be very interesting and kind.

As soon as I arrived at the temple the priest asked me if I would like to go to a temple in Gifu with him, which was about ten kilometers away. He asked in this way, “I am going to Gifu, what do you want to do?” I thought he was testing me. I could have said I was tired and taken a rest but if I did not go I might lose the opportunity to visit another temple. The priest walked without considering how tired I was and that I had been walking all day. From the temple we walked to the station. The steps were steep and I was so tired I felt like crying. I was also really hungry and felt freezing cold in the wind. Also my hair was all a mess. I believed all this was a trial for me. When I arrived at the temple in Gifu I was revived by a big bowl full of white rice and felt a bit livelier after eating. We got back to Ichinomiya around 10 o’clock. I was so tired I just fell into bed.

Chapter 6 Pilgrimage Day 6

Diary of the White Bush Clover

Day 6 (11 October) Sekigahara to Ōgaki

The next morning I went to pray at the statue of Kannon. When I left I realized I did not have to pay for my room. The owner allowed me to stay for free and also paid for my breakfast.

I began walking again. After awhile I stopped at a store and used the telephone to call the temple where I was planning to stay that night because I knew the priest would be worried. I told him I was fine, I was walking well. The owner of the store overheard me mentioning the reason for my walk. She began to cry because she lost her younger brother in the war and she had not thought about him in a long time. The store owner said that even though she had forgotten about her brother a long time ago, someone she did not know could walk and pray for her brother. She was very moved by that. The woman gave me some milk and some money. I asked for her younger brother’s name and told the woman I would use the money at the next temple to pray for him. I wrote his name in my notebook and left.

While I was walking I passed a milestone that was placed there by Tokugawa Ieyasu, who became the first shogun of Japan in 1600. I thought abut the Tokugawa family, who ruled until 1867 when the shogunate was overthrown and the newly enthroned emperor began the Meiji reign. The Edo period under the Tokugawa was a long era of peace marked by sakoku, national seclusion. Some of my ancestors were connected with the Tokugawa.

Soon I arrived at Ōgaki, a river port with docks for small boats. Ōgaki was the last place the haikai poet Bashō stopped before he took a boat back home at the end of his travels all around Japan. I felt glad to visit the small historical park at Ōgaki with a memorial monument dedicated to Bashō, who lived from 1644 to 1694. Some of his poems were carved on stones and both the stones and the monument were lit up. As I walked around reading the poems, I reflected on Bashō’s travels.

Close to that park was the temple where I planned to stay. The head priest came to welcome me with a smile. When he saw me he said, “Oh, Goto-san, you are in jakko.” I was surprised to hear him say I was in heaven because I was not dead. He explained that there are two kinds of paradise. One is where you go when you die and the other is heaven on earth. You can still be in heaven while you are alive if you are surrounded by satori, peace and contentment. Because I was walking for peace, not making any money for myself, it was like I was already in paradise. I learned something new from the priest because I did not know about the two kinds of heaven. The priest apologized that the temple was too small for anyone to stay in so he had arranged for me to stay in a local ryōkan, which he paid for. 

Chapter 6 Pilgrimage Day 5

Diary of the White Bush Clover

Day 5 (10 October) Hikone to Sekigahara

After breakfast the priest’s wife made me a lunch of bread, milk and fruit. My rucksack was full. It was heavy but I thanked them. Saying farewell to the priest’s family I walked to Road Number 8. Soon I entered a tunnel. There were no lights, it was very dark. Cars made loud noises passing by me. Lights shone on me. Whenever a car passed I turned my face to the wall. If a driver happened to see me in my black coat he must have thought I looked like a bat clinging to the wall! After a little while I could hardly breathe in the tunnel because of the fumes.

Passing Maibara, there were two ways to go. The left went to Hokuriku area, the right went to Nakasendo. I chose the right. Cars mostly went to the left so I relaxed while I walked, humming a song. I wanted to take a rest so I looked at my watch. An hour had already passed and I had walked four kilometers. I sat down on the bank and ate some lemon drops. School children came toward me in a line. It was a very Japanese picture: thatch roofs, bamboo forest and golden rice fields. After ten minutes I stood up and stretched my muscles. They felt sore but I could stand all right.

I met a student walking with his bicycle. He must have thought I was a young girl, wearing sunglasses, pants and a scarf. He stopped to talk with me.

“I am walking to Tōkyō,” I told him.

He was surprised and asked, “How old are you?”

“How old do you think I am?”

“Twenty years old.”

It was noon, not night time! We say, yome, toume, kasa no uchi, no kao wa wakaranai, seen in the evening, seen from far away, inside the umbrella, you do not know the face. I thought perhaps the sunglasses made me look young but even so his compliment made me happy. We said sayōnara, wishing health and success to each other. He said he had started from his house early in the morning and was going to Kyōto. The boy went off to the west and I went off to the east.

After walking for a while I found the old original road, the Nakasendo, and next to it was the modern road with cars, running parallel to each other. I started walking on the Nakasendo. No cars were allowed on the old road, which was made of large stones, bumpy now after so many centuries. The gardens of the houses that lined this road had been kept in good condition. Right in front of me I could see a small mountain but I felt it had a lot of power. However, the side of the mountain had been scraped bare, as it was being quarried for sand to make cement. It was very painful to see this, a great shame to see such a beautiful mountain being destroyed by human greed.

I walked slowly until I arrived at a small village where I had planned to stay but there was no inn. I asked a villager and he said I would find accommodations in a place called Sekigahara, four kilometers away. On the right hand side of the road in front of a house there was a ceramic statue of Fukusuke, a fat, happy bringer of good fortune with long ears. The statue was smiling at me as I walked by.

I came to a very old, weathered sign for a pharmacy, which had been there for hundreds of years. When I looked into the store it was filled with old furniture, desks and chairs, which had darkened with age. The owner of the store came out, a very elegant old lady. She asked where I had come from. I explained that I still had to walk ten days more. The lady went into the back of the store and brought out some medicine and gave it to me. She said, “This is a special medicine made only by my family for our family.” She said I would need it on my travels. It was good for anything. Usually they did not sell this to customers. The lady showed me a woodblock print of this pharmacy by Andō Hiroshige, the famous nineteenth century ukiyo-e artist, especially known for The Fifty-three Stations of the Tōkaidō. That smiling statue of Fukusuke was in the print. As I left she said, “Please come again.”

After walking for half an hour I stopped at a place where there had once been a checkpoint for crossing the border. In the past there used to be barrier gates between the prefectures. Stern-looking officials would stop people to check their personal documents and try to intercept bad people. They do not have these checkpoints anymore but something remains, old buildings, posts. I had started from Kyōto and traveled a long way, finally arriving at this old border station. In the past I would have had to present all my papers to get through but now there was nobody there and I could freely and easily cross the border. A long time ago it used to be a busy place because people wanted to hurry through. But now the only thing left was a stone monument and it was very peaceful. Later I wrote this waka:

kyo yori no

tabiji haruka ni

ayumi kite

ima seki koyuru

fuwa no yamazato

Walking all 

the way from Kyōto,

crossing the old 

border station at Fuwa,

now completely quiet.

After walking a while I reached Sekigahara station, where I found a place to stay, the Sekigahara Hotel, a very big hoteru. I took a taxi from the station to the hotel. The owner of the hotel paid for my taxi because he knew why I was walking. The owner and his wife were very kind. After dinner they joined me in my room and we had a conversation about this area, which is the site of a famous climatic battle during the feudal period in Japan. The owner told me that many samurai died in this area. After the battle the people gathered the remains of the unidentified warriors and made a memorial to the dead. Later they made a little theme park next to the hotel called War Land Park, with a small replica of the battle. Soon after the war monument was built, the owner of the hotel erected a statue of Kannon in the park.

This was the kind of conversation we had, about life being precious and that we should use it wisely. Dew is quickly evaporated by the morning sun. Our lifetime is as momentary as the dew. Because our life is so transient we must realize its importance. Before we die we must try to do as many good things as possible to validate our lives. Let us not die in futility, wasting our lives. We talked this way until sunrise. Afterwards I wrote a waka about our conversation.

kimi mo ware mo

tsuyu no inochi o

oshimu nari

ada ni shiseji to

katari akashitsu

Both you and me,

our lifetimes are as momentary as the dew.

Recognize that life is precious,

do not waste it.

We talked this way until sunrise.

Chapter 6 Pilgrimage Day 4

Diary of the White Bush Clover

Day 4 (9 October) Omihachiman to Hikone

I woke up to the sound of motor boats. Nowadays no one rows a boat to catch fish, I thought. My body felt sore and it was hard to wake up. I washed my face. Looking out the window I could see morning dew covering the beautiful mountainside. With affection I bid farewell to Biwa-ko. I left the hostel, remembering to take the walking stick. I climbed further up to Chomei-ji and prayed to Kannon. Then I started down the stone steps in front of the temple. It was very steep. I noticed that each step had a round hole for the tip of a walking stick. It is like the ups and downs in life, I thought. When things are going well you do not feel you need help. But when things go wrong, you must slow down and realize that you need to draw upon the support of your inner strength.

Using the walking stick I went down more than five hundred steps. I gave the walking stick back to the woman at the shop with a contribution of 100 yen for her kindness. I said, “Thank you. I learned a wonderful lesson from this walking stick.” The bus came and I started to get on but the woman came up to me carrying a package of chopsticks. She said, “These special hashi are to wish you long life. Please use them.” Once more I thanked her. This woman did not want to sell the chopsticks and I did not want to buy them because they were an expression of gratitude between us. I felt very warm inside my heart.

At the end of the bus ride I got off and walked again. There was little traffic in this area because it was far away from the busy road. It looked like an old road. I asked people and they said, yes, it was. The houses were built far apart and the village was quiet. The grass was already withered. I could hear the sound of insects even in the afternoon. Then I walked again. My leg was in better condition now because it had warmed up from the morning’s walk. I had to reach Hikone by evening. It was the longest distance I walked on this journey. I walked, eating sweets. I looked down at my feet and not at the distance I had to go.

Later I walked past a hill. I could see golden rice fields all around and people busily working in the fields with machines. Many years ago rice was harvested by hand. Now the machines were convenient but very expensive. The farmers were working hard and may have seen me only as a hiker with a rucksack. I felt sorry because I was not working hard like them. However in my own way I was doing hard work because I was on a pilgrimage.

A little girl sat on the side of the road. She looked bored. Maybe she was waiting until her parents finished working. An old woman and a girl were working a small area by hand. The woman was so old but she was doing this work usually done by young people. If only I had time I would help them. I went over and spoke to the old woman. She told me, “My son died in the war but the field is still here so I have to reap the rice.”

 “I am walking to pray for the people who died in the war,” I said, “so please tell me your son’s name and I will pray for him tonight at the temple where I will be staying.” She gave me his name and thanked me. It was past noon so I had to hurry. This was the first and the last time I would meet this old woman. I said to her, “Please take care and live long.” After a few minutes I looked back and saw the old woman and the girl waving.

banshu ya

robā no tenaru

inaho kana

End of autumn –

old woman carrying in her arms

sheafs of cut rice.

I had to hurry to Hikone but I got lost because I did not look at the map. There were no shops but I found a few people who were buying fruit and vegetables in front of a farmer’s house. I bought three bananas and asked them how to find the road to Hikone. It was twenty kilometers to Hikone and it was already 2 o’clock. I wondered if I could make it before dark and I wondered how long I could walk.

Eventually I found the railroad track and a train station. I wondered if it was Hikone but no, it was one station before. Until I found the train line I had great energy but when I realized I had to walk more I felt weak. I walked slowly. The sun was setting. There was no bus. I had to go by foot. I walked beside that railroad track for four kilometers.

Finally I arrived at Hikone but I had to walk all the way through the town to the temple. I wanted to cry. I called ahead to say I would arrive that night. The priest at Choei-ji said, “Oh, you’re really coming?” He was wondering if I would come or not.

An hour later I reached the temple at last. I could not speak but only said to Buddha, “I have arrived.” I ate supper and gave thanks for it. I really enjoyed taking a bath. Today’s trip was long and I had lost my way. That day was the longest and fullest day of my entire trip. I felt so thankful for the day’s events and a comfortable end to the day.

I got a call from my family. Their voices were very kind. My daughter said, “Take it easy, you can come back anytime.”

 “It is all right, I am going on,” I replied.

Afterwards I talked about my journey with the priest and his wife. After spending a few days by myself I missed people very much. I felt as if I had been walking in the desert so when I met one person I felt happy.

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.

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.