November 16 – 17 2024, Japan. We said goodbye to the cozy house in Shimoda and hauled our things back to Rendaiji Station. It was a weekend, which I hadn’t thought about one way or another. Till we were on the train for Nikko. The train was packed. Turns out that Nikko is a popular side trip from Tokyo, especially this time of year when the Japanese maple were in full color. Shawn had reserved a stay at a small hotel with an onsen (communal bath) in the basement. Thus far on our trip, the places with communal baths were not co-ed. We alighted the train and were almost mowed down by the mass of young people making their way up the main road to the temples.

We found our hotel and checked in. It was rather shabby and the lady who ran it seemed cranky. I didn’t get a favorable hit on the place. We dropped our bags and headed up toward the temples. When we got to the place where the road crosses the Daiya River, I looked to my left and saw a beautiful red bridge, like the traditional curved bridges I’d seen at Japanese gardens. Shinkyō Bridge is famous, particularly this time of year when the red, orange, and yellow leaves of Japanese maple combine with the green of evergreens to make a stunning backdrop.

Nikko is famous in part for being the site of Toshogu, the famed Shinto shrine established in 1617 as a lavish memorial for Tokugawa Ieyasu, founding ruler of the Tokugawa shogunate. The shrine is made up of 3 parts: the gilded Yomeimon Gate, the main sanctuary which is set in a grove of cedar, and the tomb itself. After taking photos of Shinkyō Bridge, I crossed and followed Shawn up onto the crowded grounds of the shrine complex. I had planned to visit the shrine tomorrow, so I let my intuition take me where it would. I hike up a small dirt path through the forest, eventually arriving at Takino’o Shrine. The walk felt very sacred, and I felt the deep peace of the forest as I trudged on. I had the feeling that many beings had walked this path, and it reminded me of a walking meditation led by Thich Nat Hahn years ago at Spirit Rock.

I walked until dusk had settled, then hurried back down the hill, worried that Shawn might be looking for me. I sent him a message, and found him near one of the great torii at the base of the mountain. We exchanged news about our findings, then we walked back to our hotel together. We had paid for meals (breakfast and dinner), and didn’t want to miss the appointed hour. The dinner was adequate, and afterward we wandered around town, noticing that the crowds had substantially diminished. Finally, we headed back to our hotel and to bed. I would be glad to leave this place. We had looked at a few apartment Airbnb rentals, and I regretted not having booked them instead. Sometimes Shawn’s love of onsen had led us to a bad choice.

Next day we got up early, since we had to leave this lovely place at 2pm. We headed out into the day, armed with warm layers and an umbrella. We made it up to the main shrine, and I lost track of time examining the Yomeimon Gate, the main sanctuary, and the tomb. Shawn pointed out several famous word carvings: The Three Wise Monkeys and Nemuri-neko (sleeping/resting cat). The Three Wise Monkeys were carved in the 17th century on the side of a sacred horse stable: Mizaru (see no evil), Kikazaru (hear no evil), and Iwazaru (speak no evil). They represented a Confucian code of conduct to encourage avoidance of bad behavior, symbolizing a philosophy of purity in thought, speech, and action. Nemuri-neko, by Hidari Jingorō, was located in the East corridor over the door exiting the Nikkō Tōshō-gū Shrine. According to Matsumura, Nemuri-neko symbolizes Nikkō or the Spirit of Ieyasu, who was thought to be the manifestation of Yakushi Nyorai, the medicine Buddha, who comforts the sick, cures illnesses, and nourishes the mind, body, and spirit.

I was intrigued by the sleeping cat, and learned that Jingorō was fascinated by cats. He spent eight months in seclusion to refine his wood carving technique, creating lifelike images of cats of every shape and size. In so doing, he hoped to create a new style in the field of wood carving. Prior to seclusion, he was an apprentice for the Chief Architect Hokyo Yoheiji Yusa of the Imperial Court in Kyoto where he studied the construction of temples and shrines, as well as carving and sculpture. Due to his dedication, the depiction of animals in wood carvings in Japan became very realistic, and the creation of a new art form of ceramic animal was born.

Words can not describe the beauty and opulence of Toshogu. Time evaporated, and when I came out of my trance, it was late afternoon. I had seen another section of the complex, and wanted to explore. I headed to Nikko Futarasan-jinja Haiden, an 8th century mountain-top Shinto shrine with precinct and gardens. There were a few towering trees marked with a shimenawa (a jute or rice straw rope) and a shide (white paper in the shape of a lightning bolt), which I’d seen in other places on the trip. Such markings on a goshinboku (sacred tree) indicate that the tree is a living shrine and a place for prayer, protected from impurity. They indicate a sacred boundary in Shintoism, marking trees, rocks, or places inhabited by kami (spirits). Lightning is a way kami announce themselves or act as a force for fertility and a good harvest. The tradition is rooted in a legend where a shimenawa was used to prevent the sun goddess Amaterasu from returning to a cave, bringing light back to the world.

While I was looking at the sacred trees, I caught a glimpse of Shawn. Despite the fact that we were walking around on our own, I saw him several times throughout the day. It always took me by surprise, as there seemed to be thousands of people. But he was easy to spot, being tall and not Japanese. We caught up with each other, and headed together down to our hotel, where we’d stored our bags. There was so much to see, and I chafed at our brief time here.