Bonfires blaze across the countryside of Japan in early to mid-January each year

Dondoyaki, どんど焼き, sometimes called Sagichō, 左義長, are great bonfires where communities gather to burn their New Year‘s pine and bamboo decorations while sending the Toshi-kami, the God of the New Year, back to the realm of the spirits. This event marks the end of the New Year’s festivities.

This custom finds its roots in the Heian Era (794-1185) ceremony of Sagichō, 左義長, where aristocrats would gather at the imperial court and burn their New Year’s decorations in a carefully constructed bonfire on the top of which were hung a folding fan or tanzaku, long narrow strips of paper upon which wishes are written. A diviner would sing as the fire raged.

The sacredness of the fire led to the belief that being touched by sparks would ensure health and vigor for the year. Burning the first calligraphy of the year was a sure way for the gods to help the writer improve their skills. And as the fire died down, eating delicious dango rice dumplings and mochi roasted on the embers would protect from sicknesses during the year.

As the centuries passed, this custom made its way to the common people, and it is how people came to celebrate Dondoyaki today.

The bonfires are usually held around January 15th, a day traditionally called Koshōgatsu, 小正月, Little New Year’s Day. Although local customs respect different dates for Koshōgatsu, that day marks the end of the New Year’s celebrations. A variety of events are held across the country on Koshōgatsu — from people dressing as demons and scaring children into good behavior to peacefully eating rice gruel mixed with adzuki beans. But the most universal is Dondoyaki.

Dondoyaki

In early January, using a wide space within the grounds of a shrine, a rice field, or an empty lot, communities gather new bamboo, straw, and branches and build a tower-like pile that will be the base of the bonfire.

On the day of Dondoyaki, people bring their new year’s decorations, noshi wrapping paper from winter gifts, and the children’s first calligraphy of the year to be tossed into the flames. Simply throwing those things away is considered to be disrespectful and terribly unlucky. Using them as a means to send off the Toshi-kami is best.

Roasting mochi

As the fire dies down, young and old alike put pieces of mochi rice cakes on sticks and roast them in the fire like marshmallows, just as the Heian aristocrats did over 1,000 years ago. Sometimes the adults are served hot sake or, as in Kagoshima in the south, sweet potato shochu mixed with hot water.

Dondoyaki is not just a way to send off the Toshi-kami, but it is a wonderful way to strengthen community bonds — and enjoy nice warm roasted mochi.

There is one more fire during this period worth mentioning, and that is done exclusively by Shinto priests.

Burning the previous year’s amulets

On New Year’s Day or shortly thereafter, people pay their first visit to a Shinto shrine, called Hatsumōde, 初詣. People flock to shrines, both small and large, to bring their fuda household protection amulets, daruma dolls, and omamori lucky charms to be ritually burned by the Shinto priest. They pray for blessing, protection, success, and prosperity in the months to come. Then they line up to buy new omamori and fuda protection amulets for a fresh start for the new year.

To read about Kagoshima’s unique version of Dondoyaki, go to Giant Bonfires Banish Demons.

References:

図説民俗探訪事典 compiled by 大島 暁雄, 1982, kotobank, ウェザーニュース

The post Dondoyaki—Burning New Year’s Decorations to Send off the God of the New Year first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Old and new ways to ring in the New Year

After first arriving in Japan in 1987, I quickly learned to stock up for the first three days of the New Year since all stores would be shuttered while their owners and employees spent time with their families.

Times have changed. Today most stores remain open during the holidays and 24-hour convenience stores abound.

While modern times have brought welcome changes, perhaps along the way some of the understanding of the holiday customs has been lost, cast aside amid the hubbub of TV specials and New Year’s Sales.

To understand Japan’s New Year, we need to return to the holiday’s roots, which date as far back as the 1st century. In those days, the ancient people celebrated in three main ways.

• Welcoming the toshi-kami, the god of the new year.
• Praying for bountiful harvests in the coming year.
• Expressing gratitude for another year of life.

These practices are reflected in today’s New Year’s traditions, and each of the holiday’s countless customs is imbued with meaning.

Let’s take a look at a few of the most outstanding traditions, work our way forward in time, and end with a look at those TV specials.

Welcoming the God of the New Year, the Toshi-Kami

The Shinto Toshi-kami descends from the heavens via the pine decorations that adorn each house. Around the time families break and eat their kagami mochi, the New Year’s decorations are ceremonially burned—typically around January 15th, depending on regional customs—the smoke transports the god back to the heavens, leaving behind his blessings and protection for the year ahead.

This Toshi-kami is a busy god with a wide portfolio. Besides being the god who brings bounty and blessings in the new year, he also merges with the collective spirit of each family’s ancestors, their sorei, who visits their family at this time (although the sorei’s main holiday is Obon, in the summer). The Toshi-kami then becomes a ta no kami, rice field god, in the spring, and a yama no kami, mountain god, after harvest in the fall. He is also sometimes known as the god of lucky directions.

Reflecting the importance of purity and cleanliness in the Shinto religion, a thorough house cleaning is done at the end of December. People get rid of clutter, dust behind cabinets, change the paper in the paper doors, and make their houses spotless. Once that is done, Shimenawa ropes are hung upon the doorways signifying that the house is purified and ready to welcome the Toshi-kami.

Gratitude for Another Year of Life

Long ago in Japan, in accord with the Chinese method of counting years, newborns were considered one year old, and another year of life was added to everyone on New Year’s Day, regardless of their birthdays.

Gifts of Money, O-Toshi-Dama

As a kind of birthday present on New Year’s Day, children receive small envelopes filled with money for the year from each of their older relatives. This money is called o-toshi-dama, お年玉, literally “honorable year’s jewels.” Since Christmas is a fairly recent import into Japan and not a holiday (see my brief history of Christmas here), New Year’s Day is the day children have traditionally looked forward to receiving gifts, i.e., money.

Special New Year’s Dishes, Osechi-ryori

In order to take a holiday from cooking and enjoy time with one’s extended family, special foods are painstakingly prepared in advance — or bought — to be eaten together with the Toshi-kami during the first three days of the new year. Eating these meals with the gods is said to impart spiritual power and blessings upon the mortals.

Each food has its specific meaning, and there are too many to mention, but here are a few.

Sea Bream — Tai, for an auspicious year

The traditional Japanese calendar started in spring and so New Year’s Day used to be a springtime occasion. From the image of the first sprouts appearing came the expression mede-tai, 芽出度い (pronounced meh-deh-tie), literally “the time when sprouts emerge.” From that, mede-tai came to be used to describe something happy and auspicious.

For this reason, sea bream, called tai, 鯛, is an essential part of any osechi-ryōri. It plays on the homonym tai, “happy” and “auspicious” — everyone’s sincere wish for the new year.

Herring Roe — Kazunoko, for many children

Another popular item is herring roe, called kazunoko, 鯑. Its homonym means many children, 数の子.

Shrimp — Ebi, for long life

As a wish for long life, shrimp are eaten. Shrimp, called ebi, 海老, literally “the aged of the sea,” suggest the long beards and bent frames of the elderly.

Dried Sardines — Tazukuri, for bountiful harvests

Tazukuri, 田作り, is a dish made of dried sardines and soy sauce. Its name means “making a rice field.” Sardines were traditionally used as fertilizer in rice paddies in many areas of Japan, thus the dish expresses the wish for abundant harvests.

Rolled Omelets — Datemaki, for days of blessings

Perhaps my favorite wordplay is the name for the rolled, sweet omelet mixed with fish paste. It is called datemaki, 伊達巻 (pronounced dah-te-ma-key), so named because the samurai lords of Sendai (in Miyagi Prefecture), the Date clan (dah-te), were famous for being well-dressed.

In ancient Japan, holidays were called hare no hi, ハレの日, special days, and on such days people wore their finest clothes — what we might call their Sunday best.

From this idea of fashionable Date clan style clothing being worn on special days, the Date-maki sweet omelet expresses the wish for many such special days in the coming year.

Bell Ringing

From the introduction of Buddhism in the 6th century, Buddhist customs merged with the ancient Shinto customs. As such, at midnight on New Year’s Eve, Buddhist temple bells are rung 108 times, banishing the 108 worldly desires. This marks both a prayer for forgiveness for the past year, and a prayer for steadfastness in the next.

First Shrine Visit of the Year, Hatsumōde

On the first three days of the New Year, people flock to Shinto shrines, and many to Buddhist temples, for their first visit of the year, called Hatsumōde. Meiji Shrine in the center of Tokyo traditionally receives over 3 million visitors each year during the New Year’s holidays, but even small countryside shrines get plenty of visitors.

Visitors to shrines clap, bow, and say a brief prayer for the year. People often buy omikuji, little slips of paper picked out from a box with their fortunes for the year foretold. If they are worried that not all of their fortune is good, they can tie the paper to a tree or a wire hung at the shrine, and leave that undesirable fortune in the hands of the gods, carrying the good fortune home in their hearts.

As all their previous year’s omamori (good luck charms), daruma dolls, and household protective amulets were brought to shrines to be burned at the end of December, people buy new charms for such things as safety and protection for the new year, success in studies, or safe childbirth, new daruma for setting goals for the year, and new ema upon which to write their prayers.

Nengajo, New Year’s Greeting Postcards

On New Year’s Day, bundles of postcards are delivered to each house. These are sent by friends and associates containing words of thanks for past kindnesses, well-wishes, and yoroshiku-onegaishimasu — please, and thank you in advance — for kindnesses in the new year.

People spend time during the day nibbling on osechi-ryōri, reading over the various greetings, and remembering old friends. The cards are usually themed according to the animals of the Chinese zodiac, 2022 being the year of the Tiger.

TV Specials

A big event in many households is the yearly New Year’s Eve TV specials. The most famous by far is a good-natured singing contest, Kōhaku Uta Gassen. Musicians are divided into two teams, a red team composed of females, and a white team composed of males. The red and white division of teams gives the show its name, Kōhaku, meaning red and white.

NHK, the national TV broadcasting corporation, began airing this show from the year Japan got its first TVs, 1953. Musicians are chosen by invitation only, and performing on Kōhaku is considered quite an honor and even can be the highlight of one’s career. The spectacular lighting, costumes, and set design never disappoint.

At the end of the show, the audience, together with the judges, votes on the winning team.

Competing with Kōhaku for viewers is a bizarre show that is popular among many of the younger generation, called, Dauntaun no Gaki no Sukaiyaarahende! which defies translation.

On this year-end special, serious celebrities face off against several old-school comedians who are placed in various situations — on a bus, then in a school, or whatever the theme is that year — and the celebrities do and say outrageous things to make the comedians laugh.

If they laugh, which they inevitably do, people dressed in commando camouflage jump out and spank them with rubbery batons. The absurdity of all this is considered hilarious.

Japanese TV, truly unique, has to be seen to be believed.

This is by no means a complete list of New Year’s customs. Other traditions include making and eating delicious pounded sticky rice cakes called mochi, children flying kites in the clear breezy skies of winter, and eager shoppers hunting for “lucky bags” filled with mystery discounts at their favorite stores. In a small fishing port on the Izu Peninsula, on finds a unique New Year’s decoration welcoming the god of the New Year—Shiokatsuo, and ancient type of dried bonito. Even one’s first dream of the year is significant, but I think only in Japan does one hope it contains Mount Fuji, a hawk, or an eggplant.

By January 4th, people begin to go back to their normal routines, greeting coworkers and associates by saying akemashite-omedetō-gozaimasu, “Happy New Year,” and naturally, “For this year, too, please and thank you in advance,” kotoshi-mo, yoroshiku-onegaishimasu.

Sources:

https://maminyan.com/shogatsu/know/toshigamisama.html, https://www1.nhk.or.jp/kouhaku/, https://www.ntv.co.jp/gaki/, many years in Japan.

The post Japanese New Year — Gods, Symbolic Foods, and TV Extravaganzas first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Walking Amid Michelin Green Guide Star-Winning Beauty

I recently had the privilege of climbing Mount Haguro in northeastern Japan. The forest walk has been given 3 stars by the Michelin Green Guide, and it did not disappoint. Please allow me to share my journey with you.

Background

Mount Haguro is one of three sacred mountains known as the Dewa Sanzan, 出羽三山, meaning the three mountains of Dewa — the old name for Yamagata and Akita Prefectures. Climbing these mountains has been considered a pilgrimage of spiritual rebirth for centuries.

Each mountain in the Dewa Sanzan represents an aspect of cosmic time that pilgrims face. Mount Gassan is where we ask forgiveness for past wrongs and encounter our ancestors. Mount Haguro is where we overcome the troubles of the present world. And Mount Yudono is where we confront our future selves.

A little history

In the 6th century, Prince Hachiko, the son of the 32nd emperor of Japan, left the capital in Nara. His father, Emperor Sushin, had been assassinated, and his cousin, the influential and powerful Shotoku Taishi, advised him that discretion was the better part of valor. Hachiko accepted this advice and, difficult though it must have been, quietly left the capital.

Legend tells us that Hachiko then traveled the country, healing those wherever he went by magically absorbing their sufferings. The more hardships he took upon himself, the more disfigured he became. Yet Prince Hachiko, without concern for his earthly appearance, kept on.

Eventually, he was led to Mount Haguro by a three-legged crow. 

In a quintessential mix of Buddhism and Shinto, Prince Hachiko set up a monastery to practice Buddhism and to worship the Shinto kami of the three mountains. There he remained, teaching and healing, until his death in 641.

From the time Buddhism reached Japan in the 6th century, there was a peaceful syncretism of Buddhism with Shinto. Buddhist gods were considered manifestations of Shinto kami, and many temples and shrines shared the same grounds — some buildings even served as both Buddhist temples and Shinto shrines.

In 1868, as a means of weakening the wealth and power of Buddhist sects and to bring greater respect to the authority of the newly installed Emperor Meiji, himself a Shinto god, the government ordered the division of Buddhism and Shintoism. Temples, statues, bells, and sutras were destroyed in a frenzy of attack by Shinto nationalists. Many Buddhist priests were forced to leave the priesthood; others chose to become Shinto priests.

From that time, Buddhist images were removed from Mount Haguro. 

Climbing Mount Haguro

After consulting bus and train schedules, I took an 8:22 train from Niigata City and reached the charming city of Tsuruoka, in Yamagata Prefecture, in plenty of time to catch the 10:41 bus. The next bus was 90 minutes later, so careful planning was essential.

I had a pleasant ride past beautiful countryside with the awesome snow-covered Mount Chokai to the north providing the backdrop. After about 40 minutes, the bus drove through an enormous torii gate, along a narrow road fronting Shukubo shrine lodgings, and arrived at the foot of Mount Haguro.

My lodging for the night was easy to find.

I rang the bell at the shrine where I was going to stay and dropped off my bag. The innkeeper, the Shinto priest’s wife, visibly relaxed when she realized that the foreigner staying with her that night could speak Japanese. I thanked her for keeping my suitcase, bid her goodbye, and headed to the hiking trail.

It was 11:30 and the weather was glorious.

I bowed and passed under the torii gate, symbolizing my entry into the sacred realm of Mount Haguro, a Shinto kami. Then I approached the next gate.

The vermillion Zuishinmon Gate was previously guarded by two Buddhist Nio warriors and had been called the Niomon Gate. These statues were moved to safety and hidden during the anti-Buddhist frenzy. Today, they can be viewed at the Shozen-in Temple, a 15-minute walk from their former home. 

This gate marks the beginning of the 2,446 stone steps that lead to the summit.

In 1648, the 50th chief priest of the Dewa Sanzan, Tenyu Betto, laid the thousands of stones that lead from the vermillion gate to the mountaintop Sanjin Gosaiden shrine. It took him 13 years. Along the way, he carved 33 different Buddhist symbols into the stones. If you can find them all, it is said your prayers will assuredly be answered.

I think I found a few.

The path first leads downhill to a group of simple wooden shrines.

Then it takes us across the red, arched Shinkyo Bridge that had marked the border across which no women could pass until the 19th-century changes. To the right is the 400-year-old, man-made Suga-no-Taki waterfall, also credited to Tenyu Betto.

Soon, I meet the 1,000-year-old cedar tree affectionately called Jiji-sugi, or “Grandfather Cedar.” This majestic tree stands near the 600-year-old Go-jū-no-toh, or Five-Story Pagoda. This amazing work of architecture was originally built by none other than Taira no Masakado in the 930s. You may remember Masakado as one of Japan’s Three Most Infamous Vengeful Ghosts. 

The Go-jū-no-toh was built without using any nails. It features a large earthquake-resistant pendulum in the center which allows the building to gently and loosely sway like a snake during tremors. Its design has inspired modern techniques for constructing earthquake-proof buildings and towers, such as the 634 meter Tokyo Sky Tree. 

The current pagoda dates from 1372 when it was rebuilt by Daihoji Masauji, the chief priest of Mount Haguro. It is all that remains of a temple complex that surrounded it until the 1870s when the buildings were destroyed. Fortunately for us, the Go-jū-no-toh was rechristened as a Shinto shrine before then.

As Yamagata is deep in Japan’s snow country, each winter workers climb up inside the pagoda to sweep off the snow that accumulates on the roofs. 

After taking time to admire these awe-inspiring sights, I head up the long staircase sided by hundreds of 400-year-old cryptomeria cedar trees.

Walking through this beautiful forest, filled with the fragrance of cedar trees and joyous birdsong, I cannot think of a nicer way to spend a day.

I pass many small wooden shrines, then come upon unusual trees wrapped in a shimenawa rope, signifying that they are sacred. 

Originally two trees, through the years they reached out to each other and are now collectively known as Meoto-sugi, “The Couple Tree.” A wooden sign nearby tells us that those who hug this tree will be blessed with children.

There are three slopes along this path, each marked by a stone monument, and I have reached the third. 

I pass a shrine dedicated to the kami, Haniya-Hime no Mikoto, who was created from the feces of the creator goddess, Izanami-no-Mikoto. (I’m not making this up.) Those looking for the divine blessing of lasting relationships come here to pray.

Soon, I reach the top of the mountain, welcomed by another torii gate.

Exploring the mountaintop

I’ve climbed the 2,445 stone steps that lead from the Zuishinmon Gate to the 414 meter-high summit of Mount Haguro. I bow and enter the grounds where all three deities of the Dewa Sanzan are enshrined.

The first thing that catches my eye is a magnificent wooden shrine, a marvel of craftsmanship. It is the Itsukushima Shrine dedicated to the three deities of Munakata (in Fukuoka), and was once shared with Benzaiten, their Buddhist equivalent. These deities are incarnations of the god of water and all that flows, and they are crucial to this island nation as providers of the bounties from the sea. 

Among myriad intricate carvings are two dragons, one adorning each front pillar. Unlike the Western concept of dragons, these are helpful and wingless creatures. One is climbing up the pillar, symbolizing our struggles to attain Buddhahood through the continuous cycle of birth, death, and rebirth.

The other dragon descends, signifying its intention to come to earth and help aid the salvation of all living things.

No one knows when this building was constructed.

I pass the shrine to Prince Hachiko, then go up a few steps to pay my respects at the Sanjin-Gosaiden Shrine. This striking cedar structure was built in 1818, and it has an impressive 2.1 meter thick thatched roof, the thickest in Japan.

The gods of each of the Dewa Sanzan — Mount Haguro, Mount Gassan, and Mount Yudono — are enshrined within. This is the only mountaintop accessible all year round, so pilgrims can pay homage to all three deities here.

In front of the shrine is a pond called Kagami-ike, Mirror Pond. Although it beautifully reflects the shrine, this is not the source of its name.

In the early 20th century, the pond was drained. Over 600 ornate, bronze mirrors were recovered from its muddy bottom. Worshippers are thought to have used the mirrors as vehicles for their prayers and tossed them into the pond. Today, those mirrors have traveled as far as the British Museum and the Smithsonian Institute. Nearly 200 are on display in the nearby Dewa Sanzan Historical Museum, which, unfortunately, was closed when I visited.

Beside the pond is an ancient bell. As Shinto shrines do not usually have bells, this one is clearly a remnant of the days when Buddhism flourished in Dewa Sanzan.

The bronze bell weighs 10 tons, the 3rd largest in Japan. It was donated by the regent Hojo Tokimune as thanks for prayers offered for victory during the Mongol invasions of 1274 and 1281.

The thatched roof belfry was built in 1617, replacing the former structure that was destroyed during a typhoon.

This bell is rung only once a year, on December 31. Imagine the reverberations that echo across the mountains.

Among the other shrines on the mountaintop is Tōshō Shrine, dedicated to the deified first shogun of the Edo era, Tokugawa Ieyasu.

Another is the Reisaiden, a shrine built to house ancestral spirits. There is a spectacular painting of a dragon on the ceiling of its entranceway and a collection of Buddhist sculptural masterpieces in the building beside it. No photography is allowed.

Beside Reisaiden is a small cemetery with some unusual clothed gravestones.

Along the east side of the mountaintop, sits a row of small shrines. One of these stood out because of its collection of footwear. It is the Kensumimi Shrine, dedicated to Kamo-Taketsu-Numi no Mikoto, who, according to legend, is the kami who was incarnated as the three-legged crow.

People visit the shrine and offer footwear imbued with prayers for safe travels and healing and strength for their legs.

The climb down

After paying my respects at the modest imperial grave of Prince Hachiko, I head back to the torii gate to begin my descent.

Along the way is a sign tempting me to explore the Minami-Dani, which means southern valley. Despite the “Watch out for Bears” sign, I brave the unused trail. About 500 meters into the woods I come to a clearing that once held a temple where the great poet, Matsuo Basho, stayed while on his famous “Narrow Road to the Deep North” poetic journey in the 17th century.

There was not much left of the pond or the gazebo, but the walk is beautiful.

Back on the main path, I come across construction at a tea house. I peek into the grounds before one of the workers kindly tells me he would “appreciate me not entering.” I see enough to know that the rebuilt tea house will afford a fantastic view of the vast Shonai plains below.

Shukubo shrine stay

The innkeeper greets me at the door of the shrine lodging and shows me to my room. It is a huge 12 mat room, twice the size of a typical single room.

“Wow, this room is huge!” This is an unexpected surprise.

“You’re a foreigner, so I thought you would like a big room.”

I do!

She takes me down the hall to show me the shared bath and toilets, then back to show me the small room where my meals would be served. We agree on a 6:00 dinner, and she leaves me to wash up and relax.

Innkeepers in Japan prefer to serve dinner early, as the meals are rather elaborate, and they appreciate having plenty of time to clean up before they go to bed.

I bathe, put on the yukata robe the innkeeper provided, and before I know it, dinner is served.

It’s a feast of wild mountain vegetables and various types of tofu, including a house specialty, sesame tofu. This type of cuisine was developed in the Kamakura era by Zen monks and is called shojin-ryori.

Although Dewa Sanzan became Shinto in 1869, shojin-ryori continued to be served and adapted. Enjoying shojin-ryori is an important part of any visit to the Dewa Sanzan.

After a peaceful sleep in that quiet room between comfortable and warm futons, I wake up refreshed.

I again visit the Jiji-sugi “Grandfather Cedar” and the Go-jū-no-toh. I see many people cleaning, and learn that the mountain is cleaned one day each year.

I visit the two shrines between my inn and the Zuishinmon Gate. One is called the Tenchikon Shrine. This iteration was built in 1779 and is decorated with remarkable carvings.

The other shrine is dedicated to “The Tofu Jizō.”

With a name like that, it had to have an interesting backstory.

Before the late 19th century, this Jizō statue held pride of place on temple grounds, bringing prosperity to the worshippers on Mount Haguro and protecting pilgrims.

Sadly, when its temple compound was destroyed, this Jizō statue was cast into a ravine and forgotten.

Many years later, a mason was searching the forest for stone. He came upon the Jizō and mistook it for mere smooth stone. It seemed to him a perfect find to fashion into a stone used in making tofu. It was his lucky day — or so he thought.

The moment he struck the stone, he fell over unconscious. For three days and three nights he lay in a stupor, his mind filled with dreams.

In his dreams, Jizō appeared to him and warned him to repent of his disrespect.

When he awoke, repent, he did!

He moved the Jizō to its current position near the Zuishinmon Gate, built a shrine for him, and gave him the name “Tofu Jizō.” Today, people visit this Jizō to pray for long life, safe childbirth, and for help in raising children.

I go next door to the inn and partake of a wonderful shojin-ryori breakfast. I notice one of the dishes is a triangular chimaki, a type of rice dumpling wrapped and cooked in bamboo leaves and topped with soybean powder. It is a popular dish served on Children’s Day and one of my favorites.

After this delicious meal, I bid farewell to the kind innkeeper.

My time at Mount Haguro is up. I catch the 9:18 bus to Tsuruoka Town, satisfied after a perfect stay and looking forward to new adventures.

Mount Haguro embodies many of the reasons I write about rural Japan. Though off the beaten path, it truly is a treasure trove of culture and beauty for those who take the time to visit.

For what it’s like to stay at a Buddhist Temple, please see my article, “Shukubō — Tranquil Temple Stay in Japan.”

The post Mount Haguro—Experiencing its Rustic Magnificence 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.

For centuries, daughters have been the focus of celebration on Hinamatsuri

One of the Five Seasonal Festivals

Hinamatsuri, the Dolls’ Festival, is a special Japanese day of celebration for girls in which elaborate sets of courtly dolls are displayed in all homes with daughters and in various public places. The day is also known as the Peach Festival and the Girls’ Festival. 

Hinamatsuri falls on the 3rd day of the 3rd month and is one of the five seasonal festivals, go-sekku. These were imported from Tang Dynasty China in the 8th century as days to banish misfortune and to wish for good luck and good health in the coming season.

Each of the five seasonal festivals falls on a lucky day — 1/1 (moved to 1/7 so as not to overlap with New Year’s Day), 3/3, 5/5, 7/7, and 9/9 according to the lunar calendar. With the adoption of the Gregorian calendar in 1872, these holidays were moved to Western dates that mirrored their former auspicious odd-numbered lunar months and days.

Heian Era Roots

During the Heian Era (794–1185), aristocratic children played with paper or straw dolls. Reflecting ancient Shinto thought, these dolls came to be used as vessels into which impurities were transferred. A springtime custom called nagashi-bina developed, in which dolls imbued with the children’s “sins” were placed in streams to wash out to sea, thereby purifying the children.

The third lunar month was when the peach trees blossomed. These delicate pink blossoms were thought to ward off evil spirits, and they have become an integral part of Hinamatsuri decorations.

Courtly Dolls

During the more than two centuries of peace during the Edo Era (1603–1867), the simple paper and straw dolls of the Heian children transformed into the elaborate and beautiful dolls we see today. These dolls embodied the Edo Era people’s image of the elegance and refinement of the Heian imperial court. 

Hina Doll sets originally contained only one male and one female, a Heian Era emperor and empress, which were to take upon themselves the impurities of the children. As the years passed, the number of dolls increased to include a complete royal retinue with all their accoutrements. 

The sets grew to occupy either 5 or 7 tiers. The dolls were displayed before and during the Hinamatsuri, with the prayer that they would bring good fortune and a happy marriage to the girls in the family.

Hina Dolls Today — What Is on Each Tier

Let’s take a look at a Hina Doll display. The photo above shows an elaborate, yet typical, traditional doll set.

Tier 1

The emperor and empress hold the place of honor seated in front of a gold folding screen. These dolls do not represent a specific royal couple, with the rare exception of some sets that were made in the late 1800s to represent Emperor Meiji and Empress Shōken.

As is the custom, the male doll is holding a shaku, or ritual baton. The female is holding a folding fan. They are flanked by two paper lanterns called bonbori.

Between them are vases of miniature peach branches, a decoration called sanbō kazari, which one imagines was given as an offering to the couple.

The male on the left signifies that this set is a Tokyo style set. Those of the Kyoto style have the male on the right.

Tier 2

Three ladies-in-waiting occupy the second tier, ready at a moment’s notice to pour sake for the happy couple. 

Separating the ladies are two tables holding pink and white mochi — pounded sticky rice cakes. 

The colors pink and white are often used for celebratory events. White symbolizes long life and fertility, and red or pink is traditionally used to ward off evil.

Tier 3

Musicians wait upon this level, ready to entertain the royal couple. Four men hold instruments — a flute and three different types of drums — and the singer holds a fan.

Tier 4

On this tier we have the highest ranking aristocrat, the elderly Minister of the Left, and the next highest ranking, the younger Minister of the Right.

Between the men are tables to hold festive foods and diamond-shaped tables holding diamond-shaped sweets called hishi-mochi, a specialty reserved for Hinamatsuri. 

Hishi-mochi are layered mochi cakes in pink and white, with a green layer added to represent good health, and in some areas, a yellow level symbolizing nanohana flowers, some of the first to bloom in spring.

Tier 5

Upon this level sit three guards or helpers, each with an interesting name: the quarrelsome drinker, the maudlin drinker, and the merry drinker.

True to the actual trees in the royal palace in Heian, there is a tachibana orange tree on the western side and a cherry blossom tree on the eastern side.

Tier 6

Here you will find items one needs inside the house — tiny dressers, long chests for kimono storage, chests for clothing, mirror stands, hibachi braziers, boxes of tea ceremony utensils, and even a sewing box.

Tier 7

Finally, we have things the couple would need for traveling — a palanquin in which to be carried, nested boxes for food, and an oxcart for the many chests of clothing. 

About Hina Dolls

Classic Hina dolls are still made in the traditional way. Starting with a wood, straw, and paper base, the dolls are clothed in many layers of silk, stuffed with cotton to create the form, and finally finished with a delicate face carved from wood and covered with gofun, a layer of ground oyster shell and glue to give the face a pure white finish. Long hair made from silk or real hair is attached and styled in the ancient Heian fashion.

Hina dolls and their furnishings are very costly works of fine craftsmanship. Just one doll can take up to six months to create. Some sets are considered family heirlooms and are passed down from mother to daughter through generations.

The dolls can be displayed from the first day of spring  —  the day after the demons have been vanquished on Setsubun  —  and enjoyed throughout the month and on Hinamatsuri at the beginning of March. 

Women are admonished to put all the dolls away the day after Hinamatsuri. Failing to do so was believed to result in a daughter marrying late.

Hinamatsuri Food and Drink

What would a Japanese holiday be without special food? Here are a few of the celebratory foods for Hinamatsuri.

• Hina arare — crunchy, colored, rice cracker balls.
• Hishi mochi — multi colored mochi cakes stacked in diamond shapes. The diamond shape is also considered lucky.
• Ichigo daifuku — strawberries covered in sweet azuki bean paste and mochi — have recently joined the ranks of Hinamatsuri treats.
• Sakura mochi — azuki bean paste filled pink mochi cakes, wrapped in edible cherry blossom leaves.
• Ushio jiru — a clear soup made from hamaguri clams. As clams have two connected shells, they signify the wish for a happy marriage.
• Chirashi zushi — sushi rice into which is mixed, for example, simmered carrots, mushrooms, and lotus root, then topped with shrimp and/or sashimi, egg, and nanohana florets. Probably every cook makes it differently, while sticking to the pink, white, green, and yellow motif.
• Ama zake — sweet, thick beverage made from rice koji, the fermented rice used to make sake and miso paste. It is non-alcoholic and is considered healthy.
• White sake — strong, sweet sake with a cloudy white color.

In recent years, people have started to forgo traditional sweets in favor of beautiful, store-bought cakes, but no one with daughters will ever forgo celebrating Hinamatsuri.

The post Hinamatsuri—A Joyous Day for Girls in Japan first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Exploring culinary traditions in Izu and Kochi

While hiking in the Izu Peninsula of Shizuoka, I was lucky enough to visit an unusual shop. Tucked away up a hill in rural Tago, on the western coast, Kanesa Katsuobushi sells bonito. But not just any bonito, they are among a handful of shops that still preserve the fish using the most ancient of methods.

Bonito, sometimes called skipjack tuna, has been a dietary staple in Japan for millennia, evident from the discovery of its bones in Jomon-era (14,000–300 BC) shell middens. And if you’ve ever eaten Japanese food, you’ve likely eaten bonito. It is the foundation of dashi broth, an indispensable ingredient in Japanese cuisine. You might have even seen fish flakes, shaved from dried bonito, dance like an apparition atop tofu, rice, and other dishes.

Katsuo, the Japanese word for bonito, can also be read as “a man who wins,” giving it a favorable connotation. Similarly, the association between the celebratory dish sea bream, called tai, and something happy and auspicious — known as mede-tai — shows how symbolism may contribute to a dish’s enduring popularity.

Because bonito is a seasonal fish, ancient people devised creative ways to preserve it. The earliest documented technique is shiokatsuo, salted and dried bonito, sent from the Izu peninsula as a gift to the Imperial Court during the Nara era (710–794). That is Kanesa Katsuo’s specialty.

To make shiokatsuo, bonito are cleaned and then soaked for 10–12 days in a solution of sea salt and fresh water, drawn from a deep well. After this, the fish are hung in the shade for three weeks, allowing the wind to dry them.

The drying not only preserves but also ferments and ages the fish, concentrating its flavor — not unlike the process used in creating dry-cured ham.

Centuries ago, owners of bonito fishing boats on the western coast of Izu began offering shiokatsuo to Shinto shrines for purification, then serving it to their crews to celebrate the New Year. It was given both as a prayer for bountiful catches and as a guarantee of employment throughout the coming year. If a crew member was not given that gift, he knew he was out of a job.

As part of Shogatsu, or New Year’s celebration, people around Japan place kagami mochi, “mirror rice cakes,” on their house altars to welcome the god of the New Year. Not so in western Izu. Through the centuries, the custom of fishing boat owners offering shiokatsuo morphed into a unique tradition. Here, households and shrines hang shiokatsuo at their entrances to welcome the god of the New Year, as a prayer for bountiful fishing, and in appreciation to the bonito themselves.

This New Year’s tradition has kept alive this ancient method of preserving bonito . Each year in November, the Kanesa shop produces 400–500 shiokatsuo decorated with rice straw to be used during the New Year — called shogatsu-yo. And each year, they quickly sell out.

Kanesa Katsuo’s main product, though, is the most common form of bonito eaten in Japan — katsuobushi. Originating in the 17th century, this rocklike preserved fish is flaked and used as a topping for various dishes and is a key ingredient in dashi broth.

Known as the hardest food in the world, katsuobushi takes six months to prepare. First, the bonito is filleted, deboned, and cleaned before being boiled and left to dry on racks in a hot oven. Then the dried fillets are coated with koji mold — the same koji used in the production of sake, miso, and soy sauce — and left to mature for about four months. 

This process results in blocks of preserved fish that will later be shaved into “fish flakes.” Special heavy-duty planes are needed for shaving the rock-hard katsuobushi. Your mandoline slicer just won’t do. 

Bonito in Kochi

Each year, bonito migrate from the warm waters of southern Okinawa Prefecture along the eastern coasts of Kyushu, Shikoku, and Honshu.

To avail themselves of this bounty of the sea, fishermen in Kochi city on Shikoku island have long used a 400-year-old traditional method called ipponzuri, catching the bonito with a fishing pole. The fishermen first lure a school of these torpedo-shaped, silver-blue fish into a concentrated area and then catch them one by one. A single fish can weigh as much as 5 kilos (11 pounds).

Although fishing using large nets would be easier, this method is avoided to prevent damage to the fish and the unintentional capture of other species.

Seasonal treasures

Bonito are primarily harvested twice a year: from March to May in spring and from September to November in fall. The fish caught during these periods are renowned for their differing yet exceptional flavors.

In the early 17th century, the great haiku poet Yamaguchi Sodo extolled,

The poet was expressing his delight at the harbingers of warmer months — one of which was the first bonito of the season. 

Riding the warm Kuroshio current up from the south, these Hatsukatsuo, first bonito, or Noborikatsuo, up-bound bonito, caught between March and May were historically so valued that they were considered almost worth “pawning your wife and children” to obtain. Celebrated for their mild flavor and lower fat content, these fish are said to be best served as katsuo no tataki, or seared bonito.

Those caught from September to November are Modorikatsuo, returning bonito, or Kudarikatsuo, going back bonito. These fish have eaten heartily during their southward migration, resulting in a higher fat content that contributes to a more delicate taste and texture, making it an excellent choice for sashimi.

Kochi is also famous for its himodori katsuo — bonito eaten the same day it is caught — prized for its luxurious freshness.

Bonito is by far the most popular fish in Kochi, particularly Kochi City, where households consume an average of 5,163 grams (11 pounds, 6 ounces) per year — far more than any other city in Japan. This consumption has fostered a wide array of cooking styles.

How bonito is eaten

Aside from katsuobushi, sashimi is widely popular. But in Kochi, bonito sashimi takes a backseat to the local specialty, katsuo no tataki. 

To prepare this delicacy, the bonito is cleaned and filleted, and all bones are carefully removed. The resulting quarters of the fish are skewered and held over a fire of rice straw until the outside is seared. This rapid grilling eliminates excess moisture and any lingering fishy smell, enhances the flavor, and creates crispy skin. The seared fish is promptly plunged into ice water to halt the cooking process, then drained and sliced. Katsuo no tataki is served with condiments and sauces that vary by region and individual chef.

Shio tataki, another popular dish, features warm grilled bonito lightly sprinkled with salt. Fishermen often eat it with thin slices of fresh garlic. Other condiments include ponzu, a sauce made from soy sauce and local citrus, as well as salt and garlic, myoga (a mild type of Japanese ginger), scallions, shiso (perilla) leaves, and nihaizu, a 50/50 mix of soy sauce and vinegar.

And there are more. Tosa-maki is rolled sushi filled with seared bonito, shiso leaves, and sometimes raw garlic. Another is harambo, broiled bonito belly served with salt. Chichiko, bonito heart, is generally prepared in one of two ways — stewed in a sweet and salty broth of ginger and soy sauce or simply grilled with salt.

For the more adventurous palate, there’s shuto, written with the Japanese characters for “sake” and “theft.” 酒盗 This peculiar name comes from the dish’s perfect pairing with sake, tempting drinkers to steal the tasty dish. Shuto is a paste made from the salted and fermented organs of bonito mixed with sake, mirin, honey, and onions, resulting in, shall we say, a unique and bold flavor.

Although I traveled far to learn about this amazingly versatile fish, the largest number of bonito caught in the country is right in Kagoshima Prefecture, my home.

The post Bonito — Ancient, Essential Basis of Japanese Cuisine first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Inextricably woven into the tapestry of culture

A walk down the hill from my house takes me to the grounds of a Shinto shrine. For more than 250 years, though, that shrine had been a Buddhist temple.

Remnants of those former years are kept in a small clearing in the forest near the shrine — a broken Nio Guardian deity and some statues that have been repaired after being defaced, mossy gravestones and gorintō (small stone pagodas used as memorials for the dead) gathered together after having been scattered in the forest.

This is not unusual. A visit to any temple in my prefecture of Kagoshima reveals the same troubled past. Yet, despite this unfortunate historic episode of widespread destruction, Buddhism has had a tremendous influence in Japan, profoundly impacting the culture.

One school of Buddhism, Zen, gave birth to many of the arts we consider quintessentially Japanese —

• Noh theater

• Ikebana flower arranging

• Tea ceremony

• Japanese ink painting

What is Buddhism?

Buddhism, practiced by seven percent of the world’s population, offers humanity a path to escape the endless cycle of death and rebirth known as samsara. To the Buddhist, the root cause of all suffering is desire, so the goal is to free oneself from earthly desires and accumulate enough good karma so that one can attain enlightenment. Enlightened ones are themselves buddhas, omniscient beings who have transcended human desires and entered the state of nirvana.

How one reaches this goal differs according to the various Buddhist schools of thought.

Origins

Buddhism’s founder, Siddhartha Gautama, was born a prince in southern Nepal in 563 BC. He left his courtly life in search of meaning, and through his years of wanderings, developed what has come to be known as Buddhist philosophy. After his death, his teachings were transcribed by his followers. These texts are the sutras still read and chanted today at Buddhist temples.

Early Japanese Buddhism

Buddhism was brought from the Korean peninsula to Japan in the 6th century. After initial resistance by certain influential clans, this new religion was adopted by the ruling class.

Towards the end of the 6th century, Regent Prince Shotoku made Buddhism the national religion. He ordered the building of the Hōryuji temple in his capital, which still stands as the oldest wooden structure in the world and a UNESCO Cultural Heritage.

During this period, Buddhism was a monastic religion set up as the protector of the nation.

Nara era (710-794)

In the 8th century, after a smallpox outbreak wiped out one-third of the Japanese population, Emperor Shōmu ordered temples and nunneries to be established in each province to protect their areas from epidemics and bad harvests.

Beyond their spiritual functions, temples served as centers for education and culture, as well as hospitals and refuges. Many well-educated Buddhist monks headed large engineering projects, overseeing the financing and construction of waterworks and roads.

Temples were granted tax exempt status, and it wasn’t long before corruption took hold. To combat this, Emperor Shōmu sent emissaries to China to bring back a monk capable of establishing official precepts for the ordination of Buddhist monks. The chosen monk was Ganjin, already in his 50s, whose journey to Japan was thwarted by storms and shipwrecks. After five failed attempts, and being blinded from an infection contracted during a shipwreck, Ganjin, at the age of 66, persevered one last time. On his sixth attempt in 754, he finally set foot on southern Kyushu.

Ganjin set up Japan’s first ordination platform at Todaiji temple in Nara, then one at Dazaifu, “The Western Capital” in northern Kyushu, and another in Tochigi. With hopes of keeping the purity of Buddhist belief unspoiled, he codified the precepts for priests.

Shinbutsu shugo

Over the centuries, Buddhism merged with Shinto, Japan’s indigenous religion, and a uniquely Japanese belief system developed known as Shinbutsu Shugo, 神仏習合. Buddhist temples were built on the grounds of Shinto shrines, and vice versa, demonstrating devotion to both Shinto kami (gods) and Buddhas. One school of thought was that fallible kami needed Buddhist teachings to grow and learn, just like humanity, while another professed that high Shinto kami were manifestations of certain Buddhas. Nevertheless, these two religions coexisted in harmony for centuries.

During the 8th century, three main schools of Buddhism — Ritsu, Kegon, and Hossō —developed and began wielding significant influence on the Imperial Court. So significant, in fact, that one Buddhist priest attempted to take the throne.

Heian era (794-1185)

To distance the Imperial Court from the reach of the influential Buddhists in Nara, Emperor Kanmu moved the capital to Heian-Kyo, now Kyoto, at the end of the 8th century. At first, only two temples were allowed within the new capital, To-ji and Sai-ji, the Eastern and Western Temples. To-ji remains today much as it has for the last 1,200 years.

Esoteric Buddhism

In the 9th century, two monks brought back different schools of esoteric Buddhism from China — Saicho, who founded the Tendai religion, and Kūkai, who founded Shingon.

Both schools espoused the concept of an eternal and universal Buddha, with Siddhartha Gautama, the historical Buddha, a manifestation of this cosmic spirit. According to this philosophy, within every being resides an element of the cosmic Buddha, so all could develop their inborn Buddha nature and attain salvation.

Commonalities among these sects include the concepts of karma and rebirth, monasticism, and the importance of self-discipline. Their teachings held that as long as individuals remained attached to desire, suffering was inevitable. To break free from the cycle of suffering and rebirth, entering a monastery for study and the practice of asceticism was considered the most effective path.

Tendai, Shingon, and all further schools of Buddhism share the belief in bodhisattvas, individuals who have accumulated enough merit — good karma — to attain nirvana and escape the cycle of rebirth. This they selflessly gave up to help others on their journeys toward enlightenment. Similar to saints in Christianity, believers pray to compassionate bodhisattvas for guidance, help, and protection.

Tendai

Saicho, convinced of the necessity for self-guidance and spiritual enlightenment, established the Enryakuji temple complex on Mount Hiei, northeast of Kyoto. There, monks could immerse themselves in extensive learning, with abundant books, and a minimum of food, clothing, and shelter — the perfect environment to lay aside physical desires and strive for enlightenment.

Saicho envisioned Enryakuji as a university of sorts, where monks could be educated in all Buddhist teachings, regardless of sect. The temple complex evolved into a center of Japanese higher learning and Buddhist study, instrumental in the education of future founders of various Buddhist schools.

In the Tendai tradition, believers sought Buddhahood through the cyclical process of death and rebirth, laying aside desires, accumulating karma, and ultimately paving the way to nirvana. As well, Saicho advocated for the monks to use their knowledge and skills to contribute to the well-being of the nation.

Shingon

After returning from China, Kūkai set up his headquarters on Mount Kōya, in the mountains of Wakayama, south of Kyoto.

Kūkai emphasized to his followers that the path to enlightenment could only be truly grasped under the guidance of teachers, ideally within a monastery. Shingon monks dedicated their time to meditating, using

• mandalas — sacred images depicting the cosmic Buddha’s boundless power
• mantras — sacred words; Shingon means mantra, or “true word”
• mudras — sacred hand positions

In contrast to the Tendai tradition, Kūkai taught that the ultimate aim of meditation and study was union with the cosmic Buddha during one’s lifetime. Dedicated practitioners of Shingon could reach the point of satori, enlightenment while still in existence.

Although Kūkai established the first school for commoners at Tōji temple in Kyoto, Buddhism continued to be predominantly practiced by the aristocracy.

Pure Land Buddhism

Jōdo-shu

In the 10th century, the Pure Land school of thought rose from the ground of Tendai through Honen, a monk trained at Enryakuji Temple.

Not unlike the Protestant Reformation that swept Europe in the 16th century, Honen taught that faith in Amida Nyorai was all that was necessary to reach the Pure Land. According to his teachings, believers attained salvation by expressing their devotion through the recitation of the Nenbutsu, Namu amida butsu, 南無阿弥陀仏, “I take refuge in Amida Nyorai,” declaring their faith in the saving grace of Amida Nyorai. The diligent recitation of this prayer was believed to enable souls to be reborn in the heavenly Pure Land.

Honen’s emphasis on the simplicity of faith and the transformative power of the Nenbutsu marked a drastic departure from more complex doctrinal practices, making the Pure Land school an influential force welcomed by the common people.

Jōdo Shinshū

In the 13th century, Honen’s disciple, Shinran, established New Pure Land Buddhism, Jōdo Shinshū. Also trained at Enryakuji, Shinran broke with Tendai to start his own sect based on the fundamental belief in the equality of all individuals, irrespective of societal position or status. All people were equally worthy of salvation.

Shinran took the Pure Land doctrine further by declaring that humanity’s only hope lay in the saving grace of Amida Nyorai, with preference given to the seemingly most unworthy. Jōdo Shinshū was eagerly received by farmers, merchants, and even some local lords and samurai.

Jisshu

Another Pure Land sect, Jisshu, was founded in the 13th century by a former Tendai monk named Ippen. He traveled throughout Japan, distributing prayer cards inscribed with the nenbutsu while expressing his joy through dance. Ippen taught that the way to salvation was found in the repetition of the nenbutsu — an individual’s efforts were inconsequential.

According to Ippen, even faith was not a prerequisite for salvation, as the absolute power of Buddha transcended the need for belief. Through chanting, individuals can attain a state of oneness with the Buddha.

Kamakura through Azuchi-Momoyama eras (1185–1600)

Zen

The simple, rustic, and unadorned lifestyle of Zen was embraced by the warrior class of the Kamakura Era. Practicing Zen brought calm to their troubled lives and gave them meaning, and a way to live and die peacefully.

Rinzai

At the end of the 12th century, Eisai, another monk who had studied at Enryakuji Temple, visited China and brought back Rinzai Zen Buddhism. Based on seated meditation, Eisai emphasized enlightenment by emptying the mind, mindfulness, martial arts, and the use of koans, paradoxical statements or questions, to encourage intuitive growth.

He also brought back tea seeds which he planted on Hirado Island and in the mountains of Kyushu. Initially used to keep Zen practitioners awake during meditation, green tea is now Japan’s most widely consumed beverage.

Sōtō

Another monk who studied at Enryakuji Temple, Dōgen, visited China and brought back the Sōtō school of Zen. Dōgen’s teachings kept things simple. Believers were to sit in meditation, emptying their minds, until enlightenment came upon them. Wanting to remove himself from the capital and other Buddhist influences, he built his main Eiheiji temple complex deep in the mountains of what is now Fukui Prefecture.

Dōgen taught that every individual possesses the essence of the Buddha. However, failing to realize this, we often live selfish, willful lives, resulting in suffering. Seeking refuge in Buddha allows our minds to find rest, our lives to be filled with harmony and light, and instills in us a sense of joy in being of service to society.

Nichiren

Nichiren upheld the supremacy of the Lotus Sutra. According to him, through the wholehearted chanting of “Namu myōhō renge kyō” — All Hail to the Lotus Sutra — one can unite with the cosmic Buddha and achieve enlightenment. This chanting would activate an individual’s inherent Buddha-nature, unleashing power and wisdom that allowed for a life akin to a ‘lotus flower in a muddy pond.’ This enlightenment was available to all beings, allowing one to attain Buddhahood within one’s lifetime.

Edo Era (1603-1867)

Ōbaku Zen

The other main school of Zen was brought to Japan in the early 17th century by a Chinese monk, Ingen, after the fall of the Ming Dynasty. Curiously, Ingen had been a monk of the Linji School, which was the forerunner of Rinzai. Through the years, Rinzai in Japan developed separately from Linji in China, so that when Ingen reached Japan the religion he brought was so unlike Rinzai that it became a new sect of Zen, Ōbaku.

As a side note, he also brought green beans, called in Japanese, Ingen-mame — Ingen beans.

Meiji era (1868-1912)

In the late 18th century, intellectuals of Kokugaku, or National Learning, promoted Shinto as the national religion and denounced Buddhism as an unnecessary foreign intrusion.

In 1867, the last Tokugawa shogun returned political power to the emperor. Emperor Meiji, the “son of heaven” and direct descendant of the Shinto Sun Goddess, Amaterasu Omikami, assumed leadership of Japan.

The elevation of the emperor’s status left little room for Buddhism, leading to the government’s enactment of The Kami and Buddhas Separation Order, 神仏判然令, Shinbutsu Hanzenrei. This order forcibly separated the religions that had existed in harmony for centuries, often sharing the same sacred grounds. The aftermath saw a period of zealous destruction of Buddhist temples, art, and sutras. Many Buddhist priests abandoned their monastic lives, while others became Shinto priests, converting their temples to shrines.

Over time, this zealous persecution waned, allowing Buddhism to regain strength and popularity. Although, the destruction of countless works of art has left its mark on Japan’s cultural heritage.

Buddhism today

Buddhism and Shinto again coexist peacefully, but the scars remain. Broken and defaced statues continue to be found in forests and rivers. Former temples remain as shrines.

Many schools of Buddhism remain active in Japan, among them, according to the Agency for Cultural Affairs, Pure Land sects stand out as the most popular, with a combined membership of over 21 million. As you can see, they hold the top three positions in this statistical breakdown:

• New Pure Land, Hongaji sect 7,840,000

• Otani sect of Pure Land, Higashi Honganji 7,350,000

• Pure Land 6,020,000
• Sōtō Zen 3,670,000
• Tendai 1,530,000
• Shingon 1,420,000*

*Data from the Mount Koya sect was unavailable.

Religion in Japan

But what of other religions? Looking at more government statistics, we find the following breakdown among the Japanese population:

• 69% Shinto
• 58% Buddhist
• 1% Christian
• 5.7% Other

Those numbers don’t quite add up until we stop to realize that Buddhism and Shinto are non-exclusive religions. One can be both a practicing Shinto and a practicing Buddhist and, clearly, many people are.

Japan’s religious syncretism has been described as “Born a Shinto, married a Christian, die a Buddhist.” In many ways, this is true. The religions are beautifully harmonious. Shinto is a celebration of life, milestones, and joy. Widely idealized by the media, many people enjoy the novelty of a Christian — or pseudo-Christian — wedding. While Buddhist beliefs focus on death and the afterlife, completing the cycle of life’s significant events.

Would that all the world’s religions could coexist in such harmony.

The post Buddhism in Japan—A Little History of this Powerful and Influential Religion first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Maybe both

For over 1,000 years, people in Japan have used paper name tags called senjafuda, to mark their visits to shrines and temples. I have seen these in the most unexpected places — behind the guardian statues at Yamadera, on high ceilings of shrines, and plastered all over the walls the fabulous double-helix shrine, Sazaedō. 

Yet to my ignorant eyes, they looked like ancient graffiti.

How did they get there? Why were they put there? Isn’t it disrespectful to plaster the hallowed halls of holy places with stickers? These are the questions that kept me awake at night. No one I asked about them could provide me with a satisfactory explanation. I had no idea what they were even called.

However, during completely unrelated research, I stumbled upon some answers. 

Senjafuda’s origins

Senjafuda, 千社札, meaning “1,000 Shrine Notes,” are votive slips left at shrines and temples by devout visitors. The practice dates back to the ninth century when people began carrying senjafuda during pilgrimages to the 33 temples dedicated to Kannon, the Buddhist deity of mercy, or while on quests to visit 1,000 Shinto shrines. The 千, literally “one thousand,” in the name is more figuratively used to mean “a lot of.”

Senjafuda are effectively calling cards bearing the names and addresses of the pilgrims. They are generally black on white and written in a distinctive calligraphy style using sumi ink. 

After prayers and offerings, pilgrims would leave senjafuda as proof of their visit to the sacred spot. They would attach them to the pillars, walls, or ceilings. With their names kept safely in the shrine or temple, visitors believed they would continue to receive the blessings of the sacred place even after they had physically departed.

Originally crafted from wood, copper, or brass, by the middle of the Edo era (1603–1867), they were being made from paper — and their popularity surged. The era was plagued by three severe famines, prompting the populace to grow fervent in their supplications to Inari, the Shinto kami associated with grains and prosperity. As a result, leaving your senjafuda at 1,000 Inari Shrines throughout the land became all the rage. 

The more obscure the placement, the better

The placement of these votive stickers evolved into a friendly competition among the faithful, each vying to place their senjafuda in the most obscure places. Even sacred trees were not exempt from being plastered with stickers.

As the years passed, placing the stickers in hard-to-reach spots became a point of pride. Worshippers used their walking sticks or other longer poles as tools. They would attach two brushes and a clip to the end of their sticks, use the brushes to spread the rice-based adhesive, and then affix the note using the clip.

Out of respect for others, pilgrims would refrain from placing their senjafuda on top of someone else’s. As a result, the votive slips are often squeezed together, filling every nook and cranny of the older and more popular shrines and temples. The ceiling of Sazaedō is a perfect example.

As woodblock printing evolved, more intricate and elaborate printed designs replaced traditional handwritten senjafuda.

Modern senjafuda

Towards the end of the 18th century, another type of senjafuda emerged distinct from those used for temples and shrines. Called kokan nosatsu, 交換納札, these name slips were designed exclusively for trading. While senjafuda served as “offering notes,” the trading notes took on a different character, featuring colorful patterns, intricate folds, and detailed etchings. They swiftly evolved into an independent art form, and trading clubs dedicated to kokan nosatsu proliferated — and many continue to thrive.

In the magical realm of Kyoto’s pleasure quarters, geiko (as geisha trained in Kyoto are called) developed their own version of kokan nosatsu. Called hana meishi, “flower calling cards,” these small colorful stickers bear the geiko’s name and are decorated with flowers and drawings of the willow world. Hana meishi are still exchanged and treasured as collectibles.

Today, the traditional form of senjafuda, with woodblock printed paper attached with rice-based adhesive, has been replaced by machine-made stickers. Although convenient, these modern stickers can damage ancient wood leaving unsightly marks when removed.

In recent years, a growing number of temples and shrines have prohibited the placement of senjafuda. Additionally, many of these places of worship have been designated as Important Cultural Properties. Affixing senjafuda to these treasured buildings could result in severe consequences, including imprisonment or fines, according to the 1951 Act on the Protection of Cultural Properties.

Nevertheless, ancient senjafuda still adorn the walls, ceilings, and pillars of innumerable shrines and temples throughout Japan. These votive slips provide a glimpse into bygone centuries when pilgrims traversed the land, leaving behind their “calling cards” as tokens of their devotion and spiritual journeys. 

I will never think of them as ancient graffiti again.

The post Senjafuda—Ancient Japanese Graffiti or Early Calling Cards? 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.

But should he be?

Ashikaga Takauji, 足利尊氏, was the first shogun of the Muromachi Period (1336-1573), and along with the monk Dōkyō and Taira no Masakado, one of Japan’s Three Great Villains. I have written about Dōkyō as the First Great Villain, and Masakado in my series on Japan’s Three Great Vengeful Ghosts. Now, we’ll take a look at Takauji.

Great Villain #2 — Shogun Ashikaga Takauji

Takauji was instrumental in helping Emperor Go-Daigo overthrow the Kamakura Shogunate and restore power to the imperial house. Later, he — along with samurai throughout the country — became disillusioned by the emperor’s cronyism and extravagance. He forced Go-Daigo out of Kyoto, enthroned Emperor Kōmyō, and was named the first shogun of what came to be called the Muromachi Period.

But before I get ahead of myself, let’s go back in time a bit.

Background

In the late 13th century, Kublai Khan’s Mongol army invaded Japan. These incursions were thwarted not so much by the samurai who fought against the foreign barbarians, but by the “divine wind,” kamikaze, of two typhoons that destroyed the Mongol armada.

After battles, it had long been the custom for samurai to be rewarded with the wealth and lands of the conquered. As no lands had been conquered during the wars with the Mongols, none was given. The samurai who had risked their lives for their country were vexed.

Some years later, regent Hōjō Sadatoki, the ruler in Kamakura, issued an order forgiving the debts of those who had fought and returning confiscated lands to their original owners. This well-intentioned decree did not bring the hoped-for results. He ended up with dissatisfied samurai, a damaged economy, and serious disaffection with the Kamakura regime.

In 1331, Emperor Go-Daigo decided the time was ripe for a return to imperial rule. His armies attacked the shogunate forces in southern Kyoto. Hōjō Takatoki sent his trusted general, Ashikaga Takauji, to fight the imperial troops.

Although in mourning for his father who had just died, the loyal Takauji obeyed his lord and went to face the emperor’s army. He was victorious, although one can only imagine his resentment at abandoning his mourning to fight for the Hōjō.

As a result of this defeat, Go-Daigo was captured and banished to the Oki Islands, off the coast of what is now Shimane Prefecture.

In his absence, his son, Prince Morinaga, continued fighting, along with his storied general, Kusunoki Masashige, famed for holding his own against much larger armies and inflicting heavy casualties on the Hōjō forces.

In 1333, Go-Daigo escaped from Oki in the dark of night with the help of a fisherman. When word got out, many generals rallied to his cause. This encouraged Go-Daigo to issue an edict to overthrow the powerful Hōjō family. A full-out war ensued.

Again, Hōjō Takatoki sent Takauji to defeat the imperial forces in Kyoto. Upon reaching the city, Takauji, knowing the way the wind was blowing, switched sides. Instead of attacking Go-Daigo’s army, he attacked the Shogunate’s deputies stationed at Rokuhara Tandai, the Kamakura government’s policing agency in the capital.

The renowned warrior, Nitta Yoshisada, far to the north, then rallied his forces to join the battle. He led his army to Kamakura, the shogunate’s nearly impregnable stronghold, surrounded by mountains and the sea.

Avoiding the treacherous mountain passes, Nitta thrust his sword into the sea and prayed for the waters to withdraw so his army could pass through and reach Kamakura.

The sea withdrew, and Nitta conquered the shogunate’s stronghold. Hōjō Takatoki and over 700 of his vassals committed suicide at the Hōjō family temple, Tōshōji.

This marked the end of the Kamakura Shogunate.

The Kenmu Restoration (1333-1336)

With the Hōjō dynasty defeated, Go-Daigo reascended the throne.

Go-Daigo appointed his three generals, Ashikaga Takauji, Kusunoki Masashige, and Nitta Yoshisada, shugo, or military governors. He named his son and heir to the throne, Prince Morinaga, the shogun.

He bestowed upon Takauji a new name, Takeru, meaning valiant warrior. Yet that was not enough.

Samurai who fought for Go-Daigo expected to receive positions of power, rewards, and lands that had belonged to the wealthy Hōjō. Although they were rewarded to a degree, so were aristocrats who had done nothing and even some of the ladies of the court. This caused many samurai to return to their domains filled with dissatisfaction and resentment.

Adding insult to injury, Go-Daigo imposed heavy taxes so that he could build a new Imperial Palace.

The people were not pleased. A rebellion broke out in Kamakura among the remnants of the Hōjō, and the fires of rebellion spread. Takauji asked Go-Daigo if he would name him shogun and send him to quash the uprising. Go-Daigo refused. Takauji disregarded his words and led his army to put down the rebellion, then distributed the conquered lands to his samurai, gaining widespread support.

Go-Daigo sent Nitta Yoshisada to vanquish Takauji and his armies. Unexpectedly, the great general’s horse was felled by an arrow, trapping him beneath its heavy body and making him an easy target for archers. Legend tells us that the noble Nitta pulled out his short sword and severed his own head.

The fallen generals’ soldiers rallied to Takauji, who set off to conquer Kyoto with his reinforced troops.

Takauji took Kyoto, although he was soon forced out by Kusunoki Masashige and the imperial army, and he retired to Kyushu to regroup. There, he gained the support of local lords, also dissatisfied with Go-Daigo’s rule, and was soon marching back to Kyoto with ever-growing numbers.

At the Imperial Palace in Kyoto, Masashige counseled Go-Daigo to retreat to Mount Hiei and allow Takauji to take the capital.

I humbly hope that your majesty will retire from the city for a time and allow Takauji to freely enter Kyoto. I will go to Kawachi and intercept their provisions and stores. Their army will consequently dwindle while ours will increase. Afterward, we can attack the rebels from opposite sides, and we may fairly hope to defeat them.

Go-Daigo dismissed his words and ordered him to battle. Masashige realized that conquering Takauji’s vastly superior forces was impossible. He and his army were being sent to their deaths.

Indeed, at the Battle of Minatogawa, Masashige’s army suffered terrible losses, and his samurai were reduced to a rugged few. Seeing the hopelessness of his situation, Masashige and his brother retired to a peasant’s house. What followed is a conversation that has gone down in history, taught to generations of children.

Masashige asked his brother, “What do you desire after death?”

His brother answered, “Would that I had seven lives to give for my country!”

Masashige replied with eyes alight, “That is indeed best.”

Then the two brothers took their short swords and cut open their stomachs, freeing their spirits to be born again as warriors without suffering the disgrace of defeat.

The victorious Takauji reentered Kyoto. Go-Daigo again fled to Mount Hiei, but in a show of peace, he sent the Three Imperial Treasures to Takauji. With those, Takauji enthroned Emperor Kōmyō.

But, Go-Daigo was a sly one. The Imperial Treasures were fakes. He fled to Yoshino in the south with the real Treasures and set up his own Southern Court.

This marked the beginning of the Nanboku-chō Era, the Northern and Southern Courts period, that continued for nearly 60 years.

Soon thereafter, in 1339, Emperor Go-Daigo died. Takauji, out of respect for the emperor, had Tenryuji Temple in Kyoto constructed as a setting for Go-Daigo’s memorial service.

Hero or villain?

Why is Ashikaga Takauji one of Japan’s Three Great Villains?

It all comes down to who writes the history books.

In this case, 17th-century Neo-Confucian scholar and founder of the Mito school of philosophy, Tokugawa Mitsukuni, 徳川光圀. He began the work on The Great History of Japan, 大日本史, Dai Nihonshi, the writing of its 402 volumes not completed until generations later.

Mitsukuni’s philosophy emphasized extreme loyalty to superiors, and the superiors’ paternal care of their subjects. This type of Neo-Confucianism formed the basis for the strict class demarcations of the Edo period — samurai, farmers, craftsmen, merchants.

Mitsukuni wrote that since Takauji was disloyal to the legitimate emperor, Go-Daigo, by installing another emperor in his place, he was guilty of treason. This disloyalty was the antithesis of what he presented as Neo-Confucian, and as such, samurai, values.

The Mito school’s philosophy informed the Sonnō jōi movement (尊王攘夷, Revere the Emperor, Expel the Barbarians) of the mid-19th century, inspiring the forces that defeated the Tokugawa shoguns. In line with this philosophy, the Meiji government that replaced the Tokugawa Shogunate was based on direct imperial rule.

Emperors Meiji, Taisho, and Showa (known to most Westerners as Hirohito) were treated with god-like reverence by the people of Japan, who were considered subjects, not citizens. All were required to swear allegiance to the emperor.

In light of this philosophy of utmost loyalty, it is easy to see how Ashikaga Takauji was painted as villainous.

His opposite is embodied in the loyal Kusunoki Masashige, who did not hesitate to obey his emperor’s orders, knowing full well he was being sent to his death. He is immortalized in a bronze statue in front of the Imperial Palace in Tokyo and as a Shinto deity at Minatogawa Shrine in Kobe, near where he took his life.

References:

Einin no Tokuseirei, 日本史上最悪だった男～足利尊氏, The Kamakura Period, Japan: Its History, Traditions, and Religions, with the Narrative of a Visit in 1879, by Sir Edward J. Reed.

The post Ashikaga Takauji — One of Japan’s 3 Great Villains first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.