Haiku Journey: Yamadera

After taking a bullet train to Sendai, the switch to a two-car train cutting through the mountains signaled the transition to a rural environment. Looking down from the track to clear streams rushing through the  angular valleys enhanced the sense that I was entering a pristine part of Japan. Stepping off the train, I was met by the sight of temple buildings peeking out at various points on the mountainside.

At the base of the mountain, near the Konponchudo (main hall of the temple), sit statues of Basho and Sora in timeless repose--an understated and fitting tribute to their celebrated visit. Approaching the trail up the mountain, I was struck by the incessant noise of the cicadas, which must emerge sooner in the north than in the Tokyo area. Listening to them, I wondered if Basho's famous poem had been delivered with a sense of irony:

静かさや岩にしみ入蟬の声

How still it is here
Stinging into the stones
The locusts' trill. (Keene)

Soon after starting up the mountain, it happened--I was enveloped in perfect silence. The experience of the cicadas' cries being muted so suddenly was made even more intense for having viscerally experienced the same phenomena he had described centuries before. The sense of stillness was interrupted by the sound of wood striking those same stone steps that had absorbed the sound of the cicadas. It was that familiar sight from mountain trails across Japan, a row of white clad seniors walking in single file on a pilgrimage. Rather than resent them for disturbing my moment, I jotted down this poem:

the locust trill stings
into Yamadera's stones
--knock of walking sticks

Part way up the mountain trail, I crossed a gate, only to be met by the familiar scent of the sauna my grandparents had at the back of their property. As surprised as I was to be transported in my mind to North Ontario, it also seemed quite appropriate that it would happen while in a sparsely populated area of northern Japan. I hadn't planned on sharing this poem today, but having just returned from my Nanny's memorial service, I would like to dedicate it to her memory:

dry bone marrow cliffs
cool air--through Niomon Gate
the smell of Pearl

Next: Haguro-san