The Obon Festival of Japan

Each year, families across Japan welcome home the spirits of their ancestors during the three-day festival of Obon. It is most widely observed in mid-August, although the timing and type of celebrations vary by region and local customs.

Some areas in northeastern Honshu follow the lunar calendar’s date for this holiday and hold their Obon festivals in July. Some areas of southwestern Honshu, Shikoku Island, and Okinawa celebrate Obon in September.

Obon’s origin

The Obon festival traces its origin to Buddha’s disciple, Mokuren, whose mother had fallen into the world of the hungry ghosts, an unpleasant realm in the afterlife. His heart ached to imagine her suffering.

In answer to his appeal for help, the Buddha instructed him to make an offering to his fellow disciple monks of a wide variety of food, and not only his mother, but also the last seven generations of his ancestors would be saved.

Mokuren obeyed the Buddha, placing his offerings of food on a tray, or obon, which is said to give the festival its name. He then danced a dance of joy, filled with a mix of newfound gratitude toward his mother, and the joy of knowing that she and his other ancestors had been released.

So Mokuren gave us three important Obon traditions:

• Offerings
• Gratitude towards mother
• Dance of joy

Now we’ll see how these have developed into today’s Obon festivities.

Welcome home, Spirits!

Families return to their ancestral homes to welcome the spirits of their departed ancestors on August 13th. Many people go to their family’s graves to accompany the spirits back to their houses, some lighting fires to guide the way. At the threshold of the house, water is set out for the spirits to wash their feet before entering.

Inside the house, a shelf is constructed with a frame of bamboo or chestnut, laid with a board. This is called a Bon-Dana, and it will hold offerings to the ancestors’ spirits. Traditionally, a rush mat is placed on the shelf, upon which are placed flowers, incense, rice dumplings, noodles, vegetables, fruit, and most importantly, water. Front and center is placed a mortuary tablet —a stone tablet inscribed with the names of the family’s deceased—like a place-marker at a banquet. Behind all this is hung a decorative scroll.

The recently deceased are honored with elaborate bamboo and cedar leaf decorations placed in the front yard or under the eaves of the house. They have not yet joined the collective ancestral spirit of their family, or Sorei. After 33 or 50 years, depending on the tradition, they will finally lose their individuality and merge with the Sorei.

Each family’s Sorei visits them four times a year, at Obon, at New Year’s, and at the spring and fall equinoxes.

But what of Homeless Spirits?

Muenbotoke are spirits of those who have died an unnatural death, at sea, along the road, or those who have no family to look after their graves. If left to themselves, it is believed that they will bring harm, so these spirits, too, are honored at Obon.

Although these strangers have no place on the family’s Bon-Dana, people may build a simple shelf and lay out food, such as eggplants and cucumbers wrapped in leaves, for the Muenbotoke. Others may lay big taro leaves upon the floor beneath the family’s Bon-Dana, upon which offerings of food are placed.

Gratitude to the living

Obon is not just about the dead. Elderly parents are given gifts of special food and drink in a show of appreciation and filial affection.

Dancing

Hearkening back to Mokuren’s dance of joy, Bon-Odori are dances held during the Obon holidays. People dress in colorful summer yukatas and dance a synchronized dance through the streets or in circles around a raised platform at shrines. Besides sending the spirits on their way to the realm of the dead with gratitude and joy, the dances also serve as prayers to ward off potential haunting or curses.

Until we meet again

On the night of August 16th, many families walk to their family graves to send their ancestors back to the spirit world. But there are other customs.

Perhaps because people in days past felt the world of the dead was across the sea, or above the sky, various traditions developed. Some people wrap offerings in lotus leaves or reeds and send their ancestors off in these makeshift boats down the river. Others form boats from straw and release their ancestors’ spirits into the sea, while others place paper lanterns on the water for their ancestors’ spirits to ride back to the spirit realm.

Most famously, the Kyoto Gozan no Okuribi is held to send the spirits off to the heavens. Five great fires are lit on five mountains surrounding Kyoto City, one by one starting at 8pm on August 16th, each forming a different Japanese character.

In some sections of the country, people prepare Shōryō-uma, horses and cows made from cucumbers and eggplants, for the spirits to ride back into the realm of the dead.

There the spirits will continue learning and growing until their next, not so widely celebrated, visit during the autumn equinox.

All photos ©Diane Tincher, unless otherwise noted.

Sources:

図説民俗探訪事典 compiled by 大島 雄, kotobank.jp, http://www.shingon.org/, and many more Japanese webpages.

The post Obon—The Happy Homecoming of the Ghosts first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Oni are supernatural beings in Japanese folklore that can embody both benevolence and monstrosity. The name “oni,” often translated as “demon” or “ogre,” is believed to have originated from the word meaning “hidden.” Some oni are giant spirits who protect Shinto kami, deities, and bestow good fortune and wealth. These benevolent oni are sometimes depicted holding a wish-granting mallet. However, other oni are just the opposite, bringing harm and destruction.

Throughout Japanese history, inexplicable events were often attributed to the work of oni. Among the many stories of oni in Japan, the legend of Shuten-dōji is by far the most well-known. It has been rendered in countless works of traditional arts, including picture scrolls and ukiyo-e, jōruri storytelling, and noh, kabuki, and bunraku theater performances.

The Legend of Shuten-dōji

In the mountainous borderland of the former provinces of Tango and Tanba, which made up Kyoto Prefecture until the late 19th century, lived a band of oni. Their chief was called Shuten, meaning “Boozer,” due to his exceptional love of sake. His palace was hidden in a cave on Mount Oe.

During the reign of Emperor Ichijyō in the late 10th century, aristocratic maidens began to mysteriously disappear from the Japanese capital of Heian, now Kyoto City. The royal diviner, Abe no Seimei, used his mystical arts to determine that the culprit was Shuten-dōji, the strongest of all the oni, who resided on Mount Oe to the west.

To end this terror, the emperor called upon the valiant warriors Minamoto no Yorimitsu and Fujiwara no Hōshō, along with four of their most loyal retainers. These he sent to seek out Shuten-dōji and put an end to his horrendous crimes. Although renowned for their bravery, even they were apprehensive about the task ahead, for oni possess supernatural powers and can completely alter their appearances. The men knew they must remain vigilant to avoid being misled.

Traveling along the road to the mountain, the warriors visited four Shinto shrines to seek the help of the kami. As they pressed on, they encountered four yamabushi, ascetic mountain priests. The priests advised the warriors to disguise themselves and shared their extra robes.

Now garbed in priests’ clothing, Yorimitsu, Hōshō, and their retainers continued with their newfound allies. Soon, they reached a river where they met a ragged washerwoman. From her, they learned the path to Shuten’s palatial cave and the horrors endured by the kidnapped maidens. Once taken, the oni and his followers forced the young women into servitude, or when the fancy struck, sliced them open to eat their raw flesh and quaff their fresh blood.

As they spoke with the washerwoman, they realized she was the only daughter of a noble councilor who had disappeared months before. Incensed by her words, Yorimitsu and Hōshō were filled with renewed determination to avenge this assault upon the maidens of Heian. 

The men approached Shuten-dōji’s impressive cave and told the oni guard that they were a band of lost yamabushi in need of lodging. Inside, Shuten-dōji questioned the men, as he had been warned by his spies in Kyoto that Minamoto no Yorimitsu and Fujiwara no Hōshō had been sent to vanquish him. However, their answers eased his suspicions, and Shuten-dōji invited the disguised warriors to his table. 

As they sat together, eating unfamiliar flesh and sipping a foul beverage, the oni regaled them with stories from his past. Having spent many years on Mount Hie, he was banished when Saicho built Enryaku-ji Temple, so he made his new home in this spacious cave on Mount Oe. As he lifted his cup, he laughed that his name came from his insatiable thirst for sake.

One of the priests offered Shuten-dōji some of his sake, a gift, he said, from the Bodhisattva Hachiman. The oni eagerly drank it, and he quickly fell into an inebriated stupor and staggered off to his bedchamber.

After Shuten-dōji retired, a group of beautiful women arrived to entertain Yorimitsu and Hōshō, but the warriors were not deceived. Yorimitsu fixed a piercing stare upon the women, and as they fled, they transformed back into the oni they were. Next, a troupe of musicians came to play for them, and again, Yorimitsu’s fierce glare sent the masquerading oni running. It was now time to confront the chief himself, Shuten-dōji.

Yorimitsu, Hōshō, and their party approached Shuten-dōji’s bedchamber only to be stopped by a heavy and impenetrable iron door. The priests chanted incantations that dissolved the door, revealing the drunken Shuten-dōji lying upon his bed reverted to his true hideous form. He was over 15 meters (50 feet) tall, with a five-horned head, a red body, one white leg, one black leg, one yellow arm, and one blue. 

While the four priests pinned down each of the huge oni’s limbs, Yorimitsu pulled out his sharp sword and with one powerful cut, severed Shuten-dōji’s head. As the giant was decapitated, he bellowed, “I’ve been betrayed! Kill these enemies!” His head flew through the air with his demonic mouth snapping at the noble Yorimitsu—but to no avail, as the wise warrior had not only donned his own helmet but also that of his comrade.

The men made quick work of the remaining oni and freed the surviving captives. Before departing, the yamabushi revealed their true identities. They were the same four deities to whom Yorimitsu and Hōshō had prayed at the shrines along their way to Mount Oe, having transfigured to human form to aid the warriors in answer to their prayers.

In triumph, Yorimitsu and Hōshō carried Shuten-dōji’s head to Kyoto, where they respectfully presented it to the emperor. After he and the fathers of the missing maidens had inspected the gruesome head, it was stored in the treasure house of Byodoin Temple in Uji, south of Kyoto City. Minamoto no Yorimitsu’s sword, which had dealt the fatal blow to the fearsome oni, earned its place as one of Japan’s Tenka Goken, Five Great Swords, and is a National Treasure.

The post The Strongest Oni — The Remarkable Legend of Shuten-dōji first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Japan’s Tanabata Festival

Tanabata, the Star Festival, is held in Japan every year on July 7 or August 7, depending on local customs. It celebrates the yearly meeting of Orihime, the Weaving Princess, embodied in the star, Vega, and her beloved Hikoboshi, the Cowherd, in the star, Altair.

The Story of Star-Crossed Lovers

Beautiful Orihime was a gifted weaver who spent her days weaving kimonos for the gods beside the Amanogawa, Heaven’s River, the Milky Way. She was so diligently absorbed in her work that there was no time in her life for love.

Yet Orihime yearned for romance. This yearning filled her with despair.

Her father, Tentei, Heaven’s King, pitied his beloved daughter. He arranged for her to marry the hard-working cowherd, Hikoboshi. It was a perfect match.

Orihime and Hikoboshi fell hopelessly in love and spent their days in blissful play — to the complete neglect of their duties.

Before long, gods were complaining to Tentei about the sorry state of their kimonos and the havoc that Hikoboshi’s cows were wreaking as they strayed across the heavens.

Furious at the lovers’ negligence, Tentei banished Orihime and Hikoboshi to opposite sides of Heaven’s River.

They returned to their duties, but Orihime’s heartbreak reduced her to tears every day.

Tentei couldn’t bear to see his daughter cry. He declared that if she and Hikoboshi continued to work hard, they would be allowed to meet once a year on the night of the 7th day of the 7th month.

On that night, a celestial magpie would spread its enormous wings to create a bridge across the Milky Way for Orihime to cross — if the skies were clear.

If it were to rain, the River of Heaven would become too full making it impossible for Orihime cross over to meet Hikoboshi.

People pray for clear skies on that night, so they can gaze up at the Milky Way and imagine the yearning lovers meeting. Rain that falls on the night of 7/7 has a special name, Sairuiu, “the tears of Orihime and Hikoboshi.”

Other Weaving-girls

The story of Orihime and Hikoboshi was brought over from China during the Nara Era (710–794). Yet Tanabata’s origin can also be traced to an ancient Japanese story that tells of a celestial weaver, Tanabata-tsume, who fashioned clothing for the gods. She would meet her lover, a kami (Shinto divinity) once a year at a hut beside Heaven’s River.

There was another festival long ago called Kikōden (乞巧奠), where women prayed to improve their weaving skills.

These stories were mixed together and passed down, forming the basis for the Tanabata festival celebrated today.

According to Japan’s old lunar calendar, Tanabata was celebrated on what is now August 7. This is close to the Obon Festival of August 13, when the spirits of ancestors are welcomed back to their homes and their family gathers to spend time with them. During these days people prayed to their ancestral spirits for good harvests. In ancient days, these two festivals were often combined.

Tanabata Festival

During the early years of Tanabata, women would pray for improvement in their weaving and sewing skills. And both women and men would pray for improvement in their calligraphy.

The Heian, or Kyoto, elite wrote their prayers on mulberry paper with special ink made by grinding an inkstone with drops of dew from taro leaves, believing this magical combination would create more effective prayers.

Tanabata moved from the aristocratic halls of the wealthy during the Heian Era (794–1185), to the streets of Edo (Tokyo) during the Edo Era (1603–1867) where it became a popular, lively festival.

Today, people of all ages continue the tradition of writing poems and wishes on thin strips of paper, called tanzaku, and hanging them from bamboo stalks — bamboo being a vehicle for divine spirits.

Colorful bamboo decorations adorn people’s houses, city streets, schools, and businesses from about a week before Tanabata until the end of the festival. Then, the bamboo and all its decorations are cast into a river or burnt, sending the prayers to the gods

Sendai Tanabata Festival—the biggest in the world

At the most fabulous Tanabata Festival, held in Miyagi Prefecture’s capital of Sendai from August 6–8, the main streets are decorated with bamboo — 10 meters tall or more — hung with wishes and elaborate paper decorations.

Each decoration has a traditional meaning:

• Tanzaku — long rectangles of paper upon which are written prayers for progress in calligraphy and academics
• Kamigoromo — kimonos for protection from calamities, for good health, and for improved sewing skills
• Orizuru — folded cranes, for safety and longevity
• Kinchaku — money purses, for prosperity
• Toami — fishnets, for bountiful catches and harvests
• Kuzukago — trash cans, for cleanliness and frugality
• Fukinagashi — windsocks, representing Orihime’s thread

There is a grand contest on the afternoon of August 6 to determine the most beautiful decorations in each area of downtown Sendai City. Every year, the competition is fierce, resulting in the creation of more and more extravagant decorations. Just one of these bamboo decorations can cost from hundreds of thousands to several million yen (~$30,000 USD)!

If the tears of Orihime and Hikoboshi threaten to fall, merchants rush to cover their valuable handiwork with plastic bags.

The Five Festivals

Tanabata is one of the five festivals, go-sekku, that celebrate the change of seasons. These are days set aside to prepare for the coming months through purification, prayers, and banishment of misfortune.

The five festivals were imported along with the Chinese lunar calendar from Tang Dynasty China in the 8th century. During the Meiji Era, the festivals were moved to coincide with Western dates that mirrored their former auspicious odd-numbered lunar months and days.

• 1/7 Jin-jitsu, Human Day, or Nanakusa-no-sekku, Seven Herbs Day. On this day people eat rice gruel made with seven wild herbs. This is the last day of New Year’s celebrations.
• 3/3 Hina Matsuri, Dolls or Girls’ Day.
• 5/5 Tango-no-sekku, formerly Boys’ Day, now Kodomo-no-hi, Children’s Day.
• 7/7 Tanabata, Star Festival.
• 9/9 Kiku-no-sekku, Chrysanthemum Festival.

Tanabata Food

A Japanese festival would not be complete without special food. Since Tanabata falls during the hot days of summer, people feast on street food and cold noodles.

Somen — thin noodles served cold with a slightly salty dipping sauce.

Yakitori — grilled chicken on skewers.

Okonomiyaki — savory pancakes filled with lots of vegetables and a little pork.

Yakisoba — noodles stir-fried with cabbage, bean sprouts, carrots, onions, pork and yakisoba sauce.

Takoyaki — grilled dough balls filled with chopped octopus.

Tanabata is just one of many wonderful Japanese festivals held during the hot summer months when people take to the streets in cool cotton yukata and geta sandals.

In fact, one of the largest holidays in Japan falls during the summer, Obon.

Sources:

Kotobank, Digital Museum, https://www.japanese-wiki-corpus.org/, https://www.sendaitanabata.com/, https://www.tohokukanko.jp/, http://www.jaodb.com/, http://renipi.com/knowledge/452/, Institute of Court Culture.

The post Tanabata, The Star Festival—A Yearly Meeting of Yearning Lovers first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

A mighty warrior race disappeared from history

Many people have heard of the Ainu, the indigenous people of northern Honshu and Hokkaido, but very few know of the Hayato who lived in southern Kyushu. Yet strong Hayato warriors guarded emperors and played crucial roles on the front lines of battles.

Who were the Hayato?

Very little is written about the Hayato, who appeared on the stage of Japanese history for just over a century overlapping the Nara era (710-794).

Some scholars believe they descended from the ancient tribes of the Kumaso, the Austronesian inhabitants of southern Kyushu who disappeared from historical records in the 2nd century.

We know there were two main groups, named for their locations in what is today Kagoshima Prefecture. The Ata on the Satsuma peninsula, named after what is believed to have been their capital city, and those on the Osumi peninsula to the east. Smaller groups lived on the islands of Koshiki off the western coast of Satsuma, Tanegashima to the south of Osumi, and in southern Miyazaki to the east.

Barbarians

Japan’s ancient imperial court was heavily influenced by China and its tributary system. Under the Chinese system, rich countries sent emissaries to the emperor bringing gold and jade, and those from poor countries, like Japan, brought slaves.

The Yamato court adopted many things from the Chinese, including this concept of civilized and barbarian. They, the civilized, labeled people living outside their territory as barbarians. Because of his lofty power and status, the Yamato emperor required the barbarians living on the edges of his realm to bring him tribute.

These barbarians were the southern islanders of Yakushima and Amami-Oshima, the Hayato, and the Emishi, or Ainu, of northern Honshu and Hokkaido.

Bringing tribute to the Yamato court

The typical currency of Yamato tribute was rice, which was difficult to grow in the volcanic soil of southern Kyushu. So, the Hayato brought other offerings: cloth, the pelts of cows and deer, and a sweetener made from ivy sap called ama-zura-sen. Little is known today of this sweetener outside of its description in Sei Shoganon’s Heian-era book of essays, The Pillow Book.

Hundreds of young Hayato men brought tribute first to Dazaifu, the “Western Capital” in northern Kyushu, and then went on to the imperial court in Nara. These young men had to pay for their own travel, and they were required to stay and work in the capital for six years.

This put their families back home under a lot of strain. Not only did they have to bear the expense of travel and tribute, but they were left to work the fields on their own. They struggled to grow water potatoes, taro, millet, and what rice they could. By and by, the Hayato in Kyushu fell into poverty.

In the Imperial Capital

Records reveal a few ways the Hayato were put to work in the capital.

The Nihon Shoki, one of the oldest histories of Japan, tells us that in the 11th year of the reign of Emperor Tenmu (684), a sumo match was held before the court between the Ata and Osumi Hayato. The Osumi wrestler won.

Some years later, crowds gathered to watch another Hayato bout on the grounds of the Asukadera, a temple that still stands in Nara.

But the Hayato did more than sumo to entertain aristocrats. When the imperial court would hold a banquet, the versatile Hayato were called upon to sing, dance, and perform. 

Their legendary dance is lost to time, but it was said to have illustrated the Hayato subservience to the emperor through a humorous reenactment of a story from the Kojiki, the ancient book of Japan’s mythical origins.

The story tells of a quarrel between two sibling gods, forefathers of the Yamato people and the Hayato people. At its culmination, the ancestor of the Yamato people raises the seawater level to drown the Hayato ancestor. 

Some historians liken the Hayato dance to the Haka dance of the Māori, another Austronesian people. At any rate, the dance is said to have been fast, leading some to speculate that the name Hayato was derived from their speed. “Hayato” can be read as “falcon people” or “fast people.”

The Hayato mystique

Hayato Rebellion

Meanwhile, back home in southern Kyushu, the Hayato were growing tired of the poverty and the onerous tribute system. When the central government started setting up local governments, enforcing registration, and allocating the land they had been freely sharing, the Hayato rebelled.

To suppress the rebels, troops were sent from Dazaifu in northern Kyushu, and central government control was strengthened through the establishment of Hyuga province (Miyazaki Prefecture) in the late 7th century, followed by Satsuma province in 702.

Yamato aristocrats were sent from the capital to rule these provinces set up on Hayato land. 

In 713, the year Osumi province was established, another, more violent, uprising occurred. This left the Osumi-Kuni no Kami, the governor of Osumi who had been sent from Nara, dead.

The emperor was not happy.

He appointed Otomo-no-Tabito, the aristocratic leader of Dazaifu, to be the “Shogun Defeater of the Hayato,” 征隼人持節大将軍. Otomo traveled south with over 10,000 soldiers.

The Hayato would not be easily defeated. Using the volcanic geography of southern Kyushu to their advantage, they had built their castles on mountaintops surrounded by sheer cliffs.

The Hayato held off the Yamato troops for a full 18 months. But by mid-721, they had been beaten. 1,400 Hayato were killed or taken prisoner.

In customary fashion, the heads of the enemy were displayed before the conquering general, and then piled into a mound.

Assimilation

To complete the work of subjugation and to dilute their bloodline, the government forced many Hayato to relocate to Kyoto and serve the court. Today, the name of the Osumi district in southern Kyoto is a quiet reminder of the Osumi Hayato who lived there so long ago.

About 9,000 people from around Kyushu were sent to live in Satsuma and Osumi. The population of the Hayato at that time was about 54,000, so 1 in 7 residents were outsiders who carried with them the customs and language of the Yamato state.

Final glory

Although a defeated people, Hayato warriors were still respected for their courage and skill. One more mention in the Nihon Shoki describes how they were central players in the defeat of Fujiwara no Hirotsugu during his 740 AD rebellion against the Nara court. 

Hayato were advance guards in both the government and rebel armies at a decisive battle in northern Kyushu. Through their cunning — and use of their own language, unintelligible to others — they brought about a speedy victory for the imperial forces.

Vanished

In 800 AD, the tribute paid by the Hayato was officially halted, and the name “Hayato” disappeared from all further records.

Today, there is little left to remember this amazing people, save a monument and tiny museum in Hayato Town, Kagoshima.

References

Hayatozuka Historical Museum, Nihon Shoki, Professor N. Nakamura.

The post Hayato—The Forgotten Ancient People of Southern Kyushu first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

A hodgepodge of stones leads to the Kumano cliff carvings

I recently visited the Kunisaki Peninsula of Oita Prefecture. This area has long been home to innumerable shrines and temples, many of these classic representations of Shinbutsu-shūgō, 神仏習合, the age-old syncretism of Buddhism and Shinto.

Hidden in the forest near the Kumano Gongen Kumano Shrine are some extraordinary Buddhist rock carvings. These can only be reached by a staircase that is nothing more than a jumble of stones on the hillside. How this unique “staircase” came to be is a story worth telling.

Gongen-sama and the oni

Long ago, the powerful deity Gongen-sama — the Buddhist manifestation of a Shinto kami — moved from the Kumano area of the Kii Peninsula to Tashibu in what is now Oita Prefecture. The local people paid homage to him, and their village prospered. They became healthy, fat, and rich.

During those happy days, from somewhere — no one knows where — a great oni (ogre of the mountains) came and took up residence. This enormous oni yearned to feast upon the flesh of the villagers, but the fierceness of Gongen-sama’s protection prevented him. Nevertheless, day after day, the oni pestered Gongen-sama to let him eat the villagers.

Hoping to put an end to his badgering, Gongen-sama presented the oni with a deal.

Tonight, from the time the sun sets until the first crowing of the rooster at dawn, build a staircase of one hundred stones starting at the torii gate at the foot of the mountain and reaching up to the temple near the rock-face carvings. If you complete this task, I will grant your wish. If you cannot complete the task, I will eat you alive.

Gongen-sama was sure it would be impossible to build such a staircase overnight. He believed he had put and end to the oni’s importunity by asking the impossible.

But Gongen-sama had underestimated the oni.

So determined was he to eat the delicious flesh of the villagers that when the sun set, the oni diligently searched the dark mountain for stones and worked furiously to build the staircase.

From the quiet of his bed in the depth of the night, Gongen-sama heard the grunts and thumps of the oni carrying and placing stones ever closer to the temple. He went outside to count the stones, and to his astonishment, he found that the oni was carrying the 99th stone to the top.

Alarmed, Gongen-sama thought, The horrors! If I don’t do something quickly, the people of this peaceful village will be devoured by the oni!

Casting around for an idea, he raised his voice as loudly as he could and called out, “Ko-ke-kokkoooo.”

When that sound reached the oni, he stood straight, perked his ears, and panicked.

“The rooster is crowing! It’s already dawn! If I stay here, Gogen-sama will eat me! There’s nothing to do but run!”

The oni ran as fast as his stout, hairy legs could carry him, shouldering the 100th stone as he went.

Dazed and flustered, he crashed through the mountain forest for six long kilometers. The oni finally emerged onto flat land and stopped to catch his breath, painfully gasping. It was only then that he realized he was still carrying the last stone. Disgusted, he tossed it away, but instead of tumbling, it landed upright. To this day, the place the stone landed is called Tateishi, 立石, or standing stone.

After that final great effort, the oni collapsed, his utter exhaustion extinguishing his breath.

When the villagers heard of the death of the oni, a great rejoicing spread among them.

Thanks to Gongen-sama and his quick thinking, grateful villagers continue to climb the rugged stone staircase every morning and evening to honor the benevolent protector Dainichi-sama, whose gentle countenance is carved into the cliff at the top of the staircase so hastily built by the hungry oni.

The post Gongen-sama, the Persistent Oni, and the Jumbled Stone Stairs first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

The ancient story behind an everyday expression

According to the 9th-century Chinese history, Rekidaimeigaki, 歴代名画記, there is an interesting story behind the four character expression used in both China and Japan, 画竜点睛. In Japanese, this is read garyōtensei, and means to put the finishing touch on something.

The characters by themselves mean:

画 picture, brush stroke

竜 dragon

点 spot

睛 pupil

Before I share the story with you, it’s helpful to understand a certain Buddhist tradition. When a new statue of the Buddha is consecrated, an “eye-opening ceremony” is held. The officiating priest carefully paints the pupils on it, and the spirit of the Buddha enters the statue.

So now, on to the story.

Dragons on temple walls

In 5th century China lived an artist of exceptional skill. His name was Zhang Sengyou, and he was commissioned to paint a mural of four white dragons on the wall of Anrakuji Temple.

As the lifelike dragons appeared one by one upon the wall, onlookers marveled at their realism. 

Then Zhang stopped painting.

“But what of the eyes? They have no pupils! You’re not finished.” The people urged him to paint pupils to complete the dragons.

Zhang replied, “If I add the pupils, the dragons will fly off into the sky.” 

“That’s impossible!” They laughed in disbelief, insisting he finish the dragons.

The artist sighed and gave in. He painted pupils on one, and then two of the dragons. As he painted, dark clouds gathered. Thunder clapped. Lightning struck. True to the artist’s word, the mighty beasts came to life and flew to the heavens, leaving the two unfinished dragons quiet upon the wall.

Once the dragons were out of sight, calm returned.

The crowd was struck dumb, staring in silence at the sky. The two sightless dragons remain to this day on the walls of Anrakuji Temple.

画竜点睛, garyōtensei, literally means adding the dot of the pupil to the dragon painting — or as my dictionary defines it, “completing something by executing the final, critical step.”

If you are interested in the history of Japanese, and how Chinese characters became part of the language, you might like Why is Learning Japanese So Hard?

References:

Kotobank 画竜点睛, Kotobank 歴代名画記, Japanese dictionary.

The post What Do Dragons Have to Do With This Classic Japanese Idiom? first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Rabbits, rival gods, and the father of the first emperor

As we walked along the path to Udo Shrine on the Nichinan coast of southeastern Miyazaki Prefecture, the morning sun sparkled on the clear blue sea. It was a beautiful day, and although cold, the sun warmed us.

After passing through the initial torii gate, we soon came to a magnificent two-story vermilion and white gate, much like those that stand at the entranceway to Buddhist temples. Indeed, until the Meiji government forcefully separated Buddhism from Shinto in 1868, this shrine shared its grounds with 18 temples.

A bit further north along the windswept coast, we came across cute statues of rabbits. I stopped to read about them. Curiously, they are the shinshi, 神使, divine messengers of Udo’s illustrious deity who bridge the gap to this world.

Most Shinto shrines have komainu lion dogs as guardians. Although, there are Shinto deities that have other shinshi animals:

• The more than 30,000 Inari shrines have fox messenger guardians

• The more than 12,000 shrines dedicated to Tenmangu, the God of Learning, have cows

• A few shrines to Wake no Kiyomaro, the Great Protector of the Emperor, have wild boars

• Rare shrines have cats as guardians, such as the Omatsu Daigongen Shrine in Shikoku

• And shrines to Bishamon, the God of Warriors, have tiger guardians, such as the Kurama-Dera Temple, north of Kyoto.

But rabbits? Why does Udo Shrine have rabbits?

To answer that question, we need to go back so far in history that we enter the realm of legend.

The Tale of Two Brothers — Umisachi-Hiko and Yamasachi-Hiko

Long, long ago, on the great plains of Heaven, the sun goddess Amaterasu sent her grandson, Ninigi no Mikoto, down to rule over the earth. He descended upon Mount Takachiho, in southern Kyushu.

Ninigi raised his eyes and spied the distant town of Ata in the land of the Hayato. He deemed this a good land and there he settled. He married a lovely maiden, Konohana no Sakuyahime, and they had three sons, two of whom were Umisachi and Yamasachi. Umisachi, whose name means “blessings of the sea,” made his livelihood by harvesting the bounty of the sea, while his younger brother Yamasachi, whose name means “blessings of the mountains” — well, you know.

One day, the younger Yamasachi asked his brother, “How about if we trade hunting tools? You take my spear and I get your fish hook? Please.”

Umisachi brushed him off, but Yamasachi persisted. After Yamasachi pleaded three times, his brother gave in.

Yamasachi, filled with excitement, took his brother’s fish hook and went to the seaside. Hours later, not only had he not caught a single fish, but he lost his brother’s hook.

Meanwhile, Umisachi was off in the mountains hunting. He, too, caught not one animal. He returned to the seaside and met his distraught brother.

“I lost your fish hook in the sea!” Yamasachi blurted out his confession.

This was not good news. Umisachi was enraged. “You find it and give it back!” he shouted.

This seemed an impossible task, so Yamasachi took drastic measures. He broke apart his prized long sword and used it to fashion 500 fish hooks which he presented to his brother.

Umisachi did not accept them.

Yamasachi then made 1,000 fish hooks to give his brother.

Umisachi refused to take them, saying in his petulance, “I want my fish hook.”

In despair, Yamasachi sat by the seaside and dissolved into tears.

The God of the Tides, Shiotsuchi no Kami, passed by and saw his distress. He listened to Yamasachi’s troubles and offered to help. Shiotsuchi built a small boat of tightly woven bamboo and said, “Get in and let the boat follow the tides. It will take you to the gate of the palace of the Sea God. Climb the katsura tree before the gate and wait there. Toyotamabime, the daughter of the Sea God, will help you.”

This Yamasachi did. As he waited atop the tree, a servant of Toyotamabime saw him and went to call her mistress. When Toyotamabime saw the beautiful Yamasachi atop the tree, their eyes locked, and her heart was captured.

She ran to tell her father. Upon setting eyes on Yamasachi, the Sea God recognized him as the son of a god.

He set out skins of sea lions and laid upon them many layers of silk to make a comfortable seat for Yamasachi. The God of the Sea presented a feast to him, after which he gave the hand of his daughter in marriage to the bewildered Yamasachi.

Yamasachi and his wife lived happily in the palace of the Sea God for three years. Then, one day, Yamasachi remembered why he had gone there in the first place.

The lost fish hook.

Recalling his brother’s anger, Yamasachi revisited his former despair. Toyotamabime, seeing his uncharacteristic sadness, went to her father.

The God of the Sea listened to Yamasachi’s troubles. He then called to him all the fish of the sea, asking if any knew of the missing hook.

Rumor among the fish community told of a sea bream with a bone stuck in its throat. They brought the unfortunate fish to the God, and lo and behold, the missing hook was in its throat.

The Sea God washed the fish hook and presented it to Yamasachi. He put a curse on the hook and instructed Yamasachi,

“When you present this hook to Umisachi, tell him, ‘This fish hook muddles the mind and makes its owner poor and foolish.’

“When Umisachi makes rice fields in the mountains, you make them in the valleys. When he makes them in the valleys, you make them in the mountains. I control the water, and your fields will be fruitful while his will be desolate.

“If your brother attacks you, use this orb to raise the sea level and drown him. If he begs for mercy, use this other orb to lower the tides.”

This he said while placing two magical orbs in Yamasachi’s hands.

Yamasachi returned to his land on the back of a shark. He did as the Sea God had instructed him, and he was blessed with three years of bountiful rice harvests. Umisachi, meanwhile, languished in poverty.

Seeing his brother’s good fortune, Umisachi’s anger rose, and, just as the Sea God had instructed, Yamasachi used the orb to raise the sea and drown his brother.

After long struggling in the waves, Umisachi cried out, “I promise to forever serve and protect you.”

Yamasachi used his other orb to lower the sea and rescue his brother. From thenceforth Umisachi and his descendants, the Hayato people, served Yamasachi and his descendants, the Yamato people.

But wait! What about the rabbits?

Udo Shrine’s origin

Yamasachi’s wife had gotten pregnant, and as the custom of her people was, she traveled to the shore to give birth. A birthing hut was constructed and was to be thatched with cormorant feathers, but before it was finished, her pains were upon her and she rushed into a cave.

Toyotamabime warned Yamasachi that she would return to her natural form while giving birth, and she made him promise not to look upon her.

Overwhelmed with curiosity, he peeked into the cave. His beloved had transformed into a large crawling, undulating shark. Yamasachi was beside himself. He ran and hid.

Knowing she had been seen, Toyotamabime, in her shame, returned to the sea, but not before exchanging poems of everlasting love with her husband, Yamasachi.

Udo Shrine is built within the cave where Toyotamabime gave birth. Udo, 鵜戸, means “Cormorant dwelling.”

To reach the seashore, Toyotamabime had ridden on the back of a turtle. This turtle has since turned to stone. Beaten by the waves, it has been sanctified and crowned with a shimenawa rope. Those who successfully toss a lucky stone into the indentation on the top will have their wishes fulfilled.

The child born to Toyotamabime and Yamasachi was named Ugayafukiaezu no Mikoto. He eventually married his mother’s younger sister, and they became the parents of Japan’s first emperor, Jimmu.

Ugayafukiaezu no Mikoto, written 鸕鷀草葺不合尊, has the sound “u” at beginning of his name. This “u” is written using the old character for cormorant, 鸕. In ancient Japanese, characters were sometimes used to represent sounds rather than their meanings.

The word rabbit, usagi, when written in combinations is also read “u” — although it uses completely different characters, 兎 or 卯. Sometime way back before the 8th century, this play on words — or characters, if you will — became the reason that rabbits were chosen to serve Ugayafukiawezu no Mikoto at Udo Shrine.

Not as satisfying an explanation as I had been hoping for.

Nade Usagi for healing

Like the Sasuri Neko cat statue at the Omatsu Daigongen Shrine in Shikoku, Udo Shrine has a Nade Usagi, or stroking rabbit, within its cave. Visitors rub the rabbit’s body to receive healing, stroking its body in the place where they themselves have ailments.

If you are ever in southern Kyushu, I hope you will take the time to seek out Udo Shrine, enjoy the magic of its legends, and explore the beautiful Nichinan coastline.

References:

Udo Shrine signage, the Kojiki, Professor Nakamura.

The post Udo Shrine—Secrets of a Mysterious Seaside Shrine first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

A tragic woman and her cat, now Shinto deities

Down a narrow road beside the Naka River in rural Tokushima Prefecture, a two-meter-tall Maneki Neko cat statue beckons all passersby to visit the Omatsu Daigongen Shrine, お松大権現.

I was one of those beckoned.

I followed cat footprints up the steps through the torii entrance gate and was overwhelmed by the sheer number of cat statues.

Cats were everywhere. Instead of traditional komainu lion-dogs guarding the shrine, there were cats. Instead of shachihoko fish-tigers guarding the roof against fire, there were cats.

Why all the cats?

To answer that question, we turn to a story that takes place during the iron rule of the Tokugawa shoguns during the Edo era (1603-1867).

The tragic tale of Omatsu

In the late 17th century, the village of Kamo in what is now Tokushima Prefecture was struggling. Years of bad harvests had taken their toll on the people, and their tax burden had become unbearable.

The village headman, a kind-hearted man named Sobee, wanted to help his people. He borrowed money from a wealthy neighbor, Nogami. As collateral, Nogami was granted use of several of Sobee’s rice paddies.

All seemed well. The money helped the struggling villagers, and Sobee was recouping what he needed to repay his debt.

As the agreed-upon date to repay the loan drew near, Sobee noticed Nogami along the road by his fields. He grabbed the cash and brought it out to Nogami, who assured him he would send him a receipt when he got home.

Unfortunately, within days, Sobee fell ill and passed away. His lovely wife, Omatsu, was left to tend the fields alone.

Omatsu visited Nogami and asked him for a certificate of repayment for the loan. Nogami insisted Sobee had not paid. Omatsu knew her husband had, and she repeatedly asked Nogami for the receipt.

Nogami, angered by her persistence, shouted that he had never received the money. He sent his men to collect on the collateral by taking Omatsu’s remaining rice fields.

Now desperate, Omatsu appealed to the local magistrate. He agreed to help her — that is, as long as she would be his lover.

Omatsu had no idea that the magistrate was receiving money on the sly from Nogami. When she turned down his advances, he dismissed her, refusing to honor her claim.

Desperation

Then Omatsu did something very few in the Edo era dared do. She risked her life to appeal to higher authority.

On a cold winter day in 1686, Tsunanori, the lord of Awa Domain, was passing through Omatsu’s town. His procession of samurai vassals was long and intimidating. In the center was Tsunanori’s palanquin.

Omatsu held in her hand a petition. Suddenly, the vassals saw what seemed to be a white shadow break through their ranks near the palanquin. Confusion broke out with yells and cries. Samurai unsheathed their swords.

Then a quiet voice stilled them, “Stop.”

It was the voice of Tsunanori as he peeked out of his palanquin. He saw the lovely Omatsu, dressed all in white, bowed to the ground in humility.

Tsunanori allowed Omatsu to approach. She handed him the letter she had written, her heartfelt, desperate appeal for truth and justice. The daimyo gazed upon her face, pitiful, yet full of such mysterious beauty that he couldn’t help but lose his breath.

When he regained his composure, Tsunanori read her appeal.

He announced, “I will consider this,” and Omatsu’s beautiful eyes filled with tears.

The procession continued on. Omatsu’s appeal had taken but an instant.

The Tokugawa shogunate maintained absolute control. Nearly all crimes were punishable by death. One such capital offense was appealing directly to any daimyo or the shogun.

No matter how worthy the cause, simply appealing to a daimyo was punishable by death.

Thus, Omatsu was taken to the jail behind Tokushima castle to await her execution.

The execution was to be carried out three months hence. Forlorn and alone, the lovely Omatsu had only her beloved cat to comfort her. The sympathetic cat never left her side, patiently listening to her troubles and tears. Only this calico cat knew the true depth of the tragedy that befell her beloved Omatsu.

On the day appointed, Omatsu was taken to a dry riverbed. She was dressed in white, her long hair hanging free. A sudden breeze blew Omatsu’s robes and lifted her hair, causing it to reflect like an eerie halo in the evening light. The men preparing her execution cried, “She is a Bodhisattva!” How could they dare to kill such a one?

But if they did not do their job, they themselves would be killed.

As the executioner raised his sword, all present joined the weeping Omatsu in praying to Amida Nyorai for salvation, Namu Amida Butsu, “I take refuge in Amida Buddha.” From their hiding places in the woods, villagers joined in, bidding a sad farewell to the tragic Omatsu.

In mercy, the executioner’s sword also fell upon the neck of Omatsu’s calico cat, allowing her to remain together with her beloved owner in the afterlife.

Soon, the villagers began to quietly honor Omatsu as a deity for those seeking justice. They told the story of her courage to their children and grandchildren, keeping her memory alive yet secret from the authorities who would punish them for honoring one who was a criminal in their eyes.

The vengeful cat

Not long after Omatsu’s execution, in the pitch black of night, the corrupt magistrate who had refused Omatsu was awakened by what sounded like a cat. Looking all around, he saw nothing and heard only the faint sound of running water. Yet he was sure he had heard the scream of an angry cat.

Then, another cry reached his ears. This one seemed to be a woman’s voice. He turned to see what he thought was a maidservant lighting a lantern. When the light fell upon her face, he saw it was that of a terrible cat.

He ran to fetch his guards, but when they inspected his room, only a lantern quietly burned.

That fateful night marked the end of the magistrate. He soon lost his job, fell ill, and died.

Next, the ghostly cat sought out Nogami, and mysterious deaths followed. His family line was soon extinguished.

The locals saw these deaths as the result of a curse put on those men by Omatsu and her feline friend. To appease the kaibyō, 怪猫, “monster cat,” they built a shrine to honor Omatsu and her loyal companion.

Omatsu was deified as the god of victorious triumph and her cat, her avenger. The Omatsu Daigongen shrine became a mecca for those praying for the tenacity to triumph, be it in business, competitions, or in passing entrance examinations.

A custom developed where people who visited the shrine to pray for success would bring a cat statue back home with them. When their prayer was answered, they returned the cat and donated another.

After decades of this, there are more than 10,000 cat statues on the grounds of the Omatsu Daigongen Shrine. There are fanciful statues of Buddhist deities merged into cat bodies, beckoning Maneki Neko statues, and several traditional Buddhist statues.

Sasuri Neko for healing

In front of the main shrine building is a special cat statue called the Sasuri Neko. Visitors with ailments rub the cat’s body to receive healing. For sore knees, they rub the cat’s tiny knees. For headaches, the cat’s head.

Beside the shrine, a trail leads through another torii gate, between ancient, sacred inumaki yew plum pine trees, past a small pool and waterfall, and further up stone steps. All around this path and the entire shrine grounds are mind-boggling numbers of cat statues. A separate building dedicated solely to Maneki Neko statues is filled with thousands of beckoning cats.

After about 50 minutes of wandering through this wonderland, I was ready to continue my hike along the Henro, the 88 Temple Pilgrimage of Shikoku.

No matter how you feel about cats, I’m sure you will agree that this is an extraordinary place. If you ever visit Tokushima, please allow yourself to be beckoned into the shrine of Omasu and her beloved Neko Kami-San, 猫神さん, Cat God.

References:

Japanese Lucky Charms, Omatsu Daigongen Shrine

The post Omatsu Daigongen—The Amazing Cat Temple of Shikoku first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Blessings from the God of the New Year

Kagami-biraki refers to the Japanese practice of cracking open the hard, dried kagami mochi at the end of the New Year’s holidays, as well as the opening of sake barrels at celebratory events.

Kagami mochi, “Mirror rice cakes”

During Japan’s New Year’s holidays, people display half spheres of mochi, pounded rice cakes, called kagami mochi, “mirror rice cakes.” Two rounded cakes are placed on a wooden offering stand, a smaller cake stacked upon a larger, and topped with a daidai, Japanese bitter orange.

These may look like mere festive decorations, but they play an important role in New Year’s traditions. They are where the Toshi-kami, the God of the New Year, stays during his holiday visit. Kagami mochi also hold symbolic meaning.

Kagami means mirror. This name could have been given due to the shape of the mochi which resembles the round mirrors used for centuries in Japan, or it could be an allusion to Amaterasu’s mirror, one of Japan’s Three Imperial Treasures.

Mirrors are deeply significant in the Shinto religion. They reflect the spirit of Kami, the all-encompassing life force deity, and are often found in shrine sanctuaries.

On top of the “mirror mochi” is a daidai, bitter orange. Daidai is a homonym for “generations.” Much like the many symbolisms of New Year’s osechi-ryori foods, the daidai‘s use on the top of the kagami-mochi represents a prayer for the family’s continuance from generation to generation.

The visit of the Toshi-kami, the God of the New Year

The Toshi-kami is first welcomed into households through the kadomatsu, pine and bamboo decorations that adorn both sides of the front door. The Toshi-kami is not only the god who brings blessings and bountiful harvests in the new year, but he merges with the collective spirit of a household’s ancestors, the sorei, who visits the family at this time.

The period during which the Toshi-kami visits over the new year’s holidays is called Matsu no Uchi, 松の内, “within the pines.”

Burning the kadomatsu

At the end of the Matsu no Uchi, New Year’s decorations are burned, sending the Toshi-kami back to the realm of the spirits. 

After the Great Meireki Fire of 1657 that destroyed approximately 60% of Edo (now Tokyo), in addition to other fire preventative measures, the shogun shortened Matsu no Uchi so that the flammable pine decorations would be disposed of sooner. He declared that from henceforth, Matsu no Uchi would end on the seventh day of the first month.

Eating kagami-mochi

Shortly after the kadomatsu are burned, generally around January 11 depending on local customs, the now dried and cracked kagami-mochi is broken into pieces, added to soups or roasted, and eaten by family and friends. This custom is called kagami-biraki, 鏡開き, opening the rice cakes. 

By eating the mochi that has been home to the Toshi-kami, people are imbued with spiritual power and blessings for a safe, healthy year.

How the mochi is broken is important, though.

In the age of the samurai, from the 14th to the 19th centuries, it was considered an ill omen to cut the rice cake with a blade as it evoked the image of seppuku, the samurai’s noble suicide, so a wooden hammer was used to break the hard rice cakes.

This method of breaking the rice cakes continues to this day, although the word waru 割る, to split or break, is not used because it is felt to bode evil. Instead, the Japanese use the more positive word hiraku 開く, to open, considered a more auspicious description.

A WORD ABOUT JAPANESE: The verb hiraku takes the ending “i,” hiraki, when used in its noun form, and the first letter changes to “b,” biraki, when joined to another word. For more on the intricacies of the Japanese language, see my article, “Why is Learning Japanese So Hard?”

Another kagami-biraki

Since ancient times, sake has been offered to the kami, or deity, when performing Shinto rituals. Afterward, the attendees and the priest drink sake together and pray for the fulfillment of their prayers. 

This sharing of sake is another type of kagami-biraki. The round wooden lids of sake casks, called kagami 鏡, are cracked open, hiraki 開き, with a wooden mallet and their contents shared. In this case, kagami takes on the meaning of harmony, and hiraki, of prosperity.

The practice of kagami-biraki by opening sake casks has since spread and has become part of many celebrations that mark new beginnings, such as weddings, the start of the new season for martial arts studios or sports teams, and the official opening of new businesses.

A similar custom, kura-biraki 蔵開き, opening store rooms, started in ages past when feudal lords and merchants would celebrate the opening of their storage rooms for the new year, and share sake and rice cakes with their subordinates and customers. 

Kagami-biraki is a celebratory event, whether referring to the cracking open of the New Year’s kagami mochi and being imbued with the spirit of the Toshi-kami, or cracking the lid of a 72-liter sake cask and having a grand time drinking it with your community.

https://www.gekkeikan.co.jp/enjoy/qa/sake/sake06.html, https://www.jalan.net/news/article/500808/, The Essence of Shinto,* by Motohisa Yamakage

*affiliate link

The post Kagami-Biraki, Opening the Rice Cakes for a Prosperous and Healthy Year first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

According to a Japanese proverb, your first dream of the year is filled with portent

一富士二鷹三茄子, Ichi Fuji, Ni Taka, San Nasubi

First, Mount Fuji

Second, Hawks

Third, Eggplants

This proverb implies that when these three things — Mount Fuji, hawks, and eggplants — appear in one’s first dream of the year, 初夢 hatsuyume, they foretell a year of good fortune. Mount Fuji augurs the best fortune, then hawks, then eggplants.

Like many things Japanese, at first glance, this proverb seems inexplicable. To gain understanding, one must look into it a bit to get a grasp of how these things are connected and why Mount Fuji, hawks, and eggplants (of all things!) are auspicious.

Theories as to why

Our first theory relates to Tokugawa Ieyasu, the first shogun of the Edo era (1603–1867), and Japan’s third great unifier. He hailed from Suruga, now Shizuoka Prefecture, home of the magnificent and revered, Mount Fuji. Ieyasu loved hawks and kept many which he used for hunting, and he was fond of eating the first eggplants harvested each year.

Because of being three of the mighty Shogun Tokugawa’s favorite things, these things became auspicious portents.

Our second theory relies on homonyms. 

Fuji 富士, is read similarly to 不死 meaning “no death” and by extension, long life. Its reading is also similar to 無事 “without incident,” meaning peace, safety, and security. 

Taka, the Japanese word for hawk, is read the same as 高, “tall, high, or lofty.”

Nasu, eggplant, is read the same as 成す, meaning “to succeed in, to accomplish.”

All these are easily wished-for outcomes for anyone’s new year.

We also must not forget that Mount Fuji has been considered sacred since ancient times, the mountain itself being a Shinto deity. 

Auspicious, indeed.

When to dream

Just so you know when to dream of eggplants, the first dream of the year is considered to occur on the night of January first, or back in the old days before the introduction of the Gregorian calendar in the late 19th century, the night of Setsubun, the day preceding the first day of spring.

But what if your first dream of the New Year is a nightmare? 

Don’t worry, there’s a solution. 

Upon awakening, draw a picture of the Treasure Ship bearing the Seven Lucky Gods, and set it adrift upon a stream. The image will drift away, carrying your bad fortune with it.

References:

https://jpnculture.net/hatsuyume/, https://kotowaza-dictionary.jp/k0964/, https://boxil.jp/beyond/a5493/

The post For a Healthy Happy Year, Dream of Mount Fuji, Hawks, or Eggplants first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.