Pilgrimage 68 - On to Kiyomizu-dera


Leaves now gone,
the branches sway in the breeze
as the winds rise
birds settle on them briefly,
glance around quickly, then fly on.


The road on to the Twenty-fifth temple of the Saikoku Pilgrimage is a blessing thinly disguised.

Rather than double back a ways, I decide to go on down Route 49, and then follow the map carefully to walk along the lake, get to Route 309, then from there to 141 and finally to get on Route 311, which will take me to the pathway on up to the temple. At first, the road reminds me of the hills, lakes, and river in the hills around Austin, Texas. There is a sandstone quality about the dirt, and something about the level of the lake, about the size of the summer cabins that people have built there, some with boat ramps leading down to the lake that makes me feel a bit like I was back in Texas.

To reach Kiyomizu-dera is a good day's walk, through low hills and along long valleys. In the early fall the fields not only of rice but also of vegetables, especially black soy beans, a speciality of this area. In addition to that, the area is famous for its pottery, and every once in a while there is a pottery shop along the road, or a potter's kiln attached to a house set back away from the road a bit, nudging agianst the foothills.


As I walk my mind is filled with a Noh play that I have recently seen. Called "Mutsura," (and attributed to Komparu Zenchiku) it's main character is the spirit of a maple tree. The story begins with a priest who is travelling to the province of Sagami, to visit a temple named Shomyo-ji in order to see a maple tree the leaves of which do not change color in the autumn.

Arriving at the temple, he meets a young woman and begins talking with her. She explains the legend associated with the tree. When Fujiwara Tamesuke, a famous poet and the grandson of the Master Poet Fujiwara Teika, visited the temple he composed this 31-syllable tanka poem,

Itani shite / Kono hito moto ni / shigureken / yama ni sakidatsu / niwa no momijiba

which roughly translates as follows:

How is it a shower
has fallen only on this tree?
The maple leaves in
the garden have changed color
before those in the mountains.


(The poet expresses surprise that the autumn leaves on the maple have changed color before those in the mountains, and wonders whether or not it may have been due to a shower of rain. )

The woman explains that from the moment the spirit of the tree heard the poem, its leaves stopped changing color, remaining green, like the leaves of a fur tree. The priest is amazed at the power of the poem, which he compares to an offering to the gods. The woman agrees that the poem is indeed that. Then she goes on to explain that the spirit of the tree made the connection between this poem and a line from the Taoist classic, the Tao Te Ching. The line is at the end of the ninth section of that wonderful classic, and of course has been translated various ways.

"He who withdraws after achieving success and performing duty adheres to the Tao of heaven." (translated by Paul Lin, who adds this line of commentary by the famous Han period commentator Wang P'i (226-249), "The four seasons evolve in turn, each completing its role and then moving on." [A Translation of Lao Tzu's Tao Te Ching and Wang Pi's Commentary, by Paul J. Lin. MMCS 30 (Ann Arbor: Center for Chinese Studies Publications, University of Michigan, 1977) page 16.]**

The priest is very impressed by the story, and comments at how beautifully it illustrates the Buddhist doctrine that all living beings may attain enlightenment--which of course includes trees. The woman then reveals to the priest that she is in fact the spirit of the very maple tree they have been talking about. She asks him to return that evening and explain the teachings of the Buddha to her, and promises to reveal her true self to him at that time. When evening comes she does indeed return, and dances a beautiful slow dance for him. As she does she and the chorus take turns explaining the four seasons, and some of the natural changes that take place during each.

The Noh play has stayed with me since I saw it performed recently in Kyoto because has impressed upon me once again the fact that trees are really alive--that is, have consciousness, as do birds, flowers, . . . . and people. This is something I've always believed myself, and I can still remember the day I when I was in my mid-twenties when I discovered a thin yellow book in the library titled something like The Buddha's Law Among the Birds. It was the English translation of a Buddhist sutra which taught that both birds and trees can attain enlightenment just like people can. However, reading over the text of the Noh play after having seen it, and realizing the connection not only with the Tao Te Ching but also with one of the two earliest extant commentaries on that most basic of Taoist texts, I've also been struck anew at the integration of Buddhism, Taoism, and Shinto thought.

Walking through along these country roads thinking about nature and human beings, about how wasteful and careless we are with both, my mind turns to concern for the suffering of all living beings. The traffic light and the winter wind cold, and my mind wanders, my lips repeatedly mouth the mantra of Kannon slowly and easily to the beat of my feet against the pavement. Time passes by without my noticing it. Unfortunately, i also take a wrong turn and end up heading back towards Sanda. (My wife will quickly tell you I'm a great one for getting directions confused.)


Afternoon light falls
across the harvested fields
making sparklers
where the ice has not melted,
pauses, and then passes on.



As mists rise
a lone white egret inches
up the shallows;
finally he disappears
among the greys of evening.


Realizng that it will be impossible to reach the temple before it closes, I decide to find a place in Sanda to spend the night, and then get an early start in the morning.




As shadows grow
a figure looms from the field
long ago harvested--
then the clouds clear briefly, and
the moon and a haystack greet me.



** Some other translations,
Arthur Waley translates these lines as, "When your work is done, then withdraw! / Shuch is Heaven's Way!" [from the bilingual edition, titled Tao Te Ching, published by the press of Peking University of Foreign Studies, 1998, p. 18]
John C. H. Wu translates them as, "Here is the Way of Heaven: When you have done your work, retire!" [Tao Teh Ching. Boston: Shambala, 1990, p. 12.]
Ursula K. Le Guin's English version is, "To do good, work well, and lie low / is the way of the blessing." [Lao Tzu - Tao Te Ching - A Book About the Way and the Power of the Way. Boston: Shambala, 1998, p. 12.