Remembering Mount Koyasan
The date was March 19th, 2017. I boarded the American Airlines plane and nervously sat down in the only seat I could afford – the exit row next to the toilet. I had my headphones squeezed in my ears, the Xanax already taken, my palms sweating. At 31 years old, this would be the longest flight I had ever flown. With $900 in the bank, I was taking a 3-week solo trip to Japan.
I had been practicing how to say “Do you speak English” for the last three months. The plane arrived in Tokyo in the evening, somehow I navigated myself around and through the airport and outside to a cab. For those of you who don’t know – cab doors open automatically in Japan. They pop right up like something straight from Back to the Future. The driver got out to help with my minimal luggage and I said with great confidence, “Eigo o hanashimasu ka?” He ignored the question and spoke to me in English better than my own - “Where are you headed?”
Acapella
I’ll spare y’all the details, but I only used that phrase two more times, because as I had read, everyone in Japan speaks English. I don’t want to use the word disappointed, because I wasn’t. Not really. I was surprised how easy it is to travel from train to large towns to small ones. It’s impossible to choose a favorite place. Between Kyoto, Tokyo, Mount Fuji, Osaka, Sapporo, all the beach towns I cruised by on the shinkansen, today I remember Mount Koyasan.
I didn’t stay in a Buddhist temple (this time) but in a little home converted to a hotel on the side of a very busy street. I walked the sidewalks around the entire town, took a nighttime temple tour and in the morning listened to forty monks singing acapella. I found a shiatsu massage therapist and booked in. Then spent 45 minutes looking for the place that was two blocks away. I was so angry when I arrived. And so afraid he’d be angry with me. He was not.
The therapist greeted me with a dog and a guitar and before my treatment we sat and drank tea while he played the guitar. I felt alive leaving his room.
Afterwards I walked and walked and walked around the entire town. I kept hearing the man’s voice from the evening tour the night before. Shingon Buddhism, simply put, is the belief that everything and everyone is sacred. Do no harm even to the rocks we step on as we make our way through this big giant world. Do no harm Josie. I still hear it. I still feel it.
Shiatsu Massage
Once, this was a daily practice. Written on my mirror spoken quietly every day, “Do no harm, to myself or another.” I am not sure where that mirrored message went or when that whispered voice left me. The other day I murdered a wasp and an ant the size of my pinky toe. I heard the little girl inside of me crying as both insects struggled to live but eventually died under the weight of my fingertips. Crunch crunch crunch.
How strange the murdering of insects brings me back to my trip to Koya and my brief Buddhist practices.
There is only one way in and one way out of Koya – the red cable car. I would tell you all not to look down when traveling to or from, but the truth of it is - the only way out is through. We must look down, face our fears, embrace the bad news, hug the crying girl inside of us, to make it to the other side. For the love of the rest of your life, please don’t forget this – as I so often do.
To see more photos of my time in Mount Koya - click here!