The Philosopher's Path: Haiku Round 1

I went to Kyoto (京都) over the weekend. It's only 1.5 hours by express train from Fukui city. Actually, though, I'm not going to write too much about Kyoto in this entry. This is more about something I discovered while wandering in between temples and shrines with friends from Fukui.

In between two temples in Kyoto there lies a scenic walkway known as the Philosopher's Path (哲学の道). I say this only because the maps and guidebooks mention it - not because I actually walked it. Yea though a friend and I spent an entire afternoon searching for the Philosopher's Path, we ne'er did find it. Corner after corner of turns and dead ends and false leads, but no scenic trail.

I mention the Philosopher's Path because the friend who led me into the meandering nonsense also led me into an awakening of what really has drawn me back to Japan:

The Broads!

Ahem, hello, Grandma. Yes, I came back to Japan to reunite with my Japanese supermodel girlfriend. She loves ice cream, robots and grandiose Hindi song and dance routines as much as I do. We plan to have 3 children and name them all after you.


Ha, actually, the awakening came through a book my Philosopher's Path Finding Partner pointed out to me in the English section of a bookstore in the downtown shopping area. The name of the book is おくのほそ道 (The Narrow Road to Oku) by 松尾芭蕉(Matsuo Basho). It's the account of 17'th century poet Basho on his long journey from his home to a place called Oku. Basho is most famous for his Haiku. Haiku are very simple 17 syllable poems that often evoke images of nature to create emotion. When I was first trying to teach myself bits of Japanese in high school, I used to trade Haiku back and forth with a friend whenever we were bored in class. I continued the haiku into university years, but, for some reason my subconscious has probably purposefully removed from my memory, I stopped.

The beauty in Haiku is simplicity. The poet has only 3 lines and 17 syllables to convey his message. This simplicity permeates many facets of Japanese culture and history. The Shinto faith, native to Japan, never developed scripture or even rules. Its practitioners have the fire and gold of autumn leaves and the blossoming cherry trees in spring to inspire them. Japanese cuisine has often avoided heavy seasoning and even cooking in order to preserve the natural flavor of food. What is perhaps the most famous poem in Japanese history is one of Basho's haiku: a simple ode to the sound of a frog jumping in water.

In rediscovering Haiku, I came to know some of my own motivation. It's been there for a long while, for certain, I just hadn't acknowledged it. What a joy it would be if we could toss aside ornamentation and small talk and simply allow the natural state of things to reveal itself!

Anyway, here's my attempt at rediscovering Haiku. This photograph is from 銀閣寺 (The Silver Pavilion) in Kyoto. The Philosopher's Path is allegedly near here.

Raked sands and dead ends
Form the philosopher's path
But wiser men nap


And another about my frustration at slamming into a wall of hikers nearing the peak of Fuji in August:

Queuing for sunrise
Nothing moves, so I pray that
Lava melts tourists

On the Road to Fuji

I packed my backpack the night before and rushed to the station to make sure to catch the bus on time. I was eager to climb and ready to rush up Mt Fuji before I even stepped on the bus. The bus, however, took 8 hours to reach the mountain. It was an O.K. bus though.
This is a scenery pic from one of our rest stops on the way to the mountain.
This is a scenery pic from inside the bus which I'm posting mostly for the purpose of embarrassing those who were able to fall asleep on the ride over (I was not among them, unfortunately).
I actually took this picture on the way to Fukui from the Tokyo orientation a few weeks ago. That is Mt Fuji in the background.

Most people seem to say the same thing after climbing Fuji, "That was a beautiful, but I'm never going to do it again." You see, as popular as it is with tourists, Fuji is a surprisingly arduous climb. Never mind the packs of battle-hardened elderly women who climb it, for young and old alike it is a mighty difficult task. Many in our group said that this trip left them more exhausted than anything else they've experienced.

The inevitable question after reaching the peak in a state of near physical collapse is, "was it worth it all?" I imagine it must be a bit like childbirth. Extreme exhaustion and pain followed by one of life's most beautiful moments. Is it worth it?
Probably not, but people keep doing it anyway.

Mountain Vending

The climb up Mt Fuji includes 9 steps before reaching the peak. At each step is a station with food and drink for sale. There's also a hotel and a first aid center at one step. Most people begin at the Fifth Station since that's where the bus parking is located. From step 5 it can take anywhere from 5-8 hours on average to reach the peak depending on your pace and congestion near the top.
Here's an example of a typical station menu in English. Prices are probably more than double what is typical because it's no easy task to bring these items up the mountain. Yes, that last item is oxygen. Cans of oxygen are available to help tourists deal with the thinning atmosphere.
This vending machine is more than 3,700 meters (12,140 ft) above sea level. Those are clouds in the background.

Fuji Sunrise

Most people climb Fuji at night in hopes of viewing the sunrise from the peak. The crowd is so large, however, that many people who would have otherwise reached the peak by sunrise are backed up somewhere between the last station and their goal when the sun comes out.
All of these photographs were taken in between the last station and the peak.
The group broke up into pairs, trios and small packs of climbing partners before we began the trail. Many people, however, reached the top with someone other than their original climbing partner. I started out with two climbing partners and ended up spending most of the trail with someone else whom I bumped into along the way as my pace veered from the others.
Shortly after my new climbing partner and I began hiking together we decided to pass the time playing a game. Since the game was the road trip classic "let's see who can keep silent the longest" most of my hike was really quiet. It started as a simple children's game, but the competitive drive soon overtook us and other hikers from the group began to wonder if we were out on some Fuji religious experience that demanded a vow of silence.
Actually, though, having once spent a week on a silent religious retreat, I can vouch for the worthiness of silence, especially when in awe of nature. It's also fun to see what gestures people come up with for such things as, "so, am I really stuck with you for the rest of this hike?", "how far to the peak?" and "I think I'd like to buy a hiking stick at the next station."

While resting at one station I overhead another pair of hikers from our group admiring the constellations. One of them really knew what he was talking about and began pointing out various groupings of stars and their modern day use in company logos and designs throughout East Asia. Then, my climbing partner took a notepad out of her bag and wrote down what would be our first completely understood sentence since the beginning of the silence,

"I have gas from the french fries"

富士山

This is the entrance to the Shinto shrine atop Mt Fuji. The path between the last station and the shrine is packed worse than the lineup of 14 year old girls outside of an N'Sync concert. By the way, Amber, Lance Bass is still gay.
This stone marks the name of the shrine. Really the only characters I recognized were 富士山 (Mt Fuji)
As I climbed up the mountain gradually losing any shred of energy, I just kept telling myself, "I've been higher than this before - much higher! This should not be such a rough climb." But, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself of how easy Fuji should be, it just kept getting harder and harder to press upward. By the time I reached the peak it had been nearly 24 hours since I had last slept and I had been ready to pass out in exhaustion several hours before that. Yet, somehow, breaking off the trail and taking a look back over the clouds rejuvinated me. I felt as if a cool breeze had granted me new lungs. This would all fall apart on the descent, of course, but for a brief moment the spirit of the same mountain that killed my physical resolve restored my life.
Another surprise to tear apart the "I've been higher" mantra was the fact that I had never seen a view like this before. On the Peru blog I have pictures of mountain scenery far beyond this altitude yet nothing of this magnitude. The Andes moutain pictures are mountains surrounded by other mountains, but Fuji is an island in the clouds. You beat your body for 6 hours to reach a peak surround by hundreds of other climbers only to look out at the expanse of the sunrise and realize suddenly that the whole climb has been between the mountain and you alone.

When You Come Back Down

Those who make it to the top of Fuji take a different route down. Although faster than the climb, it is more difficult due to stress on the knees and the gravel and dust. By the time we reached our bus at station 5 our faces were so dirty some of us were somewhat hard to recognize.

By the way, in case if you were wondering, this is what the inside of a cloud looks like.

3,776 Meters (12,389 Ft) Later

A view of the top from the top.
Looking down on the hundreds of wandering souls seeking the peak.
One of the last stations before the dash to the peak. This photograph was taken on the way down.

The Pure Land

"Dharmakara knew that most human beings were incapable of completing the necessary religious practice, meditations, and virtues to attain Buddhahood through their own effort. He therefore conceived of a plan to build his own ideal Buddha-land- a blissful paradise in life and death that would be open to all sentient beings...

So determined was he to build this perfect Buddha-land that he sat in meditation for five aeons...At the end of five aeons, he had completely visualized his Buddha-land in every detail. He named it "The Pure Land."

He declared - that he would not accept Enlightenment for himself until he was assured that his Name would be heard forever by all beings in all corners of the universe. He further declared - that he would not become a Buddha himself until he was assured that all his effort, aspirations, virtues, wisdom and compassion would be instantly transferred to all sentient beings as soon as they heard and voiced his Name, "Namo Amida Butsu" with a sincere heart.

Dharmakara then devoted himself for innumerable aeons to bring his Pure Land into being. His land was wide, expansive, and incomprehensively unique."


(text taken from the Toronto Shin Buddhist Dojo website.)