Echoes of Incense A Pilgrimage in Japan by Don Weiss

Chapter Eighteen

Koyasan

Koyasan, Mount Koya, is the home of Shingon Buddhism and the site of over 100 temples. Traditionally, pilgrims visit Koyasan before they began their pilgrimage and again after completion. Even women, who were not allowed to visit the sacred precincts until the late 19th century, would often come to one of the chapels at the boundary and pray to Kobo Daishi for guidance on the trip, and to report when they had finished.

Phyllis and I visited Koyasan our first winter in Japan. We spent four days at one of the temples that welcomes foreign visitors, Haryoin. The young head priest of Haryoin, Uragami-sensei, spoke English, but he was too busy to spend much time with us. We visited an American woman Shingon priest and spent a day talking with her and the masters of her temple. But mostly we looked, walked, took pictures and tried to stay warm.

Five days after we finished our pilgrimage together, my wife and I had a farewell party. For hours, we ate and drank with all our Japanese friends, saying a long good-bye. Only three or four of our friends knew we were separating. The next day I left for home, but first I went to visit Koyasan.

I stayed again at Haryoin. I now knew that my good friend Fukushima-sensei was a personal student of the elder Uragami-sensei, the retired head priest of Haryoin. But I would have gone there anyway. I like revisiting places. I did the pilgrimage twice.

At 1,000 meters elevation, there were still many blossoms on the cherry trees at Koyasan, though the azaleas were also blooming. I arrived in the afternoon, too late to go to the Okunoin. I talked with the younger Uragami-sensei, had my bath, then read the commentary on the Heart Sutra.

At dinner, I sat with two elderly couples from Osaka. They were, of course, surprised to see me, surprised I could speak a little Japanese. They seemed to know little about the pilgrimage.

After breakfast the next day, I walked to the Okunoin, the inner sanctuary of Koyasan, where Kobo Daishi's body is kept.

Temple 88 had marked an end of the pilgrimage, the last of the pilgrimage temples. The return to Temple One marked another end, closed the circle, completed the mandala of pilgrimage temples. Visiting the Okunoin is yet another end.

The path to the Okunoin led through a forest of giant cedars. Under the trees stands the grandest graveyard in Japan. For the past seven centuries, one of the greatest wishes of many Japanese has been to have a portion of their ashes buried here, watched over by Kobo Daishi. There are gravestones of all sizes, from book size to house size. They range in style from the modernistic back through all the styles, native, Chinese and Indian, that have been adopted by Japanese Buddhists. Some are clean, with glass vases holding fresh flowers. Others crumble, falling back into the earth, vines overgrowing them and tearing them apart. The graveyard goes on farther than the eye can follow, up the mountain, into the misty dark forest.

At the entrance to the Okunoin, a bridge arches over a rushing stream. A sign warns visitors that no photography is allowed beyond the bridge. I put my camera away and entered the Okunoin.

The body is kept in a small wooden building behind the Hall of Lanterns, the main hall of the Okunoin. I walked around with a tour group, following their guide. She told them about Kobo Daishi's death, quoting a medieval biography where he is quoted as promising to aid any tormented soul that called upon him anywhere, but especially when walking the pilgrimage.

The little chapel holding the body is almost hidden by trees. A misty green light comes down through the branches. After the tour group left, I stood facing the chapel. Only the priests may approach. There is probably a special prayer to use when reporting completion, but I don't know it. Instead, I recited the Heart Sutra and the mantra of Kobo Daishi, Namu Daishi Henjo Kongo. While I was there, a Japanese man came around the building, took out his camera and quickly took a few pictures of me and the chapel. Then he put the camera back in his pocket and walked on. When I finished, I took out one last name slip that I had prepared the night before. I put it into the box as I had put name slips in boxes at all the other temples of the pilgrimage. Then I turned to leave.

As I passed the front door of The Hall of Lanterns, I was enveloped in a misty cloud of incense. It flowed out from the altar, drifted out the door and up, up, into the trees and beyond, lost in the skies. Walking through this cloud, I was bathed in incense, and it flowed through my heart like the shakuhachi I heard at Temple 12. It echoed in my mind like the beating wings of the pigeons at Temple 55. It sang like the birds at Temple Four. It moved like the wind in the forest, like the water in a stream, like a pilgrim on the road. I walked through this cloud and headed for Haryoin and home.

Published by Don Weiss (henrodon@gmail.com) -- All rights reserved. You may read this electronic copy on the web or print it out for private reading but no part may be sold or included in any work for sale except for short excerpts used for review purposes.All photographs and maps are likewise copyrighted and may not be reproduced without permission except for private, non-commercial use. Updated February 2, 1999.