the streams moved westward- untouched- beautiful in their ability to push water as fast as they had. I'll never know a more picturesque 100 minutes in my life.What followed was a diagonal cable car, fixed in track and also suspended for safe passage. Surely this 10 ton piece of badass machinery, full loaded, can't ascend the mountain at a near vertical angle. It was/is the bully of all ropeways. In 5 minutes I reached the peak (although I walked down the mountain in descent) of what's expected to be a 5 hour hike. Children loved the thrill. An old man snuck a photograph of his purse-lipped wife and we all filed out in a solemn procession.
Queue Koyasan (!), oh my Koyasan. I board a bus with a retired couple from San Fran to find they are staying in the same temple as I. Shinjoshin-in Temple. New Gentleman has just turned 64 so he sings, on loop, 64 by the Beatles. He's visited Japan a fistful of times and his wife appears perturbed, sore from the solid fact of his statement. It is her first visit to Japan.
I check in and am shown to my room. Larger than expected in scale with well manicured rice paper doors and a view of the garden. There is a muted vase with simple fresh flowers and the dividing doors have opalescent handpainted decals that prism in kind to whatever color I'm wearing and whichever way I sashshay. I leave the room to explore the sights nearby. I ch
ance upon a garden with a natural stone formation and it restores my belief in the beauty of the natural. Temples in every direction- con
joined directions too!- and the rain leant them a less weather-worn look. The fog and misted skin reflected their surroundings and I hugged my camera and shot everything in sight.I chanced upon a small shop with a woman at a loom waving me in. Her items were precious- perfect and priced at their worth. I purchased the start of a scarf- a makeshift keitai charm in the hopes that one day I'll finish it or find someone who will gladly take on the task with me.
There were a long series of low hanging tori gates. I followed them and along the dirt path the trees had shed their best blooms and roses and peonines lay trampled and rain beaten along the ground. It seemed ominous as the path led me to a temple so old and ramshackle that it appeared abandonned- a scene segway to Deliverance. I cut through the weeds to get a closer look and found a tiny shack cluttered- community yard sale stocked- with statues and icons and money trays. It was and will forever remain my only representative example for the phrase 'organized chaos'. I loved it.
Walked further to find Kongobuji Temple- the central temple for the Japanese sect of Shingon Buddhism. The place was boisterous with raucous and laughing tour groups. I removed myself from the throngs to the opposite end of the temple hall to case the rice paper doors- each depicting different scenes of the start of Buddhism in Tang China. The gold leaf left no room for errors and I moved in as closely as I could to view the carefully painted maple leaves, peonies and cherry blossoms. There was a beautiful set of doors depicting Kobo Daishi's meet and great with the great spirits who summoned him to Mt. Koya with a black and white dog as his aides. I learned of Mt. Koya's peculiar makeup- with 8 mountain peaks that conglomerate to suggest the silhouette of a lotus flower. I stood in the room where Toyotomi Hidetsugu committed ritual suicide, and walked alongside Japan's largest rock garden- raked and ready with two clusters of rocks depicting dragons at both the mouth and foot of the garden for protection. I returned to the temple to bathe: hot tub- cool night, and eat dinner in the assembly hall. Dinner, while delicious, was awkward with one couple that seemed to keep quiet in respect for me and the other lone traveler who arrived as I had finished. No matter, as we all became fast friends later on. I have a newfound love for temple food- the sesame tofu (a Mt. Koya specialty) made me reconsider my long standing separation from the food. I ate well, wore my yukata in complete comfort and made way to trek the cemetary at dusk.
All throughout the day I grew slightly sentimental, then agitated at the mass effect of gaijin couples working their way through Koyasan. Having just started up singledom, it seemed Koyasan was the place where love comes to repose. Figures. So I helped that I walked outside to find another lone traveler- a trot-on Irish traveler who was staying in the same temple as I. We talked for awhile, so much so that I lost dusk and found myself in the blackness of night. I had some decisions to make: do I traipse through an ancient and long winded cemetary alone, at night, without a flashlight?
Of course I do.
Aged, stone lanterns lit the way that were so laced with moss they provided very little light. The scene: the etheral windslap on stone was terrifying but not enough to deter me. A jogger flew past excusing himself in Japanese for disturbing my experience. the stone monuments were stories tall and the trees could easily rival the redwoods. It was perhaps the most conscious I've even been of my surroundings and the most lost I've ever been in the vastness of one great thing. Etomology be damned- words and their origins have no place in describing this hike- so cryptic and perfectly calm. I heard the repeated cries of the wind up bird. I walked in tandem with another lone traveler- a tall, handsome man. We looked at one another and it felt like forfeiting a plate of understanding.
I rocked on my heels. I understood exactly what it means to be alone.
And I exhaled in relief.
So here I am (was), room U-4, coddling, at times, the the idea of secured comfort- a partner to love and love me in return. If this is at all possible I couldn't say. I simply want to feel as terrified yet magnetically determined as I had in that cemetary. Again. And again.
