6.9.24*
*A journal entry from Japan
Kyoto
From the moment I hit the train platform, I knew Kyoto was suffering from over tourism. Western tourists, loaded down with groups and luggage, waited in line for the Kyoto Station McDonald’s. Get me out of here!
My route quickly took me down the backstreets where I am most comfortable, most free, and most in touch with possibilities.
I came across several temples and I wanted to go have a look, but saw the ¥ symbol everywhere I turned. One more sign that Kyoto is working to combat over tourism. Or make some money off of us. My feet kept me moving forward.
The Otani Hombyo Temple sits tucked away from the road, but Kyoto residents dressed in black dresses, black suits, and black robes drew my attention. I quietly climbed the stairs to the courtyard where they have just finished some sort of service or ceremony. I remained silent and reverent. Realizing my skin tone and brightly colored shorts already labeled me “gaijin” or “foreigner”. I bowed, greeted, and smiled when it merited. I began to take a few photos as the congregation cleared.
Part of the temple appeared to be open for any and all who would show reverence for this holy space. Some other young western tourists were not so considerate. Not bothering to adhere to the no shoes and taking photos of the inside. even though they were eye level with a sign that stated otherwise.
The fragrance of burning incense filled the air and seemingly lured me to a pit where incense sticks have been placed by those who had engaged in the sacred rites before. I wafted the smoke over me (as I had observed), removed my shoes and faced them outward (as I observed), bowed, and stepped inside.
All of the noise from the outside seemed to have been silenced and all of the noise inside me was stilled as well. There was only one elderly man in there. Kneeling, hands in prayer position, and a bouquet of flowers in front of him. I knelt on the tatami and closed my eyes.
What did I need most in this moment? What was required of me? Silence? Gratitude? Petitions and pleas? Some kind of prayer? How do I proceed when I’ve so vocally railed against a god that remains so distant, so quiet, so out of touch? All there was for me to do is to remain quiet and to feel a peace that something greater wanted to be near me, wanted to comfort me, and wanted to love me. I don’t know what this “greater” was, but all I could do was consciously allow it to do so.
Gratitude welled up, overflowing through me, and then releasing the years of sorrow that I’ve so desperately tried to cling to as if they were my crowning jewel.
Tears.
One for every time I’ve been wrong, for every time I’ve been wronged, for every moment I’ve tried to deny the power of my own soul, for every time someone tried to take over my joy, for every time I’ve allowed selfishness, self-loathing, rage, and jealousy to overwhelm and conquer.
Tears.
Followed by peace and forgiveness. Of others. Of self. Of the greater.
Welcome to Kyoto, Tolar Parker.
This is the land of the rising son.
