Pilgrimage

It was odd at first, traveling without Pa,

on the train to Kyoto without him to compare notes.

But - and I don’t want Pa to know this - in some ways it was liberating. So often we live with others in our head.

I got to thinking about the possible ways of being when we’re abroad - tourist, traveler, pilgrim. It’s easy to distinguish the latter two from the first. But traveler and pilgrim can appear to be the same.

Pa and I’ve been travelers, much as Whitman suggested:

Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,

Healthy, free, the world before me,

The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.

But a pilgrim is one with a purpose, most likely a destination, like those who walk the Camino de Santiago.

I suggested to Pa, long before we arrived in Japan, that we walk a section of Shikoku’s 88 Temple Pilgrimage. He wanted nothing of it. Far too much time on our feet and a different bed every night. So I put it to rest.

While it’s too late to walk the Temple route, I’ve been wondering if I might approach Kyoto as its own pilgrimage.

I’ve been carrying since the beginning, a little book

that might serve as an aid, each chapter written by a sensitive eye.

I pulled it out this morning and read the first chapter. It’s on the Gojō-Zara area,

not far from the Hobari Hostel.

When I say I read it, I mean I glided over it. I’ve found it’s best not to spend much time with a guidebook. Not to read or research to the point where you’re predisposed. There are times when you don’t want others in your head.

So I looked at the map, picked the Toyokuni Shrine as a destination, then put the map away. From there, I used Google Maps to get close, then turned it off. Keeping it on would shut the door on other possibilities.

You cross the Kamo River

to get to the Gojō-Zara neighborhood.

At first there’s nothing special. A few restaurants,

a park,

pleasant homes.

Once, I glanced to the left,

and followed it,

to a little gem.

Another time, I glanced to the right,

though I didn’t know why.

I guess I’ve learned that if I pass by,

I might miss the path I was supposed to follow.

At the end, there was a left turn,

and a woman from out of nowhere.

I followed,

believing she knew where she was going.

But try as I might,

I couldn’t keep up.

So I stopped to rest,

and there was a shrine to my left.

I entered, of course,

into another world.

To the left a bell,

to the right the sound of voices,

and straight ahead an open door

through which I entered.

I thought I was alone,

but then sensed I was being watched.

Her name is Akiko

wife of the Buddhist priest in whose Temple I stood.

She greeted me warmly, explaining that a service was taking place in the adjacent building. A member’s mother had passed away 48 days ago.

She then invited me to look around,

reminding me that we had to be very quiet.

I whispered that I‘m sort of a Buddhist. While her English is limited, she seemed to understand and smiled.

I then told her my mother had wanted me to be a priest but that in my tradition they’re not allowed to marry. She understood that as well. I didn’t tell her my mother, more than once, told me that one day I’d be either the Pope or the President. Mothers are often delusional, particularly when it comes to sons.

At the end of our tour, she led my outside to the cemetery.

We talked about ancestors

and their importance to the Japanese.

I told her about Pa. She understood.

The service ended and Akiko had to go. But asked that I return later in the week to meet her husband.

On the walk back, I paused at the Toyokuni Shrine.

Too many people, at least on this day.

There were other impressive sites as well.

But there are times when only the back streets will satisfy.