Takamori

I took three trains to get here and arrived at dusk, and following a fuzzy screenshot of googlemaps I walked up the hill and turned left just before the road rose up a hill, this took me down a driveway to a private house, down some tiny stone steps, up a path which was entirely mud and leaves, and to some rice paddies. By that time it was totally pitch black and I was using my screen as a torch. As I was deciding which way to turn, a bell was rung several times, so despite the netted gateways in each direction, I was hopeful I was near the right place and that this was the call to pray. I climbed through some netting with my backpack on, and I heard voices when I reached the top of the field, so I called out, not wanting to be caught trespassing by an angry farmer. I called in my basic Japanese ‘Excuse me, where is Takamori So’han?’ There was laughter and warm voices and three tiny women came to help me through the netting. One of them said ‘Johnsan’ referring to my uncle who has been a regular visitor there for the last 40 years.

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One of them, wearing nuns habit, said it is time for evening prayers. So I left my rucksack in a small porch and was taken up the grassy steps to the chapel for prayers. Five of us sat in stillness and silence for about an hour. It felt like such a lovely arrival, a kind of balm on the meaningless chatter which can fill the void of the unfamiliar in such situations. After the silence there was reading from a Japanese bible with calls by the sister and response from the others around me. The tone of it all much like a chant, rhythmic and synchronised from years of practice. I was passed a candle and a bible open at the right page, and I enthusiastically tried to follow along phonetically with the Hiragana, only realising at the end of the reading that I had been reading left to right and not right to left, so I hadn’t a hope!

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One evening after dinner we sit down to watch a dvd so that I can hear the interview with Father Oshida who founded this place and died in 2003. We can’t get the picture to show, so we listen to it watching a blank screen. It’s illuminating and helps me make sense of the choices here: the contrasting lack of preciousness which can pervade so many experiences in Japan, the feeling that things are valued for their use, how they bring people together, and how they might bring one closer to god or to nature. Father Oshida didn’t answer directly about the differences between Jesus or Buddha or the purpose of worshiping either; but instead took the interviewer to his room to show her a statue of Buddha holding baby Christ. He talked about The Beyond, and having glimpsed it by nearly drowning in his 20s, he seemed to feel at peace with it, and encouraged a spirituality which included the beyond as part of the oneness. Hearing the birds sing is a way in to that feeling. Living in poverty and simplicity is an essential to being close to god, to see how god provides, to learn about manifesting through god. If you have money you don’t learn about how to manifest through god and without money.

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After the interview, sister Sawasumi giggles about the broken television saying ‘that’s Takamori’ and I lift it into its home which is a cardboard box which is precariously stacked on top of another one. Much like the small stack of 10 bibles whose covers have all been patched with black gaffa tape, the approach to belongings is makeshift and pragmatic. The tiny golden tin which the communion bread was served in was the only thing which harked to any recognisable Catholic bling. Otherwise, we sat cross legged in the thatched chapel, on hand woven straw mats, the alter a candle and an unglazed ceramic bowl. The choice to live in apparent poverty only illuminating the abundance of delicious vegetables and warm company.

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I feel no obligation to attend prayers or partake spiritually in a way beyond what is comfortable to me. I suppose that has become clearer since arriving because this morning I ate the communion bread because I didn’t want to ask if I should or shouldn’t. Later on I asked about it and Ae-san laughed and said that god is not exclusive. Was I Catholic or Buddhist she asked. I said I was brought up as a Quaker and I’m half Buddhist and I relate a lot to Daoismbut that basically I’m not religious. Ah, she nodded, we get people here who are no religion or professional Buddhists or Catholics, and Johnsan (my uncle), he is Anglican, no? The openness astounds me.

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Ae-san took me to the local museums which are heaving with objects from archeological digs – beautiful ancient ceramic pots with octopuses writhing around the rims, and figurines of women with huge thighs, pert breasts and decorated bellies. These date back a long time. The folk museum had some lovely objects like the boots made from woven straw, the map of this mountain range from 1800, a collection of silk worm pods, and a reconstruction of a traditional house complete with space for a horse next to the kitchen for heating. Somehow it didn’t seem very far removed from the existence at Takamori except there’s no horse indoors here. Apparently there have been many animals here over the years, dogs and cats and chickens and mice, all of whom have now died, except the mice.

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I got stuck in to the work there, mainly things to do with bean harvesting and drying – broad beans, soy beans and saddle beans. It was also very easy to help out in the rugged kitchen, washing up and drying and helping to prepare food. The work is constant, I only tasted the harsh winters by the bitterly cold mornings, so preparation for survival is essential. Sister Kawasumi, now in her late 70s, has a mid morning nap, and then gets on with shelling some beans in the sunshine, squatting on a blue tarpaulin. I go with Ae-san to the road at the edge of their land and sweep the cracks in the road of soil, pine needles and leaves. It takes us both two hours to complete and by the end we are dripping with sweat and while I’m sure this has a purpose (road maintenance, not slipping in the winter, not looking untidy to the surrounding community) I am still not sure why we have done this, but everyone is pleased.

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Later Ae-san took me to the soy bean field where she taught me how to smash the beans out of their dry shells with a stick, it’s very satisfying because the seed pods split and each half spirals away from the beans which jump around on the tarpaulin. I felt that I’d run out of conversation but realising that we are smashing beans in rhythm I ask Ae-san if she sings. Indeed she does, so happily we continue smashing beans and singing Japanese autumn songs, a song she wrote, and some Beatles songs. It lifts both of our spirits and over lunch I feel ready to stay longer and sad that I’ve got to leave. I look out for Mount Fuji on my way to the station but I can’t see it. I feel that I have witnessed such splendour in this rugged little community, Mount Fuji wouldn’t compare.